Ship dynamics are always like Sunshine and Sunshine protector~ Cinnamon roll and their grumpy one 🤗 Well what about 2 cunts. They're both cunts and that's the dynamic. cunt4cunt.

honestly sometimes stories where characters have self awareness and solve their problems maturely can be really refreshing sometimes. and sometimes it feels like therapyspeak slop. intense stories where no one is capable of understanding themselves and act out in incorrect ways can be very fun. and sometimes it feels like contrived bullshit. whatever makes "a good story" is harder to make happen than just using the right kind of characters using the right words

Contributor Applications are OPEN! 🌻🌹

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Contributor applications will remain open until April 12 at 11:59pm EST. Applicants will be contacted on April 27 or April 28.

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🌹 Contributor FAQ.

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Last week to apply! 🌷🌻

I made it

worlds slowest fanfic author tries really really hard

everyone in the notes we are all holding hands. everyone who hasnt worked on a wip in weeks or months or years, its okay. we are going slow but we are going

Steve Gets Everyone Out of the 🦇Upside Down🕸️ as the Gates Close except himself 🫠

or: can Steve Harrington learn to stop sacrificing himself/giving his boyfriend a fucking aneurysm? (ANSWER: no.)

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4/Final Battle, established relationship, steve and his endless self-sacrificing, steve gets stuck in the upside down 🥺, eddie goes after his man come hell and/or high water ⚔️, idiot4idiot, true love, romance, softness, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day twenty: “For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home.” ― Stephanie Perkins, Anna and the French Kiss

It’s a no-brainer. Like: it’s just a fucking given.

This is literally the only way things could ever have shaken out.

Eddie’s breathless—like, the kind of breathless where his lungs feel close to collapsing, on fire and self-immolating, ready for collapse as the foundations burn through and he can’t get any air, his vision’s tunneling at the edges and getting fuzzy in the middle: he’s frantic and he’s running faster than he thought he was even capable of and he’s not sure how much longer his body’s going to be up for cooperating but it’s not gonna matter either way because this is how it shakes out, this was always how the story went and how ends if need be, because Eddie will kill himself over getting where he’s headed before he lets his body fail him in completing the task at hand:

The only thing that matters.

Because again—obvious, no question—as Steve had watched them all get to their feet after climbing through the gate for the last time, actually—finally—the last fucking time, and his eyes had shifted to the impossible width of the closing-searing crevice that’d just taken off some of Nancy’s curls, it’d grown so razor-thin; as he’d made eye contact with Eddie while avoiding doing the same with Robin which was the best way to make sure they both knew what he was about to do, about to let happen; as Robin screamed and Nancy shouted and the kids started in at a pitch Eddie’d never heard before because no one could imagine a world without Steve Harrington, Jesus fuck, what the hell, even, how can the earth fucking turn without Steve Harrington—but in those moments: again.

There was never any question.

Eddie had read the truth of loss and apology, and then no-fucking-apology-at-all in Steve’s gaze because Steve Harrington would and was always going to give himself for the rest of them. Always.

It’s who he is. It’s who Eddie loves.

Even if it fucking kills him.

The moment the gate had closed, though, and Steve was lost, out of sight, and Robin wailed as much as she screeched over what could be done, because something had to be able to be done—

The moment he couldn’t see Steve anymore, the moment his Stevie was gone: of course Eddie’s heart had fucking stopped.

But from there, the rest of his body took over as his brain maybe died a little without enough oxygen, without a real pulse, without a rhythm pumping any help its way, at least not with any meaning. Because where was no meaning, now that Steve was—

The rest of him knew that, though. Muscle memory: find Steve. Go to Steve. Be with Steve, in all things.

Always.

So when he got where he was going, and felt a violent lurch behind his ribs when he saw the glow still there—barely, but there—his heart didn’t start straight up again, not yet, but that lurch was enough: he knew it was barely a step from suicide, but there wasn’t any question in how he dropped down to the hard-packed ground that’s got worrying crevices in it, now, but nothing too deep—nothing like the tax extracted from their own world in the aftermath of tearing every last vestige of Henry to shreds small enough to grind into dust and burn anyway, just to be sure.

But that’s all peripheral—the world here could be caving in actively upon him, breaking ribs left and right as pieces tumbled and knocked him sideways: no fucking problem.

He knows where he needs to go—it’s farther than it would have been, but if it weren’t farther, then he wouldn’t be here anyway. If Eddie had been able to fit through the gaping apocalyptic maw in the ground he’d started at, electric crimson and terrifying as a rule, then he’d have been able to reach down and draw someone up through it the opposite way, too, and then they, he, Steve—

He runs, now. His body’s still mostly running the show but his heart’s been inspired back to fighting, maybe with the momentum of the fall, the swift landing and the immediate takeoff: he’s on his mission. He’s close. He can feel that he’s close, there’s a fluttery feeling under his ribs because it knows it’s close to things being put back to rights, its meaning and reason to keep pumping after everything, after fucking everything—the hands that didn’t just coax it back to rhythm the first time they ended up here together but demanded, slammed and pressed and broke ribs and left bruises and fought like hell: hands that tended him even at his lowest point, the darkest days, and embraced him when he could have done anything but, held on and hadn’t yet let go—

Eddie’s heart keeps pounding, relentlessly pushing forward, because like fucking hell he’s letting go.

Ever.

The wasteland looks familiar—impossibly given how it’s been distorted by the fight but Eddie knows it, Eddie feels it, the cracking of lightning and the bitter stench of ichor like ozone where it strikes and burns: his heart shivers.

