you're grabbing lunch with a nice man and he gives you that strange grimace-smile that's popular right now; an almost sardonic "twist" of his mouth while he looks literally down on you. it looks like he practiced the move as he leans back, arms folded. he just finished reciting the details of NFTs to you and explaining Oppenheimer even though he only watched a youtube about it and hasn't actually seen it. you are at the bottom of your wine glass.
you ask the man across from you if he has siblings, desperately looking for a topic. literally anything else.
he says i don't like small talk. and then he smiles again, watching you.
a few years ago, you probably would have said you're above celebrity gossip, but honestly, you've been kind of enjoying the dumb shit of it these days. with the rest of the earth burning, there's something familiar and banal about dragging ariana grande through the mud. you think about jeanette mccurdy, who has often times gently warned the world she's not as nice as she appears. you liked i'm glad my mom died but it made you cry a lot.
he doesn't like small talk, figure out something to say.
you want to talk about responsibility, and how ariana grande is only like 6 days older than you are - which means she just turned 30 and still dresses and acts like a 13 year old, but like sexy. there's something in there about the whole thing - about insecurity, and never growing up, and being sexualized from a young age.
people have been saying that gay people are groomers. like, that's something that's come back into the public. you have even said yourself that it's just ... easier to date men sometimes. you would identify as whatever the opposite of "heteroflexible" is, but here you are again, across from a man. you like every woman, and 3 people on tv. and not this guy. but you're trying. your mother is worried about you. she thinks it's not okay you're single. and honestly this guy was better before you met, back when you were just texting.
wait, shit. are you doing the same thing as ariana grande? are you looking for male validation in order to appease some internalized promise of heteronormativity? do you conform to the idea that your happiness must result in heterosexuality? do you believe that you can resolve your internal loneliness by being accepted into the patriarchy? is there a reason dating men is easier? why are you so scared of fucking it up with women? why don't you reach out to more of them? you have a good sense of humor and a big ol' brain, you could have done a better job at online dating.
also. jesus christ. why can't you just get a drink with somebody without your internal feminism meter pinging. although - in your favor (and judgement aside) in the case of your ariana grande deposition: you have been in enough therapy you probably wouldn't date anyone who had just broken up with their wife of many years (and who has a young child). you'd be like - maybe take some personal time before you begin this journey. like, grande has been on broadway, you'd think she would have heard of the plot of hamlet.
he leans forward and taps two fingers to the table. "i'm not, like an andrew tate guy," he's saying, "but i do think partnership is about two people knowing their place. i like order."
you knew it was going to be hard. being non-straight in any particular way is like, always hard. these days you kind of like answering the question what's your sexuality? with a shrug and a smile - it's fine - is your most common response. like they asked you how your life is going and not to reveal your identity. you like not being straight. you like kissing girls. some days you know you're into men, and sometimes you're sitting across from a man, and you're thinking about the power of compulsory heterosexuality. are you into men, or are you just into the safety that comes from being seen with them? after all, everyone knows you're failing in life unless you have a husband. it almost feels like a gradebook - people see "straight married" as being "all A's", and anything else even vaguely noncompliant as being ... like you dropped out of the school system. you cannot just ignore years of that kind of conditioning, of course you like attention from men.
"so let's talk boundaries." he orders more wine for you, gesturing with one hand like he's rousing an orchestra. sir, this is a fucking chain restaurant. "I am not gonna date someone who still has male friends. also, i don't care about your little friends, i care about me. whatever stupid girls night things - those are lower priority. if i want you there, you're there."
he wasn't like this over text, right? you wouldn't have been even in the building if he was like this. you squint at him. in another version of yourself, you'd be running. you'd just get up and go. that's what happens on the internet - people get annoyed, and they just leave. you are locked in place, almost frozen. you need to go to the bathroom and text someone to call you so you have an excuse, like it's rude to just-leave. like he already kind of owns you. rudeness implies a power paradigm, though. see, even your social anxiety allows the patriarchy to get to you.
you take a sip of the new glass of wine. maybe this will be a funny story. maybe you can write about it on your blog. maybe you can meet ariana grande and ask her if she just maybe needs to take some time to sit and think about her happiness and how she measures her own success.
is this settling down? is this all that's left in your dating pool? just accepting that someone will eventually love you, and you have to stop being picky about who "makes" you a wife?
you look down to your hand, clutching the knife.
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Read Part One here
cw: implied child abuse
Eddie's coming over for coffee. Not Eddie with Nancy and Robin or Eddie with the kids. Just Eddie.
They haven't been alone in 9 years and now Eddie is coming over for coffee.
They're friends, of course. After Vecna they didn't have much of a choice, but they've never talked about it--that they used to be something.
