#this isn't Jonathan hate

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[infiniteentertainment]

So we saw Tammy Thompson sing the national anthem in the first episode of s4...

Which prompted Robin and Steve to give each other looks because they remembered Robin's coming out moment in the bathroom, where they made fun of Tammy's singing...

Vickie overheard them joking, and Robin took the opportunity to talk to her, saying that she "used to think that Tammy sounded good because I had this massive crush—um, we took a massively hard class together. We were in Mrs. Click's class together," reminding the audience of Robin's explanation that, in the class, she wanted Tammy to look at her, while Tammy only looked at Steve.

So episodes later, in the boat out on Lovers Lake, where Robin looked at Nancy looking at Steve? Yeah. This was a direct callback.

And it's interesting that even though Robin's crush was specifically mentioned when talking to Vickie, it's this scene with Nancy that we see what Robin referenced in action.

But the question is: why do any of this?

Even though Robin said Vickie is the girl of her dreams, we saw Vickie for approximately 3 min of s4, and it's within the last 20 min of the final episode that they had their first actual on-screen conversation. Meanwhile, Robin had been glued to Nancy's side all season. The writers are smart, they could've inserted Vickie into the main group at any point, to give her and Robin a chance to bond, and to develop their relationship. It's been done before with other characters. If anything, it seems like the last thing the writers would want is to give clear preferential treatment to Robin's dynamic with a character who's (supposedly) not meant to be a love interest for her (especially in the season where the actual love interest is first introduced, and the audience has been mentally prepped for Robin to have romantic interactions). I'm not saying Robin can't have platonic female friends, I'm just pointing out interesting writing choices, and the usage of show vs tell.

[stormikitty]

Cosmic Love prompt:

Danny and Damian have been engaged since they were babies. The Fentons wanted access to Lazarus water, and they made a deal with the league of assassins to get it. Danny is trans. Danny and Damian haven't seen each other since Damian was 10 (I imagine Danny is anywhere from a few months to a year younger, so Danny was either 9 or 10 at the time). They had been seeing each other twice a year the last time they saw each other. They used to have more time scheduled to spend together before Damian started training to be an assassin. They weren't getting along when they last saw each other. Danny was upset/angry that his life had been planned out for him and that he was going to be in an arranged marriage. Damian was kind of a jerk at the time (because of trauma but he was still a jerk), and he thought Danny was being a jerk too because having his whole life planned for him was all Damian knew and it didn't make sense to him to get upset about it because that's his reality that he just had to accept. Damian does care about Danny, and cares about what he wants too. But they were kids. They were upset about their situation and frustrated and angry with each other and their families. They haven't had contact with each other at all since Damian came to Gotham.

Skip forward a few years and Damian has fallen in love with his best friend, Jon. He tells his family and Jon about the arranged marriage even though it's likely not going to be a thing anymore since he has cut ties with the league.

Damian and Jon start dating.

Danny is 16 and on the run from his parents and the GIW. He only managed to escape after he had already been captured and vivisected. He goes to Gotham because it'll be harder for his parents and the GIW to find him there. He runs into Damian and Jon at a park while he's at a point in his life where he's got nothing left an he's just sad, scared, angry, lonely, and he'd just about sell what's left of his life for a hug.

[overheard-on-base]

Rank Deathstroke, Scarecrow and AK from best to worst.

Best at the top, worst at the bottom, and I will give my reasons just in case the individual at the bottom happens to find this post.

AK - literally the best boss I've ever worked for. I'm captivated by the drama that is his life. He also genuinely cares - though he acts like he doesn't. 10/10 Boss if you're reading this go to sleep, lord knows you need it. Also it was Hassel who broke the sink in bathroom 2B, thought you should know. And also Deathstroke might come yelling at you for what I have to say about him, I promise to do all the maintenance for a year in advance.

Scarecrow - I honestly don't have many qualms with him, I'm not one of the lot who work closer with him, I'm just a foot soldier. He's just kind of there, like a spider - sometimes he comes out of nowhere and you feel the need to keep an eye on him, sometimes he disappears and you can only hope to wonder where he's gone and how he moved that fast. The current theory among the Militia is he's somehow figured out the power of teleportation.

