queenie-ofthe-void

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Surgery went well! Thank you for all the lovely comments and well-wishes. 💜💜💜

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Part 2

Steve is an absolute fucking idiot for thinking Eddie would ever be interested in him. He’s no one compared to a guy like Jonathan. All Steve brings to the table is a nice body and an empty home. He doesn’t read nerdy books or like obscure indie music. And as much as the kids try to explain DnD to him– he can’t work past the math and weird names. 

Jonathan, on the other hand, is sensitive. It’s why Nancy chose him over Steve, and it’s one of the same reasons she likes Robin. They’re two people who are good at listening and always know exactly what to say. He can’t help but think back to Carol ranting about something Tommy did to piss her off, only to stop mid-sentence because she thought Steve wasn’t listening. That was never true though. He just didn’t know what to say.

He listened to Nancy talk about Barb in a way Steve never figured out how to do. Jonathan is more in touch with his emotions as Nancy worded it when she’d finally confronted Steve about what happened. Steve can’t keep track of his own emotions, let alone read others’ body language or hear it in their voice. 

Even if Steve had confessed his pathetic crush, and Eddie– for god knows what reason, reciprocated– it’s not like he’d all of a sudden be interested in any of Steve’s lame, normie hobbies like cars, sports, or working out. Sure Eddie came to the park every once in a while to watch Steve and Lucas practice on the court, but he was almost always bent over his notebook working on either new song lyrics or campaign notes.

Really, it shouldn’t be as much of a shock as it is that Eddie and Jonathan ended up together. It’s just– Steve had hoped. 

Which is now how he’s ended up hiding in his own kitchen on the verge of a breakdown. He feels like he’s coming undone, almost exactly how he’d felt after fighting Billy and stalking through the tunnels, when the adrenaline had worn off and the pain had kicked in. When he laid down in bed and screamed until his voice went hoarse, burning off as much energy as he could without exacerbating his injuries.

Shit, he’s actually crying. Steve hates crying. There’s a goddamn hurricane of emotions building up and he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. All he can feel is the heat creeping up his neck and the grit of his teeth grinding together. He hears his dad’s condescending tone in the back of his mind telling him not to be a pussy, a fairy– to be a man. 

The front door slams shut, cutting through the swirl of frustration just enough for Steve to realize he’s losing it. At least now he’s alone, he can do what he’s always done to calm down. Do it without judgement, without prying, concerned eyes. Because he knows it’s not healthy, but it works. Steve rubs the sleeve of his sweater over his leaking nose, heading for the stairs to grab what he still keeps hidden under his bed when he hears it. The faint step of socked feet coming down the hall towards the kitchen.

There’s only one person it could be, and even though he desperately wants to be left alone, he’s at least thankful it’s her. Still, he needs her to leave, because he’s barely containing himself as it is and he knows she’ll want to talk about it, want to console him and be the prying, concerned eyes he’s hoping to avoid. 

Before the kitchen door opens, Steve turns his back toward her to face out the kitchen window overlooking the pool. Flinching at the sight, he instead moves his gaze to stare sightlessly down at the counter, gripping the edge of the sink to brace himself. 

“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin says, the consolatory tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Letting people meddle in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin. 

She’s the one who pushed him to act on his crush, even though Steve knew it wouldn’t amount to anything. And he was right. He can’t stop his mind from raking through every small detail she shared about Eddie. Like how Eddie blushed anytime Steve laughed at his jokes, or how he'd gaze at Steve from across the room. When she gushed about how Eddie would go out of his way to be next to Steve in a crowded space, quite literally pushing people out of the way to get closer. 

But of course none of it was real. He laments himself for ever believing anything she ever said. Even with her good intentions, it was all just lies and bullshit. Steve is always bullshit.

“Then why are you still here?” he bites back. Steve can already feel his former crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it. The old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. It feels as safe and familiar as the ache in his shoulders and the bloody blisters on his palms from a good round of practicing his swing.  

Steve expected her to shout at him. He expected her to fruitlessly attempt to make him feel better, accompanied with a well-deserved apology. But instead, Steve’s shocked when a heavy silence falls between them. 

People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve, whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. Robin’s never met the King before, not really.

The tension pulls at his guilt as shame burns him from the inside out. It’s been too long since he’s been King Steve. This time, there’s no false bravado to help him not give a shit, to not care about the people around him. Because it’s Robin– of course he cares. He always has.

The crown might be a cold comfort, but it’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield. He’s unpracticed, unsteady as he feels the heavy crown sit crooked atop his head. And yet, it’s the only lifeline he has, so he clings to it.

Steve still hasn’t turned around to face her. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. She’s the only person he’s ever easily understood– except for Eddie. They wear their emotions out loud, and he loves them for it. But looking at her she gets to see him too. 

Except he should’ve known he can’t hide, especially from her. He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Steve, look at me.”

Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. 

“I don’t want you here, Robin. So just– get out of my house. Leave. ”

Steve swallows the hot acid suddenly flooding the back of his throat. He feels deranged, sweating with anxiety, skin too warm with the anger vibrating just below the surface. This is beyond King Steve, the cool, calm, collected guy without a care in the world. Now, he’s barely contained, lashing out at anything and anyone around him. 

Robin’s never seen him like this before. He’s never wanted her to see him this full of shit, knowing she’d leave him the second she caught a hint of his former self– his true self. His friends only liked him now because of the goofy, roll-with-the-punches guy he’s worked so hard to become. 

Sick dread roils in his stomach. She’ll leave him after this, and then he’ll be alone. He can’t help but think maybe that’s a good thing.

“Hey!” Robin shouts, a warning as much as it is to grab his attention. Steve’s never heard her yell before, not like this. Shock forces him to turn and look at her, and what he finds is somehow worse than he could’ve expected.

Her eyes are wet with frustration. There’s an unexpected wrinkle to her forehead he’s only used to seeing when she’s concentrating, but instead of her tongue sticking out slightly to match the expression, her lips are pressed into a thin, white line.

It’s the ruddy, red splotches staining her face and neck that twist his insides. Brutal, obvious hurt. The same color red Steve has seen time and time again whenever Robin cries, whenever she’s embarrassed or angry. A red so much more chaotic than the adorable blush that tints her cheeks when Nancy smiles at her, or when Steve tells her he loves her. This is a burning red, and it’s his fault.

No matter how much it hurts to look at what he’s done to her, all of it is drowned out by the unimaginable steel behind her glistening eyes. Shoulders pulled back, spine straight, Steve’s looking at a Robin who’s ready to fight demons, ready to throw moltovs. 

Shit. She’s going to fight him.

Sure enough, Robin marches across the kitchen and crowds him against the counter. She points a shaking finger in his face as the countertop digs into his back. “You don’t get to do this,” her voice shakes but holds firm. “You don’t get to act like this, to be this guy again. Not to me.”

He can feel the snarl in his upper lip, his flared nostrils. Robin’s eyes bore into him, rake over his face, meeting his glare with her own. Because no matter how much Steve tries to force the crown to fit, it never will. It never did, not really.

He scoffs. The sound’s a little too wet, too choked up. “What makes you think you’re any different than–”

“Because I know you, Steve Harrington” she shouts, poking her still raised finger hard into his shoulder. It stings. “Better than Nancy, or Dustin, or Eddie– better than Tommy and Carol ever did. I know you better than anyone.”

He can’t breathe, can’t goddamn think when he’s this angry. Steve repositions his hand braced behind him on the countertop, haphazardly knocking over a few stray glasses over where they sit drying on the rack. 

