suitelif3

[suitelif3]

decentralize and clean up your life!!!

use overdrive, libby, hoopla, cloudlibrary, and kanopy instead of amazon and audible.

use firefox instead of chrome or opera (both are made with chromium, which blocks functionality for ad-blockers. firefox isn't based on chromium).

use mega or proton drive instead of google drive.

get rid of bloatware

use libreoffice instead of microsoft office suite

use vetted sites on r/FREEMEDIAHECKYEAH for free movies, books, games, etc.

use trakt or letterboxd instead of imdb.

use storygraph instead of goodreads.

use darkpatterns to find mobile game with no ads or microtransactions

use ground news to read unbiased news and find blind spots in news stories.

use mediahuman or cobalt to download music, or support your favorite artists directly through bandcamp

make youtube bearable by using mtube, newpipe, or the unhook extension on chrome, firefox, or microsoft edge

use search for a cause or ecosia to support the environment instead of google

use thriftbooks to buy new or used books (they also have manga, textbooks, home goods, CDs, DVDs, and blurays)

use flashpoint to play archived online flash games

find books, movies, games, etc. on the internet archive! for starters, here's a bunch of David Attenborough documentaries and all of the Animorphs books

burn your music onto cds

use pdf24 (available online or as a desktop app) instead of adobe

use unroll.me to clean your email inboxes

use thunderbird, mailfence, countermail, edison mail, tuta, or proton mail instead of gmail

remove bloatware on windows PC, macOS, and iOS X

remove bloatware on samsung X

use pixelfed instead of instagram or meta

use NCH suite for free software like a file converter, image editor, video editors, pdf editor, etc.

feel free to add more alternatives, resources or advice in the reblogs or replies, and i'll add them to the main post <3

last updated: march 18th 2025

[suitelif3]

Car Problems [Steddie]

Based on this Mechanic!Eddie AU and @whathehonestfuk suggestion of Garage Owner!Wayne.

Usually, Wayne prefers to keep out of his nephew’s business. As long as Eddie is doing his job in the garage, his chores at home and is not committing any crimes in his spare time, Wayne tries not to bother him too much.

Their little system has been working very well since Eddie was a teenager, thank you very much, and his life has been quiet and good and without any major events, as life as a garage owner in Hawkings, Indiana, is expected to be.

That is, at least, until the Harrington kid comes into the picture.

Wayne has known the Harringtons for at least twenty years, and he’s fairly sure Eddie and the Harrington kid had not been friends when they were in school. That seems to have changed, though, because it’s been three months since the kid has been showing up at the garage with “car problems” every other week.

That’s bullshit, in Wayne’s humble opinion.

The guy drives a fucking BMW and his family is loaded. He could replace the fucking thing faster than Wayne can climb the stairs that separates the garage from the apartment he shares with his nephew, there’s nothing wrong with his car.

The Harrington kid is here for Eddie. Wayne knows it, everybody who works in the garage knows it, Eddie knows it. The only problem is that Eddie isn’t doing anything about it.

That wouldn’t be a problem if his nephew had no interest in the other kid, but he has. Wayne knows that easy smile and little cocky attitude Eddie puts on whenever Harrington is around, he’s seen him act the same way around Jamie Landon, at least for the couple of months they had dated in High School.

(He can’t say he knows Steve Harrington that well too, but no one would pretend to have car problems so often just to chat with a mechanic if they didn’t have any ulterior reasons, really.)

And yet, here’s Eddie; clearly interested in the Harrington kid, knowing that the other guy is also interested in him and doing absolutely nothing with that knowledge.

Wayne promised himself that he wouldn’t meddle once he noticed his nephew’s predicament. Whatever Eddie wanted to do with his life, Wayne would let him.

But that was before Wayne had to endure, for three months, his nephew and Harrington flirting and exchanging longing glances in the middle of his garage. As patient as Wayne considers himself to be, there’s no way in hell he’s letting this shit go on for much longer.

He doesn’t have to wait much to take action. A week after Harrington’s last visit, on a Saturday morning, from where he’s working on the Parkers’ minivan, Wayne sees the kid’s car approaching.

Harrington parks outside and makes his way quietly in the garage. Wayne just watches as the kid looks around the shop, probably looking for any sign of Eddie. His face drops a little when he doesn’t see Eddie anywhere.

“Can I help you with anything, kid?” Wayne asks, cleaning his hands in a rag as he walks around the minivan and steps towards the boy.

“Oh, hi, Mr. Munson,” Harrington says, with a small wave. “Is Eddie working today?”

“Yes, he is, but he’s on break. Why? Having problems again?”

Harrington hesitates, looking around once more. There’s a blush creeping up his cheeks and he doesn’t seem to know where to put his hands.

“I… er…”

Wayne sighs. He finishes cleaning the grease off his hands and stuffs the rag in his back pocket, before lifting his gaze to look Harrington in the eye.

“Do you like my nephew, kid?” he asks, bluntly.

“What!?”

“Hey, I’m not judging. I just wanna know. Do you like my nephew?”

There’s hesitation there again, and something close to panic, but the Harrington kid is no coward, apparently, because after the first shock, he seems to get a grip on himself and nods.

“Yes,” he says, face so red someone could mistake it for a sunburn. “Yes, I do.”

Good enough for Wayne.

“Do you want to come by tonight for dinner? I’m meeting some friends at Joe’s, but Eddie’s gonna be home. You boys can talk things over then.”

Whatever Harrington had been expecting when he decided to drop by the garage this morning, Wayne Munson asking him on a date on behalf of his nephew was clearly not it. He doesn’t utter a word.

