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laundrybiscuits · 2 years

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(Continued from Part 1)

Steve’s first thought is that he’s died and this is the afterlife, which makes no sense. But it makes a hell of a lot more sense than Eddie Munson, frozen in the doorway of the bar, staring at him.

Another patron pushes past Eddie, because he’s kind of blocking the entrance, and Eddie stumbles a little. It seems to shake him out of whatever stasis he’d been in, and he turns back towards the door.

Steve fucking vaults over the bar. Even lunging full speed, he barely manages to grab Eddie’s jacket in his fist.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” he growls, dragging Eddie back inside. “I swear to god, Munson, I will track you down like it’s 1986 all over again.”

Eddie lets out a choked little laugh. “Okay, okay, Harrington. Cool your jets. I’m here, you got me.”

His voice is a little different. Rougher, maybe. He still sounds like himself; he still looks like himself.

Steve clamps a hand on the back of Eddie’s neck like he’s scruffing a cat, and hauls him stumbling along to the back room. “Taking my break, Laurie,” he calls on the way. It’s a slow night, and Laurie likes him. He’ll have as long as he needs to deal with the Eddie Munson Situation.

He lets go of Eddie once they’re in the back. He doesn’t want to. He can’t stop staring. The idea of Eddie has followed Steve around since he was 19. Having the flesh-and-blood guy in front of him is tripping him out. It’s like double vision, the way he sees Eddie and also all the Eddie-related thoughts he’s had over the years all at once, all crammed into one space.

Eddie’s visibly uncomfortable, shifting his weight. His eyes are darting around like he’s scoping out exits.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out.

“I don’t forgive you,” Steve says. It feels like the words are being scraped out of him with a butter knife.

“I…” Eddie hesitates. “Yeah, I get it. Okay, I’ll just. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Steve’s reaching out before he even realizes he’s moving, grasping tight at Eddie’s shirt like a child and crowding close. “No, no, I don’t want—you can’t do that again. You can’t leave again. You don’t get to fucking leave like that.”

“Oh, Harrington,” says Eddie. He folds Steve into his arms, so carefully, and then Steve’s clinging to him, head tucked into his shoulder, shaking like a tornado.

It’s fucked up, but this might actually be the first time they’ve ever touched in a deliberate kind of way, aside from the kind of shoulder-slaps and awkward jostling that teenage boys do when they don’t know how to be in each others’ space without it being some kind of fight. Steve doesn’t live like that anymore; he thinks nobody should have to live like that. Now, it’s so easy to curl into Eddie and soak up every little thing, the way his skin and hair smell a little bit like sweat and smoke, how all of him is here under Steve’s hands.

Steve wants to crack open his own ribcage and stuff Eddie inside.

The thought is so sudden and solid that it snaps him out of his little breakdown. He needs to stop thinking about Eddie as a defining moment of his youth and start thinking about him as someone who probably has plans for his life that don’t involve being clung to by Steve Harrington for all eternity.

It’s just that he’s had his whole adult life to let the what-ifs and possibilities ferment in him, shaping who he is, and there’s just no way he can ever be even a little bit normal about Eddie.

He’s got to try, though. Steve pulls back and clears his throat. Eddie’s eyes flick down to where Steve can’t quite make himself let go of the grip he has on that stupid leather jacket, but Eddie doesn’t say a word. It might be a kindness, or Eddie might’ve just learned some tact in the last decade.

“So,” says Steve. “Explain.”

Eddie starts talking right away, no hesitation, like he’s been waiting to be asked.

“Okay, so, after everything went down, the feds took my body back and kept it for a couple years to run their creepy little tests on. Normal fucked-up government stuff. Got the shock of their lives when I started thrashing around all monster-y, very Night of the Living Dead. And then by the time they figured out I was, y’know, coming back, we figured it’d be kinder to just let you all get on with your lives. I wasn’t even talking like I was human for a few years, and by that time, the kids were practically done with high school, so. That was pretty much that.”

“How long,” says Steve. An awful image is starting to take shape behind his eyes.

“How long what?” Eddie tilts his head, looking confused.

“How long were you alone. How long were you locked up.”

