pentapoctopus

[pentapoctopus]

Here’s the thing about natural—or unnatural, as it were—disasters.

Regular social norms go right out the fucking window.

In Tommy’s case, all it took was to see one news report, highlighting the burning husk of Starcourt, for him to turn to his girlfriend and ask “Do you think…?”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

Didn’t need too—Carol immediately and instantly knew what he was on about.

They were in Tommy’s house, but that didn’t matter. Carol went right for the phone like she owned it (or like she’d been practically raised in said house given she’d known Tommy since he was seven, which meant she might as well own it.)

“He’s not answering.” She reported after a tense moment,

Tommy bit his lip.

“Think he’s still messing around with Wheeler enough to be at her house right now?” He asked, but it was a hail mary and they both knew it.

Carol rewarded his stupidity with a flat stare. “He’s not dating anyone right now, he’s person non grata with that hideous uniform.”

And for other reasons, not that either of them bothered to voice it all.

Tommy opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask something else idiotic in his growing panic, but was stopped by a finger held loftily in the air.

Carol expertly dialed with her other hand, before once again returning the phone to her ear.

This time she got someone.

“Hi Miss Maple, is Mindy home?” 

A pause, and then a rapid-fire back and forth took place, in which Carol:

Assured Miss Maple she was not at the mall.

Was happy to know Mindy was also not at the mall.

Made an appropriate gasping noise upon finding out Mindy had left only an hour before the mall had caught fire and could she talk to Mindy? Pretty please? This is so scary!

--Until Carol was finally connected to Mindy herself.

“No, I'm glad you’re safe.” Carol was saying, after another exchange that to Tommy, felt like some kind of over-complicated girl language where they both made soft reassuring noises until they finally got down to business.

Which in this case, was asking if Mindy saw Steve Harrington, their wayward third, at the mall.

“He was there.” Carol confirmed a scant few minutes later, frown slashing across her face as she hung up the phone. “She said he had the closing shift.” 

Tommy panicked harder. 

“What do we do?”

Carol, bless her, gave him the easiest answer in the world. 

With steel in her eyes, she calmly determined: “We go get him.”

They did.

xXx

Steve was not at the mall. 

One of his obnoxious children was however, and insisted Steve was both fine and had gone home. 

(As if anyone was ever fine after escaping out of a burning building.) 

Lucky for Carol’s temper and Steve both, that proved to be true. 

 “Hello Steven.” Carol greeted the second one of the Harrington’s double doors swung open. “You look like shit.” 

“‘Ro?” Steve asked in blatantly disbelief, squinting at her. 

Give how fucked up one of his eyes was, Carol wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly could’t make her out. 

Steve’s messed up face moved to the left with another blatant squint before he warbled out: “‘Tommy?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s us. Move over.” She flicked her hands into a “shoo” gesture, as Steve dutifully stepped back, allowing them in. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, somehow managing to sound normal for that one singular line. 

Carol beelined right for the cabinet with the medkit, while Tommy went for the fridge. 

“Taking care of you, idiot. How the hell did you get a black eye in a mall fire?” 

Or choke marks, or any of his other wounds she’d taken in at first glance, none of which looked to be a burn. 

It took a long, long moment for her to get an answer, during which Steve had trailed them both to his kitchen, confused but not fighting their presence.  

“Part of the building collapsed. I--there was--” He struggled for a moment, looking lost in his own kitchen. “A lot happened.” 

“No shit.” Tommy snorted, wrapping a  hand towel around an ice pack before dutifully handing it to Steve. 

“Put that on your eye.” He muttered, when all he got was a blank stare back. 

“Oh.” Steve stared at him, without moving. “Thanks.” 

With another loud snort, Tommy shoved it in his hands, then forced Steve to actually put it against his eye. 

An interaction that did not bode well for the state of Steve’s head. 

“Take that disgusting shirt off.” Carol commanded a few seconds later as she finished laying out medical supplies on the counter. Lined them up like little soldiers gearing up to ship out. 

Bandages, neosporin, alcohol wipes and various other little bits and bobs weren’t going to fix whatever the hell happened to Steve, but given his aversion to hospitals, Carol knew this was as good as she was getting. 

“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” Steve grumbled, but thankfully, complied. 

Or tried too, anyway--he seemed to be reluctant to take the ice pack off his eye now that he figured out that's where it should go, and equally seemed to be having issues raising his arms above his shoulders. 