After Steve kissed Eddie goodbye for what turned out to be the last time, they didn't see each other again for months and months, except for a devastatingly fleeting moment in the Family Video parking lot. And the next time after that, Eddie's pinning him to the wall of a rickety boathouse, a broken bottle to his throat.
What's going through his mind, his body, at that moment is relief. For days, weeks, months, he ached for Eddie's touch again, and even though he was in danger, he relished in the push of their bodies together. Thought, if this is how he dies, he won't mind going.
But they don't talk about it, about them, because Eddie is on the run and Max is going to die, and they have to save the world, so there's no time. In the aftermath, it's the least of their worries, and now it's been almost a decade and Eddie is coming over for coffee.
The thing is, it's not like Steve has been pining away for a love long lost in the intervening years, and neither has Eddie. They've both had longterm, serious relationships; Steve almost got married. But for Steve...Eddie is the one that's lingered, the one that knocks around his ribcage on late sleepless nights, the one that makes him dream of what might have been. Because Steve truly loved his other partners, but Eddie--nobody will ever compare.
Someone is knocking a rhythm at his front door, and he can't stifle his smile even as his heart runs riot in his chest.
"Hey, man," he says, remarkably nonchalant as he takes Eddie in. Still beautiful, still brimming with energy; his smile wide and dimpled, bouncing on his toes.
"Harrington!" Eddie grabs him into a quick side hug, slapping his back. "Since when do you wear glasses?"
Steve chuckles, touching the horn-rimmed frames. "Oh, god, Robin forced me to get them back in '87? Too many concussions." He touches his forehead. "I usually just wear contacts."
"It's a good look," Eddie says. He's very much not looking at Steve, eyes roaming around the Chicago apartment he's been to many times before.
He watches as Eddie spots the display of his own books, index finger slowly slipping across the spines in a way that makes Steve remember when those same fingers would slide down his spine. He stifles a shiver, turns towards the kitchen.
"So, how's New York? How's the book coming?"
"Livin' the dream." It's not flippant, not like how most people mean it. Eddie leaks genuineness, always has. "The book though...it's a little rough."
Steve sets the coffee maker going, brings fresh pastries and a couple plates over to the table. "I can imagine. It doesn't--it doesn't have to be the same, you know?"
"Yeah, if only I hadn't written three other books leading up to the evil mind wizard," Eddie chuckles. He grabs a croissant and tears it in half. "It'll be alright, Harrington. I'll figure it out. I lived through it the first time, after all."
Steve doesn't remind him that he almost didn't, that they almost didn't. Instead, he pours coffee, listens as Eddie talks about how to fictionalize the worst month of their collective lives.
He splashes milk into Eddie's coffee, taps in three scoops of sugar. He carries it to where Eddie waits, still talking about the logistics of Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One in his novel, but his words abruptly stop as his hands wrap around the porcelain.
"Steve?"
It's only then that Steve realizes what he's done--made Eddie's coffee like he took it back then, made it without thinking, totally on muscle memory, when the best of his mornings were spent in Eddie's arms.
His cheeks glow crimson and he grips at the back of his neck. "S-sorry." He says. "It--is this still how you take it?"
"Yeah." Eddie's eyes fall from Steve's face, his own cheeks pink. "It's--yeah. Still the same."
"I'm sorry--"
"--Steve, I--"
They don't laugh. They both stop speaking and look at each other, faces still red. Steve thinks there's nothing for it but to get it all out now.
"I'm sorry, Eddie." He takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry I never came back. I'm sorry I didn't explain why. I'm just--really, really sorry."
Eddie's eyes are hooked on the table top, fingers twisting and twisting his coffee mug. "Can I--why? I waited and you--why?"
Steve swallows, but it gets stuck in his throat, and now he's the one who can't look up from his hands.
"My parents got home early," he manages. "My dad, he was waiting for me. I guess one of the neighbors thought it best to tell them who I'd been spending my time with."
Silence falls over the table, and he chances a look up at the man across from him, the one whose knuckles bite into his lips, whose eyes shine with unshed tears.
"You should've called me. You should've--you could've stayed with us. We would've kept you safe."
"Eddie, I couldn't. I physically couldn't," the admission costs him so much.
"Steve," Eddie chokes on his name, voice nothing but anguish. "Did anyone--You could've--you were all alone."
He shakes his head. "Robin knew. She snuck through my window to take care of me, but my parents--I couldn't--" This time the words really won't come. "We made a plan. We started that job at Family Video, and we saved up our money."
Now, Eddie's face is creased with grief. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry."
Steve shakes his head, smiles despite the wreckage around his heart. "You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. I left you with no explanation. I broke your heart. And--and--" He thinks, what does it hurt to say it at this point. "I love you. I love you so much. I convinced myself you were better off without me, that we could have a clean break and you could get over me."
