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oh well. at least we have leg hair.

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Posting about the world's least canonical ship & having somebody tag it like "this is making me want to watch that show" is always so funny like no sorry I'm lying to you

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everything looks like a nail when you've got a hammer and every song is actually about the character when they're on your mind 24/7

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I love when there's characters that are pair bonded and you know that wherever one of them is the other is also gonna be there.

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guy who wouldn’t even notice they’ve been sex pollened with all the repressed lust they’ve got going on

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Pierogi pillows

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Continuing from this (starting here and here)

Hopper doesn’t want to think about Steve.

He doesn’t really want to even see the kid or his broken arm or his wide gap-tooth smile where he’s starting to lose baby teeth. Every interaction is a reminder that he’s not doing anything to stop this clear case of child neglect.

He’s failing Steve and if he’s failing a kid whose problems are so blatantly obvious, then he could fail Sarah when the problems are close to home.

So no, Hopper doesn’t say anything when he walks into Melvards and sees Steve at the check counter. He nods to Joyce and continues on.

He’s got a list from his wife and that’s all he’s here for.

Sure, he noticed that on the check out counter is a tube of toothpaste, a box of cereal, and a pint of milk. Sure, he clocked Steve with his chin resting on the counter, pushing coins across it to Joyce and asking, “How ‘bout now?”

That’s just good observation. He’s a cop. It’s his job.

“That brings you to $2.54,” Joyce tells him. “You need 1 dollar and 0.32 cents more.”

Hopper is not listening to Steve sigh. He’s not standing next to a shelf of sunscreen watching Steve push the toothpaste to the side like, “I don’t need to brush my teeth. Is it enough now?”

“How about this,” Joyce whispers, leaning on the counter like they’re going to share a secret. Hopper is sure she’s crinkling her nose when she pushes the money back over to him, “How about you take all your quarters and I let you take your cereal, and your milk, and your toothpaste.”

Whereas he can’t see Joyce’s face, he can see the instant suspicion on Steve’s face when he steps back from the counter, “That’s stealing.”

“Yeah, silly, if you steal it. You’re not doing that,” Joyce concedes. “I’m letting you have this stuff.”

“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Miss Joyce. You’ll get in trouble.”

“Well, how about a trade?”

“Like a Quick Pro Skrull?”

“Sure,” Joyce says easily. “I will trade you $2.54, one box of cereal, one pint of milk, and a tube of bubblegum-flavored toothpaste….if you let me sign your cast.”

Steve’s voice is soft, considerate the way kids aren’t supposed to be when he says, “Miss Joyce, that’s not a fair trade.”

“It’s the only thing I want, baby.”

“Fine,” Steve agrees, laying his casted arm on the counter. “I get my allowance in two days and I’m going to buy you a flower.”

“That sounds lovely, sweetheart.”

Hopper leaves the sunscreen- it’s not even on his list - and goes to the canned goods in the next aisle. While there, he has a better view of Joyce writing her name on Steve’s cast.

“You know, Steve,” She tells him. “I’m going to put my phone number right here because I have little boy about your age. His name is Jonathan.”

“I know Jonathan from school.”

“That’s good! Maybe some time you two can play together.”

“Oh, no thanks, Miss Joyce,” Steve shakes his head sadly. “My dad says you’re poor an’ I’m not allowed to play with poor people ‘cause poor people are lazy and don’t work hard even though you have a job…”

Steve pauses like he’s contemplating that before continuing, “And Tyler - that’s Tommy’s big brother. Tommy is my best friend and I wish I lived at his house - he says that sometimes people are so poor that they can’t a’ford food and they eat babies. He says that happened in Ireland and he would know too ‘cause his great-great-great-ate grandpa is from there.”

“I’m not a baby,” He tells her seriously, “But my Nonna says I’m a sweet boy and one time I was playing with a kid from the trailer park and he bit me.”

He tells her, “I don’t wanna be eaten.”

Joyce blinks at him.

Hopper blinks too where he’s listening in.

Steve doesn’t blink at all but instead gathers up his stuff. He gives her a big smile and says, “Thanks, Miss Joyce. I love you. Bye.”

Then he’s gone.

The store is empty except for Hopper in the baby food aisle and Joyce at the counter. She asks aloud, “Did I just get accused of cannibalism?”

Hopper has never laughed harder.

