Steve is tired. He is so fucking tired. How the hell had he let Tommy H talk him into throwing a small get together to celebrate graduating is beyond him. They weren’t even friends anymore. But the truth was, Steve didn’t want to spend the night alone in his big empty house. His parents couldn’t bother coming home for the ceremony, he was single, and his only real friend was a curly-haired child that was busy playing D&D with other children. So against his better judgment he let Tommy use his house for a party.
It was loud, out of control, and reminded Steve that the last time he was at a party like this, he got his heart broken. All in all, not a great way to spend a couple of hours and he was starting to regret agreeing to this party in the first place. When the cops finally came to shut things down, he was relieved. He would deal with the mess and the inevitable we are very disappointed in you Stephen phone call tomorrow. He just wanted to go to bed. The only problem was, someone was already in it.
“Seriously!?! I’ve got four bedrooms in this house and you had to choose mine to hook up in? Whatever, I don’t care, just wash the sheets whenever you and whatever girl you have hiding in the closet are done. I’ll sleep on the couch.”
The guy - Eddie Munson Steve thinks, laughs without humor. “Yeah there is definitely not a girl hiding in the closet up here. Your asshole friends did this to me. Right after they stole my supply.”
“Holy shit! Are you okay dude? Why didn’t you call for help?” Steve looks back and forth around the room as if a key will just magically appear out of thin air.
“I’m fine, King Steve, just stuck. Stuck in high school and stuck in your painfully boring …bedroom? Shit I could have sworn this was a guest room. To answer your other question the music was too loud and when the cops came to break things up - well, let’s just say I didn’t want to save them the trouble of cuffing me.”
Steve snorts as he settles on the bed with a safety pin and tries to fiddle with the lock. “Yeah I guess that wouldn’t have ended well. I’m sorry. Though I have to admit, it’s a little comforting to know someone is having a worse night than me. They aren’t mine by the way.” Steve says.
“The cuffs? Yeah, I'm pretty sure they belong to that punk Andy. Who is NEVER getting weed from me again. Not that these are even a real set. I think if you just push the safety pin in all the way and shake it back and forth aggressively these will pop open.”
Steve tilts his head in consideration then gives it a shot. “No. I meant, they aren’t my friends.”
“Bold statement, considering apart from Andy you don’t know who else did this.”
“Yeah well, unless you got cornered by a thirteen-year-old without collarbones, I can safely say I wasn’t friends with whoever did this.”
Eddie looks puzzled for a minute before continuing, “Aww come on Stevie, I’m sure you have lots of friends. Look how many people were here tonight.”
This time it’s Steve who laughs without humor. “Yeah they’re my friends all right. You’re also here. Does that make us friends Munson?”
“Well your surprisingly less annoying than l thought you'd would be.” Eddie smiles. Just as the handcuffs spring open.
Steve cheers “sweet” and Eddie rubs his wrists. Then he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a joint.
Steve smiles, “I thought they stole your supply.”
“Not what I had in my pockets.” He passes it to Steve who raises an eyebrow. “Consider it a graduation gift, friend.” Eddie walks to the door and turns back before walking through the doorway. “Good night, Steve.”
End Notes:
Props to @steddiealltheway who wrote a wonderful Eddie meets Steve handcuffed to his bed tumblr post ~ turned fic. This got my friends talking that Steddie fics should make meeting handcuffed to a bed a trope. This is my contribution from towards that.
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i don't really like when people say dungeon meshi is accidentally good autistic representation, because while i understand not wanting to make conclusions without explicit confirmation from the author, there's always the weird assumption that non-western authors somehow don't know about things like neurodivergency/queerness/etc. (on top of the assumptions that east asian authors are somehow more naive or oblivious to "western" social issues).
given that dungeon meshi started being published in 2014, it's not really a "work belonging to its times"—it's as contemporary as any other media we discuss on this site, which means it should be fair to assume it engages with contemporary topics (and at the very least, you shouldn't say that the representation is accidental with so much confidence)
but anyways, the chapter "perfect communication" in ryoko kui's "terrarium in a drawer" is some of the most straightforward autistic representation I've seen, and from now on I'm going to assume that laios's character writing is absolutely intentional in that regard:
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“so you’re still wearing a mask? really? in 2023?” yeah. because y’all are fucking NASTY!!!!!!!
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kids remind me, often, of the things i've taught myself out of.
i have a big dog. he looks like a deer. he is taller than most young children. while we were on a trail the other day, a boy coming our direction saw us and froze. he took a step back and said: "i'm feeling nervous. your - your dog is kind of big."
goblin and i both stopped walking immediately. "he is kind of a big dog," i admitted. "he's called a greyhound. they are gentle but they are pretty tall, which is kind of scary, you're right. their legs are so long because they are made for running fast. i am sorry we scared you. would you like us to stand still while you move past us, or would you feel more safe in your body if we move and you stay still?'
"oh. i didn't know that about - greyhounds. i think i ... i want to stay still," he said. at this point, his adult had caught up to us. "i'm nervous about the dog," he told her, "so i'm - i'm gonna stay still." she didn't argue. she didn't make fun of him. she just smiled at him and at me and held his hand while goblin and i, with as wide of a berth as we could make, crept our way through.
behind us, i heard him exhale a deep breath and kind of laugh - "he was really big, huh? she said it's because greyhounds have to go fast."
"he was big," she said. "i understand why that could have made you a little scared."
"yeah. next time i - next time do you think i could maybe ask to touch him? when - i mean, next time, maybe, if i'm not nervous."
later, going to a work event, in the big city, i stood outside, trembling. my social anxiety as a caught bird in my chest. i took a deep breath and turned to my coworker. she's not even really my friend yet. i told her: "i feel nervous about this. i am not used to meeting new people, ever since covid."
she laughed, but not in a mean way. she said she was nervous too. she reached her hand out and held mine, and we both took another deep breath and walked in like that, interlinked. a few people asked us - together? - and i told the truth: i feel nervous, and she's helping. over and over i watched people relax too, admitting i feel really kind of shy lately actually, thank you for saying that.
the next time i go to an event, and i feel a little scared, i ask right away: wanna hold hands? this feels a little dangerous. i hesitate less. i don't hide it as much. i watch for other people who are also nervous and say - it's kinda hard, huh?
i know, logically, i'm not good at asking for help. but i am also not good at noticing when i need help. i've trained myself out of asking completely, but i've also trained myself to never accept my own fears or excuses. i have trained myself to tamp down every anxiety and just-push-through. i don't know what i'm protecting myself from - just that i never think to admit it to anyone.
but every person on earth occasionally needs comfort. every person on earth occasionally needs connection. many of us were taught independence is the same thing as never needing anything.
each of us should have had an adult who heard - i feel nervous and held our hand and asked us how we could be helped to feel safe. no judgement, and no chiding. many of us did not. many of us were punished for the ways that we seemed "weak".
but here is something: i am an adult now. and i get nervous a lot, actually. and if you are an adult and you are feeling a little nervous - come talk to me. we can hold hands and figure out what will help us feel safe in our bodies. and maybe, next time, if we're brave, we can pet the dog that's passing.
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