#i am not a steddy hands enjoyer

[ghost-proofbaby]

Spooky Requests: Watching Charlie Brown Halloween with either Eddie or Steve...I'm not picky. <3

.... porque no los dos? jk jk but seriously i had fun with this even if we lost the plot a little bit. thank you jo ily very dearly, and apologize for how out of hand this little request got. also, fun fact. i've never seen charlie brown halloween. who's gonna change that this halloween season hmmmm

warnings: none! just lowkey idiots in love, some pining, the usual

pairing: steddie x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k+

“I can’t believe neither of you idiots have ever seen this classic! You both love Halloween.” 

Steve Harrington on a mission was a sight to behold. You were impressed, honestly. He had only found out about the crime, as he was calling it, of you and Eddie having never seen It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! that morning. And here he was, not even a full twenty-four hours later, having pulled together an impromptu movie night for the three of you to rectify the atrocities admitted. 

“I told you, Stevie,” Eddie lounges on the couch, already comfortable in his sweatpants and Halloween socks you had bought for him last year. One of the seasonal blankets Steve magically had hiding away in his apartment was already draped across his lap as he picked at the small pumpkins decorating the fabric, “I’m more of a horror movie Halloween buff. Gore, ghosts, slashers – the good stuff.” 

“Gross,” Steve absent-mindedly calls in response from the kitchen. You’re perched on the arm of the opposite end of the couch from Eddie, scowling as his feet peek out from under the blanket and he wiggles his sock-clad toes at you. 

Gross, you mouth in repetition at Eddie, not mocking Steve but instead insulting Eddie’s feet that he happily stretches across what should be yours and Steve’s seats. 

He raises his eyebrows as you both hear a cabinet in the kitchen opening loudly. Eddie’s eyes don’t leave your face as he yells over his shoulder, “Everything okay in there, Charlie Brown?” 

“Har, har,” Steve sarcastically replies, but only after a slightly concerning, long pause. 

“I’m gonna go help him,” you whisper, finally standing and swatting at Eddie’s legs, “And when I get back, I expect my seat to be free of your smelly, sweaty feet.” 

“Oh, come on,” Eddie leans his head back in laughter as you walk past him, rolling your eyes, “You know you love the stink, bab-”

He doesn’t get to finish the pet name as you reach out for his sorry excuse of a bun, giving a sharp tug that has him gasping. His hands are quick to wrap around the back of your knees, nearly tripping you. A small dispute begins, all slapping hands with no intention of inflicting real pain as Eddie lifts up properly, grinning brilliantly at the antics. 

Steve enters the kitchen doorway at the sound of the rustling to find you with both of Eddie’s wrists clutched between your hands, you leaning down to glare at him as he continues to look up with his boyish smirk. He can smirk all he wants, but it doesn’t distract from the glowing flush of his cheeks, all the awe in his eyes. It’s almost as fruitless to hide as your own secret enjoyment of his pest-like behavior. 

“Am I… interrupting something?” Steve awkwardly asks, shifting on his feet. 

You open your mouth to say no, absolutely not, but Eddie beats you to the punchline, “Actually, yes. Someone here thinks it’s funny to pull my hair before buying me dinner.” 

Sudden shyness, smothering embarrassment, floods your system as you quickly drop Eddie’s wrists. He revels in your reaction, dimples flashing as he reaches out once more to grab onto your thighs.

You’re too quick for him this time. Stepping outside of his reach effortlessly as you try to catch your breath. Damn him. 

Eddie Munson is a flirtatious tease. It’s in his blood; he is a pest, he is a flirt, and he is one of two absolute banes of your existence. 

The other just happens to still stand shocked in the kitchen doorway. 

“Do you need any help with snacks?” you grumble as you quickly shove past Steve and into the kitchen. Your gaze stays down, unable to look at either of the boys in the eyes for a moment as you head straight to where Steve has placed a bowl of popcorn. 

Some sort of silent exchange surely must be occurring behind you between them, but you don’t bother with glancing over your shoulder to confirm it. 

“Hey,” Steve finally follows behind you, grabbing the bowl of candy to your right, “Is everything alright?” 

Yeah, totally alright. Just feel like my heart could burst out of my chest every time the two of you tease me like that. Just hate the way I wish the insinuations held more weight. Just really, really wish I wasn’t so hopelessly infatuated with my two best friends. It’s fine. Just peachy. Totally alright. 

You forgo the internal dialogue spilling out into the air between the two of you, only shrugging and saying, “Fine. Why?” 

“Just making sure,” Steve plays it off as nonchalant. 

Maybe you should have spied on their private interaction. You’d assumed it was just joking glances or further teasing words exchanged, but maybe it had been something more. Something serious – concern for you, possibly. 

You really hope you hadn’t hurt Eddie’s feelings with the way you’d escaped the mortifying scene so quickly. It’d put a slight damper on what was clearly just meant to be a nice, comforting night filled to the brim with Halloween nostalgia. 

Steve clears his throat as you pick up the popcorn bowl and face him, face contemplative over words not quite forming on his open lips.

“Are you alright?” you question now, brows furrowing and hills of wrinkles forming between them. 

He stares directly at them for a second, more careful consideration, before whatever war raging in his mind comes to a standstill, “Can I ask you a question?” 

Oh, no. That’s never a good question to hear from one of your guy friends. Even with pining, assumingly unrequited crushes aside. 

“Sure,” you try to keep your voice steady, even adding a casual shrug to mask any signs of anxiety creeping in, “Ask away.” 

Is he about to ask if I have a crush on Eddie? Would I even admit I have a crush on Eddie? If I admitted to my crush on Eddie, would it be awkward to follow it up with an ‘Oh, but, hey! I also have a crush on you! No biggie!’? 

There was a good reason you’d never approached either boy about your feelings. Confusion. All the feelings were a confusing, tangled, head-ache inducing pain to navigate. Easier to swallow them down and lock them tightly in your chest than to rain down devastation on a perfectly good friendship trio. 

“Is there…” Steve pauses, licking his lips nervously, moving the bowl of candy from one hand to the other as if trying to procrastinate finishing his question, “Is there something going on between you and Eddie?” 

Oh.

Oh. 

Well, it’s certainly not the type of embarrassment you expected. 

“What?” you laugh skittishly, “What do you mean?”

“I mean, like… are you two dating? Or, I don’t know – is there anything going on there?” 

“Why are you asking?”

“Why are you avoiding?” 

You both hit a stand-still, staring at each other with wide eyes. Your pupils are blown with fear of the exposure of your best kept secret, or at least half of it, but Steve’s seem to shine with something more. Like he knows something you don’t. 