“Harrington,” Wayne presses and the boy snaps out of it, large eyes staring at Wayne with a mix of shock and wonder. “Do you want to come over tonight for dinner?"

“Yes!” He squeaks. Clears his throats, then tries again. “Yes, Mr. Munson. I’d love to come over tonight.”

“Very well. I’m heading out at seven, so you should stop by seven thirty.”

“Okay.”

“Good,” Wayne agrees. “Now, please, stop pretending you’re having problems with that fucking car and come back when my nephew is not on the clock. I’ll let him know you guys have a date tonight.”

“Yes, sir! Sorry, sir!”

“Just go home, Harrington.”

“Right, sorry.”

With a few more apologies, Harrington gets into his car and gets the fuck out of there in record time, the vehicle driving smoothly and without a single weird noise, as Wayne well knew it would.

Car problems. Yeah, right.

“Was that Steve’s car?”

Wayne turns around and sees Eddie walking back to the shop after his break. The disappointment clear as day on his face.

“Yes, it was. Looks like there was nothing wrong with his car this time after all,” Wayne says.

The frown on Eddie’s face deepens and Wayne gathers all the self-control he’s got to stop himself from laughing.

“Good for him, then,” Eddie mutters, displeased.

“Yeah, good for him,” Wayne agrees. He pats his nephew on the shoulder as he passes him, then stops when Eddie finally looks at him. “Oh, and before I forget, Harrington is coming over for dinner tonight.”

“Wha- are you… what!?”

“I asked him if he wanted to come over for dinner tonight and he said yes. He’ll be here by seven thirty.”

“What do you mean!? You’re going out with your friends tonight.”

Wayne finally lets out a laugh. “I know, but you’re not. Congratulations, Eddie, you’re finally getting a date with Steve Harrington.”

He pats his nephew’s shoulder again, then goes back to work.

@nicememerino, tagged as promised.

[suitelif3]

I ship the WHAM! guy with the Iron Maiden guy

[suitelif3]

Honestly, y'all, I'm begging you. Take the time to think and learn for yourself. Even if it's just something casual like knitting or cooking. Exercise your brain. It's important.

[suitelif3]

sweet nothings <3

[suitelif3]

Here’s the new 24 hour comic I drew this year!  This one is called THE KING’S FOREST.  cw: blood, violence

[suitelif3]

Patre0n | Bsky

[suitelif3]

So... I got robbed.

Yesterday someone stole my tattooing equipment. My entire livelihood, my ability to earn money, thousands of euros gone in the span of a single night. Not having burglary insurance, I will not be getting any compensation and I am just. Desperate.

I HATE asking for help. But now I am at a point where I really have to beg.

If you want a commission, please, PLEASE give me a chance to earn money so I can buy new equipment. I'll even draw the things from my don't-s list.

Visit my Patreon or ko-fi.

Under the cut are some of the examples of my personal work and commissions I did.

[suitelif3]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[suitelif3]

STEREK FIC REC MASTERLIST

by Hedwig221b

Forever updating, will add more to this post as requests come. If you want to see the freshest fic rec list, click the og post. Love you!

childhood friends

dark sterek

fake/pretend relationship

oblivious sterek

secret relationship

size difference

BAMF Stiles + part2

creature Stiles + part2 (demon, fae, merman, shapeshifter, etc)

feral Stiles

jock Stiles

magical Stiles

nogitsune Stiles

oblivious Stiles

pack mom Stiles

Stiles doesn't know about werewolves

Stiles gets kicked out of the pack

Stiles is underestimated

Stiles leaves

void Stiles

witch Stiles

werewolf Stiles

Derek is Scott's Dad

failwolf Derek

feral Derek

good alpha Derek

jock Derek

possessive Derek

soft Derek

vampire Derek

angst part 1

angst part 2

fake character death

heavy angst

hurt/comfort

infertility

sheriff dissaproves

Stiles leaves

unrequited love

good mom Talia

hales love stiles

pet names

soft fics

alive Hales

arranged marriage

childhood friends

historical

human

mafia

omegaverse

royal abo au

twilight au

youtubers

accidental knotting

loss of virginity

mating runs

size difference

smut

somnophiIia

spanking

babies & mpreg

mpreg without omegaverse

bad friend Scott

body swap

canon events from sterek pov

chasing

hedwig221b Halloween theme

hedwig221b top 3 faves

longfic

outsider POV

pack-centric

renaissance faire

stackson brotp

[suitelif3]

sterek fics

Hidden in the crevices of your mind

[suitelif3]

Hidden in the crevices of your mind

rated t | 3k | ao3

for @sterekbingo, prompt: “you remembered that?”

**

“Stiles.” The eerie voice whispered. “Stiiiiles.” the voice drew out. “When is a door not a door?”

“No. No, no, no. This isn’t real. You’re not real.” The darkness was surrounding him, his eyes wide in search of anything tangible to see. He could only see dark creeping in from all sides. Not even his hands in front of him were visible. The cold grip of panic enveloped him, his heart racing.

“It’s real Stiles. Answer the riddle, when is a door not a door?” The gravely voice uttered. The voice was amplified in the darkness, echoing around, the only sound he could hear.

“It’s closed. You’re not real. This is just a dream.” It’s just a dream, he chanted in his head. The dark creeped closer, he was drowning in it, the panic suffocating him. He latched onto the thought that it was just a dream, trying to ground himself, but unable to stop the crevices of his mind being filled by the figure that’s been taunting him for years.

