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Billy's taking care of this "mom Steve" nickname right here and now.

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Hazel posts a tiktok that starts with her and Steve sitting together in front of the camera.

Hazel: Okay

Hazel: Dad’s away on a book tour and he doesn’t have TikTok so Pop and I are gonna share things we hope he doesn’t find out about when he gets back.

Hazel: I’ll go first.

Hazel: I hope he doesn’t find out I accidentally deleted our Minecraft world and then I had to figure out how to recover it.

Hazel: Also – I hope he doesn’t find out how much I played without him.

Steve: *snorts*

Steve: Uhh…I hope he doesn’t find out I never filled the bird feeders.

Hazel: Yeah, that’s no good.

Steve: We really should just call them squirrel feeders. The bird probably didn’t even notice.

Hazel: True.

Hazel: I hope Dad doesn’t find out about all the times I got Girl Scout cookies and didn’t share any with him.

Steve: I hope he doesn’t find out we met Robbie’s boyfriend two weeks ago.

Hazel: It’s fine. She already dumped him.

Steve: Yeah, but you know that he and Moe like to be all intimidating together.

Hazel: That’s true. Moe did a pretty good job on her own though.

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eddie asking you if his voice makes you wet as if he can't feel your soaked and needy cunt throb around his fingers that are knuckle deep inside you.

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Rare selfies of me because I’d like to show off my hair growth!!! I’m so excited to have a cute little mullet but currently it’s giving Gareth. Also I’m 5 years on T!!!

|He/They/Xe pronouns!|

#ftm #transmasc #non binary #enby #transgender #gareth emerson #transmasc nonbinary #juniper speaks

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Them 100%

🔪🔪🔪 в вк не репостить🔪🔪🔪  

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truth, dare, spin bottles you know how to ball, i know aristotle

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yep, sounds like my boyfriend

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Steve's hints are getting increasingly obvious but Billy's too nervous to do anything but rent Spartacus again.

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It’s actually really important to imagine older Billy Hargrove dancing to Cher’s Believe in a gay club in San Francisco in 1999 with his hands on Steve’s hips. It’s important to imagine that he’s still rocking the mullet and Steve thinks he’s the most handsome guy on the planet. He has tears in his eyes and he does believe in life after love.

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he can be your devil or your angle

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Here’s my piece to go along with @discodeviant’s fic for this year’s @bigbangharringrove

The fic is beautiful and angsty and absolutely captured my heart. If you’d like to read the fic (which I implore you to do right now‼️) head over to ao3:

⭐️ Highway star ⭐️

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Steve: Maybe you need a like volunteer then? T-to check them out?

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It happens at lunch. Tommy suddenly chokes on his drink. Steve pats his back, laughing at Tommy's red face when he gets his own spitefulness returned to himself. He stares at Billy and swallows his sandwich the wrong way, starting to cough.

It's the end of March and way too cold outside. Despite that Billy wears a crop top, showing off his blond happy trail and abs that are still tanned as if they're in California.

Carol sighs, putting on new lipstick. "Jesus, you guys are hopeless. Hey Billy!"

She waves at him. Billy gives her a short nod before setting down his tray next to her.

"What's up, losers?" He grins and it's like the sun has just risen inside the cafeteria. His nails are painted black, Steve notices absently. The crop top reveals so much of Billy's skin and for the first time Steve realizes that Billy's got freckles everywhere.

"Earth to Harrington," Billy says, clapping his hand in front of him.

Carol laughs so hard there are tears in her eyes and judging from Billy's pissed off face it's not the first time he addressed Steve.

"What?" Steve asks dumbly. From the corner of his eyes he can see Tommy's dreamy expression. At least he's not the only one who has gotten a bit distracted.

"Boys are so stupid," Carol wheezes. Billy glares at her, but there's a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"You wanna hang out after school?" Billy says slowly like he's not sure Steve is listening. But Steve is listening. It's just that Billy is so distracting.

Carol kicks him under the table.

"Fuck," Steve groans.

Billy tilts his head, raising a brow.

"I mean yes," Steve says, neck burning.

"Cool," Billy answers, leaning a bit closer. "We can also do your idea," he whispers.

Steve's mouth hangs open. Carol clutches her belly, shaking with laughter. Billy smirks.

The bell rings. Tommy blinks. "What's goin' on?"

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Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

-

The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

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Eddie Munson is such the perfect muse for me. He's so moldable. I could see him taking so many paths (because he very much survived season 4, thank you very much).

Blue collar? Yes. I see that. It makes perfect sense. He's obviously skilled with his hands. School was hard for him, for whatever reason. I can see him learning a trade.

Restaurant work/bartending? Makes perfect sense to me. It's easy to step into one of those roles, and the skills you learn mean you can find work anywhere. I could see him traveling around, looking for his place, while he slings booze or pancakes. Plus, having a weed hookup in a restaurant is essential - he'd do well in that environment.

GED to Community College to higher degree path - this isn't one I see a whole lot in the fandom, but I think it's possible. A shitty little town like Hawkins isn't somewhere someone like Eddie Munson could thrive academically, but he's a smart guy. And given time and commitment, anyone can make that educational path work. (Especially back when higher education wasn't so financially out of reach, like it is today)

Eddie, my love. He has so much potential for a good story. I love telling them.

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Eddie: Why don't humans have a specific noise that means "there are bees here, let's leave immediately." Why are elephants more advanced than us. Robin: We do have a specific noise for it. It sounds like this: Robin: "There are bees here, let's leave immediately."