“I’m not avoiding,” you choke out, “Nothing’s happening between us. He’s always a flirt, you know this. Just last week, he was making jokes with you about how you could spit in his m-”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve cuts you off, cringing slightly, “That was gross. He was way too committed to that bit when he started trying to spit in my mouth.” 

“You egged him on.”

“He ruined my appetite for a perfectly good strawberry milkshake.”

“You literally egged him on,” you laugh a little, glad for the subject change and that the spotlight was now on Steve, “Kept telling him he wouldn’t. You should know better than that by now.” 

Steve only shrugs and begins to walk out of the kitchen, you following right behind. 

He can avoid the topic all he wants, just as you tried to pathetically avoid the topic of there being anything between you and Eddie, but it doesn’t erase the fact that you’d never seen Steve Harrington blush before that night. 

Maybe he was asking if you two were a thing out of jealousy. And oh, how ironic it would be if you had to sit back and watch Steve grow the balls to do something about his feelings for Eddie before you could. The two men that drove you insane, ending up dating. 

The Universe is cruel, but you hope it isn’t that cruel. 

“Took you two long enough,” Eddie dramatically sighs when you two re-enter the living room. He’s still splayed out across the couch, feet digging into the cushions as if for emphasis of him ignoring your request, “Thought I was going to starve to death out here.”

“You weren’t going to starve to death,” Steve scoffs. When he slaps Eddie’s shins, the older boy finally moves his legs, sitting up as the blanket falls partially off his lap. 

“We can’t know that for sure.”

“I’m very sure you would have survived another five minutes.”

“Five whole minutes?” Eddie gasps, not letting the theatrics drop for one moment, “Jesus Christ, what the Hell were you two doing in there? Sucking each other’s faces off?” 

Son of a fucking bitch. 

You silently send up a plea to whatever greater power may be controlling the Universe, quietly insisting that both sides of Eddie Munson’s pillow are deathly hot tonight. 

Normally, you could handle all the teases, all the innuendos. Hell, you’d even been able to handle a sudden influx of the behavior these last few weeks from both of them. So you can’t quite pinpoint why they all seem to get to you tonight. Maybe it’s the way they seem specifically targeted at only you, none of Eddie’s suggestive comments being spared for Steve tonight. Or maybe, it’s the way both boys seem to lock their gazes on you after each one, waiting patiently as they anticipate your reaction. Gauging the way your eyes widen, drinking in the way your breath quickens. Like predators with prey, it just feels like they’re toying with you. 

You’re kind of grateful that you’re not watching one of Eddie’s normal slasher films tonight. At least Charlie Brown isn’t going to jumpscare you into one of them embarrassingly. 

You haven’t responded yet, and Steve is clearly not about to entertain Eddie’s comment nor deny it shyly as he usually would. So you take a big breath, put on your brave face, and smile.

“Oh, yeah,” you curse the shake in your syllables, “I can officially confirm that Stevie is the best kisser in all of Hawkins. Congratulations.”

You end in flourish, matching Eddie’s performance with your own as you set the popcorn down on the coffee table and bow. When you look up, Steve is flush as Eddie smirks. 

Again, not what you had expected. An eye roll from Steve, maybe some shock from Eddie at you keeping him on his toes. 

The only person being kept on their toes tonight, it seems, is you. 

Steve settles into the opposite end of the couch from Eddie before you can even fathom choosing a seat. 

Damn it. Middle seat it is, then. Definitely not having an internal panic attack about this. Not at all freaking out. 

The movie is already in the TV as you plop down between the boys, careful to not make direct contact with either. At this point, so much as a brush from their knee against yours would be equivalent to a terrible electric shock. You’re not in the mood for further teasing about being so skittish, or Eddie berating you for being scared of a movie like Charlie Brown. 

You should have known better. 

Eddie notices immediately, and instead of leaving it alone, he comments on it. Bastard. 

“Why so far away?” he starts off teasing, throwing half of the pumpkin blanket he was using over one of your thighs. Immediately, his body heat becomes your own, and you scorn the way you want to lean into it. Press into his side, succumb to whatever shitty drugstore cologne he was wearing and the way his last cigarette is probably lingering to that stupid band t-shirt, “You’re not scared that my smelly, sweaty feet are gonna bite, are you?”

“They could,” you blandly reply. 

Eddie and Steve share a look behind your head. 

Your arms cross protectively over your chest, and you know it looks as if you’re pouting, but you swear you aren’t. You swim in the denial, telling yourself that the sourness in your mood is only a result of being on edge. It was just a bad week for your childish crushes – the quicker you get the stick out of your ass, the quicker you can return to normal, and the quicker you can ignore all your desperate temptations. All those silly butterflies and disgusting chills you get when Steve brushes up against you to grab something that’s just out of your reach, when Eddie throws an arm around your shoulders and his curls tickle your cheeks. 

You’ll get over it. It’s fine. A perfectly cozy autumn night is no time to throw a pity party. 

When you glance at Eddie as Steve is clicking his way through the movie’s menu, you catch him already looking at you. There’s no trace of his usual joking or relaxed boyish features. He looks genuinely scared, genuinely concerned that he’s upset you. 

“Are you mad at me?” he whispers, straight to the point once he notices you looking back at him. 

Immediately, you’re shaking your head.

You’re not mad at him. You’re mad about him. You’re mad that his hair looks so soft, and you always wish for more sudden vulnerable moments where he lets his guard down and your fingers detangle the curls. You’re mad that his lips look very kissable, even in the dead of winter when they crack terribly and he arrogantly turns down all your offers of lip balm. You’re mad that every time he laughs hard enough that he lets his head fall to your shoulder, a warmth impossible to shake settles in your bones. 

And you’re mad for all the same reasons when it comes to Steve. 

It is ridiculous. Stupid, reckless, foolish. Best friends don’t envision taking each other on cute fall dates. Best friends don’t look for every possible excuse to touch one another, to flirt with one another, to just be near one another. 

You’ve fucked yourself over, really. Should’ve had half the mind to not fall for not only one, but both of your guy best friends. Idiot. 

“I’m not mad,” you hoarsely whisper back as Steve frowns when his remote doesn’t work on the TV, standing to go manually hit play, “I’m sorry, Eds. I’ve just- it’s been a shitty week with work and stuff. I’ve been kind of a dick tonight. I’m sorry.” 

Eddie visibly relaxes, moving to lay his arm on the couch behind your head. You do have half the mind to not freeze up at the proximity just as the side of his thigh presses against yours. 

Don’t fuck this up. Don’t fuck this up. Do not fuck this up. 

That giddy child within you that wants to write their initials with yours in a wobbly, pathetic goddamn heart is jumping with joy. Idiot. 

“Don’t apologize for that, sweetheart,” oh, fuck him for that endearment, dripping with adoration. You hate it solely for not being the type of adornment you wish you could afford, “Tonight’s a perfect distraction. Just us, a fuck ton of candy, and Charlie Brown with his big ass pumpkin.” 