“WHEN IS A DOOR NOT A DOOR, STILES?” The voice shook in his head, reverberating through his skull, forcing him awake. He shot up from the bed taking deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. It was just a dream, it wasn’t real. His cold sweat soaked through his shirt, his forehead sticky with it, and his heart was pounding through his skull, the feeling of fear glued to him, pulling tight around his throat.

He forced himself to take deep breaths, only taking desperate gasps for air, trying to keep the panic attack down, his eyes watering from the effort. His heart finally slowed just enough to stop from crawling out of his skin, still on the brink but wavering from the clutches of panic, so he wasn’t spiralling, and waited until he felt a tad bit calmer before getting out of bed and mindlessly got ready for school. After hearing the door shut from his dad leaving for work, he grabbed a granola bar, the only thing he could think to stomach for breakfast, to eat during the drive.

When finally arriving to the horror that is Beacon Hills High (he loved learning, but so much of the school tainted by the supernatural shit they’ve been through it was hard to be there all the time), he greeted Scott in the hallway like he always did, and chatted about his night. He deliberately didn’t bring up his nightmare from last night, and just went on about the research he did about the obscure monster of the week. Scott was a little quieter than usual, Stiles noticed, but he brushed it off as Scott not getting enough sleep or something. Huh, ironic. Scott patted him on the shoulder in parting before leaving for his first class.

He slipped into the classroom barely a minute late, but Harris didn’t even notice, busy facing the board. Stiles took that as a rare win against the abysmal chemistry teacher. Feeling a tad smug about getting past Harris, he pulled out his textbook, and settled down for the lesson.

“Stilinski. Why don’t you get us started on the lesson? You can finish the problem on the board,” Harris asked, monotone.

Stiles was briefly surprised since Harris never asks him to go to the board, he almost always gets the question wrong. “Uh, I’m not sure you want me at the board. I haven’t caught up on the reading yet.” He tapped his pen against the open pages of his textbook.

“What has been so important in your perfectly mundane life that you can’t even finish your reading homework? Because every other student has.” Harris turned around to stare at Stiles, and when he mentioned every other student, they all shifted in their seats to face him, at exactly the same time. Stiles felt a shiver crawl down his back. All of them sat perfectly still, their eyes trained solely on him, and Harris at the front of the room, gaze unblinking, staring him down.

“Give it a try Stilinski.”

Stiles slowly stood up from his seat, everyone in the room watching his every movement. He felt the back of his neck prickle from all the eyes trained on him and a drop in his gut. He reached the board, but couldn’t read the problem.

He couldn’t read it.

The words and numbers melted off the board. He picked up a piece of chalk anyway, a slight tremble in his hands, scratching it against the surface. He let his hand take control, not even sure of what he was writing himself.

“When is a door not a door?”

Stiles startled so suddenly, the chalk dropped from his hand as he spun around. Harris was almost right behind him, the entire class behind him completely non-moving, unnaturally still. “What?” He breathed out, blinking at Harris.

“That’s what you wrote, is it not? When is a door not a door? Are you going to answer your own question?” Harris questioned.

“No.” Stiles looked at the writing on the board but he couldn’t read it. He couldn’t read what he had written with his own hands. Another chill ran down his spine, the familiar panic closing in, as if it never left.

He was still stuck in a dream, a nightmare, and he needed to wake up. He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping when he opened them he wouldn’t be stuck here anymore.

“You should answer the question, Stiles.”

“It’s not, the door is closed.” His hands shook. His lungs felt like they were closing in, his breaths coming out a little quicker.

“I don’t think it is. What about the door you just walked through? Doesn’t that give you a hint?” Harris’ voice distorted, getting more gravely by the minute, too close to the voice that’s been haunting his nightmares.

“I don’t need one, it’s not open. It can’t be- it can’t.” He shook his head between his hands, clenching his eyes, trying to get himself to wake up.

Harris slammed his hand down on the desk. “When is a door not a door? ANSWER ME.” Stiles’ eyes shot open.

Stiles woke up screaming. The grip of terror tight around his racing heart. His lungs collapsed, struggling to get a breath through. Nothing but true terror coursing through his bones. He wasn’t even sure he was awake right now. His mind still hazy and torn open. This nightmare felt never ending, and he needed to check. The screams were barely contained, his body on fire. Barely aware of his surroundings, he flailed around, trying to beat the fox out of his head.

Becoming more aware of his surroundings, he noticed there was a strong presence at his back. Big arms were wrapped around him, securing Stiles to a warm, broad chest. The hands around him flew up to catch his, bringing them down against his chest, so he wouldn’t hurt himself or the person behind him by blindly punching around.

The man felt familiar, those arms have wrapped around him before. He recognized the broadness around him, the dips of his chest, the nose caressing the side of his neck, gliding up and down. Stiles knew who it was before he even opened his eyes. Derek was buried in all the silent parts of him, the traumas they’ve been through together bonding them, the only man he could fully trust with his entire being. The way he felt instantly calm when he was around was nothing but familiar. His bones had ached for this feeling for months. He had yearned for Derek’s warmth, and steady presence.

Stiles finally felt like he could breathe, his bones relaxing at the thought that Derek was back. But the air left his lungs once more as he thought about the last time he saw Derek and how he hadn’t seen him in months, he just disappeared without telling Stiles anything. After all the months Stiles spent falling into Derek’s bed, time and time again. The nightmares few and far between when he was wrapped up with Derek in the cover of night.