Eddie's hands cover his face, muffle the sob that slips out. "Get over you?" He whispers. "There's never been one like you, sweetheart."
He slides around the table to kneel at Eddie's side. "Hey." Deep brown eyes stare back at him, Eddie's face wet with tears. "It's always you, Ed. Always. I didn't want to say anything, if you had moved on, but--"
There's not really any transition from them talking to them kissing; Steve slips into it like he did all those years ago, when he first asked for Eddie's kiss. Their mouths slot together, their bodies fit like they always used to, perfect puzzle pieces. Steve's knees give out at the first brush of Eddie's tongue, and they collapse into a heap on the kitchen floor. Even then, they don't part.
Eventually, Steve does break the embrace, face flushed and hair a disaster, glasses hanging off one ear. "Okay, trying to be responsible here. Should we take a pause, go on a date first? Slow down?"
"Nine years isn't slow enough?" Eddie's pupils are blown, hair frizzed around his head.
"When you put it that way," Steve can't help but laugh. "I just want to do right by you, Eddie. Make up for--everything."
Eddie grins down at him, that sunshine beam smile where his dimples pop. "Tell you what, how bout you take me to bed now, and I'll let you take me on a date tomorrow?"
"Oh, you'll let me?" Steve rakes a hand through Eddie's mane of hair. "I don't think you'll have any choice."
"You sure about that, Stevie?" Their lips are so close, the brush with every word.
"Uh-huh," Steve's having trouble keeping his eyes focused, overwhelmed by the sheer force of Eddie Munson. "Never letting you go again, Ed."
Surprise! Part 2! I genuinely had no intention on doing a follow-up, but so many of you asked so nicely that it gave me this idea. Sorry if I miss anyone in the tag list and thank you for reading! @everywherenothere @tiny-enthusiast @emma-elsa-0000 @fuzzyduxk @moonythepluviophile @anaibis @rhapsodyinalto @bunk12bear @tillystealeaves @velocitytimes2 @s-trawberryv-eins @marklee-blackmore @ignoremyworld @its-a-me-a-morgan @goodolefashionedloverboi @starman-jpg @djohawke @adaydreamaway08
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This is everything the Stranger Things writers have posted publicly about the WGA strike:
TIMELINE
May 3rd:
Stranger Things writer Caitlin Schneiderhan tweets picture from personal Twitter account of sign from the strike that reads 'Pay us or Steve Harrington is toast'
May 6th:
Official Stranger Writers Twitter account makes post on behalf of the Duffers Brothers. They have since pinned this tweet to their profile.
"Duffers here. Writing does not stop when filming begins. While we're excited to start production with our amazing cast and crew, it is not possible during this strike. We hope a fair deal is reached soon so we can all get back to work. Until then -- over and out. #wgastrong
Bonus:
May 12th:
Stranger Things writer Kate Trefry posts picture from personal Tumblr account of sign that reads, 'Byler won’t write itself'
As far as I know, the two writers that posted on their personal socials are the only writers from ST that even have personal accounts that are public, whereas the rest of the writers do not.
What does make me take a pause though, is that, while yes they did post these pictures from their personal accounts, which is about as official as it gets, they also cryptically did not include themselves in said pictures...
This just got me thinking about how Stranger Things is quite literally Netflix and vise versa. They are practically one in the same, where one without the other just doesn't make sense.
While this conflict of interest might run deep for many writers out there fearing to speak out against their employer, for us, the consumers, the fans, we as a collective have so much more power than we realize.
In contrast to the writers, streamers can't just fire their consumer base sometime down the line, out of spite for speaking out. Without consumers, neither Stranger Things nor Netflix would be what it is today.
We have the affordance of being able to speak up the loudest of anyone. And so why wouldn't we take advantage of that?
There are so many people out there protesting: writers, actors, others in the industry and even outside of it who are also taking a stand, many who need support so that they can continue to fight in the upcoming days, weeks, months, without being deterred by corporations that are making them feel greedy for demanding a contract that at most, asks that they be paid fairly.
And so I want to encourage anyone that is reading this, but fellow fans of Stranger Things especially, who have so much power in this strike when it comes to getting Netflix's attention, to consider taking the time to do whatever you can individually + with the masses as a community in order to best support the strike.
Follow the Strike! If you're active on various social media already, please be sure to follow the official accounts advocating for the strike via Instagram (@writersguildwest/@wgaeast), via Twitter (@WGAWest/@WGAEast). Engage with posts from folks that are out there daily, many with whom you can find by following tags like #WGAStrong, #WGAStrike and #WritersStrike. Although most fans are not able to join in picketing themselves, we can at least recognize all of those out there's individual efforts and do our best to show that we're paying attention and listening!