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Steve and Robin after Starcourt: *laying in bed*

Steve:

Robin:

Steve: Dustin definitely killed that guy, right? The Russian.

Robin: Oh my god, yes. I wasn’t going to say anything.

Steve: …That guy was going to die anyways, probably.

Robin: Right, it just happened…sooner.

Steve:

Robin:

Tommy, whose room they broke into: What the fuck?

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sometimes i feel ive got to

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suckin titties not even sexual to me i’ll just do it for the love of the game

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listen, fuck "to each their own", sometimes your mutual gets into some batshit insane rarepair that they're a little embarrassed about and it becomes your sworn duty to put on your jester bells and jingle jangle proudly by their side for moral support. don't be a pussy. it's ride or die motherfucker

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Eddie thought he was dealing. Steve had other plans.

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one of the funniest things abt this white collar job so far is that i get to see how fucking long people take for the tiniest things. "please paste this text into a separate document and send it to me whenever you're able to this week" i mean shit, man, i know what it's like to take weeks for a 2 minute task, but that's wild even for my standards. like yeah i can probably find the time to press the copy and paste buttons sometime this week

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fuck you (runs your cast iron pan through a dishwasher cycle)

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The Sword of Damocles

This is the Steve/Keith rarepair story for the STWG Steith week, and it comes in explicit and mature versions depending. The unofficial summary is "god damn it, I can't believe you made me care about Keith!"

As usual, thanks to the amazing @tinytalkingtina for the beta. <3

Being a creep is easy; being the right kind of creep is tricky.

Keith prefers it at one step removed, lets rumor do the brunt of the work for him, like extorting Nancy Wheeler's brother for a date with her, which he knows she won't agree to. (Even if he's wrong, even if she does, Keith can weaponize unpleasantness so it never happens again.) But scathing rumor will ensure everyone knows about his "crush" on Nancy; if the pathetic loser is hung up on her, no one will question why he's not going after other girls. Nancy will turn him down or avoid him (or both), and he'll buy himself breathing room.

Rinse, repeat. If the loneliness eats you alive, at least you are alive.

Keith can hire a girl like Robin Buckley at Family Video. Robin's awkward, antisocial, mean. She's in his league, so ostensibly, demonstratively "not his type". Keith doesn't dare hire Steve Harrington, with his coiffed hair and pretty eyes and prettier smile, fallen just far enough down the social ladder to make Keith fantasize that he has a shot.

Keith can stick to his guns at the interview, invent petty quizzes like "top three movies" that Steve is predetermined to fail, be a dick about giving him no time to think, except Steve's a excitable dork about trying to come up with the movie names and trips his way over the Fast Times cardboard cutout, doing that fake-nonchalant thing no one falls for, and shit, turns out Keith's type is loser after all.

He wishes he could blame his dick for this decision, but it's his stupid heart.

He schedules Steve with Robin whenever he can; gives him to the other employees when he can't. He only puts the two of them together when he has no choice. Neither Steve nor Robin questions that Keith doesn't like Steve, avoids him, although Robin tries an annoyingly high number of times to convince him that Steve's improved since high school, that he's actually a good guy, and Keith's carefully pruned crush does not need to know that. He takes petty, dark satisfaction that she tries so hard.

It means he's convinced her.

There's a trick to living under Damocles' Sword: never look up. Keith gets his first death sentence when he's eight: when it turns out that what was making him grow so fast—tall, but spindly, with slender wrists and flat feet—might also tear his eyes or heart apart.

Marfan Syndrome is a banal diagnosis for a literal nightmare: the doctors show him pictures of "potential consequences" to "make him take this seriously", and he's haunted for years by dreams where his spine twists until he's a caricature of a boy, where his chest caves in and he wakes up unable to breathe, where his eyes fall out of his head, where his heart dissolves in his chest. He mostly learns to live with it—learns to not look—when his spine grows knobby but straight, when he doesn't drop dead sprinting away from would-be bullies through the trailers to the relative safety of his parents' Fleetwood, when his vision slowly blurs but doesn't go dark.

When he's diagnosed, the doctors recommend yearly echocardiograms and eye appointments to "monitor his condition", like Keith's parents have health insurance or "yearly echocardiogram" money. Preventative care isn't for people regularly choosing between heat and groceries. Kids like Keith get to pray the chest pain is panic, is heartburn, isn't the heart attack that's going to kill him.

Keep reading: explicit or mature

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you have to be around asexual perverts it’s good for your health