#this probably riddled with typos

[lifewithchronicpain]

Third day since the surgery. Hurts like hell, but when my meds are working it's tolerable. My foot is in a hard cast and it feels like a vice grip because of swelling with no help from fibromyalgia. At least today it feels ever so slightly bad.

Anyway, the stay at the hospital was really bad. It seemed things were broken left and right. I waited in post op for two hours for my room because they go no answer when they called the patient floor. Finally someone went there and found out the phone was broken. Then I get to my room and the TV doesn't work. They eventually got it working but of course I had to stare at walls waiting for it to be fixed. And then there was the adjustable bed, I had to put all my strength into pushing the buttons to change positions.

However that was not by far the worst. TBH some Nurses we're great, it's just the one overnight RN that was specifically horrible. Because my stomach was empty all day it triggered a cyclical vomiting flare that wouldn't let me keep my meds down. I told the nurse I needed IV meds, but she's just refused and let me suffer. I would take take the pills hoping the next time I throw them up she'd reliant. Instead when I kept telling the other floor nurse I was throwing up the meds again, the RN came to my room and basically said she's only supposed to treat my leg pain not my stomach pain. Then she said I was "badgering" her staff. I'm still so upset when I think of that. I wasn't badgering, I was begging for help because I was in agony. And it wasn't like I was asking for IV opioids, I was asking for IV protonix but since she gave me some earlier she couldn't now. And the thing was she gave me twice my normal dose for some reason. But what does it matter when you throw it up half an hour later and definitely don't get the full dose? It was all such fucking bullshit.

After she forced me to try pills with applesauce, I threw up again and then was given a scheduled dose of Dilaudid, and finally I started to feel better. At about 5 am when the sun was starting to come up, I finally got some sleep.

The next day the nurse was very nice but you could tell she was really busy. Discharge was a bit of a clusterfuck if its own. Doctor said I could go home and nurse tells me I'm staying longer and I'm like No no no no. Then I find out their setting me up with home nursing services I was never told about and don't want. I want to be left alone to recover and I plan to smoke a shit ton of pot. For the first time ever I bought myself an ounce! Sibling knows a business that costs less the more you buy and delivers!

Ultimately, I'm just glad to be home, and Giles is keeping me company.

[ofswordsandpens]

Finale Thoughts

The show stuck the ending far better than I thought it would and when compared to the preceding episodes it knocks it out of the park. That being said, I think because the bar was so low going in, that it makes this episode feel spectacular when really every episode should have done this well, at minimum.

Solo Lessons and Ares Battle

I'm so happy they included the one-on-one training sessions with Luke since its so essential to foreshadowing. I also liked the setting in the woods but why was it like autumn/fall in the flashback lol? However, I think that did unintentionally add a dreamlike quality to the scene which I did really like so whatever I'm here for it.

That being said I do wish these scenes were in episode 2/3 alongside the other chb stuff instead of being a flashback in the finale because it makes it just so on the nose that Luke's the traitor. However, the shot panning from Luke's extended sword to Percy's on the beach ate I can't lie.

Honestly it may have been interesting if they had established some of the solo lessons early on in episode 3 and then done periodic flashbacks to expand on them throughout the series. That way, its not so obvious that Luke's the traitor in the final hour and we also get cool transition shots and establishing that Percy is thinking about what he's learned from his lessons with Luke.

#Relieved that the Ares and Percy fight was not a single sword strike and then cut to black. Glad we had some action. Still think we should've pushed the limits much harder tho.

Oh but Percy's wave did go hard. They actually made the wave much bigger than what happened in the book and now I'm just sitting here wondering why we couldn't see some more of this instead of 10,000 cut to black scenes every time Percy uses his powers.

I wish we had gotten this Ares's reaction from the book when he lost: "The roar that followed made Hades’s earthquake look like a minor event. The very sea was blasted back from Ares, leaving a wet circle of sand fifty feet wide." Show Ares's reaction seemed so anticlimactic in comparison.

And no curse???? huh??

