This Is Gold.

Tumblr makes sense to me bc if i see something i like i get excited and hit the button to show other people and theres no weird unspoken social conventions my autistic brain doesnt understand. I can literally sit here and reblog 150 niche shitposts about harvest mice in an hour just bc they make me happy and i dont have to explain myself to anyone and i'll actually *gain* followers instead of just being called weird and downvoted or whatever its so cool

Steve, who has been adopted by every adult he’s ever met: I can’t meet your uncle, Eddie

Eddie: ???

Eddie: It’s not like Wayne is going to hate you

Steve: It’s worse.

Steve: He’s going to love me so much.

On my freaky close friends stobin shit

Robin was well aware her and Steve were closer than most friends, scarily so. They showered together when they were at her house due to her family not having a huge hot water tank like his. They slept in the same bed no matter whose house they were at, despite the fact they both slept naked due to overheating in their sleep. They had seen each other naked more times then they could count. They frequently went skinny dipping in his pool late at night. 

They were practically one person living in two separate bodies. They knew everything about each other. That included all the details of the other's sex life. They have had many conversations about what they prefer in bed, and Robin had a very vivid mental image of what Eddie Munson looked like naked, all the way down to the dick piercing, although she had never seen it firsthand. It didn't matter that Steve liked boobies. He didn't like hers.

So when she was sitting at home minding her business and got a snap from Steve along with the instruction to not open it in front of other people, she wasn't too concerned. 

Steeb: don't open that around other people

Bobin: what am i about to open??

Steeb: i just need to make sure it doesn't look weird before i send it to Eddie

Bobin: i think all dicks look weird babe. But ill look to make sure it doesn't look weidER than normal.

Steeb: hwo did you know it was a dick pic

how*

Bobin: what else would you send to eddie that im not allowed to open around other people?

Steeb: fair point

Bobin: lower the camera a little. Your dick looks short

Steeb: Thanks robbie. Ur the best

Bobin: you know we are the weirdest friends ever right? You just sent a lesbian your dick pic

Steeb: you had me grab ur boob the other day because you thought you had a lump

Bobin: i was CONCERNED

Steeb: ill text you later. eddie is calling

Bobin: take my stuffed animal off your bed. Sir franklin shouldnt witness such behavior

Steeb: on it. Love you bobbie!!

Bobin: love you stevie

Mmm think I'm gonna be evil tonight. Think I'm gonna write a fic of Steve and Robin slowly distancing themselves because their lives get so busy. Of Steve not knowing what to do because he wants this relationship to stay alive, it's the only real friendship he's had since high school. It's the only friendship that's ever mattered to him. And now it's just falling apart right in front of his eyes. So he keeps trying and trying and trying. And Robin's trying, too, but their schedules don't line up anymore.

Robin's in college.

Steve is working full-time minimum wage.

Robin's got a girlfriend and a whole group of foreign language friends.

Steve has Eddie, but Eddie works, too. He has Dustin, but Dustin's got school. And so does Max. And Nancy's in college with Jonathan.

So he writes letters. Postcards. Makes whole journal entries of his seemingly boring, stupid mundane life. Stuffs whole orange envelopes with his silly journal entries and polaroids he takes while hiking and a list of all the movies he's checked out from Family Video that months. He keeps Robin up to date with frequent customers they both hated. He just keeps trying.

Robin writes, too. About classes and final exams and when she's coming home for holidays—how she's only spending time with her parents because she can't stay for long. But it's too sporadic. Steve tries to respond, leave a message for her about getting her letters.

It's just not enough.

They both tried. They both called. They both wrote. They both gave it a shot.

But their conversations go dry. Their free time now dwindling.

It hits him, like a punch to the sternum, they're not going to last. After all this time, the trauma they shared, the conversations on bathroom floors...he can't save the friendship, she can't save the friendship. It's a matter of time until they stop talking.

And all they can do is hold on.

Youtube comments good sometimes

callout post for "work"

"work" has done many terrible things such as

make my friend go there

make my wife go there

please spread this around we can't let "work" keep getting away with this

When you should work, however you are doom reading on ao3.

AND then the ao3 servers are not responding anymore, after you clicked on a new story to read.

… now I have to work sad

Steve can’t breathe anymore. Not around Eddie. Not when he looks like that, completely at ease, cigarette between his lips, smoke in his face and in his hair, eyes closed. Allowing Steve to look. To stare. To see.

Allowing him to feel the way his heart picks up its rapid beat against his rib cage, to feel the lump forming in his throat, and that tingling sensation to travel from his fingertips to his palm where he imagines touching his hand to Eddie’s face, tucking that one stubborn strand of hair behind his ear, and then keep it there. His hand against Eddie’s cheek. Thumb stroking gentle patterns until Eddie’s eyes catch his, catch the meaning behind his stare, behind the way he can’t look away, can never look away, and—

Lean in. Lean his forehead against Eddie’s. Breathe him in. Inch closer, torturously slow but clear in his intention. Smile before he even gets there, before he feels those lips agains his own, claiming them in a kiss.

No, not claiming. Asking. Offering. Treasuring.

It makes him tingle, that thought. That all-encompassing thought that keeps him from sleeping, keeps him from focusing at work, keeps him even from listening to Eddie’s words right now. Those lips are moving, spreading into a grin and then a laugh, and—

“Steve.”

He blinks out of his love-crazed stupor and looks at a beautiful, smiling, delighted Eddie. Steve wants to trace that smile with his lips.

“Hm?”

Eddie blows out the smoke and smiles impossibly wider. “What is it, huh? What’s got you looking like that?”

Don’t you know? Can’t you see? Aren’t I the most obvious person on this planet? Won’t you see me?

“Nothing,” he rasps, falling back onto the grass, looking up at the purple sky above them.

Eddie doesn’t say anything, doesn’t make him talk like he usually would. He just takes another drag of his cigarette, and hums, looking up as well — allowing Steve to watch again. He always does that. He never looks back. Never looks at Steve like that.

Won’t you see me?

Steve wants to reach out. Eddie’s ankle is right there, his chin resting on his knee, looking like he’s in deep thought. Or just serene. Either way, completely oblivious to the yearning that tears Steve in half and makes him want to wrap his hand around Eddie’s foot. Just to touch. Just to be there.

But he can’t.

He can’t.

And maybe there’s nothing to see anyway. He exhales, wishing for his feelings to disappear right along with the air in his lungs.

But they don’t. They won’t. They can’t.

Fuck yes!

This was and will always be my hardest hyperfixation. The funny thing is, my best friend who does not have hyperfixations (no adhd brain in her skull, just a „boring“ and lovely brain), had one: the mediocre book she read when she was 13.

Nobody understands the bond between a girl and the mediocre book she read when she was 13 years old.

pt 1 of some much requested cyra lore