He hasn’t seen Derek in months. Derek wasn’t here. He wouldn’t be here. Chased away by the curse of Beacon Hills, and maybe the disparity of Stiles. This was his mind trying to lull him into a false sense of security before the nogitsune ultimately found its way back through the cracks of his mind. It was just another dream.

It felt never ending. It took everything in him to not break down right there. The crushing realization followed as he uttered, “You’re not real.”

“Stiles this is real,” Derek said placatingly.

Stiles refused to believe him. Refused to have his walls down for the nogitsune to be able to break through. “Wake up, Stiles.”

“We’re in your room. I’m here.”

“Wake up.” Stiles brought his hands up to the sides of his head, gripping his hair.

“I came back.”

Derek’s pleas fell on deaf ears as Stiles fell into war with himself once more.

“WAKE UP!” Stiles collapsed into tears, unable to keep the fear from spreading through him with the thought that he might never wake up. He was stuck. He mourned the fact it might not ever end. The lines always being blurred between his reality. Constantly drowning in the darkness, reaching for any anchor to avoid being submerged completely.

“Stiles! Listen to me, this is real. I need you to look at me.” Stiles felt hands shifting him to the side, shaking him, his eyes barely open to notice Derek’s face right in front of him.

“No, it’s not,” Stiles bemoaned. “I haven’t seen Derek in months, why would he be here now?”

“I came to see you, Stiles. I needed to see how you were doing.” Derek gripped Stiles’ shoulders, his fingers digging into him, just enough to try and ground him.

“See, now I know for sure this is a dream. The Derek I know would never say that.”

It looked like there was a brief flash of hurt that crossed Derek’s face before he schooled it into a neutral expression. Stiles felt the underlining of guilt pool in his stomach after he said it, but if this was the nogitsune trying to get in his head, he didn’t want to take any chances. Derek clasped Stiles’s hands in his, spreading his fingers.

“This is real, Stiles.” He pressed his fingers on one of Stiles’s. “One.” He pushed the finger down. “Two.” The next finger was pushed down. “Three, four, five.” Derek dropped one of Stiles’s hands, moving onto the next. “Six, seven, eight, nine.” Stiles took deep breaths, feeling slightly better with each finger Derek pushed down. “Ten.” Both hands dropped, and Stiles exhaled in relief.

His eyes gazed up at Derek. “You remembered that?” He asked softly.

“Of course I remembered that,” Derek said steadily, his eyes boring into Stiles.

This was real. Derek was really in front of him. He couldn’t understand why. Why did he all of a sudden come back, without telling Stiles again. He knew their months together meant something different to Stiles than it did to Derek, but to be left out of Derek’s plans again, hurt more than he wanted.

“Why did you leave?” Stiles whispered.

When Derek left, it had been such a shock to him. He thought Derek was settling down in Beacon Hills, helping the pack out, he thought things were good with them. He thought Derek actually liked him. How wrong he was, Derek didn’t even tell him he was thinking of leaving, and didn’t say a word when he actually did. He hasn’t heard anything from him in months. He looked away.

“I had to get out, Stiles. While I could.”

Stiles could’ve laughed. He knew Beacon Hills was a shitty place, he knew first hand the horrors that came from living here. But he always felt safe because Derek had been here. He knew he could make it out because Derek was around. Once he was gone, that safety net had left, and he had to suffer alone. But Derek had left as soon as he could, like Stiles was nothing, like he wasn’t a reason to stay, to try.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles uttered. “I would’ve liked to say goodbye.” Stiles glanced up at Derek, whose expression was vulnerable, just erring on the side of being crushed. Stiles could only briefly look at him.

“If I told you, I knew you would convince me to stay, and I had to get out. There are too many ghosts here,” Derek said softly. “I’ll always be connected to this land, I can never run away from that, but I needed to leave, get my head on straight. I wanted to be okay again. I couldn’t do that here.” Derek slid his hands down to grip Stiles’, anchoring him to reality.

Suddenly, Stiles was standing, having ripped his hands from Derek, pacing back and forth while he talked. “Of course I understand that. But did you think I might need that too? After everything I’ve been through. I get that you needed to leave, I do. But I needed you too. After you left, I knew you wouldn’t be able to save me if things got bad. You were always there until suddenly you weren’t. I wanted to feel safe after everything, but instead I was more fearful of anything that could go wrong.”

Derek sat straight up on his bed, he at least had the decency to look remorseful.

“That’s why I came back. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I don’t think you have a right to do that after disappearing from my life,” Stiles said, raising his chin slightly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Stiles. I wasn’t here when you needed me and I should’ve been. I just had to leave before I fell even more in love with you. Then I wouldn’t have been able to go at all.” Derek said slowly, his eyes downcast. “I had to leave, Stiles. There’s too much bad history here. I had to get out for a little bit, clear my head, have the time to try and be a worthwhile Alpha to the rest of us here. I just had to know what life felt like without all of the darkness of Beacon Hills following me around at all times. If I could’ve taken you with me, I would’ve. Okay? I never wanted to leave you behind.”

Stiles felt his defenses crumble.

A part of him felt like he had always been reaching for Derek, but every time Derek had evaded him. Now, he was tangible to Stiles, just within reach and telling Stiles what he’s been wanting to hear for years. He understood where Derek was coming from, he had been falling for Derek throughout the years too, their bond formed through pure survival relying on him with every monster of the week, when slowly it turned into something more. Somewhere down the line, Stiles stopped restricting, visiting Derek whenever Scott left him for Allison, and then Kira. He would drop by with the excuse of research, which turned into homework, then meals sat next to each other, then movie nights, until they were friends, allies, but they were also just kids. If anything had happened before, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to restrain himself from stopping. At least Stiles was technically an adult now, and didn’t have to stop at all.