I know Ares was like "we're enemies 4 life now" but the curse and dialogue from the book goes so unbelievably hard: “You have made an enemy, godling. You have sealed your fate. Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success, you will feel my curse. Beware, Perseus Jackson. Beware.”

Why couldn't show Ares say that??

Olympus, Zeus, & Poseidon

[Insert aw, she's ugly John Mulaney Meme]

sorry Olympus could've should've been prettier.

Like Olympus in the book felt a lot more wondrous and lush and colorful. But in the show it seemed so dull. Idk if its cause the "war's happening" or whatever it was just bland. a wash of dull-looking cgi and then an instant cut to the Big Palace.

Lance Reddick's Zeus was amazing tho. He had that godly presence I've been waiting for.

And Toby Stephens's Poseidon? oh I loved it.

I especially loved their conversation in greek.

I still wish however they would have done effects on the gods' eyes. Like glowing with energy or something when they get emotional. I felt like I was waiting to see electricity burst from Zeus when he was yelling at Percy.

And so it turns out that the reason why they changed it to Percy missing the deadline in the show was to create a situation in which Poseidon surrenders a war for his son.

And listen, if this scene existed in a vacuum I'd be so here for it. I guess a part of me can't fathom the solstice being anything other than a hard deadline. I enjoy the scene without context, within context I have mixed feelings about it.

But the "do you dream?" convo between Percy and Poseidon. Oh my god no notes. I loved it.

Some more book dialogue that I wish made it: “You did well, Perseus. Do not misunderstand me. Whatever else you do, know that you are mine. You are a true son of the Sea God.”

Luke's Betrayal

Okay here's where we get some high highs and low lows.

Some things I sincerely liked:

The setting. Fireworks going off in the background. The lantern illuminating the side of Luke's face with the scar. So visually nice.

Luke actively trying to recruit Percy! I've always joked that if Luke was just a little smarter he would have tried to persuade Percy to join his side rather than immediately kill him. And I do like that the show went this direction.

While I do mourn the loss of the scorpion them battling via swords is a great subversion of the sword mentor/mentee dynamic they share. It makes the scene tense and fast pace.

And its all of the above that makes me wonder why we didn't have more of this throughout the show: talking while battling, visually appealing and dynamic settings, unique visuals, etc.

I love how triggered Luke was at Percy's mention of meeting Hermes. I still hate how much Hermes introduction bogged down the show but damn if it didn't lead to one singular funny moment.

Percy getting a hit in on Luke and then immediately apologizing

"I didn't think you'd give the shoes to Grover." Oh that was cold.

Walker and Charlie deserve their flowers and more they were fantastic and carried.

Now things I DIDN'T like:

I don't like how Percy pieced it together with the information he did have... which honestly isn't a lot in the show? If he was going to figure out that Luke was the traitor I would've have had Luke show more of his bitterness like he did in the book. Like the fact the show never even mentioned Luke's failed his quest loses the entire element of Percy succeeding an "impossible" quest and being celebrated while Luke only got a scar and a chip on his shoulder from his failed one.

Luke's scar shoulda been worse idc.

Percy should have been mortally wounded. That's where we run into an issue with there being no scorpion because yeah, a fatal sword injury probably would've been a bit much to depict. I also 10000% think that Luke is enough of a baby to get his daddy issues triggered and then try to off Percy for it even if his original intention was to recruit him.

Also the fact that you see Luke raise his sword for a damning blow and then the very next day you have Percy like "I don't think Luke was trying to kill me." and Chiron agreeing? asdlkfjsdlkf WRONG.

Also, sorry, I don't like that Annabeth was there.

But if you're gonna have Annabeth there, her reaction to Luke betraying her and trying to hurt Percy should've been way more severe than a solemn "I heard everything."

She shoulda been crying, questioning, yelling even if she had suspected him. It's one thing to suspect it, it's another to see the person you consider your family to actually prove it true.

(And this isn't on Leah! It's 100% on the directors cause what was the thought process here? Her brother figure betrays her and she's like :/)

And sure, in the book Annabeth isn't actually all that surprised by Luke's betrayal when Percy tells her about it... but we also never got to see her initial reaction to it. Percy was out for 2 days.