“It’s called the great pumpkin,” Steve corrects as he returns to the couch. 

“To-may-toe, to-maw-toe,” Eddie brushes off, waving the hand not resting behind your head currently.

As Steve sits down, you can’t tell if it’s accidental or deliberate that he chooses to sit several inches closer to you. Suddenly, both thighs are now pressed up against each boy at either side of you. 

“Whatever,” he huffs, motioning across you for the blanket from Eddie, “Just share the blanket and shut up.” 

And despite being in your own personal Hell, the first hour or so of the cartoon goes fairly smoothly. Normal joking, plenty of Eddie’s manners going out the window as he makes comments through mouthfuls of popcorn, subtle passings of Steve unwrapping your favorite candies before handing them over to you without a word. It’s nice. For a moment, it’s the perfect fall night. 

“That’s you,” Steve reaches a hand across you to jab Eddie in the shoulder before pointing out Pig-Pen in his ghost costume on the screen, scribbled dirt around him bouncing about.

“Excuse me?” Eddie scoffs, leaning forward to properly glare at Steve. But there’s no hate there, only gentle joking and enjoyment flaming away behind dark brown irises, “I’ll have you know I showered for this, Harrington. Can you say the same?” 

You laugh quietly, stuck in the middle of the arguing boys as your eyes stay glued to the screen. 

“You showered? What a miracle.”

“Bite me, Charlie Brown.” 

You finally pull your eyes from the screen of the kids excitedly sharing what treats they received, trying to not smile at the iconic delivery of a deflated I got a rock as you peer up at Steve’s pouting lips.

He’s pretty, even this close. Faded freckles that will rest for the dreary months until the sun beckons them back to the surface come summer, full brows that still manage to frame his honeyed eyes even as he furrows them deeply. 

“I can’t hear the movie over you idiots,” you whisper as he locks gazes with you, “Shut up and pass me another Reese’s cup, will you?”

You don’t have to ask twice. Steve leans down without protest and does as you ask, going so far as to once more tear away the orange wrapper before he places the peanut butter cup delicately in your waiting palm. 

“Thank you.” 

“Anything for you, honey.” 

The words are more sincere than you’re prepared for. You know he means it as he looks at you with hazel eyes full of a desire, a longing, you’re not used to. Lashes fluttering, corners of his mouth pressing downward but not quite in discontent. He looks impossibly handsome without even trying. Effortlessly, he’s taking your breath away. You have to remind your chest to rise and fall, to remind yourself that this is nothing more than a movie night with friends. 

Be normal. Act normal. This is normal.

Except you feel anything but normal when Eddie’s arm falls from the back of the couch and around your shoulders. A clearly intentional move attempted to be brushed off as an accidental action. His skin strikes against yours like a match against grain, and the slow embers they’d been stoking for weeks now erupt from you in a field of goosebumps following the chill running down your spine. 

You don’t react. 

Not when his thumb trails over the top of your shoulder in soft, sweeping motions. Not when Steve’s head eventually replaces Eddie’s hand on your shoulders as he succumbs to the week finally catching up to him, and you become entranced in the scent of his minty body wash clashing with the soft coconut of his shampoo. Not when your own heavy head smushes uncomfortably against Eddie’s biceps and your own snores join Steve’s in a symphony barely breaking over the volume of the sweet cartoon on the screen. 

Eddie doesn’t wake either of you that night. Even when he really should. The three of you don’t finish the final thirty minutes of the movie, but it’s still the perfect fall night for all of you. 

Maybe you’ll untangle your feelings for the two boys come winter. 

—

“There’s no way you can lift that.”

“Fuck off, Harrington. Your pumpkin from last year was double this one in size.” 

“And I was still able to pick it up. If you can’t carry it, we’re not getting it. Simple as that.” 

Normally, you’d butt into Eddie and Steve’s arguments. Probably inject a comment about how it didn’t matter because there’s not a single pumpkin here that would ever be bigger than either of their heads — something sure to set them both off until you commanded their silence. Normally, you wouldn’t be so quiet.

But ever since the night of the Great Pumpkin, your mind has been restless enough to kill off any words before they can fall off your tongue. 

A cycle of overthinking and overanalyzing has been haunting you for a week now. The memory of Eddie’s fingertips pressing into the ditches of your knees, and that particularly heartstopping look from Steve as he’d so sweetly referred to you as honey. You told yourself you’d get over it, and the morning after had even been close to normal. You’d all woken up with aches in your neck from that uncomfortable sleeping situation on Steve’s couch, and Steve had even offered to pay for you all to just get bagels from your favorite restaurant a block away rather than destroy his kitchen in a mission to make breakfast. Eddie had ordered everyone’s coffee just the way they liked it, you’d repeatedly pointed out cream cheese on both boys’ upper lips repeatedly, and it had all been easy. 

And then you went home. And once the first nervous replay of the night began, it turned into an endless cycle. 

“The pumpkin has to be big for the design I’m doing, Steve,” Eddie continues to argue as he stands over a larger pumpkin on display. The boys had thought it’d be a good idea to visit the pumpkin patch today. 

They’d been right, of course. The weather was beautiful, crisp and dipping low enough to warrant cheesy fall attire. It’s the type of weather where you'd been able to break out a flannel and beanie, all without overheating. Families were walking through the small farm’s selection of pumpkins, children’s calls of glee could be heard from across the bales of hay, a distinct smell of cider off in the distance. The scene was set for a perfect autumn day. 

Except for your raging mind. That, unfortunately, had been killing the mood.

Steve looks at you desperately, a few steps away from the two of them. Just enough space that if their petty argument became too embarrassing, you could easily convince someone you didn’t know them, “Please talk some sense into him.” 

You hesitate before you finally give in and walk closer to Eddie. Your eyes focus on the oversized pumpkin rather than him. It’s too dangerous to fully drink him in; between his red flannel peaking out beneath his leather jacket and your beanie he had stolen to tuck over his own curls after complaining at the cooler weather, he looked too inviting. Too soft. Rosy cheeks and rosy lips called to you like a siren prepared to drown you in all the want that had begun to brew within your body since the movie night. 

“It’s a… big pumpkin,” you state in obvious observation. Eddie tries to work you with his doe eyes instantly, and you hate the way you can feel it working, “Steve’s right. If you can’t carry it to the car, how are we getting it into the house?”

“Steve’s strong.” 

At the mention of his name, Steve crosses his arms. And damn him, because the way his own brown corduroy jacket is straining over his biceps also has you dizzy with yearning, “I am not carrying that fucking thing into the house.” 