He took a deep breath. “I was- am, in love with you too.”

Derek looked up at him with such a hopeful expression, Stiles couldn’t help the smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

Stiles reached over to grab Derek’s hands that were clasped together over his knees. He not so subtlety started to count his fingers again, Derek tapping his down with each swift look upon them. Stiles tugged on the rough hands he had intertwined with his, prompting Derek to raise from his perch on the bed to stand to his full height becoming taller than Stiles, and brushing up against him, chest to chest.

Derek searched his eyes once more before ducking down to catch Stiles’ lips in a kiss.

Stiles felt Derek’s hands release from his, bringing them up to grip the sides of his face, kissing him deeply. Stiles caressed his back, digging into the dips he found when Derek moved his tongue just so. He could feel Derek tug on his lip, and little pants slipped through.

Derek leaned in for one more slow kiss before pulling back to rub his stubble against Stiles’ neck. Stiles wasn’t complaining about that in the slightest.

Stiles’ lips tingled, his body on fire from the warmth of Derek pressed against him. When Derek’s fingers brushed by, they left tiny sparks across his skin. Stiles still had a hard time believing this was real, but grounded himself in the feel of Derek’s everything.

They leaned back, Derek giving away all his feelings through the look in his eyes that Stiles couldn’t pull his gaze from. Stiles lifted his lips in a small smile, giving Derek the reassurance that this was real in how he felt, that he wants this to happen between them.

Stiles was comforted by the idea that whatever happens next, they’ll be doing to together. They had each other now, and if Stiles could help it, they won’t be apart to fight their battles anymore. Derek soothed his flayed mind, and was just as much of an anchor to him as he was to Derek. They were always there for each other, and he was glad they were on the same page that they always would be from now on.

Later, after the nogitsune becomes a distant memory, when the gravely voice feels more like a stranger than a constant trigger, and life with Derek still feels easy, he sometimes still counts his fingers to make sure it was all real, that he really was living his dream.

**

this is set sometime after derek left, stiles still struggles with nightmares sometimes, and bc some people are saying this ship is pedophilia, stiles is 18 in this <3

thank you to my beta reader @hiseyebrowsaregone for all the help!

this is my first teen wolf fic, let me know your thoughts! :)

[suitelif3]

Somebody To Kiss It Better 💖

Rating: T | Word Count: 2,561 | CW: Injury, Language | Tags: Pre-Steddie, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Flirting, Post-Vecna | ao3 For @steddiesportsau week two. Prompt: Sports Injury.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.”

“It’s not funny, Robin,” Steve grumbles.

“You’re right. It’s hilarious,” she says, leaning across the counter at Family Video to get a good look at the stupid mask strapped to his face.

He shoves her away. “My broken nose is hilarious?”

Clearly struggling to contain her giggles, Robin attempts a more serious expression. “Right. Okay. So it’s not funny you broke your nose. But you have to admit that the circumstances are a fucking riot.”

“What, that I tripped over my own feet and fell flat on my face?” He was thinking a better descriptor for his situation might be mortifying.

“That, and the fact that you face-planted because Eddie—”

“For the last time, Rob, stop trying. It’s never gonna happen,” he interrupts, though he can feel his face heating up under his nose guard.

She scoffs. “Only because you’re a huge wuss.” With a smirk, she goes on, “He’s into you, too. I bet if you went over to his place right now and told him what happened, he’d ask you out just because he feels bad.”

“I don’t want a pity date!” Steve snaps. 

“It’s not a pity date if he’s wanted to do it since March.”

“I still don’t get why you’re so sure he likes me.”

“Uh, because I have eyes?” Robin snorts. “And Dustin said so, too—he told me Eddie keeps putting characters in his campaign that sound like super horned-up versions of you.”

“Yeah, well, Dustin doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about,” Steve counters. He’s aware it’s a weak argument, considering the kid somehow managed to clock his crushes on both Robin and Eddie within a couple days of seeing him interact with either of them, but he’s not about to let Robin gain any ground in this discussion.

“Well, regardless…are you at least gonna admit to me that you were distracted, and that’s why you fell?”

Steve glares. “No, I’m not.” He doesn’t need to admit it; she knows the truth already. She just heard from his own mouth that he happened to look over and see Eddie, and that the next moment his legs tangled up under him and his face hit the court. He’d landed on his racket, too, bending it beyond repair and giving himself a nasty bruise on his hip.

He knows now that he shouldn’t have mentioned the detail about seeing Eddie, because Robin’s never going to let it go, and it’ll be added to her list of reasons he should just buck up and go for it (her own Vickie-based hypocrisy be damned). But what he’ll definitely, absolutely, never in his life admit is that what had really caught him off guard was Eddie in shorts.

It makes sense. Obviously he would be wearing shorts. It’s mid-July, and this week’s been a scorcher. But Steve is a simple man, with simple desires, and for months, one of those desires has been to see a little more skin from Eddie Munson. The fact that he happened to see it while he was playing tennis at the park with his dad was just unfortunate timing.

He’ll never forget that moment as long as he lives. It’s bound to be the most embarrassing thing that happens to him in his entire life, seared into his memory as a series of snapshots.

The hollow thwap of the ball against his racket as he returns the serve. His eyes instinctively darting to the parking lot at the short blast of a car horn. Doing a double-take as he recognizes a mop of hair and a brilliant smile a couple feet above a pair of denim cutoffs. And then…

Another thwap. A wide-eyed dive. A painful crunch.