Deathstroke - now where do I start with Deathstroke? How about the time he threatened to brutally kill us all because he got a packet of googly eyes for Christmas? In graphic detail, might I add. Never got an apology when it came out the Boss did it. And with the Boss, if you were to give him some fake fingers off a Halloween prop or something, he will bluetack them to his nubs, I know this because someone did it. Deathstroke is actually trying to hospitalise us whenever he gets the chance and I think the only reason he hasn't is because the Boss would do to him twofold what he did to us (and he's secretly very fond of the Boss). He's also just purposefully a dick, you can't have one good day around this asshole. I'm sure you've heard the Boss' inner circle share a gif of a cyclops whenever he rolls up to the base, well we all do that, we have a groupchat he's not invited to and whenever he shows up it gets spammed with different gifs and photos of cyclopses. One particularly brave merc put in the lyrics from Epic's "Polyphemus". I don't care if you read this Deathstroke you're a bitch and only the Boss likes you

Look look I'll even redo the rank with Batman involved, it looks like this:

AK

...

Scarecrow

...

...

Batman

...

...

...

Deathstroke

[iamnmbr3]

Everyone adapting Dracula: so what do you think of our adaptation?

Me: I don’t love all the toxic sexist stuff you put in ngl.

Them: no no it’s fine. the book was written in the 1800s so....

Me: ok but was any of this stuff you added actually in the book?

Them: ... no

Me: Wasn’t the book about the 1800s version of a gnc power couple with their poly coded friend group fighting the embodiment of assault and toxic relationships?

Them: hm yeah idk. it was written in the 1800s so like. it’s gotta have strict gender roles and slut shaming! woot! 

Me: ... yeah dude i think this is a you thing  

[zoomclown]

My theory is that the reason Peter Lukas and Jonah Magnus have such a strained relationship is that Jonah has been stealing Peters Lonely-Aligned people to work for the institute. Like the wiki says that he deliberately picks people who he knows wouldn't be noticed if they went missing, so people who are already aligned with the lonely are prime candidates. I think it annoys the shit out of Peter that Jonah keeps taking people who are aligned with the lonely and making them work an office job together.

[jonathanbyersphd]

When Byler or Jancy fics exist without mentioning the other half of the siblings. Like what do you mean you're not obsessed with all of them??

[thenonbinarydetective]

I'm starting to believe (already had a feeling but whatever) that the venn diagram of people who have never read Jon comics and those who don't understand his age up is closing in on a circle. I only say closing, because I know for a fact some have...but others

Like, yes, outside of the comics it happened very quickly and we saw years go past in just a few pages but those years still happened in universe. He experienced all of those years. but just seeing "they aged him up" people act like someone snapped their fingers and he was 18.

[thecelestialsyzygy]

[ladystoneboobs]

y’know, whatever the true parentage of aegon vi aka young griff, in a way he is more like rhaegar than jon snow is. by which i mean their attempts to force themselves into archetypal roles, rhaegar as the prophesied hero against supernatural dark forces and yg as the hidden-prince-in-exile come to save the country and restore peace and harmony by taking the throne.

rhaegar’s very existence is owed to a prophecy, when the ghost of high heart said the ptwp would come of aerys/rhaella’s line they were forced to get married by their father. his destiny was decided and agreed before he was born, as just a hypothetical male prince. bc ofc this promised prince must be a son born with a cock, right? no one ever looked for or expected a princess for this. and when he was born during the mysterious tragedy at summerhall, what could be more of a sign that the prophecy was fulfilled? no need to keep waiting for any more kids, anyone further down the line, this baby had such a dramatic entrance he has got to be the specialest boy of all. rhaegar likely knew all of this from a very young age. grandpa jaehaerys ii believed enough to force his kids to marry, so he wouldn’t want this important planning to go to waste by taking it to his grave, now, would he? was rhaegar reading all the time bc his favorite genre was old prophecy scrolls or was he always doing homework to become the hero he knew he already was? does it really matter when either way he never really had much choice in his role in life? one day he finally goes to train with the master-at-arms only bc he realized from his reading that he “must” be a warrior. he became as great at that as he was at anything else, according to ser barry, but he never enjoyed knighthood. 