Robin’s so close to him it’s virtually impossible to avoid her judgmental tears. She’s flaying him open, the dread he’s filled with now so much more visceral than when Nancy called him bullshit or even when Eddie leaned in to Jonathan’s kiss. Because Robin is Robin, and right now King Steve’s a runaway freight train that can’t be stopped. It’ll run her down, hurt her in ways he won’t be able to fix.

“Shut up,” Steve snaps.

“Scared that you’re going to end up alone again just because Eddie–”

“I said shut up,”

“You aren’t alone, Steve. You have me,” Robin pleads, shaking him as she reaches out to grip the front of his shirt. “You have me, and I have you. And I’m never leaving you–”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

Steve sees red. There’s something smooth and cold tucked tight in his grip, followed by a loud smash as the glass he grabbed shatters against the wall opposite them. The tinkling of shards gliding across the tile lights up his nerves. 

He’s vibrating out of his skin. He’s ready to fight, to brace for a hit that’ll knock him back into his body. A hit to the head in an alleyway or a plate to the head or a bottle to his throat anything to just bring him the fuck down.

Craving floods his veins. Steve needs to swing and hit and smash his bat into any tree stump he can find, breaking it down to splinters until there’s no feeling left in his arms. Because he’s vibrating and shaking and fuck why does he miss this?

None of those things, however, are what pull back his focus. It’s a small sniffle, the loosening of his shirt as small hands finally release him. Robin’s backed up into the kitchen island across from him, just out of arms reach but a chasm away. Her eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them, hands over her mouth in shock.

This is it. This is always it, where everything ends. Because if she didn’t know him before, she’s seen the truth of him now. Pull the cold crown of Steve Harrington away and all that’s left is someone angry and violent. Dangerous– someone to be afraid of, to steer clear from. 

A person like Steve doesn’t deserve people like Robin or Eddie, good people who care and love without having to play pretend and hide all the things wrong with them. There’s always so much wrong with Steve. He’s known it since he was small, when ripping and tearing felt good until he saw his teddy shredded in his hands. So have his parents.Once people figure it out for themselves, they leave.

He’s done so well at hiding it over the few years he’s known her. Now, he’s fucked it up like he always does.

Robin takes a slow step towards him, hands slightly raised like she’s placating a spooked animal. He feels like one too. A rabid dog, shorts breaths coming in and out and in again too fast, leaving him lightheaded. Steve feels frozen under her gaze, unable to move as he watches her move closer. 

With each step forward, his eyes stay locked on to hers, both unblinking. Steve takes advantage to catalogue every piece of her. All of the freckles, the stray blonde highlights in her bangs, every eyelash and the flecks of green in her eyes. He’ll never forget Robin.

Steve watches her until she’s pressed close to him again, and doesn’t move when she reaches behind him. A goodbye hug, he thinks. Except she doesn’t wrap her arms around him in a warm embrace, or hold him close to comfort.

She steps back again, her eyes now alight with mischief and resolve. There’s a quirk to her lips he can’t place. It’s such a drastic shift in her mood he doesn’t notice the glass in her hand until she winds up.

Robin plants her feet before taking a large step forward with her left foot, winding up her right arm in the exact form he taught her over the summer, when they played softball with the kids. She’d made fun of him for being a jock of course, too obsessed with telling her to follow through on each of her throws. It’d been worth it for him though, when she’d struck out both Mike and Dustin.

It’s worth it now, as he watches the crystal glass explode right next to the scuff on the wall his own glass had left behind. Large, twinkling shards of clear glass slide across the floor between the smaller slivers. It’s almost beautiful, the way the pieces reflect the sun setting through the window, casting little rainbows across the tile. 

Robin threads her fingers between his own and squeezes hard. Steve looks into her blown out eyes, her face split into a manic grin as she trembles with adrenaline. A feeling he knows all too well, and relies on more than he should. When he squeezes her hand back, she shifts her energy into bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I told you, Dingus,” Robin says, letting go of his hand to grab his cheeks, squeezing them together until his lips pucker, “I’m not going anywhere. So if you want to be mad, let's be mad together. And if you want to cry, let’s cry together. Because you don’t scare me, Steve Harrington, and you’ll never be too much for me.”

This time she does wrap her arms around him. Steve reflexively tucks his head into her neck and breathes. She smells like weed and the cheap lavender perfume from Melvald’s he bought her last Christmas, and it makes him so happy he cries. His body sags into hers, wrung out with exhaustion. It feels like coming home, like he’s only whole when she’s pressed against his chest. 

She’s seen him now, the best and the worst of him, and she’s still here. So Steve cries harder. His tears and snot stain the collar of her sweater. Robin runs her hands through his hair, shushing him as he gasps for breath, fighting against the tears even though he knows he doesn’t have to when he’s with her. 

They stand there in the kitchen, floor covered in splinters of glass, wrapped up in each other for eons. Minutes later Steve finally pulls back, wiping the snot from his nose and scrubbing at his eyes. The sun has barely moved. The twilight sky outside of his small kitchen window is a burst of pinks and oranges.

The glow is reflected in Robin’s eyes, catching the gold in her hair like the sun itself has woven into her whole being. She’s beautiful. Even more so when she smiles at him, still so full of love that he can’t stand to look at her. So Steve closes his eyes and kisses her on the forehead, cherishing the fact that she’s still here.

She’s still here.

He repeats it over and over like the mantra of a man who's almost lost everything. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she is everything to him. Steve might’ve lost his chance with Eddie, and maybe some people think he’s bullshit. But not Robin– never her. He’ll always have her, and she’ll always have him, because if she’s not leaving him, he’s sure as hell not ever leaving her either.

Part 4 coming soon(ish)

I always upload to Tumblr first but follow on ao3 if you prefer

Tag list!

@carolperkinsexgirlfriend <3

@dreamy-jeans137 @yesdangerpls @estrellami-1 @gloomysoup @eternal-sunflowers

@samcoxramblings @shoujo-wizard @vampirexlover13 @stripey82  @the-fatal-lozenge

@kimsnooks @what-is-life-but-an-empty-void @theohohmoment @stedestielfrattficlover @gloomdivision

@sharingisntkaren @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thewickedkat @mugloversonly @glittergluekintsugi

@adealwithher @coleys-a-nerd @the-fantastical-asexual @gatorguy777 @ataliagold

@allyricas @devondespresso @me-ig7 @unorphaned-in-our-northern-lghts @scoops-aboy86

@sofadofax @bookworm0690 @ellietheasexylibrarian  @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scaredbisexual

@stevesharingtons

[queenie-ofthe-void]

anything jamie and roy please ☺️

Jamie living his childhood dream scenario nr. [???] VS Roy fighting for his life

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Here are the things I love most about Psych:

There is a general lack of sexism and misogyny amongst the characters. The women are portrayed as competent as the men and as accomplished as the men. They show platonic male/female friendships and relationships without trying to force something romantic between characters.

There is a general lack of homophobia. Shawn doesn't get offended when people think he and Gus are together. Shawn and Gus are portrayed perfectly in the sense that there is no toxic masculinity. They are open with their love and friendship and don't "no homo" it.

They don't push the marriage or baby rhetoric. Shawn and Juliet having an open conversation about deciding not to want children and just have dogs, and not feeling pressure to be married until the 1st movie is so refreshing, and even then, they didn't make it a big deal. The women in Psych are written for more than being love interests.