“Why not? You’re a big, strong man-“ Eddie starts, almost tauntingly with a wicked grin, making you finally step in between them.

“The bigger the pumpkin, the bigger the mess,” you point out. Steve nods in solidarity, but Eddie is obviously unconvinced, “Eds, I’m not cleaning up all those pumpkin guts this year.”

A look of betrayal crosses his face, mingling with long lashes and faded dimples, “I swear I’ll clean up after myself. I wouldn’t do you like that, baby.” 

There it is. You’d gone this entire day so far without any of Eddie’s usual flirtatious approaches. It had almost seemed like the two men had finally reigned themselves in. 

Clearly, they hadn’t. They were just waiting for the right time.

“Pack up the puppy dog eyes, Munson. You’re a terrible liar,” you mumble out, pulling your own jacket tighter around your body as you move closer to Steve. He hadn’t started any onslaughts of flirting. Yet. 

The moment you get near him, he wordlessly drops his faux irritation at Eddie and opens his arms, beckoning you to step into his space. You almost hesitate, but it was normal. The three of you were always touchy, and it was never a problem before. 

Maybe if it had been, you wouldn’t be in your current predicament.

It’s clear he had taken a shower before the outing as your nose smashes against his t-shirt, the clear scent of his minty body wash and coconut shampoo replacing the air of fall around you. His arms are quick to wrap around your shoulders, only encouraging your body to press further into him. And you let him, because he’s warm, and despite all your teasing of Eddie’s complaints about the weather, you agreed that the chill was particularly unforgiving today. Especially in the shady patches void of sunlight. 

The only real sunlight seemed to emit from the boy wrapped around you. He’s all tousled shades of golden and leftover fatigue from the early waking to make it out to the pumpkin patch at opening. As he hums into your embrace, you choose to just appreciate it, revel in it. 

Eddie is pouting behind you, but out of sight – out of mind. 

“I’m getting this pumpkin,” he says decidedly, “Fuck both of you.” 

“Would you say it’s your great pumpkin?” you murmur against Steve, letting your eyes close, wondering if it’s possible to fall asleep standing up in this position. 

Only Steve laughs at your joke, and you can’t tell if it’s because only he found it funny or if it’s because only he heard your reference to the unfinished movie from the night before. 

It doesn’t matter, because the entire moment is interrupted when an older woman who had been bearing witness to the entire interaction suddenly speaks up.

“Well, aren’t you two just the cutest couple?” 

All the warmth leaves your body, each muscle slowly stiffening as Steve tenses. You almost convince yourself that she wasn’t speaking to you, that there was another couple standing somewhere nearby that were currently gathered in embrace for her to coo at. 

And then Steve answers her, “Us? Oh, we, uh-”

“Aren’t they?” Eddie interrupts, mischief dripping off each word as you slowly lift your head and open your eyes back to the grey day, “So in love it makes me sick to my stomach.” 

Steve coughs up a few more syllables of protest, but Eddie has already done the damage. When you turn to face the lady, she’s wearing a brilliant smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as she looks at you and Steve in glee. 

“Oh, I still remember that feeling,” she continues, a cloud of pure nostalgia glazing over her eyes for a moment before she looks to Eddie, “Don’t worry, dear. You’ll find it one day too, just like your friends.” 

Eddie snorts. Easily mistaken as possible annoyance, inherent jealousy. Only you and Steve know better. 

“We…” you begin, trailing off when you look up at Steve and see him brimming with hope. You expected discomfort, you expected irritation at whatever game Eddie was playing – you didn’t expect optimism at the prospect of you two being perceived as a couple. The ending to your sentence dies on your tongue, and you choose a polite response instead, “Thank you.” 

Was there any real harm in letting some little old lady believe you two were in love? Probably not, especially considering the way she lights up and your faux admission satisfies her. An exchange of have a good day sends her on her way, and she never catches the way Eddie hunches over in laughter once she’s out of earshot. She doesn’t catch Steve Harrington blushing red or the way his arm swings out to smack Eddie in his chest, and she never notices the way you stand in the same place Steve left you, cold and confused and… disappointed? 

No harm, no foul. 

It was all a joke, anyways. 

And that’s all it will ever be, even as you linger back and watch your boys continue their banter, all the while a hollow ache questioning just why the prospect of all that puppy love and youthful oblivion is so funny between the boys. Why the idea of one of them being yours, is so damn funny. 

You kind of felt ridiculous. Even more ridiculous than Linus had been, waiting in that pumpkin patch for some great pumpkin to appear. You wish it were just silly children tales and blind hope at play. Your great pumpkin was a little more twisted, a little more complicated; an impossible choice, a gnawing conundrum you will never unravel. 

If you could make a choice, it might be easier.

But why would ever need to make a choice when all it will ever be to the two boys who have come to plague your every waking thought as nothing more than a joke? 

Eddie gets his great pumpkin, and Steve ends up carrying it into the house that day. You’re the only one to return home with more than just empty arms. 

—

Halloween parties are the perfect recipe for disaster. 

Spiked cider, struggling fog machines, loud replays of Monster Mash, and a small crowd of half-assed costumes. Every other year, your friends had thrown this type of ‘spooky’ themed get-together, and you would enjoy every single moment of it. Quite literally, every single moment – from the terrible and impromptu karaoke sessions to the ridiculous apple-bobbing contests that Argyle always excelled at. It was always a night full of light, a night full of laughter. Something to leave your chest feeling fizzy as it would always end surrounded by all your favorite people, particularly Eddie and Steve. 

This year, it feels like more of a burden. 

You’re feeling like something hollow, something monstrous – no costume required – as you stew in quiet misery for the first few hours. The movie night and the pumpkin patch visit have left you feeling something new. Something that had grown claws and growled to be recognized in all its painful yearning and pitiful pining. 

Steve questioning you about having something more with Eddie had driven a knife into your chest, and the prospect of being seen as a couple with Steve had torn it free of your ribs. Not quite bleeding, but not quite healing, you’d been haunted by a series of what-ifs that stole away hours of sleep and any time of relaxation you’d normally seek as all the leaves changed colors. 

What if you wanted something more with Eddie?

What if you wished that you and Steve were a couple? 

What if you could never make a choice? 

The allusion of a choice to be made still dangled on the forefront of your buzzing cortex. It still felt just as ridiculous as the first time you’d realized you’d been experiencing more than platonic feelings for your best friends; like a child outside a candy store, without money and without hope to go home with any of the sweets that made your mouth water. Everyone could see you staring in through the windows, you swore they could, and they were probably silently mocking the way you drooled. It was stupid.

It was putting a real damper on your entire mood. 

“What’s up with you?” Robin questions finally as she walks up to where you sit on the balcony of her shared apartment with Nancy. At some point, you’d decided the frigid chill of the night would be a better place to soak in all your misery. 