Just, if book Annabeth had been there, she would've been so emotional and that's okay!! let Leah show off her chops!

Sally

I mourn book Sally. I mourn her arc. I mourn the power of Sally unapologetically petrifying Gabe with Medusa's head.

One of the most iconic storylines from the book and it was sanitized in the show to the point that it lost all sense and meaning.

Honestly one of the biggest disappointments of the show for me.

Other

I love the fact that a flower is the searcher's license for satyrs its just so silly and sweet.

I love Annabeth sincerely hugging Percy but also using it for strategizing purposes it feels very on point for her.

Also her braids at the end!! so sweet!

I am very very bitter that Percy didn't see the fates. This + the changes made to Sally's characterization and arc... the show truly doesn't get it.

[possamble]

do you have any particular thoughts regarding marcille being a half-elf? its interesting to me considering the fact that she seems self-conscious about being a half-elf, but denies it when its brought up

i remember marcille looking visibly uncomfortable over laios simply asking her how old she is, which i think the only reason she might feel nervous about this is because it might reveal her as a half-elf to him.

she's never corrected anybody whose called her an elf either.

never mind the circumstances of the reveal, in which thistle goes on about how half-elves are inferior and accusing her of wanting to become full blooded elf, she seemed particularly upset like he struck a nerve-

i wish the half-elf thing was built upon more. also, underrated marcille line:

okay so i revisited this sequence just to make sure I could back myself up and it's just... man. there's a lot going on.

the first reaction we get from Marcille is this huge panel that takes up half of the page

she is viscerally affected. flushing to the tips of her ears with the intensity of it. and we see it again, a few pages later

so it might seem like she's embarrassed about it and lying to herself, but... I really think it's just that Thistle is accidentally hitting sore spots. If you really look at what he says to get these reactions

"you'll live out your entire life [...] and die that way too"

"a hundred years from now, nobody will be there"

Hear me out. I think, if he stuck to harping on about her inferiority without bringing up how terrifyingly long-lived she is, she wouldn't have been as bothered. But right now, Thistle is accidentally hitting all the marks on Marcille's deepest fears-- and this is after the Winged Lion promised her that her dreams could come true in an extremely vulnerable moment, so it also hits her slightly guilty conscience as well.

I do truly believe that Marcille isn't bothered about being a half-elf the way that people assume she'd be bothered by it. To her, the biggest problem with being a half-elf is that it's isolating.

On one hand, it's not hard to imagine why she'd distance herself from elves in the west. A lot of them can clock her as a half-elf on sight, unlike other races, and therefore she's always branded with this weird stigma of being Othered -- I would even say that she considers herself lucky for being born outside of elven culture instead of having to grow up in it. I mean, just... look at the way elves talk about her.

Skipping past the uncomfortable implication of what 'not tolerating the existence' of half-elves would actually entail, this is incredibly fucking annoying. You can see why she wouldn't want to be around elves much. You see a lot of Marcille reacting badly here, but honestly, almost all of it can be attributed to her freaking out that her bluff completely failed. She's honestly more paying attention to Izutsumi's footsteps and trying to coordinate an opportunity to escape.

And in the end, you see her built-up frustration at being asked if she wants to be a full-blooded elf like 2-3 times in a row.

Yeah, yeah, "the lady doth protest too much," and all. But we know Marcille. We know that she's a lot more embarrassed and horrendously unconvincing when she's being prodded about something she's actually self-conscious about.

Moving onto the flipside of things, it might seem weird that she "pretends" to be a full elf around other races, but it's not really that strange if you think about it. Again, people are weird about her being infertile or whatever, and a lots of them don't even know much about what sets half-elves apart from everyone else. I mean, look at how uncomfortable Laios is just asking her about it

and look at how exasperated and resigned she looks

And like... she's right. Where would that come up in normal conversation? Why would she go out of her way to tell them? She's functionally a normal elf to other races anyway -- got the ears, the abnormally long "childhood", and the huge mana capacity. Unless it's directly relevant or important for people to know, I don't think it's all that strange or indicative of insecurity that she prefers not to bother with it.