Carol sent a pointed look at her boyfriend, then jerked her eyes in Steve’s direction when the idiot just stared at her. 

“Let me help you.” Tommy said a moment later, right before Carol decided to throw something at him. 

It took them both a minute, during which Carol rolled her eyes twice at their incompetence, but eventually they managed to get Steve’s busted torso out in open air, and the ice pack firmly back on his eye. 

Carol turned to survey the damage, and nearly dropped the bandages she was holding in shock. 

Tommy too seemed at a loss for words, eyes wide at the sheer amount of bruising. 

Steve was a mess.

More than, a mess--this was the worst state Carol had ever seen anyone in, and the fact that he was on his feet still was a fucking miracle. 

‘Staring won’t fix it.’ Carol told herself harshly, and she knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to fix it either unless someone forced him. 

Hence of course, why they were there. 

“Steven Harrington, did you run from the paramedics?” She demanded, as she finally picked her first weapon (a disinfectant wipe) and strode over to begin her battle. “There is no way they let you go looking like this!”

“They had other priorities.” Steve said defensively, then hissed as Carol got to work. 

“You should have been one of said priorities, idiot!” 

Tommy thankfully, had decided to make himself useful by retreating to the other side of the kitchen and pulling various items out of the fridge and pantry. 

Inbetween her runs for more supplies and hissing insults at how fucking stupid Steve was, Carol identified the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches--their little groups go to favorite. 

Which was good, because it both got him out of the way and meant they could get something in Steve’s stomach before she forced every pain pill she had down his throat. 

“I’m fine guys, really.” Steve protested, as if constantly repeating it would somehow make his words true. 

Carol stared deep into his watery eyes, before jabbing a finger into the center of the largest bruise on his side. 

“Carol!” He howled, bending double and away, panting harshly. 

“That,” She informed him with a pitiless stare, “was for lying.” 

Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as she first thought--it seemed to be mostly just bruises. 

Possibly a cracked rib or two, at worst. 

The worst of it was Steve’s eye, and of course, his head, because there was no way he didn’t have a concussion amongst all this. 

(Only time would tell how bad it was.) 

When Steve was as doctored up as Carol could make him, she promptly turned and frog marched him to his parents' overstuffed couch.

“Sit and stay sitting, while I clean up.” She ordered, not waiting to see if Steve would obey. 

She passed Tommy on her way back to the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hands. 

“Make sure he takes at least a few bites.” She added, low enough so only he heard. 

He nodded, and for the first time since the three of them had fallen out, Carol felt something in her finally relax. 

Figured it was likely the same for the boys, given their dynamic had always been something one step away from a normal friendship. 

(it wasn’t the relationship her mother had once accused her of having, though granted, they had tested those waters once, but something that sat in between ‘family’ and ‘mutual ownership.’ 

Losing Steve had carved something hollow in her and Tommy both. She’d put on a good show of not caring. Pretended it hadn’t cut deep. 

Getting even a taste of it like she was? 

Carol wasn’t letting him go again.) 

Cleaning up took a minute, long enough hopefully, for the pain meds to kick in, and she didn’t feel too guilty when she came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, next to Steve (and thus putting him in the middle, between herself and Tommy.) 

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into her the second she sat down, like he’d been waiting for her to return. There was a pause, like he was bracing to be pushed off, but when she scooted closer, the tension left him in a silent exhale. 

“I missed you.” He whined softly into her shoulder.

She ran her nails through his hair, silently bemoaning the state of it. “We missed you too, Stevie.”

“I want to be friends again but,” Steve sighed, and Carol watched Tommy tense, staring at Steve with such intensity one would think Steve was about to announce whether Tommy would live or die.

(Honestly, her boys were so stupid sometimes.)

“We can't be mean anymore.” Steve finished. “Not me—but also not, not you guys.”

With an (unfortunately) adorable wrinkle of his nose, he added, “We were too mean.”

Carol rolled her eyes, but only when she was certain Steve was paying more attention to her sweater than her face.

“Compromise. I’ll only be openly mean to people who deserve it.” She countered, as Tommy finally relaxed.

“I can be nicer.” He agreed, slowly sinking down into Steve’s other side.

“Way less mean. No--no more pranks or insults.” Steve continued.

Carol nodded. “Not in public.” She agreed. 

She was not giving up her own personality in private, thank you very much. If that made her an asshole that was fine--it wasn’t like she hadn't been told she was nasty before this. 