“What do you mean?” you blandly ask, not even looking up from the railing your eyes had focused on. 

Robin joins you on the garden couch, shifting the flimsy seating a bit from the force of her throwing herself down dramatically, “I mean, why are you out here all alone? And why have you been so quiet tonight? Did something happen?” 

Straight to the point. One of the reasons you liked Robin – her lack of a filter was something you’d always seen as more of a gift rather than a curse. 

“Nothing happened,” you shrug, head feeling light despite the storm that had been brewing for nearly the entire month now. Your fingertip trails around the rim of the now-warm bottle of cider you’d been nursing after chugging two previously. You wanted to be drunk. You wanted to down enough alcohol that you wouldn’t even remember Steve and Eddie’s names by the end of the night.

“You’re doing that thing they do in the movies,” Robin notes, finally making you look at her with raised eyebrows, “You know, where they say nothing’s wrong but it’s all… sad,” she waves her hands erratically through her ramble of an explanation, one hand clutching her own bottle of beer. You can see the condensation through the lowlights and simply know her adult equivalent of apple juice is far cooler than yours. Probably tastes better, too, “Like, something is obviously wrong, but you’re gonna make me work for the answer.” 

You laugh under your breath. The silence is filled with static noises of night; you can still hear the chatter of your friend group and whatever Halloween-themed song they were playing over the speakers through the shut sliding door, an orchestra of insects hum their complaints through the dark apartment complex, a soft whistle of the fall breeze rustles all the trees lurking in the shadows. 

She’s right. It’s dramatic, it’s stupid, it’s ridiculous – and she’s right. 

You sigh out and feed into your theatrics as you fall back against the cushion of the couch, finally matching her slouch, “Have you ever watched the Charlie Brown Halloween special?” 

“What?” she scoffs, no trace of rudeness in her remark but rather confusion, “You mean the one where all the kids are trick-or-treating, and that one weirdo is waiting for some magical pumpkin king with that other girl? What does that have to do with-” 

“I feel like that weirdo,” you interrupt, staring straight ahead, “Like Linus. Just standing in a pumpkin patch and waiting for some great pumpkin that isn’t going to show. And I know I look silly, but a part of me really believes, y’know? I just can’t stop waiting for something to happen that might never-” you cut yourself off with a sharp breath. That wound in your chest, the one only you can see, throbs. Not bleeding, not healing. Just yearning as you correct yourself, “For something that won’t ever happen. Ever. There’s no great pumpkin, and I just end up looking like a fool.” 

Robin’s silence is unnerving. No amount of sounds of the night can blanket over the discomfort begging to bubble over. 

“I think I’m just drunk,” you try to save yourself, “I’m sorry, it’s dumb-” 

“What’s your great pumpkin?” she asks carefully, “What are you waiting for?” 

The alcohol must really be having an affect, because your loose lips are finally moving to their own accord. 

“Eddie and Steve.” 

She scrunches her face, “What about those dinguses?” 

“They’re my great pumpkin.” 

You’re clearly nonsensical as Robin shifts to lean forward, entering your blank line of sight, “Are you…. Like, you want them to get together? Sorry, I’m not really following here, Linus.” 

The nickname almost makes you smile. Almost. 

“I mean, not really,” you try to forage your brain for the right words to explain, but there’s no poetic way to put what’s been on your mind, “I like them. Both of them. Have for a while now, but it’s… it doesn’t really matter, anyways.” 

You’re drunk enough to not hear the tapping on the sliding door. And if Robin does, she makes no move to react to it, still focused on you. 

“You like both of those idiots? Oh, thank god,” she almost sounds relieved, and your head snaps to her direction. 

You still don’t see the figure standing inside the doorway, moving to open the door. 

“Thank God?” you laugh humorlessly, “I am not thanking God. It’s miserable, Robs. I like them both so fucking much, and I just- what am I supposed to do with that? They’re my best friends, and I should know better. Besides, liking two guys at once can never work out. What am I supposed to do? Shove them into a room with me and go, ‘oh, hey, I like both of you. And I can’t choose, so I’m just going to make you live with that. Also, Eddie, lay off the flirting, because it sort of makes my heart stop and my chest all tight. And Steve, please don’t call me honey, because it also makes me feel all terribly weird. But also neither of you ever stop either of those things, because I might keel over and die if I’m not receiving all your affections, platonic or otherwise.’” 

Your admittance all comes out in one breath, saying exactly what you wish you could say to the two boys. You don’t care how foolish you sound to Robin right now – the cider has taken care of all your shame. 

It’s just nice to say it outloud. 

Very nice, in fact, until movement behind Robin catches your eye, and you realize you had not been alone during your ramble. 

Eddie. 

“Oh, fuck me,” the normally internal dialogue comes out as a sigh, eyes wide in stricken fear as Robin turns to face your own waking Hell. 

“Welp,” Robin’s very helpful reaction tries to break the tension to no avail, “I… I think I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll- Yeah. I’m gonna go.” 

She jumps up before you have the chance to reach out and stop her. Your hand aches to just wrap around her forearm, to beg her to not leave you alone to burn with all your shame and embarrassment, but she’s gone before you’ve even moved a muscle. 

Her seat vacated, and in her absence, Eddie takes her place. 

Kill me. Kill me now, please. Have mercy on me-

“So…” Eddie begins, fiddling with his hands as he looks down at his lap. In the shadows, you don’t see the ghost of a grin on his lips, “You like us?” 

“If you’re about to make fun of me,” you state flatly, bristling in your seat, all liquid confidence beginning to evaporate, “I’d rather you save me the embarrassment, and just kill me. Make it quick and painless, please.” 

All your pity partying was easier to swallow than this. You liked your brooding solitude far more than the acceptance that Eddie had just heard your very mortifying speech, liked the assumption that you might have been upset with the boys more than them knowing the truth. 

Eddie throws his hands up in surrender, “Not making fun of you. I swear.” 

“Well, if you’re about to reject me, can you also make that quick and painless?” 

“Who said I was rejecting you?” 

“I know it’s fucking weird and I just ruined everythin- wait, did you just say you’re not rejecting me?” 

You were so convinced that the outcome would always be bloody, always painful and bitter, that you hadn’t prepared for this. You had a hundred and one speeches prepared about how you agreed with the boys, how you were all better off friends and how you would reassure them that in a few months’ time, you’d be able to get over the silly crushes.

There were no practiced words on the tip of your tongue for the instance in which they found out and reacted well. 

Eddie continues to grin under the lowlight of the porch light, looking at you sideways, not a single glimpse of him running from this evident. 

“I’m not rejecting you,” he repeats himself, shuffling a bit closer on the couch, “And I’m definitely not making fun of you.” 