The only blessing is that Eddie didn’t see it. He was ducking into Jeff’s car by the time Steve’s dad called out his name and rushed over. Eddie definitely didn’t hear it, because even if Steve isn’t about to agree that his crush is reciprocated, he knows by now that they’re good friends. If Eddie had noticed Steve wiping out and subsequently bleeding all over the place from a crooked nose, he would’ve sprinted right over, too.

“You’re impossible,” Robin scoffs, turning away from the counter to browse.

“And you’re annoying,” Steve counters. “Even on your day off, I can’t get away from you. Weren’t you and Nance supposed to have a sleepover?”

“I have to find something to watch! She needs an education, and she doesn’t have the privilege of getting one on the job.”

“So you’re holding her hostage now, too? And she’s not even getting paid for it?”

Robin makes a childish face at him. It’s one she knows he can’t return at the moment, wrinkling her nose and sticking out her tongue. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to sorting returns.

That’s where they stay for a few minutes. Both of them are silently absorbed in their tasks, until the bell chimes to signal someone else entering the store.

Steve automatically looks up. And just like he did at the park, he does a double-take.

“Hey, Eddie,” Robin calls from the thriller section.

Steve glances her way. Her eyes meet his, and even seeing only the top of her head, he can tell that god-awful smirk is back.

“Hey, Buckley! Thought you were off tonight,” Eddie replies.

“I am. Just here for the goods,” she explains, raising a couple tapes and waving them where he can see. “And keeping Stevie company.”

“But of course. There’s no separating you two,” he chuckles. Then he turns to Steve and freezes at the sight of him. “Oh, damn. Holy shit.”

Steve tries not to close his eyes, forcing himself to meet Eddie’s concerned gaze. It adds insult to literal injury that he’s wearing those goddamn cutoffs again—and they show off even more thigh than Steve remembers.

“What the fuck happened to you?”

“Broke my nose,” he mutters.

“Holy shit,” Eddie repeats. “How?”

“Fell.”

“You…fell? That’s it?”

“Yep. That’s it,” Steve says. He shoots a warning look at Robin when he hears a derisive snort. She disappears behind the shelf.

“Man, that blows. How long do you have to wear that thing on your face?”

Steve shrugs. “Couple weeks. Doctor wants to make sure nothing knocks my nose out of place while it heals.”

Eddie lets out a low whistle. “Oof. Sorry, man.”

Don’t apologize, Steve thinks, biting back the actual words. It’s not like I fell because you didn’t measure the inseam before you took scissors to your old jeans, or that your legs are way more toned than I imagined they would be, or that I want you to throw me up against the wall like you did in Reefer Rick’s boathouse, or—

“So, what’s new?” Eddie asks, cutting through Steve’s thought spiral. “Other than the broken nose.”

Steve clears his throat. “Not much.”

“Same here,” Eddie sighs. He approaches the counter and slumps against it, leaning forward on his elbows. Pursing his lips, he goes on, “What time are you off? You wanna hang out later?”

“I’m closing.”

“Isn’t Wednesday usually Keith’s night?”

“He’s busy, apparently. Asked me to switch.”

Robin reappears at Eddie’s elbow. She puts a few tapes on the counter and says, “He’s got a date.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Seriously? Good for him.”

“Yeah. At least somebody around here can get one,” she jokes. Then, with a significant look, she adds, “Right, Steve?”

He glares back at her. “Yeah. Lucky guy.”

“I don’t understand how you’re free, Harrington,” Eddie muses. “You got more natural charm in your pinkie finger than I’ve ever seen from Keith. You should be taking somebody out every goddamn night.”

Robin snorts. “You should’ve seen him when we worked at Scoops. He was striking out left and right. It was so bad, I kept a running tally every day of how many girls rejected him. The record was twenty-two.”

This time, Steve is exasperated enough that he does close his eyes for a moment. He’s not sure what’s worse: Robin making pointed comments around Eddie or recounting past misadventures to him.

“Oh, there’s no way.” Eddie turns to him with wide eyes and an even wider smile. “You were striking out?”

“The hat covered up my best feature,” Steve huffs, vaguely gesturing at his own head.

“Oh, in that case,” Eddie says, rolling his eyes. His smile remains, and it even softens after a moment. “Well, those girls didn’t know what they were missing.”

Steve’s lungs seize up. Once again, Robin catches his eye, her brows so high on her forehead they’ve disappeared behind her bangs. He narrows his eyes at her—a nonverbal warning to shut the fuck up—then turns to the computer to add her rentals to her account.

Out loud, he says, “I’ll take the hat over this damn thing.” He doesn’t have to point at his nose guard; he’s learned over the past few days that it’s the only thing anyone sees as long as he’s in the room.

Eddie tilts his head and shoots him a sympathetic grimace. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, it definitely is,” Steve says. His deadpan delivery draws a laugh from Eddie that makes his heart flutter in his chest.

“Look on the bright side. Wearing that thing should keep your face lookin’ as pretty as ever, right?”

“Oh my god,” Robin mumbles. It sounds involuntary.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asks, interpreting her frustrated outburst as some startled realization.

She confirms that she hadn’t meant to say anything by turning to Steve in a panic and stammering, “I’m…gonna be late! I said I would meet Nancy at six-thirty, and it’s almost”—she looks at her watch and deflates a little—“a quarter to six.”