to me that’s all a far cry from jon, who grew up idolizing daeron the young dragon and dreaming of glory and conquest. jon, who spent most of his waking hours training in the yard even when injured at the end of asos, just bc he didn’t know what else to do and it helped him blow off steam. jon, who had a nostalgic “hunger” in him when hearing the sound of swords in the yard as lc. the same guy who as of acok still couldn’t get why sam would consider old books and crumbling scolls to be treasure. jon, who has nothing but doubts once he does rise to power and herodom as lord commander and can’t conquer them. and most importantly, jon, the hero who chanced into his role as shield guarding the realms of men only bc ned won the fight at the toj after rhaegar died and took him to be raised in the north. if/when jon does return to life and take his place as a heroic head of the dragon, that role can only be his own choice, not one he was raised for his entire life, just as his membership in the night’s watch was ultimately his own choice based on his northern childhood. (jon’s conception may have also been prophecy-related, but beyond that, his path and rhaegar’s sharply diverged.)

know who was shaped for a royal destiny “since before he could walk”, though? that’s right, aegon in essos aka young griff. his destiny was already chosen for him by the schemes of illyrio/varys just as rhaegar’s was by grampy jae ii and other dragon prophecy nerds before him. he studied his scrolls and trained with the royal master-at-arms just as aegon studied in the routines of his entourages and was trained by knights of the golden company.

and, at some point, we know rhaegar realized he wasn’t the ptwp and decided it was his first son, aegon, instead. mostly bc a comet was seen the night of aegon’s conception. i remember seeing a post years ago saying rhaegar must have spotted the comet that night, run naked straight to elia, and declared they had to get babymaking asap bc the comet was a sign too significant to be ignored. a joke post, prob, but i feel like there’s prob a lot of truth to the idea of rhaegar desparetely forcing the signs to add up, concieving a child on that night after he’d already seen the comet rather than just happening to have sex with elia on the same night there just happened to be a comet sighting. i believe this bc why would it all just be lucky coincidence if aegon vi was not the ptwp? lbr now, whether he indeed got his head smashed in by the mountain or was switched out and sent to essos, rhaegar’s elder son was/is not the promised hero. (just like rhaegar himself could not be the pwtp, after all.) a previously-thought-dead-for-16-years newbie with shaky parentage credentials introduced this late in the game is not going to steal both jon’s and dany’s thunder like that, c’mon. so a comet appearing just for his conception feels about as likely as red rahloo actually killing 3 kings just for the sake of frickin’ stannis. it’s even possible that rhaegar later decided aegon might not be the ptwp either and put more stock in dragon head #3 bc of the whole ice and fire union aspect with lyanna. we just don’t have enough info about that part of the story to know for sure. but there’s no suggestion he was unhappy with elia beforehand or that either of them thought she could not bear more children until the maesters actually said so after aegon’s birth. and even if he was “right” about lyanna’s child being the most important one (ew), he was still counting on both aegon and rhaenys to be the other two heads of the dragon, and presumably planned to raise all 3 of them for their destiny together in kl as he had been. in which case his plans utterly failed, because that is just not at all what happened with any of those kids.

in that sense, death is what jon and his bio dad most have in common as they both walked fairly boldly and blindly into their doom. but the circumstances are still a bit different as jon was murdered in a mutiny rather than killed in battle, not to mention his likely resurrection as an actual hero of prophecy. despite being around 10 years older than either jon or aegon is presently, i’d say rhaegar was even more naively overconfident in his plans than jon was in his final moments. to go that quickly and without any known hesitation through each change of plans from simply being ptwp himself to becoming a warrior as well as a weirdo nerd to fathering 3 heads of the dragon to truly fulfill prophecy to organizing a political coup at harrenhal to honoring lyanna instead to eloping with her after aegon’s birth to make her wife #2 and mother of dragon head #3 to riding off to one definitve battle against cousin robert after hiding in his lovenest with lyanna for months, idk, that does not read to me as someone suffering the same questions and doubts jon did in the nw. rhaegar told jaime “when this battle’s done” not “if i return in victory” in their farewell. he had no back-up plans in case of his defeat, leaving elia with aerys and lyanna in the toj, no plans for how to protect either wife or any of his all-important prophesied progeny in the event of his loss, just as he had no immediate plans to deal with aerys yet. (compare that to idealistic young king robb stark, thought to be recklessly honorable and accused of thinking himself invincible in his youth, yet he still managed to make plans for his succession should he die childless in battle, and planned to put his wife and mother in strongholds held by trustworthy (sane) allies who could defend their positions for some time in his absence.) all that only makes sense to me if he always thought he’d still have time for all that later, never truly envisioning the possibility of house targ being overthrown so soon when all his hero kids were still babies. 