You’re a bit speechless still. He’s close enough that his shoulder brushes yours, his knee briefly bumping the side of yours in an attempt to get you to look at him. Like a moth to the flame, you dare to turn your head, to fully take in the proximity. 

“You did hear everything I said, right?” you can imagine the way the scent of cider mingles with your breath as you whisper softly to him. You almost consider grabbing what’s left of your third, or fourth possibly, bottle and just chugging as you had done with your previous drinks. 

But being drunk would be a penniless attempt. When Eddie is looking at you like this, there is no amount of alcohol that could combat the sobering effect he has on you. The chill in the air hadn’t done it, the lingering smell of a bonfire somewhere in the distance was futile – but those big, brown eyes shocked you right out of your inebriated state. 

Endless. They were endless in entertainment, in bewitching, in calling out to the wound in your chest. The gash might even be bleeding finally at this point as your heart hammers and your bones threaten to break. 

“Every. Single. Word,” his lips spread thinner as he punctuates each word, corners of his mouth upturning to impossible heights, “Are you sure you don’t want me to stop all my flirting? Because, by all means, I can. It would be a shame, though, considering I was right.” 

You hardly notice the way you’re leaning in closer to him, “Right about what?” 

When he meets you halfway, own body succumbing to the gravitational pull you possessed and had no idea of, you finally note the further lack of distance. 

“Right about you liking us,” his breath hits your chin as he sighs, “Right about the fact that you don’t squirm every time I joke about kissing you because it makes you uncomfortable. At least, not in the way Steve always assumed,” he pauses, body slowly angling towards yours. The only symptom of his nerves you’re able to catch is the hard swallow, as if he’s keeping all his fears at bay before he continues, “I need to ask you something, and this time, it is not a joke.” 

Maybe the creators of Charlie Brown should have let Linus drink. Then, he would have seen his great pumpkin, just as you were now. 

“Ask away,” you expect it to come out as a stutter, to falter and trip over your request.

But you don’t. Even in your fuzzy state of mind, you’ve never been more sure of what Eddie is about to ask of you. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

Your reply is half an eager nod, half a pathetic mumble of please. The moment Eddie has your permission, his lips find yours, sour from cider and sweet from candy. 

It’s better than your overactive imagination had been able to conjure the last few weeks – last few months. Once you two find some sort of broken stride, an exchange of lips and teeth and tongue that feels right, you almost scold yourself for having sat in fear for so long. You should be mulling over the way this wouldn’t end well, the way this was too good to be true, but you can’t. When your fingertips tangle up the sweaty curls at the nape of his neck, and his own hand rests gently around your throat as he pulls you closer, you don’t second guess anything. 

You’re kissing Eddie. He knows you like him, knows you like Steve as well, and he’s kissing you. 

Right around the time you’ve nearly found yourself in Eddie’s lap, and all the air in your lungs has been stolen, the sliding door to the balcony opens again. You don’t want to break apart from Eddie – you think you’d rather take another metaphorical knife to the chest than do so – but he’s quick to separate without giving you a choice. 

If you weren’t so terrified of coming across as something too needy, a greedy animal full of whines of protest, your lips would have chased after him. 

Instead, your eyes flutter back open to find Steve Harrington standing behind Eddie, eyes wide as they can go as he takes in the scene he’s walked into. 

In an instant, you jump backwards, putting distance between yourself and Eddie as a symphony of curses ring through your mind like alarms, “Steve.” 

Eddie has the nerve to merely smile. 

“Nice of you to join us, big boy,” he calls casually over his shoulder as Steve walks further out onto the balcony. Your heart is still beating out of your chest, realizing what Steve had just witnessed.

You fucked up. 

“Steve, I didn’t-” you start to try to defend yourself, but it feels a bit useless as he looks right at Eddie, almost as if awestruck.

“Robin came and got me, what the fuck happened?” 

You wish you could wipe the floor with Eddie’s smugness, momentarily forgetting all the emotions he had just pulled from you with a simple kiss as he smirks up at Steve, “I was right.” 

You try to anticipate Steve’s reply. A play by play of a fight that might break out, a rejection still waiting to happen, a punchline that had yet to land. 

His lack of reply is almost worse. 

He glances down at you, eyebrows quirked in curiosity as all the hurried energy leaves him in slow spurts. His shoulders drop in relaxation, near relief, and a soft smile plays at his lips. Once curled fists now unfurl, subtly swiping away sweaty palms on the sides of his denim-covered jeans. Every action, every smoothing over in his anxiety, sends you sinking deeper into the cushions. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you mutter, shrinking under his gaze. 

“Because he was right,” Steve takes a slow step forward, still underplaying his smile, “Because that shithead was right, and you like us.” 

It hadn’t occurred to you that they had discussed this. It was never a possibility in your mind that they’d also been running over scenarios, considering their own what-ifs all the while you’d been losing your mind. 

But it makes sense. 

Why else would they have continued to flirt with you this way? Why else would there have been such a steady progression in how far they were willing to take all the jokes, all the bits? Months of memories flash before you, and the final click into place occurs when Steve drops into what little space was left on the other side of you. It forces you to scooch over, press even closer to Eddie, leaving you to be completely sandwiched between the two men tightly. 

There’s still a little bit of bravery left somewhere in you. Just a spark, but enough to have you looking at Steve with determination.

“Hey, Steve?” 

“What’s up, honey?” 

Eddie’s squeak of laughter doesn’t go unnoticed. But you refuse to react and lose this momentum. 

“Can you kiss me?” 

If you were reading this entire scenario correctly, drunk or not, the answer would be yes.

No choices necessary. You could have your cake, and eat it too. 

Steve looks past you, over your shoulder and at Eddie, “You’re drunk, honey-”

“It doesn’t matter,” you insist, “I promise, I want this. Sober or not. Just…” you falter finally, taking a deep breath. Steve’s cologne, Eddie’s last cigarette lingering on his jacket, and the crisp autumn air fill your lungs. “One kiss. Nothing more. I swear.” 

“You really gonna make her beg, Harrington?” 

“Fuck off,” Steve’s softness when it comes you isn’t extended to Eddie, sending a warning glance the other boy’s way, “The only reason you’re not on my shit list is because you’re also plastered.” 

“I’m not plastered,” you and Eddie say in sync. 

Just like that, the high-rise tension has broken. Eddie rests his chin on your shoulder, clearly no longer afraid of the closeness that had become a normal before the ‘unfortunate’ overhearing of your admission. His arms wrap around your waist, pout on his lips as his temple leans against your hair. 

“You’re lucky you’re both cute, you know that?” Steve muses, shaking his head softly. 

You’re both cute. The sweet amusement nearly stitches up the once gaping hole in your chest immediately. 