“Oh. I dunno. Are we counting from, like, when my body first regained consciousness? Or when I first remembered who I was?”

“Either. Both.”

“A while, I guess. It really sucked, I’m not gonna lie. But…they didn’t even know I was me, so I can’t really blame them.” Eddie huffs out a croaky little laugh. “Harrington, you gotta understand. I didn’t know I was me. They basically had a wild animal of unknown demonic origin for their little menagerie, so they weren’t too psyched about me starting to be, like, a person who might possibly have rights again. I think I really messed up some of their research.”

“I wish—they should’ve told us. They should’ve told—we would’ve helped. We would’ve done something.”

“It wasn’t so bad. Four walls and a roof, got my Fancy Feast twice a day.”

“Fucking hell, Eddie. How long have you been out? Wait, how long have you been in Chicago?”

“Not that long. They ran out of funding a few months ago, so now I’m kind of a tag-and-release deal. Wound up here a couple weeks ago, just trying to figure out what comes next.”

So at least it's not like Eddie's been running around just existing in the world for years, and Steve missed it. He feels relieved, and then he fucking hates that he's relieved, because at least Eddie wouldn't have been a damn lab rat.

He wants Eddie to be happy. he really does. He's just greedy, is all. He had all these scraps of Eddie that he hoarded jealously through the years, thinking there'd never be any more, and now it's overwhelming to be able to look and touch and breathe the same air.

Steve just needs to keep remembering that Eddie's his own person. But maybe it's okay that he's going to be weird about Eddie, because Eddie is looking back, taking in whatever there is of Steve to take in. The glasses, maybe, or the earring.

“What happened to you, Steve Harrington?” Eddie’s voice is quiet, like he’s talking to himself. Maybe he is.

“You did,” says Steve.

Eddie looks up, almost cartoonishly surprised. His mouth actually drops open.

“We weren’t friends or anything. You didn’t know me.” Even as he says it, Eddie’s wincing like he knows he’s wrong, or maybe just like he knows he's being cruel. He doesn’t take it back, though.

“Fuck you, Eddie. Christ. If you think it didn’t fucking kill me that you died, fuck you.”

“You’re still kicking, ain’tcha?” But Eddie’s already jostling close. He’s like a cat, trying to comfort Steve by climbing all over him.

It’s fucked up that Eddie is having to comfort Steve about his own death, when Steve’s had a whole life in the years when Eddie was lying alone on a government slab somewhere. He’s said yes and yes and yes to Robin, to chances, to the Eddie he’d carried around in his head like a song that won’t let you go. Steve went to London with Robin, and walked through Camden Market in the sunshine thinking Eddie would’ve loved this, all while Eddie was getting hooked up to monitors underground. Steve went dancing in Paris and kissed a beautiful man with dark, curly hair who spoke almost no English by the Seine, while Eddie was clawing his way back to humanity.

Steve’s had every good thing because of Eddie, because he wanted to live the kind of brave and colorful life that Eddie'd had stolen from him, and now Eddie’s rubbing his back gently and going, “Hey, it’s okay, it all worked out fine. You’re okay.”

“I grew my hair out for a while,” says Steve.

Eddie audibly gasps, clutching at his heart and reeling dramatically. “Tell me there are photos, Harrington. You can’t just say that and not show me photos.”

“Yeah.” Steve finally lets go of Eddie’s jacket. “I can do that. Give me a second to talk to my boss and we’ll go see the photos.”

He pauses before he opens the door. Eyes fixed firmly ahead, he says quietly: “Eddie. Um. You should know. If you pull another runner on me, I’m—I’m not gonna survive it, man. So just…promise you won’t leave without telling me first.”

“I won’t,” says Eddie. “Promise.”

(series tag)

#surprise! I've been noodling around with this one too #it is in fact going to get more of a continuation #tentative title is #fic: wait for the season to come back to me #I was like 'what if I named my future-vamp!eddie fic from a song I listened to in 2008 bc the band is called vampire weekend'#what if that.#I guess technically it's spoilers to say that eddie is a vamp but cmon. we all know the score here.#steddie

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miametropolis · 5 months

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and what if I told you nine was less afraid of love than ten. what then.