(This combined with her sense of being an "outsider" to elf culture also explains why she thinks elf superiority is embarrassing. She sees the way elves treat short-lived races from the "outsider" perspective nonetheless, and thinks it's obnoxious; especially more so because she usually has to play the elf around short-lived races and deal with the reputation of arrogance that elves have built up.)

The sad thing is, this all means that... she doesn't actually fit in anywhere. She doesn't like going out West much because of how elves treat her. But she's also an outsider in the continents she was born in, treated like this exotic long-lived alien choosing to live among short-lived races for some reason. She is always an outsider, the Other, no matter where she goes. Add in the fact that she'll live longer than literally anyone she knows, and it's honestly kind of heartbreaking.

And I think that's the crux of it. Marcille really doesn't act like she's at all self-conscious about being a half-elf because of any feelings of inferiority or being half-made or whatever. She considers herself a perfectly legitimate being and might even, in some ways, consider herself superior to normal elves because she's not blind with elf supremacy or whatever. (And whatever "elven biases" she displays, all of them are born more out of the fact that she's kind of bad at conceptualizing how other races age and mature compared to herself, not that she actually considers herself better or more mature simply for being an elf.)

I think that whatever self-consciousness Marcille has about being a half-elf is, instead, related to terror and loneliness. The reminder that it ensures she'll never truly belong anywhere for the rest of her very long life. The reminder that, in truth, even she's not actually sure how old she is by other races' standards (hence the discomfort when asked how old she is). She doesn't want to not be a half elf, or be a full elf or full tall-man-- in her ideal world, she's still a half-elf. She just gets to live out her life at the same pace with the people she loves and doesn't have to say goodbye again and again and again until she dies.

and one last very important panel, right after Mithrun tells her that all her desires would be devoured

In her ideal world, she's still a half-elf and reality magically starts marching at her pace. But failing that, the second best thing is that she's still a half-elf-- but one who is able to accept reality and let go of her fear.

(But the rest of the story pans out the way it does because, to Marcille, taking reality apart and reshaping it was less scary than simply and fully reconciling with it.)

[bellysoupset]

For the mini-fic, could I ask for tight loud belly gurgles with sick Jon and Leo? (If Luke and Bell were there too would be super fun, but whatever works for the scenario, I love me some sick Jon).✨️💙 @writing-whump

Making the most out of my little weekend at the cabin scenery!

---------------------

"C'mere," Leo chuckled, grabbing the back of Jonah's sweater and tugging on it with all his force, causing the other man to let out an strangled, offended noise as he fell down on the big cushion Leo was sitting on as well.

They were all outside the cabin, sitting around the fire pit. It was a chilly night, after a full Saturday of activities and Leo was more than a little tipsy, happily pressing his lips to Jon's cheek when the other man let out a scoff and grumbled about him stretching his sweater.

"So you're going to specialize in entertainment?" Luke asked, eyebrows raised and Leo was reminded he was actually holding a conversation to begin with.

"Not entertainment," Leo yawned, downing the rest of the wine in his mug — yes, mug, much to Jonah's horror —, "intellectual property law. Everything surrounding things people have created and must be protected-"

"That's really cool," Vince praised, looking genuinely impressed, "so authors and stuff?"

"As well as brands, artists..." Leo shrugged, then let out a surprised chuckle when he felt Jonah all but collapse against his side, completely giving up on the conversation.

He looked away from their friends — Bella was sprawled on the grass, only her head resting on Luke's lap. Leo was pretty sure Wendy had fallen asleep against Vince's bicep, the poor girl was worn after having just recovered from strep and driving 4 hours on top of a hospital shift — to Jon.

Jonah looked almost as tired as Wendy, but unlike her slack, peaceful face, Jon had pained lines around his mouth.

"You alright?" Leo whispered, trailing a hand up his boyfriend's back and frowning, tuning out the others.