They don't downplay Shawn's trauma around his childhood, especially as it contrasts with Gus's more stable home life. Shawn and Henry's relationship feels (to me) like the epitome of "I can understand how and why you did what you did, but that doesn't mean I have to forgive you for it." Likewise, they don't minimize the trauma Juliet had over Ying. They never tell her to "get over it" or try and tell her it wasn't that bad.

They show that what makes a villain isn't black and white. The villains are complicated, like Yang and Desperaux. They're not all bad, but they're also not all good.

All of the storylines with animals are just *chefs kiss.*

The writing is so good. It's comedic but has feelings. It is a safe space. All of the characters grow throughout the course of the show. They don't just stay stagnant.

Anyway. I love it.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Part 2

Steve is an absolute fucking idiot for thinking Eddie would ever be interested in him. He’s no one compared to a guy like Jonathan. All Steve brings to the table is a nice body and an empty home. He doesn’t read nerdy books or like obscure indie music. And as much as the kids try to explain DnD to him– he can’t work past the math and weird names. 

Jonathan, on the other hand, is sensitive. It’s why Nancy chose him over Steve, and it’s one of the same reasons she likes Robin. They’re two people who are good at listening and always know exactly what to say. He can’t help but think back to Carol ranting about something Tommy did to piss her off, only to stop mid-sentence because she thought Steve wasn’t listening. That was never true though. He just didn’t know what to say.

He listened to Nancy talk about Barb in a way Steve never figured out how to do. Jonathan is more in touch with his emotions as Nancy worded it when she’d finally confronted Steve about what happened. Steve can’t keep track of his own emotions, let alone read others’ body language or hear it in their voice. 

Even if Steve had confessed his pathetic crush, and Eddie– for god knows what reason, reciprocated– it’s not like he’d all of a sudden be interested in any of Steve’s lame, normie hobbies like cars, sports, or working out. Sure Eddie came to the park every once in a while to watch Steve and Lucas practice on the court, but he was almost always bent over his notebook working on either new song lyrics or campaign notes.

Really, it shouldn’t be as much of a shock as it is that Eddie and Jonathan ended up together. It’s just– Steve had hoped. 

Which is now how he’s ended up hiding in his own kitchen on the verge of a breakdown. He feels like he’s coming undone, almost exactly how he’d felt after fighting Billy and stalking through the tunnels, when the adrenaline had worn off and the pain had kicked in. When he laid down in bed and screamed until his voice went hoarse, burning off as much energy as he could without exacerbating his injuries.

Shit, he’s actually crying. Steve hates crying. There’s a goddamn hurricane of emotions building up and he doesn’t know what to do with any of it. All he can feel is the heat creeping up his neck and the grit of his teeth grinding together. He hears his dad’s condescending tone in the back of his mind telling him not to be a pussy, a fairy– to be a man. 

The front door slams shut, cutting through the swirl of frustration just enough for Steve to realize he’s losing it. At least now he’s alone, he can do what he’s always done to calm down. Do it without judgement, without prying, concerned eyes. Because he knows it’s not healthy, but it works. Steve rubs the sleeve of his sweater over his leaking nose, heading for the stairs to grab what he still keeps hidden under his bed when he hears it. The faint step of socked feet coming down the hall towards the kitchen.

There’s only one person it could be, and even though he desperately wants to be left alone, he’s at least thankful it’s her. Still, he needs her to leave, because he’s barely containing himself as it is and he knows she’ll want to talk about it, want to console him and be the prying, concerned eyes he’s hoping to avoid. 

Before the kitchen door opens, Steve turns his back toward her to face out the kitchen window overlooking the pool. Flinching at the sight, he instead moves his gaze to stare sightlessly down at the counter, gripping the edge of the sink to brace himself. 

“Everyone’s gone home,” Robin says, the consolatory tone grating against his skin. He doesn’t need her pity, or anyone else’s. Besides, Steve wouldn’t even be in this mess if it wasn’t for her. Letting people meddle in his love life has never worked out for Steve in the past, and he doesn’t understand why he convinced himself it would be different this time just because it was Robin. 

She’s the one who pushed him to act on his crush, even though Steve knew it wouldn’t amount to anything. And he was right. He can’t stop his mind from raking through every small detail she shared about Eddie. Like how Eddie blushed anytime Steve laughed at his jokes, or how he'd gaze at Steve from across the room. When she gushed about how Eddie would go out of his way to be next to Steve in a crowded space, quite literally pushing people out of the way to get closer. 

But of course none of it was real. He laments himself for ever believing anything she ever said. Even with her good intentions, it was all just lies and bullshit. Steve is always bullshit.

“Then why are you still here?” he bites back. Steve can already feel his former crown sliding back into place. It’s sickening how much he misses it. The old, awful comfort he worked so hard to shed. And yet, it feels so fucking good to wear it again. It feels as safe and familiar as the ache in his shoulders and the bloody blisters on his palms from a good round of practicing his swing.  

Steve expected her to shout at him. He expected her to fruitlessly attempt to make him feel better, accompanied with a well-deserved apology. But instead, Steve’s shocked when a heavy silence falls between them. 

People always have a reaction when they meet King Steve, whether it’s disdain from the kids he tormented, pride from his asshole friends, or disappointment from people like Nancy. Robin’s never met the King before, not really.

The tension pulls at his guilt as shame burns him from the inside out. It’s been too long since he’s been King Steve. This time, there’s no false bravado to help him not give a shit, to not care about the people around him. Because it’s Robin– of course he cares. He always has.

The crown might be a cold comfort, but it’s been too long since Steve’s had to wield it as a sword and shield. He’s unpracticed, unsteady as he feels the heavy crown sit crooked atop his head. And yet, it’s the only lifeline he has, so he clings to it.

Steve still hasn’t turned around to face her. He denies the sharp urge to look at her– to consume and study every twitch of her mouth, every crinkle of her eyes– to know what she’s thinking right now. She’s the only person he’s ever easily understood– except for Eddie. They wear their emotions out loud, and he loves them for it. But looking at her she gets to see him too. 

Except he should’ve known he can’t hide, especially from her. He’s ripped from his seething by a firm hand on his shoulder, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

“Steve, look at me.”

Brushing her hand off his shoulder, Steve storms across the kitchen. She can’t look at him, she can’t see him. He can’t talk to her with all the shit clogging his throat. It’s all bubbling up inside him, the way it always does, thoughts and feelings he can’t name or pin down long enough to examine, not that he’d ever want to in the first place. 

“I don’t want you here, Robin. So just– get out of my house. Leave. ”

Steve swallows the hot acid suddenly flooding the back of his throat. He feels deranged, sweating with anxiety, skin too warm with the anger vibrating just below the surface. This is beyond King Steve, the cool, calm, collected guy without a care in the world. Now, he’s barely contained, lashing out at anything and anyone around him. 

Robin’s never seen him like this before. He’s never wanted her to see him this full of shit, knowing she’d leave him the second she caught a hint of his former self– his true self. His friends only liked him now because of the goofy, roll-with-the-punches guy he’s worked so hard to become. 

Sick dread roils in his stomach. She’ll leave him after this, and then he’ll be alone. He can’t help but think maybe that’s a good thing.

“Hey!” Robin shouts, a warning as much as it is to grab his attention. Steve’s never heard her yell before, not like this. Shock forces him to turn and look at her, and what he finds is somehow worse than he could’ve expected.

Her eyes are wet with frustration. There’s an unexpected wrinkle to her forehead he’s only used to seeing when she’s concentrating, but instead of her tongue sticking out slightly to match the expression, her lips are pressed into a thin, white line.