“And I’m friends with Robin now. So you hav’ to be friends with her too.” 

“Buckley?” Carol made another face, and knew she fucked up when Steve instantly tried to sit up.

“Robin Buckley. She’s really cool, and--” He started, with that kind of stubbornness Carol knew all too well meant he’d made up his mind and would refuse to change it.

“Fine, fine!” She said quickly, though not without an eye roll. “You have got to stop adopting weirdos though. The kids are enough.”

Steve slowly laid back down. 

“You know about the kids?” 

“Steve Harrington, town babysitter?” Tommy said, something teasing threading through his voice. “Everybody knows, man. You give so many rides home your beamer has gained several bus themed nicknames.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Carol snorted, before laying her cheek atop Steve’s head. Tommy cuddled up close to his other side, the same way they all used to before their parents started insisting their cuddle piles were “inappropriate.”  

(That hadn’t stopped them. Nothing had stopped them, until Steve had a crisis of consciousness while dating Wheeler. 

It was only half the reason Carol wanted to put her head through a wall.) 

“That’s what you have me for.” She informed him. 

“Yeah.” Carol could feel Steve’s smile, gentle and radiant as always. “Guess I do.”

A nice, perfect moment followed, the one she knew both her and Tommy had been craving. 

Steve, of course, was a creature who required constant reassurance because his awful, neglecting parents never provided any, and she was prepared when he fought against both his pain and sleep to seek it. 

“You guys promise to be nice to Robin? And Nancy, and Jonathan?” He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure what they'd do if they said no. 

“Oh God,” Tommy moaned, “I have to be nice to Byers?” 

 Steve stiffened once again, snapping out; “Yes--” 

“We promise, Steve.” Carol interrupted before Tommy’s giant fat mouth could ruin things.  

She moved a hand down to rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture. 

Tommy, of course, wasn’t done, because Tommy was a moron. “Wasn’t he the guy Wheeler cheated on you with?” 

“We said we promise.” Carol repeated, steel in her voice. 

Tommy met her eyes over Steve’s head, and was greeted with the steel core of his girlfriend’s ‘do as I say or die’ personality. 

“Fine.” Tommy conceded with a pout. “I’ll be nice to fucking Byers.”

 In a mutter he added;  

“Not happy about it though.”

“That’s okay.” Steve mumbled back, seeming to have finally tired himself out. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll be here in the morning.” Carol told him.

It was a longstanding fear of Steve’s--that people just left in the night without saying goodbye. 

(Likely because his parents kept doing it.)

It didn’t take long, Steve was the kind of guy who fell asleep quickly. 

It was a nice mend to the hole Steve’s departure in her life had made. Carol hadn’t truly been looking forward to living her life without him. 

She’d get him back however she could.

Even if it meant being nice. 

(Carol hated being nice, but she’d do it, for Steve. 

Well. Less for Steve and more to complete the Tommy-Steve-Carol super trio that Carol had lived most of her life in, at least, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

Not now, anyway.) 

xXx

Close to a year later, Carol stood with her arms crossed, staring coolly at one Edward Munson, drug dealer extraordinaire and former (even if he was cleared) criminal. 

He grinned at her, the jerk.

With a supernatural slowness, she turned her gaze to Steve.

“I swear to God Steve you better housebreak him before you bring him anywhere near me.” She said, loud and clear.

Hadn’t she warned him about adopting more weirdos!?

Steve winced. 

“Come on ‘Ro, you promised not to be mean.” He wheedled. 

“I promised to not be mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She shot back, as Tommy, wisely, stayed silent behind her.

(Robin, she noted, was equally quiet on Steve’s other side.

Normally this would raise alarms—Robin was quick to defend people if she thought Carol was being shitty and as a general rule was never quiet, but it would appear in this case she’d already clocked where Carol was taking this.

Smart girl.)

“Eddie doesn’t deserve—” Steve started but she cut him off with a blue tipped nail, shoved right against his lips.

“Not yet he doesn’t. But Munson,” She leveled her glare on him now, and let him feel the weight of it. “If Steve so much as says your name in a sad tone of voice, I will make your life into the kind of hell that Jason Carver can only dream of. Understand?”  

Behind her, Tommy cracked his knuckles, which was overkill and she’d get on his ass later for being dramatic, but presently she was too busy letting Munson figure out just how serious she was. 