#WHAT THEN!#doctor who #ninerose #tenrose #ninth doctor #tenth doctor #rose tyler

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toothwormfactory · 4 months

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#toothworks #digital art #id in alt #dunmeshi #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #laios touden #laios dungeon meshi #1k #2k #5k #10k #20k #50k #100k #<- WHAT

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koobiie · 1 month

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shoutout to everyone who wants to infodump but cant string together coherent thoughts to form sentences and instead just look at you like this

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emj4yart · 18 days

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Google is cooked

#onceler #bill cipher #google ai #what an Amazing feature

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alocalfrog · 1 month

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Can you imagine suing Boeing and coming home to find Boeing's faulty plane parts washed up in your backyard?

#boeing #funny #im sorry but this lawyer must be having the time of their life #what in the tv detective show is this

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pirateprincessjess · 2 months

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When I was a kid my family pretended to get raptured so I would think I was left behind on earth while they all went to heaven.

I was like 8 years old and my sister and mom had gotten really into the Left Behind novels (bible fan fic about the rapture). In the books when the rapture happened the clothes that people were wearing when they got raptured were left behind in neatly folded piles.

One day when I was getting home from school my family decided that they would leave piles of neatly folded clothes around the house, and then hide in the basement.

The intended effect was that I would get home and see the clothes then, think that my family had been raptured and that I wasn’t good enough to get into heaven… or something?

The problem was that I had never read these books, and didn’t really think about the rapture very often. There was no reason that I would see some laundry on the floor and think “The rapture happened and I’ve been abandoned by God! I’ll never see my family again!! Oh nooo!!!!”

I just sat down and watched cartoons and eventually my family got bored and revealed that they were all hiding in the basement.

It’s a good thing I didn’t understand the joke, otherwise that shit would have been traumatic.

#still not really sure what part of this joke was funny?#cuz if the prank had worked #then they would have made an 8 year old think she had lost her family and been rejected by god #which isn’t really much of a joke #Christian’s are weird yall #pirateprincessjess

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pillowprincessvarric · 13 days

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I also think that all the "um okay knives out & glass onion were good. Wrap it up now" posts are so funny. You're tripping if you think there's not going to be at least five Benoit Blanc films lol

#''what so he's just gonna keep making these?'' again. not beating the completely unfamiliar with the genre accusations

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skenpiel · 2 months

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i hope i never ever ever see this image while im high or it will also straight up kill me. it would make me so scared my skeleton would run away And id be a boneless scared heap on the ground

#soooo fucking scary. what is that

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x0401x · 2 months

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So I just saw a post by a random personal blog that said “don’t follow me if we never even had a conversation before” and?????? Not to be rude but literally what the fuck??????????

I’ve had people (non-pornbots) try to strike conversation out of nowhere in my DMs recently, and now I’m wondering if they were doing that because they wanted to follow me and thought they needed to interact first. I feel compelled to say, just in case, that it’s totally okay to follow this blog (or my side blog, for that matter) even if we’ve never talked before.

Also, I’m legit confused. Is this how follow culture works right now? It was worded like it’s common sense but is that really a thing?

#what’s going on like seriously

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bonesandthebees · 2 months

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one of the most infuriating things about becoming an adult is when you realize that it actually is 10x easier to solve problems by making a phone call vs literally any other communication method

#I was forced to get over my hatred of making phone calls bc of this #one 15 minute phone call is the equivalent of 5 back and forth emails #also if you don't know exactly what you need help with you can just ask and you can get real help #instead of just desperately clawing at faqs on websites #it's infuriating that it works so well #ramblings

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ramshacklefey · 2 months

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Kind of hilarious to me how poorly the title "Mob Psycho 100" localized to English-speaking areas. To someone whose first language is English, it scans as:

Mob (Yakuza, Mafia)

Psycho (violent person with "crazy" behaviors)

Thus: a particularly violent member of organized crime.

But in Japanese it scans as:

Mob (background characters in crowd scenes in manga or anime)

Psycho (short for psychic)

Thus: a psychic who looks/acts like someone you'd never pick out of a crowd scene in a comic.

#mob psycho 100 #mp100 #guess what i started watching last night

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stemmmm · 3 months

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