It’s the ruddy, red splotches staining her face and neck that twist his insides. Brutal, obvious hurt. The same color red Steve has seen time and time again whenever Robin cries, whenever she’s embarrassed or angry. A red so much more chaotic than the adorable blush that tints her cheeks when Nancy smiles at her, or when Steve tells her he loves her. This is a burning red, and it’s his fault.

No matter how much it hurts to look at what he’s done to her, all of it is drowned out by the unimaginable steel behind her glistening eyes. Shoulders pulled back, spine straight, Steve’s looking at a Robin who’s ready to fight demons, ready to throw moltovs. 

Shit. She’s going to fight him.

Sure enough, Robin marches across the kitchen and crowds him against the counter. She points a shaking finger in his face as the countertop digs into his back. “You don’t get to do this,” her voice shakes but holds firm. “You don’t get to act like this, to be this guy again. Not to me.”

He can feel the snarl in his upper lip, his flared nostrils. Robin’s eyes bore into him, rake over his face, meeting his glare with her own. Because no matter how much Steve tries to force the crown to fit, it never will. It never did, not really.

He scoffs. The sound’s a little too wet, too choked up. “What makes you think you’re any different than–”

“Because I know you, Steve Harrington” she shouts, poking her still raised finger hard into his shoulder. It stings. “Better than Nancy, or Dustin, or Eddie– better than Tommy and Carol ever did. I know you better than anyone.”

He can’t breathe, can’t goddamn think when he’s this angry. Steve repositions his hand braced behind him on the countertop, haphazardly knocking over a few stray glasses over where they sit drying on the rack. 

Robin’s so close to him it’s virtually impossible to avoid her judgmental tears. She’s flaying him open, the dread he’s filled with now so much more visceral than when Nancy called him bullshit or even when Eddie leaned in to Jonathan’s kiss. Because Robin is Robin, and right now King Steve’s a runaway freight train that can’t be stopped. It’ll run her down, hurt her in ways he won’t be able to fix.

“Shut up,” Steve snaps.

“Scared that you’re going to end up alone again just because Eddie–”

“I said shut up,”

“You aren’t alone, Steve. You have me,” Robin pleads, shaking him as she reaches out to grip the front of his shirt. “You have me, and I have you. And I’m never leaving you–”

“I SAID SHUT UP!”

Steve sees red. There’s something smooth and cold tucked tight in his grip, followed by a loud smash as the glass he grabbed shatters against the wall opposite them. The tinkling of shards gliding across the tile lights up his nerves. 

He’s vibrating out of his skin. He’s ready to fight, to brace for a hit that’ll knock him back into his body. A hit to the head in an alleyway or a plate to the head or a bottle to his throat anything to just bring him the fuck down.

Craving floods his veins. Steve needs to swing and hit and smash his bat into any tree stump he can find, breaking it down to splinters until there’s no feeling left in his arms. Because he’s vibrating and shaking and fuck why does he miss this?

None of those things, however, are what pull back his focus. It’s a small sniffle, the loosening of his shirt as small hands finally release him. Robin’s backed up into the kitchen island across from him, just out of arms reach but a chasm away. Her eyes are wider than he’s ever seen them, hands over her mouth in shock.

This is it. This is always it, where everything ends. Because if she didn’t know him before, she’s seen the truth of him now. Pull the cold crown of Steve Harrington away and all that’s left is someone angry and violent. Dangerous– someone to be afraid of, to steer clear from. 

A person like Steve doesn’t deserve people like Robin or Eddie, good people who care and love without having to play pretend and hide all the things wrong with them. There’s always so much wrong with Steve. He’s known it since he was small, when ripping and tearing felt good until he saw his teddy shredded in his hands. So have his parents.Once people figure it out for themselves, they leave.

He’s done so well at hiding it over the few years he’s known her. Now, he’s fucked it up like he always does.

Robin takes a slow step towards him, hands slightly raised like she’s placating a spooked animal. He feels like one too. A rabid dog, shorts breaths coming in and out and in again too fast, leaving him lightheaded. Steve feels frozen under her gaze, unable to move as he watches her move closer. 

With each step forward, his eyes stay locked on to hers, both unblinking. Steve takes advantage to catalogue every piece of her. All of the freckles, the stray blonde highlights in her bangs, every eyelash and the flecks of green in her eyes. He’ll never forget Robin.

Steve watches her until she’s pressed close to him again, and doesn’t move when she reaches behind him. A goodbye hug, he thinks. Except she doesn’t wrap her arms around him in a warm embrace, or hold him close to comfort.

She steps back again, her eyes now alight with mischief and resolve. There’s a quirk to her lips he can’t place. It’s such a drastic shift in her mood he doesn’t notice the glass in her hand until she winds up.

Robin plants her feet before taking a large step forward with her left foot, winding up her right arm in the exact form he taught her over the summer, when they played softball with the kids. She’d made fun of him for being a jock of course, too obsessed with telling her to follow through on each of her throws. It’d been worth it for him though, when she’d struck out both Mike and Dustin.

It’s worth it now, as he watches the crystal glass explode right next to the scuff on the wall his own glass had left behind. Large, twinkling shards of clear glass slide across the floor between the smaller slivers. It’s almost beautiful, the way the pieces reflect the sun setting through the window, casting little rainbows across the tile. 

Robin threads her fingers between his own and squeezes hard. Steve looks into her blown out eyes, her face split into a manic grin as she trembles with adrenaline. A feeling he knows all too well, and relies on more than he should. When he squeezes her hand back, she shifts her energy into bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“I told you, Dingus,” Robin says, letting go of his hand to grab his cheeks, squeezing them together until his lips pucker, “I’m not going anywhere. So if you want to be mad, let's be mad together. And if you want to cry, let’s cry together. Because you don’t scare me, Steve Harrington, and you’ll never be too much for me.”

This time she does wrap her arms around him. Steve reflexively tucks his head into her neck and breathes. She smells like weed and the cheap lavender perfume from Melvald’s he bought her last Christmas, and it makes him so happy he cries. His body sags into hers, wrung out with exhaustion. It feels like coming home, like he’s only whole when she’s pressed against his chest. 

She’s seen him now, the best and the worst of him, and she’s still here. So Steve cries harder. His tears and snot stain the collar of her sweater. Robin runs her hands through his hair, shushing him as he gasps for breath, fighting against the tears even though he knows he doesn’t have to when he’s with her. 

They stand there in the kitchen, floor covered in splinters of glass, wrapped up in each other for eons. Minutes later Steve finally pulls back, wiping the snot from his nose and scrubbing at his eyes. The sun has barely moved. The twilight sky outside of his small kitchen window is a burst of pinks and oranges.

The glow is reflected in Robin’s eyes, catching the gold in her hair like the sun itself has woven into her whole being. She’s beautiful. Even more so when she smiles at him, still so full of love that he can’t stand to look at her. So Steve closes his eyes and kisses her on the forehead, cherishing the fact that she’s still here.

She’s still here.

He repeats it over and over like the mantra of a man who's almost lost everything. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, she is everything to him. Steve might’ve lost his chance with Eddie, and maybe some people think he’s bullshit. But not Robin– never her. He’ll always have her, and she’ll always have him, because if she’s not leaving him, he’s sure as hell not ever leaving her either.

Part 4 coming soon(ish)

I always upload to Tumblr first but follow on ao3 if you prefer

Tag list!