Eddie’s gaze traveled from Carol, to Tommy, Robin, Steve and finally back to Carol in an assessment she frankly, hadn’t thought him capable of. 

She pushed him anyway. 

“I’m waiting, Munson.” 

In a somber tone of voice, Eddie replied; “It’s gotten. Very, very gotten.” 

“Okay, I’m lost.” Steve said, because, as always, he was the last person to know he was in love.

Moron. 

“Good. As long as we understand each other. Now.” Carol tossed her hair back with a quick snap of her hand. “Milkshakes?” 

“Robin--” Steve whined, no doubt wanting her to spell things out since Carol was refusing, but thankfully Buckley also seemed to realize staying quiet was the best course of action, and instead of answering quickly got Steve off track with a jab at his milkshake order. 

Which was of course, why Carol liked her.

(She wasn’t about to share that with Robin just yet. Integrating someone into a trio like theirs was delicate business—and she had a sinking feeling Robin might be sticking around, just like Steve and Tommy had.

As for Eddie Munson? 

Only time would tell.)

[pentapoctopus]

⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫⚫!!!!! (I'm not asking you to write for each dot, I'm just yelling about how excited I am for this story)((Think of it like a crowded concert where the audience are all scream-chanting the bands name in anticipation))

Joke's on you, I will respect the exchange rate of the dots because I have SO MUCH stream of consciousness writing of this one that just needs to be translated into actual prose. I'm locked and loaded, keep em coming.

(I have given you 37 words per dot, please forgive)

Obligatory reminder that Eddie is an actual creep here. Explicit sexual content, MDNI, DDDNE: noncon, drug use, and this one's got piss, folks

The possibilities raced through his mind, manic as ever as he felt his abs clench, just beginning to tip over the edge.

A delicious idea came to him. All over the toilet seat— a tempting option, because of the possibility of Harrington bringing a girl up here. She would have slept with Harrington, but gotten Munson splattered all over the backs of her thighs all the same. And if Harrington was the unlucky one to sit in the evidence, even better.

The image of Steve lining himself up to sink into some girl’s cunt, only to unexpectedly find his golden thighs unexpectedly smeared with somebody else had Eddie gasping as he came, shooting off all along the seat. He staggered and dropped to one knee, shuffling his way around the toilet to distribute the gift equally, moaning through the crackling bliss of a spun out orgasm. 

Hopefully the music at the party downstairs was still bumping— Eddie was being far too loud, and he knew it. 

He stared down at his work, at the globs of jizz all over the toilet seat. For good measure, he cleared his throat, hawking up as much phlegm as he could muster— no worse than what Harrington deserved— then leaned forward and to spit on the far edge of the seat. Like an artist signing his work, and Eddie was damn proud of this one. 

Either Steve or his girl would get his spunk on their thighs, and they’d never see it coming. Even on the off chance that Harrington noticed first and cleaned it up— that still meant the mighty Steve Harrington, kneeling down in front of his own toilet, staring down miserably at the gift a better man left behind.

No matter how much he cleaned up afterwards, he’d always know it happened. Whether real or imaginary, from that moment on, Steve’s thighs would never not be owned by Eddie Munson.

That thought had Eddie hard again– his second favorite thing about meth, he could go again and again. He was tempted to keep going until the entire toilet was covered. 

But, no.

Even though the first part of his plan relied on his tampering going undetected, even though he was ruining the surprise he’d so painstakingly set up, the vision of Steve kneeling on the floor, cleaning the toilet, kept returning to him. And it was missing something.

He took a step backwards, still hard in his hand, willing his erection to flag, even just a little. He looked down at the luxurious bath mat, ruby red and sinfully soft, plush under his feet in a way he didn’t even know towels could be. It was nicer than anything Eddie had ever owned, let alone had the audacity to throw on the floor.

He aimed, let go, and pissed, emptying his bladder onto it until he had nothing left.

Let Harrington kneel in that.

[pentapoctopus]

⚫⚫⚫

Thanks for your ask! Reminder once again that Eddie is an actual creep here. MDNI. DDDNE: Consent issues/noncon, drug use, etc.

Eddie was already close, his favorite side effect of amphetamines— he had been on the edge of it all night, bricked up since the moment he stepped foot in the Harrington’s house, to the disgust of several girls who still bought from him even as he leered at them. 

That was the best part of having what no one else could offer– what were they gonna do, say never mind? Nobody ever did. 