Eddie’s brow furrows. He glances at Steve in clear is she okay? amusement, then says, “You got forty-five minutes, and you’re worried about being late? Where are you s’posed to meet her, Timbuktu?”

“Ah, no. Her house.” Robin lets out a nervous chuckle. “I just, uh…I have to pick up snacks, too! See you guys.” She’s already halfway out the door before the words are out of her mouth.

Eddie stares after her, looking bewildered. “What the hell was all that about?”

“No idea,” Steve lies.

There’s a quiet moment, where the only sound is the computer’s keyboard clacking under his fingertips. He figures Eddie must be lost in thought, because after spending enough time with him, he’s noticed that those are the only moments where Eddie stops talking—and sometimes not even then. Like with Robin, he finds it endearing. More than once, he’s caught himself grinning like an idiot as Eddie rambled about D&D classes or a Judas Priest album.

When Eddie does eventually speak, he says the last thing Steve expects. “You know, you kinda pull it off.”

Blinking rapidly, Steve looks up from the computer. He slowly turns to look at Eddie. “What?”

“The nose thing. It’s weirdly cute on you.” He sighs a laugh and shakes his head. “Listen to me. ’Course it is—you’re Steve Harrington. You could be wearing a goddamn bunny suit and you’d be able to make it work.”

Steve stares at him for another moment, at a loss for what to say. “Thank you?” he tries.

“It still sucks, though.” Eddie pauses. He’s leaning on the counter again, though now he has his hands splayed across it, fingers drumming idly. “Did they tell you how long it might take for the bruising to clear up, too?”

Shaking his head a bit to clear it, Steve stammers, “Uh, y-yeah. Few days, apparently.” He goes back to sorting tapes, desperate for something to distract him from the ongoing butterfly swarm in his stomach.

“Hm.” Another pause. “Think it’d heal faster if you had somebody to kiss it better?”

Steve fumbles with a small stack of tapes, dropping a couple. He has to take a deep breath to recover before he can lean down to retrieve them.

In that second, though, Eddie has already leapt over the counter. “Whoops! Allow me.” He squats and starts picking them up, and…

Holy mother of god.

This is too much. It’s too much for Steve to handle, having Eddie crouched on the floor in those fucking shorts, right in front of him, with his skin taut over his quads and the denim hugging his crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. All Steve can do is stare as his breath becomes hopelessly shallow.

Eddie doesn’t notice until he lifts his arm to hand the tapes over. When he does, his eyebrows pinch together in concern. “Whoa. Stevie. You doin’ alright?”

Steve swallows, trying to summon an answer.

“Um. Earth to Harrington,” Eddie says with an anxious smile. He waves the tapes across Steve’s field of vision. “You okay, man?”

“I saw you at the park,” Steve blurts. He isn’t sure why. The ER doc told him he didn’t have a concussion, but maybe his brain got a little banged around, after all.

Looking outright worried now, Eddie rises and sets aside the tapes.

“The other day. I was playing tennis with my dad at the park and I saw you.”

“Okay…”

“That’s why I fell and broke my nose.”

Eddie blinks and shakes his head in a startled little expression. “Okay, Stevie. You lost me.”

Finally, Steve has reached his breaking point. He whirls around and starts pacing away from Eddie, raising his hands to tangle in his own hair. “It’s those goddamn shorts.” He turns on his heel to face Eddie again, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why the hell do you have to wear those things?”

Eddie puts his hands up defensively. “What’s wrong with my shorts?”

“‘What’s wrong?’ You look too good in ’em, that’s what’s wrong!”

Instantly, Eddie’s confused look melts into one of total understanding. A gradual smirk stretches his lips. “Let me get this straight. You’re telling me you fell on your face…broke your nose…because you saw me walk by in shorts?”

“Yes,” Steve hisses.

Eddie lifts both his gaze and his hands to the sky, as if overcome with religious passion, and cries out, “Holy fucking shit, finally!”

“What the fuck do you mean, ‘finally’?”

“Steve. Stevie. Harrington.” Eddie walks over and lowers his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders. “I’ve been tryin’ to get you to admit to checking me out for weeks. Gonna be honest, I was starting to think your stubborn ass was never gonna cop to it.”

“You—what?”

“Christ. I was worried I was gonna have to break down and ask you out before you did.”

Steve stares for another moment before demanding, “Why the hell didn’t you?!”

Eddie falters. His smirk morphs into a sheepish grimace. “I, uh…I may have bet Henderson that I could hold out until you admitted it.”

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. But he’s smiling. “I’m gonna kill that little creep.”

“At least let him pay up first,” Eddie says. Then he clears his throat, which gets Steve to open his eyes. “That said, through…you free tomorrow night?”

Steve meets his gaze, skeptical. “You wanna take me out looking like this?”

Eddie giggles and nods. “Technically it’s my fault. I gotta make it up to you somehow.”

[suitelif3]

@steddiebingo prompts: college au + crush + bandana | 1.1k words | T |

“Steeeveennnn,” Robin complains, poking Steve's shoulder with her pencil. “This was not the deal.”

Steve blinks and startles as if shaken out of a trance and grudgingly drags his glance over to Robin. “What?”

“You're only supposed to zone out when I'm paying attention and I can only zone out when you're paying attention.” That's their standard deal for any class they share that they're both only taking to knock out some credits and isn't relevant to either of their majors.

“Okay,” he says, “so pay attention.”

“I have been, dingus,” she argues. While this semester's History of Rock course is actually kind of interesting, Robin would still appreciate being able to use some of the precious daydreaming time she’d been promised. “I've been giving you my notes for the last month, at least! It's my turn to zone out now, slacker.”