@carolperkinsexgirlfriend <3

@dreamy-jeans137 @yesdangerpls @estrellami-1 @gloomysoup @eternal-sunflowers

@samcoxramblings @shoujo-wizard @vampirexlover13 @stripey82  @the-fatal-lozenge

@kimsnooks @what-is-life-but-an-empty-void @theohohmoment @stedestielfrattficlover @gloomdivision

@sharingisntkaren @live-laugh-love-dietrich @thewickedkat @mugloversonly @glittergluekintsugi

@adealwithher @coleys-a-nerd @the-fantastical-asexual @gatorguy777 @ataliagold

@allyricas @devondespresso @me-ig7 @unorphaned-in-our-northern-lghts @scoops-aboy86

@sofadofax @bookworm0690 @ellietheasexylibrarian  @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @scaredbisexual

@stevesharingtons

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Steve is rifling through Eddie's collection of magazines, while he's waiting on Eddie and Wayne to get done fixing the dryer(Wayne's fixing, Eddie's getting in the way it sounds like), when he realizes how insane the assortment is; Heavy Metal, Car and Driver, Rolling Stone, National Geographic, OMNI, MAD, even a copy of Good Housekeeping. It's all so Eddie though, to have so many varying interests. He's a little jealous, if he's being honest with himself.

"You have a lot of stuff," he comments when Eddie comes back, closing the copy of Rolling Stone.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, let me just..." He starts kicking a pile of clothes under the bed.

Steve huffs a laugh. "No, I meant you have a lot of interests." He waves the magazine. "Hobbies and stuff."

Eddie nods, continues to shove piles of stuff under the bed anyway. "I guess, yeah. I tend to jump from thing to thing though. Last night it was painting miniatures, tonight it could be writing a song. I don't really get a say in which one. Oh, nice, I've been looking for this," he says, holding up a random T-shirt.

He watches Eddie get distracted by the new discovery and leave the rest of the pile where it's at, smiling to himself as Eddie goes on a tangent about merch vendors at concerts being the real enemy of the people.

"How do you know what you like?" Steve inadvertently blurts out during a gap in Eddie's tale.

He turns toward Steve. "What do you mean?"

What does he mean? "I guess... It's just, I like cars and sports and girls. That's, like, kind of it. And since I started being friends with Henderson and Robin and you I've figured out that's, like, the most basic shit a guy could be into. Level One Dude Interests. So, I guess I just want to know how you find other things? And how will I know if I'm interested?"

"Hmm." He frowns softly. "I've never had to think about it before. I kinda just...fall into things. I like it or I don't."

"Okay, but what's it feel like?"

Eddie puts the shirt down, forgotten again in a moment, and sits. "What does it feel like when you think about cars and sports and girls?"

Steve really thinks about it. Nothing is as consuming as when he was younger, but he does remember a vague sense of excitement, a feeling of connection with the people he surrounded himself with, who shared his interests. But he hasn't felt that in a while. Maybe he wasn't as into those things as he thought, was only into the connection.

"You're having very deep thoughts over there," Eddie points out with a grin.

"Shut up." He grins back. "I think maybe I don't actually know what it feels like to like something because I like it, not just because everyone else likes it. You know what I mean?"

"Well, yes but no." He waves both hands to indicate his person and also the chaos of the room around them.

"See? This is why I'm asking you. If anyone can help me figure out what I like it's you."

Eddie slaps both hands together and rubs. "A project! Excellent idea!"

Wasn't his idea but sure.

"First we have to get you exposure to new things. Movies, TV, music, culture. Then we'll rate how you feel about each demographic. Your music taste is already improving so that's good. Movies, I'm thinking 12 Angry Men to start. Food? Authentic Mexican. We're gonna get you excited about shit!" He seems excited enough for the both of them, which is great. "Excitement is key! You want enthusiasm, yearning even. Your interests should consume your every waking thought. When I'm consuming a new hobby, I'm focused like a shark, I'm obsessed. I go to bed thinking about it and wake up thinking about it. Excited to get back to whatever it is. I wanna talk about it, share it with other people. Complete and total immersion. You wanna marry that interest. You know what I mean?"

Steve blinks at him, stunned into silence. Eddie's just described how Steve feels about him...

Oh.

Oh.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

at a tribal finance conference listening to a quileute tribal council member talk about how companies have bought every house in forks, wa because it’s a tourist destination so they can’t hire people to work for the tribe

anyway fuck stephenie meyer for profiting so intensely off of racist stereotypes of quilteutes and all native people while never contributing a dime to help them solve the problems she caused!

if you have the ability, you can donate to their move to higher ground fund here: https://mthg.org

[queenie-ofthe-void]

I'm VERY SERIOUSLY considering starting an event that focuses on Steve and The Party. Ships would be welcome but would be secondary to Steve and the kids.

But I've never organized an event before and it'd be a lot of work, so I'm trying to gauge people's interest.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Steddie | modern au | famous actor Steve Harrington | 3.4k | ao3

from this post

Eddie can’t stop the laugh that comes out of him because of the video on his screen, Gareth snickering next to him.

“This is great, I have to show this to the others later,” Eddie says. His fingers move automatically, pressing on the send icon and then on the profile at the very top, a move he has done hundreds of times.

“Dude, did you just send that to Steve Harrington?” Gareth asks with a dumbfounded tone.

“Yeah?”

“Why are you acting like that’s normal?”

“Because it is? I just send him the posts I find funny to find them later.”

“You know there is a way to save posts so that they are organized, right?”

“I don’t like it and this is like way easier.”

“It’s literally not,” Gareth says, but Eddie doesn’t pay attention to him or stop.

“Look,” he goes to the front page, slides to the dms and opens the conversation with Steve Harrington, always at the top. “It’s just right there.” He starts scrolling up to show him the long string of unanswered memes and videos, but Gareth interrupts him.

“Wait, wait. Scroll back down, what the fuck is that? Does he read your messages?” He is pointing to the little icon with Harrington’s profile picture just above the last video he’s sent. Eddie shrugs.

“It’s probably a bored media guy enjoying some memes on the clock or making sure I’m not a weirdo, it’s not like Steve Harrington actually uses this account.”

“You are a weirdo, I’m surprised you are not blocked yet.”

-

Eddie is on his phone, passing the time as he keeps an eye on the lonely customer currently looking through the new vinyls. It’s a routine, a mindless action as he saves another post to show the guys later, preferring to see their reactions in person. Nothing ever happens, that’s why he gets surprised to the point of sitting up when a notification appears on his screen.

Steve.hrrgtn: Dude, you just made me laugh in the middle of a table reading

Eddie freezes as the notification disappears. Did he see that right? He couldn’t have seen that right.

He goes to his dms and surely, there at the top, is a message from THE Steve Harrington, or at least from his account. A table reading. It has to be him, right? Not an intern or a media guy. The one and only.

Eddie sends a look to the customer, still engrossed in the new releases. He is tempted to call her so she can check if the message is real or an hallucination provoked by his boredom. When he looks down, the message is still there. It is also still there when he opens the conversation. His fingers hover over screen.

He can picture him, sitting around a long table with his castmates, hiding his phone like a student in class but unable to keep his laugh in.

The vision is a bit surreal. He made Steve Harrington laugh.

Batking: why are you looking at your phone in the middle of a table reading

Steve.hrrgtn: new season boring af

It’s Eddie the one that can’t keep his laugh in this time. The girl sends him a look, but he doesn’t care.

Batking: should you be telling me that?

 Steve.hrrgtn: I don’t even care at this point tbh

Batking: you are the one that signed the contract my guy

Steve.hrrgtn: I didn’t

Steve.hrrgtn: Never let your parents sign you into a multi season show when you are fifteen

Batking: I’ll keep that in mind for my next life

Batking: Sorry your parents made you a millionaire and famous

Steve.hrrgtn: 💀💀💀

Steve.hrrgtn: but really, at the time I thought hey it’s only a contract for five seasons for a teen drama, how bad could it be?