He sees an outline silhouetted when a red bolt splits the sky. He can’t tell if it moves.

His pulse stutters—it will have come back online here for nothing if that outline of everything Eddie values in this world, in every world, doesn’t fucking move.

His body wrenches back the reins and everything in him burns as his feet shrink the distance—and fuck if he doesn’t collapse of his own volition when he gets to his destination, when then silhouette is before him—when it’s more than an outline in the dark.

It’s a body. He falls down upon a body.

It's here! My piece for the @stommybang !! It was such a delight to work with @akasalv You can read Bridge Over Water on ao3. It's such a soft, sweet and beautiful fic! 💙

Steddie Bang '25: SIGN UPS ARE OPEN

It's tiiiiiiime! Sign Ups for all roles are officially open!

Like last year, we will be sending welcome emails in batches to not overwhelm our email account, so please don't panic if you don't get a confirmation immediately! There should be a confirmation message that appears on the screen once you submit to show that it's been received.

Also like last year, we will have a cap on authors to ensure we can keep up with all of your projects and do our best to pair teams in a reasonable ratio of artist-to-author! This year, we are capping teams at 125 authors on a first-come, first-serve basis. This may increase based on artist sign ups, and yes, there will be a waitlist should someone need to drop out during the sign up period! There is no cap on artists.

Please take a look at our guidelines, FAQ, and schedule linked below. As always, reach out to the mod team with any questions!

We're excited to see what you all create!

-SBB 2025 Mods

steddie ✨soulmarks✨ except that they spell out your soulmate’s last words 💔

(‘make him pay’ = epically lame iteration of this heartbreaking phenomenon)

rating: m ♥️ tags: mid-s4 final battle, canon divergence, eddie says the soulmate words on steve’s skin that double as his last words, steve is having absolutely none of that, canon fix-it, romance, steve stays with eddie to prevent his untimely demise, dustin henderson: surprisingly good with molotov cocktails, happy ending ♥️

for @steddielovemonth day twenty five: “He is half of my soul, as the poets say.” ― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Steve hears it, nods even and makes to step away—he hears it, but like, it takes a second to sink in.

But once it’s all sunk in, saturated in his cells, his bones?

“Change of plans,” he calls out, and gives a total of no shits if anyone has an objections.

“Henderson.”

Dustin perks up; he might have been playing tough about rolling his eyes over not being a hero but he’s predictable—he likes being important enough to get singled out.

“You think you can hit a target with a flaming bottle while a vine, or a tail, might be trying to strangle you?”

Steve wouldn’t have even had to look to know Dustin’s up for it—suspicion, confusion, those too of course but at least not outright resistance because, again.

Predictable.

He does look at Dustin anyway, though.

Mainly because he knows he won’t find such easy acceptance in any of the other faces gathered around, but like…

Here’s the thing.

From the minute he learned about soulmates as a kid, Steve knew not only that he wanted one—of course he did—but that he was absolutely going to get one. Didn’t matter that they were rare as hell, didn’t matter that every year fewer matches were reported: nope. Steve Harrington had a soulmate, and he was going to find them.

When he eventually found out the tragedy of it all, the reason people were celebrating fewer instances of soulmates finding one another, Steve’s feelings on the matter didn’t change. At all.

The words that appear to signal your match being the last words they’re meant to speak, before they die?

Fuck that.

They said you got the words the year it’d happen, first day. No sense of when, just before the year was over. So, like, it was super simple. Steve would just find them, protect them, make sure they say something else as soon as possible to negate the…the curse of it, save them, and then ride into the sunset. Easy.

And actually, he thought it was pretty fucking stupid that people really bought into the whole thing being, like, a guaranteed recipe for heartbreak. If even Steve could figure out how to navigate the rules that easily.

By high school, he learns that people have tried—which is reassuring, that everyone through all the ages wasn’t that stupid or unimaginative, or so easily resigned to the worst—and they’d failed.

All of them, apparently.

Allegedly.

That part is more of a bummer. But Steve Harrington has known he’d find his soulmate his entire life. And he will. So while now he knows he’s up against almost impossible odds, if the stories are to be believed?

He spends high school practicing. Knowing none of these girls are his forever but learning the long way what works and what doesn’t, how to treat someone with care, how to please someone without question. He gets his reputation: Casanova, but not for keeps. He’s good with that.

By the time the Upside Down had entered his world, it was both the worst thing, and the bestthing. Because alternate dimensions were impossible.

Yet here they were.

And what else had he always been told was impossible?

So it could—would—be possible, too.

Steve wasn’t sure he realized how thin of a thread his hope had been hanging on until it rebuilds in chainlinks the more he sees of the impossible, the more he knows again with all of him that when the time comes, he’ll save them.

Make Him Pay was a weird mark to find on his skin in the early hours of 1986, but it meant that he was right. He had a soulmate.

And he had a whole year to find them. And save them. And ask if they’d like a forever, too.

And how fucking lucky, that it barely takes two months.

Impending apocalypse aside, of course. But those were just details. Practically routine, at this point.

sex pollen but it lies dormant in their system until they come across the person they’ve been harboring unspoken feelings for. THEN it activates, needing that chemical reaction, and it fills them so completely with desire that they’re unrecognizable to you

'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that

Orgasm denial. Orgasm anger. Orgasm bargaining. Orgasm depression and orgasm acceptance.

When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written

#he wouldn't fucking say that but i'm getting kind of attached to the guy you invented who did say that

Jason wouldn't let Dick breathe while makin out lol

the head tilt brothers