after all, whether he was the ptwp himself or only meant to raise the 3 promised dragon heads as heroes, surely their destiny was already written years before and he couldn’t go out in such a mundane way, right? i’d say aegon/yg shows the same kind of overconfidence in going along with all the gc’s changes in planning, from whatever varys/illyrio originally wanted with viserys iii alive to finding dany and marrying her after the birth of her dragons to leaving for an invasion of westeros first to conquer the stormlands himself before wedding dany as equals. he never imagined she could refuse him until tyrion told him so, and imo is still not grasping that his female relation could prove more important than him in westeros with her 3 dragons. rhaegar may have known he was doomed since his tragic birth among so much death and later knew he wasn’t the pwtp, but he likely still expected a higher doom, one as dramatic and magical as his birth at summerhall. he couldn’t imagine his chest being caved in by lyanna’s dumbass ex, his boorish cousin robert, just as aegon/yg can’t know what doom could be in store for him in westeros either. 

[bees-of-chaos]

I think jon would lose his shit if he ever found out that there was a podcast just about all his pain and suffering that people listen to on the daily to feel good and get a little spooked

can you imagine someone telling him

yeah jon there's cute merch about the dread powers that have haunted you your entire life

yeah people ship you and Elias there's a ton of fanfics about it

oh and what's it called you ask?

The Magnus Archives

Idk I think he'd like spontaneously combust if he heard that

[fiendishartist2]

it's your conclusions that make mine delusions– tma

Jon's feet dangled underneath him, hanging limp. Papers fluttered to the floor, forgotten in the mad scramble between the two men. Jon's hands rested loosely around Tim's wrists, just above where his fists were twisted into Jon's collar. With his back against the wall, Jon was trapped completely under his co-worker's wrath. Tim stepped closer, crushing a lazily written report under his shoe.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Stoker?" Jon asked lightly. Tim's nose scrunched with disgust as Jon's smirk widened enough to bare teeth.

"Stop smiling," Tim snarled, "Stop fucking- what is wrong with you? Why are you here?" Although his grip on Tim's wrists remained deciptively gentle– hands poised so that fingertips just brushed skin– Jon's expression grew hungry. Entertainment flickered behind dark irises; Tim got the sense Jon was relishing in his desperation.

"I work here." Jon answered simply, unbothered despite the way Tim's knuckles dug into his throat. Tim barked out a mirthless laugh.

"Not the same way the rest of us do. Prove it- prove you're trapped by- by whatever is wrong with this place. Go ahead, Sims. Say it." He goaded, hoping Jon would rise to the bait. Jonathan Sims was perpetually level-headed, but Tim was at his wits end.

He wanted this puppeteer wearing a human face out of his life– out of all of their lives.

"Personally, I don't have any desire to leave. I'm quite happy with this job." Tim growled, rearing back and slamming Jon into the wall. The back of his head hit the damp drywall with a satisfying crack. Jon blinked rapidly, dazed.

Tim's blood pounded in his ears; he wanted to hurt this thing under his hands and he couldn't bring himself to care anymore. It was destroying his friends, creeping like a crawling rot into every nook and cranny of their minds. Slowly, it invaded– a sweet croon here, a sharp discouragement there; watchful eyes and cutting words hidden behind an open kindness that came from the confidence of security. It felt safe picking them apart sinew by bloody sinew.