Steve.hrrgtn: now here I am, almost ten years later, listening to the worst script you have heard in your life

Batking: that does sound awful

Batking: you are making me happy that my folks are not in the picture

Is Eddie about to vent about his life to Steve fucking Harrington? It seems like it.

In the end, he doesn’t, because Harrington doesn’t answer to his message, probably swept away into actually working, or maybe he realised how weird it was that he was talking so casually to a guy he didn’t know.

Eddie doesn’t have time to wallow on it too much, because the girl comes to the counter with a vinyl and a question. The interaction with the famous actor moving to a part of Eddie’s brain normally reserved to daydreams.

-

Eddie thought that his interaction with Steve Harrington would be a one time thing, the guy looking at his phone because he was too bored and answering his message because, by some kind of cosmic coincidence, Eddie had happened to send it at the perfect moment. Just an impulsive action that he had regretted later. That’s why he is surprised when he gets a new notification after sending him the worst kind of shitpost ever, the ones that the algorithm feeds him at 2am – the current time – and send him in a fit of giggles with their complete absurdity.

Steve.hrrgtn: where do you even find these things

Batking: you are just jealous my algorithm is better than yours

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah everyday I dream about my instagram showing me a pig made with a sausage and sticks surfing some rotating meat skewers

Batking: It made you laugh though

Steve.hrrgtn: …..

Steve.hrrgtn: It did

Eddie lets out a short, disbelieving snort. It’s a bit crazy, knowing that somewhere out there a famous heartthrob is looking at his messages at 2am and laughing.

Unless this is the media guy.

Eddie prefers to believe that he is so funny he made a guy with millions of followers want to talk to him. Twice.

Batking: why are you awake at this hour anyway

Batking: shouldnt you be getting your beauty sleep

Steve.hrrgtn: we start filming the new season tomorrow

Steve.hrrgtn: today?

Steve.hrrgtn: and I can’t sleep

Batking: nightmares about the boring script

Batking: I see

Steve.hrrgtn: you could say that

Batking: well, check this out, your nightmares will go away

He sends another stupid meme (of the best kind, the ones from accounts that write in Cyrillic) and receives a set of skull emojis in answer.

-

Steve.hrrgtn: why have you stopped sending me memes

The message takes Eddie by surprise. It’s been a week since he texted with Steve Harrington for the second time – which still feels a bit surreal-, and he had decided to stop bothering the poor guy now that he knew he saw his messages. Going to his saved posts was still a nightmare, but Eddie knew how to behave.

Batking: didnt want to bother you now that you are working and I know you see them

Steve.hrrgtn: they have been my main entertainment for months you can’t just stop now when I need them most

Eddie blinks at the message. Months? The confirmation stuns him. The one that had been seeing his messages had always been him and not some media guy? Eddie remembers catching his name a few times on his Instagram stories. This is a bit trippy, if he is honest.

Batking: okay

Batking: as my liege commands

Batking: from now on I am your knight in shining armour your sole provider of memes

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: did you kill the villain today?

Steve.hrrgtn: This is a teen drama???

-

Batking: *reel attached*

Batking: so, is the bad guy dead yet?

Steve.hrrgtn: Again???

Steve.hrrgtn: I told you like a thousand times that there is no bad guy to kill

Steve.hrrgtn: have you even watched my show?

Batking: I mean the scriptwriter

Steve.hrrgtn: lmao

Steve.hrrgtn: no, he is sadly not dead yet

Steve.hrrgtn: I think killing him would be a breach of my contract somehow

Batking: a pity

Batking: the way he insists on making your character straight? He deserves death.

Batking: don’t worry joe from normal life, I saw the way you looked at dacre, I know what you are

Steve.hrrgtn: I think that might have just been the way I was looking at Billy, the guy’s fucking hot

Steve.hrrgtn: an asshole though, glad he is not on the show anymore

Eddie pauses, his eyes reading the last two messages time and time again. Did Steve Harrington, heartthrob and ladies man, just admit to being attracted to a male coworker? Eddie’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. He looks up at Gareth from his place in their couch. He is not paying attention to him, too focused on his laptop.

Eddie is having a bit of a crisis here and his roommate is ignoring him. Maybe it’s best that he is, Eddie doesn’t really want to share this with anyone. Should he bring attention to it? Should he just ignore it and brush it off? The decision is not that difficult in the end. He needs to know. He knows that there is no way he has any possibility of actually bagging Steve Harrington. Exchanging messages and memes is one thing, a pseudo friendship is one thing, but something more? Not fucking likely.

He still needs to know.

Batking: did I just get exclusive confirmation that Steve Harrington likes men? Should I call tmz?

Steve.hrrgtn: you wouldn’t get any money

Steve.hrrgtn: I’ve been out as bisexual for years, the media just chooses to ignore it

Steve.hrrgtn: wow look at these pictures of Steve Harrington with his new male best friend that he goes to dinner and all premieres with! Totally platonic! Oh now they have stopped hanging out completely? What could have happened to their friendship?

Steve.hrrgtn: he cheated on me, that’s what happened

Eddie blinks at his screen. So, he had tried to avoid learning anything about Steve that the man didn’t tell him himself. Just a chivalrous, treat the guy like a normal person gesture, but now he is wondering if he should have paid a bit more attention.

Batking: ah yes, the joys of compulsory heterosexuality and conformity

Batking: that sucks, dude

Steve.hrrgtn: did you really not know anything about it?

Batking: sorry to burst your celebrity bubble where everyone knows everything about your life

Steve.hrrgtn: no no, it’s… nice

Steve.hrrgtn: I have a question though

Steve.hrrgtn: why did you start sending me memes if you were not really interested in me?

Batking: well

Batking: I needed someone very famous that wasnt likely to really see my messages and seemed chill enough to not block me immediately

Batking: and dude, you are like waaay more famous than the show you are in, it’s ridiculous, thought you must be a douche for a long time

Batking: but an interview with you and your friend Robin showed up on my fyp and I saw that you were pretty chill

Batking: so it was between you and Timothee Chalamet

Batking: and it ended up being you because you are hotter

Steve.hrrgtn: of course I am

Steve.hrrgtn: thank you for choosing me tho

Batking: anyone would have

Steve.hrrgtn: the casting director of a complete unknown didn’t think the same

Batking: well thats THEIR loss

Batking: you do a great job with the shitty script of normal life

Batking: you would have acted the fuck out of bob dylan

Steve.hrrgtn: I do a better job in my other stuff

Batking: you have other stuff??

Batking: I’m going to be honest with you here, I only watched normal life so I had context to bitch about the boring new season with you

Eddie looks at the three little dots that indicate that Steve is writing appear a disappear a few times. Did he fuck up? Maybe he sounded too eager, maybe Steve thought it was a bit weird that Eddie assumed they would continue talking. But they have been talking for weeks now. Was it bad to assume?

Eddie closes the app, deciding to give the guy some privacy to write down what he wants to write down and heads to the kitchen to prepare his dinner. If Gareth senses the way his mood has soured, he doesn’t say anything about it.

It takes a couple of hours for an answer to appear. It’s simple.

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s nice of you

-

It’s Steve the one that starts the conversation a couple of days after that. Eddie only sees his messages an hour after he sends them, too busy with customers. The group of notifications on his screen when he is finally able to look at his phone very welcome.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I just realised

Steve.hrrgtn: well, my best friend made me realise

Steve.hrrgtn: she basically said that it’s weird that I’ve been talking with you for weeks and don’t know anything about your actual life and that you could actually be a stalker with a lot of patience or something like that

Steve.hrrgtn: so tell me about yourself? You are not living like down the street from me and waiting for the right moment to kidnap me like Robin says are you?