“You gonna kiss her or not?” Eddie’s voice is loud in your ear despite his low volume, chin moving against the apex of your shoulder, “Because if not, my lips are growing awfully cold-”

Steve’s hand lifts and thumps Eddie’s forehead immediately, loud enough for you to hear the impact as he leans off of you dramatically, letting out a groan of complaint. 

You almost turn, a bit too eager to witness theatrics you’d normally roll your eyes at, when Steve’s palms cradle your cheeks with unexpected softness. 

“Hey, look at me, yeah?” he barters. And his wish is your command, your attention wholly his as you look at him worriedly. Although the sentiment of him hesitating to kiss you while drunk was sincerely endearing, you don’t know if you could handle any form of rejection right now. 

You bite your lip, and Steve’s thumb is quick to come and tug gently below your mouth, forcing your bottom lip to be freed from between your teeth. 

“One kiss,” he says sternly, brows furrowing, “I’ll kiss you, mostly because I’m a selfish bastard who’s terrified you won’t ask again when sober, but we are talking about this in the morning,” he leans back a little, and looks at Eddie pointedly, “All of us.” 

“Stop stalling and kiss h-”

Eddie never gets to finish his sentence. 

Steve kisses differently than Eddie, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s more sober or if that’s just how it is. But it’s something you’d like to learn; you’d like to memorize the patterns of both their lips, the differences in the touch of their hands as they pull you in deeper, the comparison of Steve’s stable and sure hands versus Eddie’s shaking and coloused ones. 

Steve is a generous kisser, a follower at your beck and call. He lets you set the pace and lead the way. You control when the two of you pull back for air, when his teeth graze at your bottom lip, when he lets out soft and pretty sighs into the kiss. He’s all sweetness, none of the sour you’d tasted on Eddie’s tongue to be found. 

Just like honey. 

How fitting. 

When Steve finally takes an inch of control and releases you, formally ending the kiss and leaving you just as breathless as Eddie had, you swear you’re seeing stars. You’re dizzy with want. You wish you hadn’t chugged those beers, you nearly consider getting down on your knees and begging both men for more. They’ve given you what you’d craved, and more, but you’re a selfish animal. Prepared to dig in your claws and call for more than you bargained for. 

“One kiss,” he reminds you when you lean in for a second. He’s smiling like he might let you get away with it if you really pushed for it, though. 

You play innocent instead, leaning back until your back nearly bumps into Eddie’s chest. 

“One kiss,” you nod, fighting back a smile as you look at the man before you. 

A great pumpkin indeed. 

“You know, I don’t have a one kiss policy,” Eddie sighs from behind you, and you can feel the way he throws himself back on the couch. 

When Steve rolls his eyes, you truly believe he’s about to only offer a snarky reply rather than what he does instead.

He places a warm palm on the center of your back, encouraging you to lean forward with care before he’s reaching out for the collar of Eddie’s shirt and dragging behind you for a quick kiss.

You nearly break your neck just to witness the tail end of it all. 

“There, happy?” 

Eddie is just as shocked at you, flushing scarlet all the way down his neck, sinking beneath the collar of his t-shirt. 

“I- Uh-” he stutters out, at a loss for words, “Y-Yeah. I- Yeah, very happy.” 

“Good,” Steve seems satisfied as he guides you back into place, practically manhandling you to lay back in your seat so that your shoulders are comfortably pressed to both his and Eddie’s side, “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to go back in there, enjoy the party with our friends, and you two drunk idiots are going to stay out of trouble. And then come tomorrow morning, we’re going to get breakfast, deal with your absolute monsters of hangovers, and… talk about this,” he pauses and vaguely gestures at the three of you with a small smile, “Capiche?” 

“Aye, aye, capt’n,” Eddie murmurs as you whisper back an echo of “capiche”. 

“Yeah?” Steve questions again, catching your eye with a smug smile. 

“Yeah,” you nod, speaking up a bit louder as you decide to take one last daring risk, “I do have one last request, though.” 

“Hit me, honey.” 

“You know, she allegedly hates when you call her hon-” 

“Shut up,” Steve cuts Eddie off, focus on you and only you, “Ignore him. What’s your request?” 

You look between the two boys, realization settling heavily as you recognize that this is real. You had yearned, you had pined, you had wanted until every nerve-ending in your body had ached, and now? Now you have them. Technicalities aside, you had gotten all that you had craved. 

And to think you’d assumed you’d be waiting until winter to unravel all that now sat in the palm of your hands. 

“Can we have a movie night?” you ask, a bit meeker than intended, “Maybe… I dunno… finish that Charlie Brown movie?” 

Eddie’s laughter from behind you is music to your ears, and the smile that spreads across Steve’s cheeks should be hung up in a museum for your perusing whenever you please. 

“Yeah, of course we can,” Steve assures you, a hand coming down on your knee, “Right, Eds?” 

“I suppose,” Eddie sighs. His arm is on your shoulders, just like that first night, and this time you let the match ignite. 

Honestly, the flames had engulfed you long ago. You just wish it hadn’t taken you so long to succumb to their warmth reflected in the brown eyes of the boys on either side of you. 

The three of you do rejoin the party. Finding a bit of enjoyment now that you aren’t drowning in your pity party. Steve is right in his prediction of the hangovers – it might be one of the worst you’ve ever had the privilege of experiencing – but after a very sincere talk with your boys (including an only slightly grumpy Eddie, it’s worth it. 

And when the three of you do finish your movie night, this time shamelessly cuddling up and sneaking kisses between sweet scenes, you can’t help but giggle at Linus finally seeing his Great Pumpkin.

At least you know yours is the real deal, especially when Eddie is the one to fall asleep this time in the final ten minutes, his head in your lap and Steve’s hand tangled in his curls.

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[inklessletter]

for that ask game: What is a Steddie daydream (fic you have in your head whatever you want to call it) you have frequently? I'm sure you have a nice handful to choose from but whats the main one you conjure up to have feelings™ before falling asleep? Do you often rewrite tiny portions nightly because the angst,etc, potential is too good. Or is there a scene you have stuck in your head that you just NEED to replay? What's it about?

Oh god. This one.

It will always be this one. Had I participated in the big bang, that would have been my fic to write (even if I had a very different idea before this).

The only reason I keep having this fantasy in my mind is because I keep dreaming about situations that could fit in this so perfectly. It is very much related to these twin pieces.

So I'm going to share a few highlights of what goes on my mind. This is gonna be cheesy and cringey, but let me expand a bit on this.