Sasha was ruining herself and wouldn't listen to reason. She ran headfirst into any situation she thought would give her leads, not even bothering to tell anyone when she was in danger. She was working longer hours, talking to people in her office in secret, stashing tapes and statements in odd places he and Martin wouldn't look. Every new statement plucked from the mess Gertrude left behind sent her on a spiral, clawing for any connection to latch onto– and she latched onto Jon's words like a woman drowing. When Sasha ducked away from conversation with Tim and Martin, Jon was at her elbow, whispering in her ear. When she eyed Tim with distrust, he could feel Jon's gaze burning into the back of head. When she continued to pull away from anyone who could anchor her to reality, Jon was right there, pulling her along.

Jon's breathing was becoming laboured. Tim pressed more weight against his chest, egged on by the slight give of Jon's ribcage under his forearms.

"Kill me," Jon choked out. Tim lurched back a step, allowing Jon to take a deep breath that left him with a dry cough. His grin split his pockmarked cheeks, "Kill me, right now. Get it over with. That is what you want, isn't it?"

"You're sick," Tim spat. He pushed against Jon until he wheezed, "You're a sick little creep and I- I want you gone. Leave the Institute. Run into traffic. Anything, just- just get out." Jon's beaming smile wavered, eyes fluttering as consiousness was squeezed out of him, "If I ever see your face again-"

"Tim!"

Tim startled, dropping Jon's collar and letting him crumple to the floor. The anger drained out of him instantly, leaving a hollow in its wake.

He stared down at the man at his feet; Jon's narrow back was shaking.

Shaking with laughter.

Jon's boney shoulders jumped up and down, breathless snickering wracking his entire frame.

He peered up at Tim through spidery bangs. As if on strings, his lips were pulled into manic smile, eyes alight with joy. Hysterics were carved into every crease of his face.

"You can't. You will never be rid of me." He whispered, voice pitchy with wonder.

Someone pushed Tim aside; he stumbled out of the way without even turning to see which of Jon's victims it was. Red faced anger entered his sight, made fuzzy by the film of haze filling his brain.

Helplessness squeezed like a band around his chest; no one would believe him about Jon. Not Sasha, too paranoid to see the problem right in front of her. Not Martin, who would give and give and give to a monster who could only take. Not Elias, who had let Jon into the Archives in the first place.

"-at is your problem, Tim?! What could /Jon/ have done to-" A tinny voice buzzed beneath the rapid gallop of Tim's heart.

Jon was right– Tim couldn't do anything. Nothing would keep Jon from weaving his web around all of them; all he could do now was watch as the threads tightened and tightened until they each snapped under the tension.

Something bumped– shoved his shoulder. Salt and pepper hair left his vision and, instinctually, Tim's eyes traced the monster across the room.

From under Martin's arm, Jon pressed his face into his shoulder. Crocodile tears soaked into the soft, well-worn knit of Martin's favourite jumper. In stark clarity, Tim zeroed in on the hand that raised behind Martin's back.

Jon waved at him slowly and deliberately as he was led gingerly into the breakroom.

[shopcat]

i genuinely do take it so personally when people are against st/eddie Only because it's popular but will like every other god awful crackship rarepair bullshittery or just. every other couple possible basically like they would rather ship eddie and tommy h or soemthing IT DRIVES ME CRAZYYYYYYYYYY YOU ARE NOT COOL OR INDIVIDUAL U HAVE A COLD BLACK HEART like literally get over it i'm SORRY. they're so nothing they're literally so nonoffensive like i Get it i Get it but on the principle alone no i don't get it your soul is full of evil + happiness evades you

[boysdontcryboycry]

The most important relationship in Robin's life is her friendship with Steve and always will be. Die mad

idk buddy it seems like you're the one who's actually really mad that someone doesn't give a shit about a spoiled mediocre cishet white man and thinks that maaaaybeeeee the show should explore the one lesbian's relationships outside of the one spoiled mediocre cishet white man she's been shackled to since her introduction. idk tho.

[maddy-ferguson]

once you see the single nancy vision you really can't unsee it

[momspren]

The more I hear about Dracula daily the less I understand about it, or Dracula as a whole