Eddie tries not to feel giddy at the thought of Steve talking about him to his friends. He has not done it himself, mostly because he tried once and they made fun of his ‘delusions’ as they called it. Whatever. He doesn’t really expect Steve to still be online, probably already swept out to his own job, so he just sends his answer.

Batking: a very reasonable fear, some facts to follow

Batking: I live as far from you as you live from Chicago

Batking: I am a humble employee at a record store where I have to deal with pretentious assholes daily that don’t really care about music and just about bragging about their record collection

Batking: I also have a band with my friends

Batking: we have a whooping 1756 listeners on spotify

Batking: I know, I know, you didn’t know you were talking with a rockstar try not to be very starstruck

The answer, to his surprise, comes almost immediately.

Steve.hrrgtn: 1757

Batking: what?

Steve.hrrgtn: what kind of friend would I be if I didn’t listen to your band now that I know it exists?

Eddie would be lying if he said that that didn’t make his heart skip a beat. Is this healthy? Probably not. Is he developing a weird parasocial relationship with the guy? Probably yes, but is it even a parasocial relationship if he is actually talking with the guy and he called him his friend? This should be considered a normal crush, a normal, hopeless crush.

Batking: a very shitty one tbh here’s the link

Steve.hrrgtn: can I ask something else?

Batking: course

Steve.hrrgtn: you only have one pic in your profile and it’s with your friends

Steve.hrrgtn: which one are you?

Eddie taps the back of his phone a few times. It’s only natural that Steve would wonder that. He could just tell him, or… Eddie opens the camera and takes a picture, too close to see his face properly but enough that Steve will know who he is in the group picture now.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: this one

Steve.hrrgtn: fuck

-

Steve.hrrgtn: okay so the thought of you only seeing me in normal life is eating me alive

The notification comes when Eddie is with his friends, preparing for a night of DnD. Eddie was looking up some music to get the atmosphere going, but the music app immediately gets abandoned in lieu of the message.

Batking: can’t get me out of your head?

He knows he has been unable to keep the stupid smile out of his face when Jeff tries to glance at his screen. Eddie immediately slams the phone against his chest.

“Jeez, I thought you were looking at stupid memes again, who are you texting that got you smiling like that?” Jeff asks. He moves back to sit straight, so Eddie can look at his phone again.

“No one,” he says as he reads the new message.

Steve.hrrgtn: so I have a couple of indie films that are very good

So Steve has decided to ignore his message. Okay.

“He’s been like this for WEEKS now,” Gareth intervenes as he sits down at his spot. “He said it was Steve Harrington when I asked him when he started and has refused to say anything else.”

“The white boy of the month?” Jeff asks.

“White boy of the century,” Eddie feels the need to correct.

Batking: that’s great and all but I can’t watch your limited release indie films anywhere

Steve.hrrgtn: that’s why I’m sharing a link to the latest one with you

Steve.hrrgtn: don’t share it with anyone though

Batking: aw breaking the rules for little ol me?

Steve.hrrgtn: yeah yeah don’t get too cocky now

Steve.hrrgtn: can’t wait for your reaction 😉

Eddie stares at the winking emoji in confusion. What is that supposed to mean?

“Can you stop texting your white boy of the century now so we can start?” Gareth asks.

“Just a second.” Eddie sends a quick message back before he moves to the music app again, chooses the first song he sees and puts the phone down.

Batking: send it to me, soldier, I will watch it tonight and give you my honest opinion

-

Eddie stares at the screen of his laptop, currently on his thighs as he was lounging on his bed, seeing the film Steve had sent to him. The film is currently paused, Steve’s face staring at him with eyes and mouth half open.

Okay, so Eddie just watched his famous guy turned friend have an orgasm – fake! Fake an orgasm, Eddie feels it’s very important that he makes that clear to himself – on screen after probably the most erotic sex scene he has seen in a non porno in the last 10 years. Fuck. How did he not know about the existence of this? How did this not make the news? Probably because it was with another man. Double fuck.

Maybe this is normal for Steve, for actors in general, to send their friends a link to a film where you have a soul shattering orgasm with a message about wanting to know their reaction with a winking emoji. It is not normal for Eddie. It is also not normal for his dick, who has not gotten the memo about this not being something it should be getting so excited about.

Eddie bites his lip. His finger moves on its own, backing the film a few minutes so the scene plays again. Eddie tries to convince himself that this is not weird if Steve was the one that wanted him to see this in the first place.

Eddie curses and takes a deep breath. He eyes his phone. It’s late, nearly midnight, but he knows that Steve is normally away at this hour.

Maybe this is not normal for Steve either, maybe he did want to get some kind of reaction out of Eddie.

Eddie snaps a picture of his laptop screen, careful to get the tent in his pants just in the edge of the picture. It’s very obvious on it what scene he is watching.

Batking: *picture attached*

Batking: you sure know how to get a guy hot and bothered

Maybe he can play it off as a joke if Steve didn’t mean it like Eddie wants him to mean it.

Steve.hrrgtn: glad to see my acting is that good

Fuck, Eddie fucked it up, right?

Steve.hrrgtn: it did come out very natural

Steve.hrrgtn: but the real thing looks better

Eddie feels on the edge of a precipice, as if there should be a warning on his field of vision about how his choice here will change the trajectory of his story.

Batking: can’t say

Batking: I haven’t seen the real thing, so I can’t really compare them, can I?

Steve.hrrgtn: would you want to?

Eddie can’t get his hopes up, he can’t assume, Steve is so out of his league, this can’t be happening to him.

Batking: have you acted in a porno I don’t know about?

Steve.hrrgtn: are you always this dense?

Eddie’s heart is dying in his chest, that’s the only explanation to how it’s feeling.

He doesn’t have time to type an answer, Eddie’s screen is suddenly filled with something else.

Steve Harrington is video calling him.

Eddie has never accepted a call so fast in his life before.

part 2...???

tag list: @steddiefication @tailsfromthecrypt @orionchildofhades @coralineinwonderland @theohohmoment (you didn't ask me to tag you but I guessed you'd want to see it?)

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight. It's hopeless romanticism, childish fantasy, another way the straights just aren't okay. He's not wrong--look how love at first sight worked out for Romeo and Juliet, both dead by the final act. Couldn't be him.

This makes him strong, he thinks. Smart.

He won't end up like his parents, infatuated for six months, and then years of his mom's sleepless nights as his dad came home less and less.

He's never been sold on the whole white picket fence thing. The world's let him know that it's not meant for him, no matter how many millions of records sold and dollars earned. Plus, he's seen the most beautiful men in the world, slept with many of them, and none of them enticed him for more than a good time.

The band's on a break--after a hit record, a sold out world tour, a couple of Grammy's, they deserve it--plus, the other Corroded guys, they have serious relationships, families, the aforementioned white picket fence. It's been him and Wayne for as long as he cares to remember, and he loves his uncle more than anything, but when the offer comes in to solo headline a festival in Australia, he doesn't hesitate.

He has songs, plenty of them, that don't quite fit Corroded Coffin's sound. There's never going to be an Eddie Munson solo album, at least he's never really considered it, so why not play this stuff in a 'one night only' kind of deal? Plus, he loves festivals, the atmosphere, the music, the delirious rush of it all.