He invaded their personal space, looked down their shirts, put one hand in his lap to feel his heartbeat in his cock. Maybe they could see it, maybe not. Didn’t matter. He was a freak, a pervert. Everybody knew it. But he had what everyone wanted, so nobody said shit— just handed over their cash as he looked at them with deadened eyes. So what if he was basically edging himself as he conducted business? What were they gonna do, complain to his boss? He was the boss, and his clientele would do well to remember it.

(make me write to read more!)

[pentapoctopus]

[ *Oh shit, here we go again* meme rolls in the background]

🎭

OK my dear here's the thing, I've been trying for a day and a half now and I just CAN'T. In exchange please accept an entire scene I wrote several weeks ago.

The phone rang. Steve startled at it– he supposed he may never get over the fact that his immediate thought was always a pending apocalypse.

“Good morning!” chirped a woman’s voice– bright, professional, and unfamiliar. “I’m calling from The Indianapolis Star with an exclusive offer. Tell me, are you currently a subscriber?"

Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only he would be sent spiraling by a telemarketer. “No, I’m not interested. Thank you.”

He started to lower the receiver and hang up, but her voice kept going, undeterred and unreasonably chipper.

“You should know, we’re running a limited-time promotion in your area. I’m sure you won’t want to miss it.”

“I don’t read the paper,” Steve said flatly. “Too much bad news.”

“If you don’t read the paper,” she replied, voice tightening, “you’ll miss the good news too, won’t you? Our Sunday edition is sure to be especially illuminating.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Steve said, cradling the phone with his shoulder to putter around the kitchen, absentmindedly wiping sawdust from the countertops so this phone call wasn’t a complete waste of time. “Still not interested.”

There was a pause.

“Mr. Harrington,” she said, “you’re going to want to read the paper this weekend.”

He froze. She spoke with such deliberate cadence that it sent a shiver up his spine. It was spoken like a threat. But before he could demand that she explain herself, the bright professionalism returned to her voice like someone had flipped a switch. “In fact, as a one-time-only courtesy, we’re offering complimentary delivery of this Sunday’s paper to select homes in your area– including yours.”

Steve blinked. “What? Like, tomorrow? Why? That doesn’t even– how did you get my–?”

“As Indiana’s largest newspaper, we’re committed to delivering the highest quality journalism directly to local households.”

“But I told you, I don’t want it.”

Another pause.

When she finally spoke again, it was with a tone that Steve tried not to take great offense to. “You will receive a complimentary Sunday edition of The Indianapolis Star tomorrow, Mr. Harrington. I do hope that you read it.”

And with a click, the line went dead.

Steve stared at the phone, beyond baffled.

“...Wait. How the hell did she know my name?”

(from an upcoming chapter of WDYTWWD on ao3)

[pentapoctopus]

Wayne Munson, Jim Hopper, Steve Harrington

Was scrolling through AO3 and found this gem

Enemy to parent is a trope we have to popularise lmao

[pentapoctopus]

Ohhhh tell me about 🍾 Wedding DJ Eddie for Wip Weekend.

Thanks for the tag 💖

Thank YOU for the ask! (follows this post, for context)

“I’m being a total asshole,” Steve realized out loud, horrified. The DJ didn’t bother disagreeing, already stepping back onto his platform to queue up another song. 

“Hey,” he said, pointing somewhere behind Steve. “That’s your table, right? Looks like it’s your turn to hit the buffet.”

Sure enough, a staff member was directing his parents across the room. Steve’s stomach grumbled.

“Well, what about you?” Steve asked as the question occurred to him. “Did you eat yet?”

The DJ gave him a blank look.

“I could grab you a plate,” Steve offered. “If you wanted me to.”

“I don’t think the couple would be too happy about that,” the DJ said disbelievingly.

“What are they gonna do if I bring you one?” Steve challenged. “I’m family, after all.”

A continuation of this idea

[pentapoctopus]

edit of all time

[pentapoctopus]

🏅 you had me at sub eddie

Okay, SAME. I'm gonna skip forward a bit from my last post then and give you some good stuff.

Steve was already off to get a towel to wipe the machine. When he came back, Eddie was still nowhere prepared to stand up in full view of everyone. 

“Can I just sit a bit longer?” he asked, humiliated.

Steve’s expression shifted immediately to concern. “Of course. Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, I just… I need a minute.”

Steve bit his lip anxiously. “Did I push you too hard? Does anything hurt?”

Eddie laughed breathlessly. “No, nothing like that. I’m fine, really.”