“Alright, alright. I'm paying attention.” Steve makes a big show of picking up his pencil and writing down what's on the lecture slides, even leaning forward a little to emphasize his focus. “You're free to zone out to your heart’s content.”

Robin doesn't trust him in the slightest.

She enjoys about five whole minutes of spacing out before one Eddie Munson inevitably interrupts the professor to challenge some point and any hope of Steve's ability to continue taking notes for her is lost completely. His attention is stolen the second that ringed hand goes up, focus returning undividedly to the loud, scraggly man who is now standing up in his vehemence to counter the teacher. Steve instantly becomes enraptured by this argument, though Robin doubts he’s really comprehending a single word of it. He even gets this dopey little smile on his face as he watches.

“Oh my god,” Robin groans, rolling her eyes and dropping her chin into her palm in resignation to her fate. Steve is utterly useless when he has a crush. It would be pointless, Sisyphean even, for her to keep trying to snap him out of it; no matter how many times she diverts his attention, it always rolls right back to Eddie.

Robin doesn't know what Steve sees in him. Personally, she finds Eddie kind of obnoxious and thinks he looks a bit like a stray dog that's been left outside in a thunderstorm. But for some reason he has her best friend totally captivated. Even when Eddie sits back down, conceding the tangential debate and letting the professor continue, Steve's gaze still lingers as it always does for the remainder of class, his eyes all dreamy and far away and the very epitome of yearning.

“This is getting pathetic,” Robin tells him when class is dismissed and she looks over to find him still staring. “Just go talk to him already. Make a move. I’m sick of watching you sit here and pine.”

“He might not even be queer, Rob.”

“He wears a black bandana in his back pocket.”

“So? He's all metal and shit, it could just be, like, a style thing. Doesn't mean it's hanky code.”

“Okay, so ask him.”

Steve looks at her like she's gone insane. “I can't just go up to him and ask him if he's flagging.”

“Fine, then I will.”

“What- No, Robin-!”

But Robin is already standing up and marching through the crowd of students leaving the classroom to catch up to Eddie. “Hey, are you flagging?”

Eddie stops short and turns sharply around to face her. “Excuse me?”

“That bandana you've always got in your pocket - is that just a fashion statement or are you flagging?” she repeats bluntly.

Eddie's eyes narrow, halfway between distrustful confusion and a sneer. “What's it to you?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Robin says. “I couldn't care less. I'm asking for my friend, Steve.” She points a thumb over her shoulder, fairly certain Steve isn't too far behind her. “He's the one who's been staring at you like an idiot all semester, and he's just dying to know if-”

“Oh my god-” Steve interrupts, shoulder checking her as he comes up beside her, his face flushed and slightly out of breath like he fought his way here desperately. “I’m so sorry about her.” He gives Eddie an apologetic smile and cuts Robin a sideways glare. “She was dropped on the head a few too many times as a baby and it left her incapable of comprehending boundaries.”

Robin scoffs. “Oh, like watching creepily from afar is so much more respectful,” she retorts.

“I’m not a creep-” Steve rushes to protest, looking hastily back to Eddie. “I’m not a creep. She's making it sound like I'm some sort of stalker or something. I’m not, I swear.”

Eddie laughs, and Steve looks whipped. “It's alright, I don't mind.”

Eddie's wary hostility seems to have faded into something more amused and definitely not uninterested, if the way he's looking Steve over is any indication. Robin subtly nudges Steve with her arm. Time to turn on the charm, dingus, he likes you.

“You just catch my eye, is all,” Steve recovers, regaining his composure and quickly attempting to school his flustered, lovesick expression into a smoother, more intentional smile. “You stand out, you know - in a good way. I like your style, how outspoken you are. You seem really passionate about this music stuff; it's cool to watch.”

Eddie's interest only sharpens, slow grin growing. He considers him for another moment. “Your friend says you're curious about my bandana.”

“Yeah, uh-” A little bit of that flusteredness slips out again, just enough that it could possibly be intentional (or maybe not; Robin’s really not giving him that much credit). Steve chews at his lip, eyes flicking Eddie up and down. “That too.”

Eddie's about to say something in response, but he's cut off by someone shouting his name. There's some blond guy at the end of the hall gesturing impatiently at him.

“Shit, sorry, I gotta run, my band’s got practice right now. But, um.” Eddie searches his pockets and grabs a pen out of his leather jacket. “Here.” He takes Steve's arm, scribbling a phone number onto his skin. “Why don't you call me later and we can talk more, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees. He looks mildly starstruck, smiling stupidly at the number on his arm like it's a celebrity autograph or something. “Yeah, for sure.”

Robin snickers. “Oh, he's never washing that arm again.”

“Shut up, Robin,” Steve hisses, his cheeks tingeing pink again. Eddie laughs and Steve manages a sheepish smile. “I-I’ll call you,” he confirms again as he turns to leave, grabbing Robin by the arm and dragging her with him before she can embarrass him any further.

“You better,” Eddie calls after him, and Steve looks over his shoulder just in time to catch his smirk and farewell salute before he too turns and bounds off in the opposite direction.

Robin digs her elbow into Steve’s ribs, grinning smugly at him. “You're fucking welcome,” she says.

[suitelif3]

[suitelif3]

The full set of steddie/eddie/steve tarot cards

I don't have plans to draw any more of these atm but who knows when inspiration will strike.

I've got a small run of A4 art prints ordered and a larger set of A6 postcards on the way cause I need them on my walls

[suitelif3]

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