He gets a lot of flack in industry rags for being a music snob, and sure he has strong opinions about metal, but he listens to and loves a wide range of artists across all genres. It's why he's so good at his job. At any festival, he considers it a professional duty to check out as many of the acts as he can, especially the ones he doesn't know yet.

He's waiting for a performance right now, pushed up against the barricade, hoodie on, tattoos obscured, piercings removed, hair in a tight bun, dark glasses his hiding eyes. He hadn't recognized this name in the line- up, the stylized SH, and the only stage decoration is a black backdrop, white letters spelling out, "Shhh," the outline of a finger over cherry red lips. It's cute, Eddie thinks.

He checks his phone, just for a second, and in the space of that moment, the crowd begins to cheer. He looks up, eager for his first glimpse of SH.

A man crosses the stage towards the mic, guitar slung across his chest. He's wearing a yellow polo and a pair of Levi's so tight Eddie's already about to get down on his knees and repent. He's got this coiffed shock of brown hair, a face dotted with freckles, perfectly kissable pink lips. Eddie's seen the hottest men in the world, slept with most of them, but this guy, this guy, is the prettiest one, and somehow he'd never considered pretty.

SH lifts his arms to wave to the crowd, and his polo is short, right, maybe cropped, so the move exposes a large expanse of his stomach. And Eddie, he knows abs, but never before have they been this perfect for biting, can already imagining the give beneath his teeth.

Eddie is transfixed, mesmerized, totally enamored, and he doesn't realize at first that the noise of the crowd, of SH's banter, has blanked into nothingness. It's only the shape of him, the awareness of his existence, that bleeds through.

He watches the stage, mouth wide, as the man's fingers find their places on the strings, as he begins to play music Eddie can't hear over the electric sizzle of his blood, the fuzzed out distortion of his heartbeat.

He has a moment to think, no, this isn't supposed to happen to me before SH begins to sing. The crisp tone of his voice is the only thing Eddie hears, hits him like the sharp buzz of an amplifier, reverberates through him like a plucked guitar string.

Oh no, he thinks. Not this. But there's no outrunning it.

He watches the performance in awe, eyes never leaving SH, immovable for the entire set, slack-jawed with wonder and sensory overload. Too soon SH is introducing the band, names Eddie can't decipher, says, "I'm Steve Harrington, thank you!"

Steve. Steve Harrington. Steve dances in a circle around his brain.

Even once Steve leaves the stage, Eddie doesn't move. He stands at the barricade, knuckles gone white where they clutch the metal, mind whirling. He's done for, a goner, how could this happen, how could this happen, how could this happen.

He stays as the crowd drifts away, as crew pack up instruments and cords, and different crew brings out new equipment. He stays as people trickle up for the next scheduled act, until he's surrounded, and only then does reality click back into focus.

Shoving his way out of the crowd, he rushes backstage, hastily presenting his VIP badge to security. He's too late, he's sure. He spent too much time processing, and surely Steve is gone now, back to an RV or a hotel or boarding an airplane. And maybe that's for the best, Eddie isn't meant for this, Eddie isn't--

Voices stop him in his tracks, a gaggle of children shouting over each other, blending into a cacophony, and in the middle of it all is Steve.

"All I said was that your set starts in five minutes. Why are you yelling at me?"

A girl with long red hair puts a straw to her lips, a spitball hitting Steve square in the forehead.

"Who says we're mad?" She asks, as the wet paper unsticks from his skin, plopping to the floor.

With that, the whole crew of them bop towards the stage, leaving Steve with an annoyed smile on his face.

"Those fucking kids," he says to someone out of Eddie's line of sight. The undertone is alarmingly fond given the sentiment.

Suddenly, the distance between them is too much, and his feet are moving, bringing him closer.

Steve is still talking, but Eddie's movement catches his attention, has him throwing a glance down the hall. He stops mid-sentence, sitting straighter in his chair, a bemused little smile spreading across his mouth.

It's too much, stops Eddie in his tracks, takes his breath. It doesn't stop Steve, though. He's standing and crossing the distance between them before Eddie so much as blinks.

"Hi," he says, when they're toe to toe, when he can see every green speck in Steve's shining hazel eyes. He takes off his sunglasses.

"Hi," Steve answers in a half-whisper, awestruck.

They stare at each other, both smiling.

"Can I kiss you?" Eddie asks.

"Might die if you didn't."

He wraps his hand around the back of Steve's neck, draws him in, holds their lips a hairsbreadth apart. With a sigh, Steve closes the distance, slotting their mouths together.

Eddie Munson doesn't believe in love at first sight, but as Steve's lips part for him, he has to admit this might be one of the rare occasions where he's wrong. After that first taste, there's no doubt that his happiness begins and ends with Steve Harrington. Irrevocably, forever.

They part, gently, noses still touching. Steve's smile is like the sunrise, bright, breathtaking.

"I've been waiting for you," Steve says.

"You have?"

"My whole life."

"Sorry I made you wait, sweetheart. It won't happen again."

I swear that I saw a post with a pic from Djo's first Coachella set with a premise that it was Eddie's first glimpse of Steve and he falls hopelessly in love with him, which obviously inspired this fic, and I can't find that post at all to give credit. So, if anyone knows remembers a post like this, let me know so I can credit for the inspo!

[queenie-ofthe-void]

'you wouldn't pirate a-' i would steal anything from any company. anything in the world. i dont even want it i just hate you

[queenie-ofthe-void]

rewatching ted lasso and underrated relationship y'all sam and jamie is such an underrated relationship. i think one of my favorite things about jamie's development is the development of his friendship with sam specifically. going from bullying and making fun of him to wearing his number as an homage to him during international play. chef's kiss.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Every time I see a fic or post about Steve deciding to have children with Robin as a surrogate it's always with an ivf and no. They wouldn't do that. You don't understand the vibe. They would 100% do it at home, classic style. Well, not classic classic. But a close approximation. I'm talking about Steve, or Eddie if this is Steddie, no, scratch that. Steve AND Eddie jerking off and coming into the same cup, getting the mix into a syringe (a baby russian roulette of sorts) and giving it to Robin to just... put it in.

It's cheap, easy, fast... sure, it's a bit weird jerking off when you know your friend is doing the same in the next room (because Steve had insisted that it was more effective if Robin came too "I read it in a book!" "From what century dingus?") But it works!! One try and there it is. A baby dingus in the oven.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

I'm VERY SERIOUSLY considering starting an event that focuses on Steve and The Party. Ships would be welcome but would be secondary to Steve and the kids.

But I've never organized an event before and it'd be a lot of work, so I'm trying to gage people's interest.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Your first pride story was touching and all but you still married a man.

Yeah, bisexuals do that sometimes.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

WIP Weekend Request

🏴‍☠️💥

Eddierotica please!

That's 3 more sentences for the BB!

And 3 more for eddierotica under the cut, continuing from here:

For a second, Stuart was convinced he could kiss his intact ass goodbye. (Or at least wave at it as his butt left for Vallhala. Even he, an athlete of the highest caliber, wasn't bendy enough to kiss it with his lips). But thankfully, under the watch of the alien’s fudge-esque brown eyes, his hole had been well lubricated and illuminated. Following the landing strip of glowing lube, the dildo sank deep into his tuchas with a schlorp.

Catching up on WIP Weekend asks

[queenie-ofthe-void]

I'm VERY SERIOUSLY considering starting an event that focuses on Steve and The Party. Ships would be welcome but would be secondary to Steve and the kids.

But I've never organized an event before and it'd be a lot of work, so I'm trying to gage people's interest.