Jonah started to nod, but then he shook his head, sitting up straight, "I'm going to bed," he announced.

"Already?" Bella pouted, wide awake, "it's only 9, old man."

"I overdid on the wine, I'm sleepy," Jonah cleared up, then waved Leo off when he went to stand up as well, "no, stay, I'm just gonna sleep it off-" he yawned again and then walked back inside.

Leo sighed, not happy to be dismissed, but also not wanting to go in just yet either. It was a really nice night, just chilly enough for the bonfire and so there were no mosquitos, with the stars dotting the sky.

They talked for another hour or so, Leo sliding down the daybed cushion until he was practically fully lying down, talking about work — Luke was particularly interested —, about Bella's new RPG campaign-

"I really cannot wrap my head around you playing table top RPG. Like those kids from Stranger Things?" Leo frowned.

"I'm not a loser boy and it's not the 80s, so no," Bella scoffed, "I'll have you know I'm a super hot barbarian."

"Of course you are," Vince teased her lightly, "I need you to help me run a campaign with my thirteen year olds."

"Are you on some contest for coolest teacher?" Bella poked fun at him, "damn, buy the kids ice cream while you're at that-"

Leo laughed at them, turning his head towards the large cabin up the hill and frowning as he realized the room he guessed was his and Jon's still had the lights on.

"Y'all, I think I'm going inside," Leo decided and heard a chorus of Goodnight Leo as he walked away.

True to what he expected, Jonah was still awake. The lights were on and he was lying on top of the blankets, in his pajamas, an arm thrown over his face in order to block the light out.

"Sleepy, uh?" Leo asked, stumbling inside and grabbing on the doorway to steady himself. He hadn't felt just how sloshed he was while sitting down, but standing it was painfully obvious.

"I am sleepy," Jonah groaned, "but my stomach won't let me sleep."

"Aww angel, what's wrong with your tummy?" Leo cooed, closing the door and crawling on the bed, immediately grabbing the silk shirt of Jon's pjs and pushing it up to his chin.

Drunk, he didn't bother biting down a dreamy sigh at Jon's exposed midriff. Despite Leo's teasing about him abandoning gym, that wasn't exactly true. He no longer exercised every day like Leo still did and he no longer weight lifted, but he did still go in once a week, for the aerobics. On top of that, Jon had joined Bell's boxing class.

His stomach, that once had a hard six pack that was akin to Leo's, now was soft, a little squishy, and tonight it was bloated and round.

"What are yoOU DOING?!" Jonah squealed, as Leo didn't think twice before leaning in as if to kiss his belly, but instead opted for biting it, "Leo!"

"Your tummy is cute," he smiled, pressing a kiss to where he had just bit and slumping across the bed, half his body resting on Jonah's thighs and trapping him in place, "you're cute."

"You're drunk," Jonah groaned, blowing out a little queasy burp, "and it's not cute, I feel really gross."

Leo trailed his fingers up the middle of his boyfriend's belly, as if they were walking. Even bloated by the wine and soft by the lack of exercise, there was still a concave line there, marking the quadrants of his abs.

Once he almost reached Jonah's chest, Leo opened his hand flat against the other man's skin, rubbing a soft circle there, "help- Oh ow," the blonde raised his eyebrows when his touch caused a gurgle to ripple through Jon's tummy, emitting a whine.

Jon brought a fist to his mouth and burped into it, making a face at the taste, "ew."

"Let me know if I'm making it worse," Leo mumbled, looking away from his face and focusing his whole attention on his boyfriend's belly. He continued the gentle, strong circular rubs on his upper stomach, until the gurgles died down and then moved his hands down, searching for another tight spot. As soon as he touched Jon's belly button, the other man darted a hand up and cupped his mouth, letting out a wet, sickly belch.

His tummy gurgled and whined, vibrating under Leo's touch, "sounds so upset..." Leo whispered, mesmerized, then digging his thumb on Jon's side and rubbing little circles from the side towards the navel.