Spread the word! Show support any way you can by sharing posts and articles about the strike, or even fun memes to inform others in a more engaging way. This is the official site for the WGA strike if you want to learn more about what’s going on before diving in! And make sure to stay up-to-date here as things continue to unfold!
Donate! The Entertainment Community Fund is endorsed by the WGA for anyone that wants to support those affected by the strike financially. And this thread on Twitter is an incredible resourse, as it provides an ‘easy, one-click, stress-free, accessible-to-all-budgets’ ways you can support folks on the front lines.
Also! Consider donating through this link for the Entertainment Community Fund, where the money donated still goes directly to that fund, this is just an organizing page for Stranger Things fans specifically! By allowing fans to see how much of an impact we make as a collective, in real time, this could encourage even more ST fans to want to contribute. In a best case scenario, if this GoFundMe were to reach impressive proportions of donations from fans, that could lead to news outlets reporting on it, which could allow an opportunity for even more eyes on the strike, while also even more importantly being able to provide financial support to those that need it.
Trend! On social media, use #StrangerFansforWGA to trend or even just to reach other fans also looking to come together to support the strike!
While I know this post probably wont reach anywhere outside of Tumblr, I want to make a point to encourage those of you that are on other platforms to inform fans in those spaces about the strike and what they can do to help!
We might not all agree on everything, but I think we can agree on at least one thing... @Netflix & all major streamers and networks out there, who are still refusing to make a fair deal: PAY YOUR WRITERS!
In the mean time, if you're interested in working on different ideas for initiates we can carry out as a fandom, please reach out to me! I might only one person and I might not have all the answers and solutions, but I do know that with more of us working together, our odds of making an impact are much greater!
Over and out!
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Just read Mikey’s mating season, would write one for Raphael?
of course i will, anything for our boy in red! i will say that bay raph in particular is hard for me to write, so i hope this is decent
again, it's a lil spicyyy 🌶️ reader beware!
The first time it's brought up, Raph absolutely refuses to allow you to spend his season with him. Won't even have the conversation. Not even Mikey can convince him to just talk to you. It takes a literal act of God to force him into it- stranded in your apartment together while a late snowstorm rages, just as his season is starting.
Raph is naturally afraid that he will hurt you. But what he doesn't tell you is that he is afraid of the vulnerability. Raph's season is a highly emotional time for this passionate guy. He knows that he'll be more open- generally the first sign that his season is starting is when he admits something to one of his brothers that he doesn't actually want them to know. So forced into close quarters with you, alone- he's afraid of what he'll say, afraid that the depths of his feelings will drive you off.
He is shocked that when the time comes, his anger doesn't overwhelm him the way it normally does. Instead, it is his love for you that takes over. He finds himself feeling incredibly affectionate. He even chirps for you. (Once it's over he's mortified and you have to swear that you'll never tell anyone ever). The sadness he associates with this time? Again, all gone, because you're here.
The cuddling is real and it is. Frequent. Raph doesn't like to let you go and will often carry you around if you need to move from the bed. But good luck getting him to agree to let you leave the bed. He likes you there and he does not want you to leave. Surely he can go get whatever you need? You belong in his arms, as far as he is concerned.
So, Raph. Once you get him on board, he has rules. These are non-negotiable, because not following them could possibly result in him hurting you and that Will Not Happen. The biggest rule is that you cannot tease him. Teasing riles him up like nothing else and if he loses control and hurts you... no. It Won't Happen. He'll lock himself in a different room and take care of himself before he'll let you break one of his rules.
However, that doesn't mean that it's not a good time for both of you. It's hard at first, because Raph is so afraid to let go, but once he does? Once all that passion is set free and focused on you? It is absolutely some of the most intense lovemaking you've ever experienced in your life. And that's what it is- lovemaking.
All of Raph's affection and tender feelings take over, and he is intense but so gentle at the same time. When it's not mating season, he can be rough sometimes, although never more than you can handle. Not so during mating season. Even when he's pounding into you, driving you wild as you writhe under him, he doesn't hurt you. The only bruises you come out with are in the shape of his hands on your hips.
He is surprisingly quiet when he fucks you. Everything in him is so focused on you that he barely notices his own pleasure. He does chirp a lot, and when it happens the churring practically vibrates the whole bed. He prefers to draw sounds out of you instead. There is a certain dark chuckle he gives that warns you that you are about to get loud. He loves to quiet down so he can catch the nearly silent gasp that comes out of you when his fingers hit that spot deep in you.
He becomes an anxious mother hen when it's over. He hovers. It's a little maddening but he needs you to indulge. He needs to be able to make sure that you're okay, that he didn't hurt you. He is of course worried for no reason, you're fine. But he's still a little cuddly, so you enjoy indulging him.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
head bonks: @yorshie @avery73 @justalotoffanfiction @thejudiciousneurotic
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