It is a summer fic. They decide to do this, ad they decide to take a trip to California, far away from Hawkins, just the two of them. Eddie suggested it, because he thought it would count as quality time together with no chance to go away and Steve agreed because it was fun and spontaneous. And it escalates to the point that they both feel like they've lost control, but before they reach that point, Steve and Eddie do things like:

Stealing a jet-ski (Steve's idea)

Skinny dipping in the night sea

Party crashing a wedding

A fake date with every cliché of the book

Sex in the nature

These are just a few. I keep having ideas of potential situations that would fit in this story so perfectly.

The problem is I want to write it, but I feel like I can't. I've started it many times, but I know my own limits here. I am afraid I won't be able to actually deliver what's on my mind as acurately. I am not a very skilled writer and I'm pretty insecure about my use of the language, so I'm also pretty slow. I just would love to write it, but I am aware that I'd need assistance. So much. I'd love to make art out of it, too. I know I would need so much help with this, and I don't really want to ask anyone, because people has enough on their plate, so I won't put anyone in such a position.

Writing this is actually making me so sad, it's stupid. I think it would really be a very enjoyable little thing to read, and it would inspire me so much to do art out of it, but... well, I think these "no true writer" issues are definitely in the way.

Maybe someday I won't feel like I can't anymore and write it. I'd love to do that.

[steviewashere]

Hey, so I don't typically get myself involved with a lot "drama" (it's not drama, but that's probably what it'll be referred to) in fandom spaces. But this one in particular is bugging me because I was mutuals with a person like this, unaware.

But if you are a minor, please be honest about it. Please, I am begging you to be honest about it.

My blog is for everybody. I do welcome people of all age groups, yes absolutely. However, I do have specific fics, posts, etc. where I explicitly state: "Minors DNI".

I, as an author/blogger/fandom enjoyer, am trusting you to respect that one rule. If "Minors DNI" is listed somewhere on a post or another person's post that I reblog and you're a minor, I'm asking that you please scroll away. I'm trusting you. That's the essential part of all this. That I am putting my trust in your hands. And when you lie about your age, it ruins a lot—not everything, but quite a bit.

(I know I haven't sent out the email yet, personal life's been getting in the way). With my mailing list for my Steddie fics (mostly Steddie) I do ask for your age. I do expect you to be 18+ in order to receive explicit fics in your mailing inbox. And it's not because I want to exclude a portion of my audience, or potential audience. It's—simply put—illegal for me to distribute explicit/smut works to minors. That would be the distribution of pornography to a minor, in the most basics of explanation.

I would get in a lot of fucking trouble. And I am an adult. I am twenty, almost twenty-one and have put that in my bio on here, Twitter, and other socials.

These rules are not to exclude you, I assure you of that. It's to make sure nobody's reading content that isn't appropriate for the age group. And to make sure nothing illegal is happening.

Knowing I could have an underage user reading my explicit work, commenting on it or reposting/reblogging it while they're lying about their age makes me feely yucky. It makes me feel predatory and I know I'm not predatory (even if sometimes my OCD thoughts make me feel that way), I am not a predator, I am not okay with underage users interacting with explicit posts, and I do not consent to that kind of interaction.

Please respect that. Please respect the "Minors DNI" on some of the posts here. Please don't make me have to close off my blog to only 18+ because that's not fun for anybody.

Anyway. Just be honest. Reiterating: I do not consent to underage users interacting with explicit posts in any shape or form. I am uncomfortable with that kind of interaction on specifically explicit posts. This rule is for your safety and for legal reasons. It's not a means to exclude you, it's to make sure online spaces remain safe to use for all users. This is my one way of moderation.

Thanks <3

[ronanceisintheair]

I sent that ask about the Ronance/Steddie parallels in good faith bc I actually ship both. But now met with such incredible hostility on the topic, I'm curious. Why would you prefer heaps of character deaths over a Steddie endgame? What about it is so off-putting that you'd rather see good characters die? It can't be just the fact that it's an mlm ship, or at least I hope that's not your reasoning. So what about it angers you so?

(you might call me a bitch for answering truthfully, but I'm just going to be real. And you might call me a bitch for preferring a full on all character death than st*ddie but yea, maybe so what. Some things just need to be fanon. I can be cool with st*ddie shippers as I am actually cool with some of them. But you're on anon trying to put me on trial because I don't ship them? Like get over it... truthfully. )

Anyway, you shipping both does not mean I ship both, so using the reasoning of "in good faith" is subjective. (And this got long winded...so sorry I guess?)

As a ronance blogger and enjoyer who is tired of st*ddie infiltrating our tags and little nooks of fandom, what you think is in good faith was actually not.(I didn't receive it well so you play it off like it was in good faith-also is the eneregy that is being given).

I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you're new here to my blog and that's fine. That's okay.

But the ruse of it being in good faith reads almost satirical...if only. I'm talking about and was talking about Ronance in my posts so why would you bring up st*ddie anyways to me unprovoked?

I do not ship both I do not have to ship both.(also trying to pull the reverse card on the *just because it's mlm* is not a thing. Mlm media and ships are received so well, and when yall find someone who doesn't like or care for a ship yall expect a whole analysis and thesis why. Well no its not simply because it's mlm-but if it was why couldn't it be? Genuinely? Why do people expect sapphic women to consume mlm content that doesn't relate to them or tell their story but don't put the same energy for gay men?)

it's because st*ddie has been shoveled down my throat too much. Infiltrated every part of st fandom because people don't know how to tag things, don't know how to separate keep it within its own bubble.

Not all, but alot of the fandom are women hating; specifically Nancy and Chrissy hating. And if you believe fandom doesn't influence the way you view media/ships/or anything in general that would be deluded to say. Fan base definitely has a hand in how people receive things at a certain point.

Also as much as I hate this statement it's true here, i saw absolutely nothing between St*ve and E*die interactions beyond two people on forced proximity interacting. So no its not simply because it's mlm. It's because the pair did nothing for me. And didn't give me an *oh* moment.

You shipping both doesn't make you mightier then me just like me shipping only ronance doesn't make me better than you. I'm not sitting here asking you why you ship st*ddie so why must people who only ship Ronance always qualify themselves??

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

One of the things that does confuse me about a lot of the Steddy Hands content is that it centers Izzy. Both like physically by putting him between Ed and Stede in a lot of the art and emotionally, by like making Izzy's enjoyment or desire the center of attention in an art or fan work. This wouldn't strike me as odd if it was just some of the fan work but it's practically all of it. It doesn't make sense to me, because both Izzy and Stede in canon are simping hard for Ed and Izzy and Stede getting along well enough to date or have sex is frankly Ed's fantasy if it's anyone's (at least prior to episode 7 Ed just wants Izzy and Stede to get along well enough to not kill each other or try to make him do it). If you're gonna center someone's feelings it should be Ed's because his are the most conducive to Steddy Hands working. If you're gonna put someone in the middle it should be Ed because of how down horrendous for him the other two parties are in the source material, right? It is confusing to me.