“You’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?”

Another dry laugh escaped him. “Dude, no. I’m fine, just—” He hesitated, then muttered, “I’d really rather not stand up right now.”

(from upcoming chapter of Unmet Needs Forty Ways on ao3)

[pentapoctopus]

🏅🏅🏅

I hesitate to set the precedent that 3 emoji means ~300 words but what the heck, lets go for it.

Thanks for your ask!

“Let’s fucking go!” Steve whooped, clapping and doing a celebratory little lap around the machine as if Eddie had just set a world record. Eddie was mortified by the attention it was drawing, but somehow even the enormous dudes nearby just nodded their approval. Absolute madness, considering he’d barely managed ten reps with light weight.

“Hey.” Steve finally came to a halt in front of him, with one hand on Eddie’s sweaty shoulder. “I want you to know— I saved your hardest set for last. Wanna know why?”

Eddie could barely process the words, unable to focus on anything other than the feeling of his own sweat soaking into the palms of Coach Steve’s perfect hands.

“I wanted to see how hard you would try,” Steve said seriously. “See if you’d listen to me when I told you that you could do it. Because it’s not about strength, it’s about resilience. And you just proved that you’ve got it.”

His eyes were locked on Eddie, all sincere determination, like their shared mission was one of greater importance than just keeping one lonely guy from being a lazy piece of shit.

It was just a lot, between the praise, the endorphins, the particular history Eddie had with physical exertion being exclusively tied to his bedroom activities.

Whatever the reason— Eddie hadn’t been this hard in public since high school.

“You did a really good job,” Steve said softly. “No, really. Look me in the eyes.”

What could Eddie do but obey?

“I think,” Steve said, leaning in closer, his voice strong and steady as he gripped Eddie’s shoulder, “you have a lot to be proud of.”

(from upcoming chapter of Unmet Needs Forty Ways on ao3)

[pentapoctopus]

🏅🏅🏅 love the sound of this one!

Thank you so much! (Sorry it took me to long to respond, but WE'RE BACK)

“C’mon, baby, let’s see number ten.” Steve’s tone was low and reverent, but still with an edge of that frat-boy detachment, like he was talking about a car instead of Eddie’s trembling arms.

Regardless, Eddie took that shit personally.

He dug deep, mustering every once of strength he had left even as his muscles screamed in protest, exhaling through gritted teeth with a pitiful little groan that escaped before he could stop it. But the effort was worth it— the weight slammed into the top of the machine with a satisfying thunk.

(from upcoming chapter of Unmet Needs Forty Ways on ao3)

[pentapoctopus]

Game Changer is the American version of Taskmaster, change my mind

Both revolve around the character of a demanding game master who seems to get off on making the contestants do various humiliating things

Both include a sort of instruction-giver who wears a suit and generally takes abuse from the contestants

Both are known to often have big twist moments that make players and viewers alike smack themselves in the forehead and say, how did I not see that coming

Both have been known to feature rubber ducks

Both have relatively progressive show runners and like to drop in references to their values, especially when it comes to the importance of the crew

Both make a point to feature a diverse cast of talent, ensuring that they've made room for people that don't always get the spotlight in the world of comedy

Both have a ginger-adjacent guy who really likes birds

when everyone in the Game Changer tag is flipping out about Alex Horne but you’ve never seen Taskmaster

[pentapoctopus]

I'm just so enamored with the idea of Joe using all that Stranger Things money to fund an all-expenses paid trip to Europe with all his pals

joe being a tourist part 29

[pentapoctopus]

Would be extra fun if there were some funky power dynamics at play too. Like if Steve was subby as hell, obedient as anything, and then Eddie shows up in the morning to find he's Vice President of Operations for the entire region or whatever and the entire office defers to him... but Eddie's got his number

steddie where eddie hooks up with a random guy and does the walk of shame in the morning without saying goodbye. the next time he sees the man, steve harrington, is a few hours later and he realizes it’s the guy conducting his job interview

[pentapoctopus]

Never before have I had a modicum of interest in whatever "Tumblr TV" is but you know what, you son of a bitch, I'm in

[pentapoctopus]

In another life, I would be your boy ❤️

Steddie Au

[pentapoctopus]

Fun fact: Unmet Needs Forty Ways was inspired by a moment after my recent IRL breakup where, upon seeing a Facebook ad for a local life coach, my first thought honestly was "I would eat any number of kale salads for her approval"