"Gentle, you're gonna make me puke," Jon groaned, as his belly whined again, "Leo..."

"Sorry, sorry," Leo eased up the pressure, before slightly lowered on the bed and planting an elbow on the mattress, supporting his head with his free hand. He leaned in and kissed Jon's softer under tummy, right where his pajama' pants met it. This close he could feel and hear the constant gurgling and whining coming from the sickly organ, "you poor thing-"

"Yeah, you sound very sorry about it," Jonah scoffed, but didn't push him back, "you don't think it's disgusting?"

"Your tummy?" Leo blinked owlishly at him, bewildered, "no?!"

"But it's making all sorts of gross noises..." Jonah's cheeks turned dark with a blush and Leo let out a scoff, moving again and then resting his cheek against the other man's belly, now hearing very clearly every upset gurgle.

"I think it's super cute," he clarified, "hell, I never think any part of you is gross, Jon."

"Aren't you a romantic," Jonah scoffed, but even without looking up Leo could hear the relief in his voice. He reached in without thinking, starting to pet Leo's hair, not telling him to move, "the pressure is helping, don't move."

"Okay," Leo whispered, closing his eyes and allowing the little symphony of gurgles to lull him to sleep.

[ghosttotheparty]

something nice

also on AO3

Eddie is alive.

He hadn’t expected it, obviously, not when the world went black as he lay in Dustin’s arms, as he held back screams of pain because he didn’t want to scare him.

But then he was awake.

Laying in the same place, the world dark and dreary and red and black, the air full of flurries of something that he chokes on.

Nobody else had been expecting it either, as Eddie expected, and as was proven when they found them. The world had fallen silent as their eyes found him in the dark, and the weight that had been resting on his shoulders released him as he stared back at them.

They’d all been happy.

Dustin reached out first, his body crashing into Eddie’s so hard, so suddenly, it hurt, but Eddie didn’t care. He’d hugged him back as tightly as possible.

You died, Dustin had said. I saw you, I— I heard you stop breathing— How…

I’m right here, man.

Robin had been laughing. Breathlessly, deliriously laughing, and she’d hugged him too.

They’d all been happy.

Except Steve.

Eddie’s eyes had found him over Erica’s shoulder. He was partially hidden in the dark, his eyes shining and trained on Eddie, an intense and unreadable expression in them before Eddie closed his eyes, squeezing Erica and lowering her back to the ground.

Alright, we need to get a move on, Steve had said. Come on, guys.

Eddie thought they were cool, before… Well, before he died.

They weren’t best friends, of course, Eddie doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to take that title from Robin. Not that he wants to. He’d never want to take that away from them, and he doesn’t to be Steve’s best friend anyway.

But he thought they were okay. Friendly, at least, even if it wasn’t what Eddie wanted.

But Steve doesn’t seem to like him at all.

He barely looks at him, and when their eyes meet, Eddie can’t read his eyes, or the way his brows are furrowed, can’t tell if it’s because of his intense focus or because Steve just doesn’t like him.

He barely even looks at Eddie when he volunteers his house for Eddie to stay.

“You sure you want me in your house?” Eddie asks. He can’t help but give him a little glare, and Steve stares (finally) back.

“My parents are in Italy,” he says dryly. “And my house is in the woods. No one’ll see you.”

“That makes sense,” Nancy says, nodding in agreement. They’ve already established that he can’t stay in her basement the way Eleven did once. (He also can’t stay at the Sinclairs’, or Robin’s, or Dustin’s. Hopper is in hiding himself, though he swears he’ll talk to Uncle Wayne, that he’ll explain everything so Eddie can see him again.)

Steve nods, flipping his bat before he tosses it into the back of his car.

Eddie holds back a huff.

It makes sense. That’s why he’ll stay at Steve’s. Not because Steve wants him there.

They drop the kids off first. (They all hug Steve and Eddie. Eddie was never a big hug person, but he’s coming around to them now. Everyone is so warm. Warm in a way he isn’t anymore.) Then the girls, who both kiss them them on the cheek.

The drive to Steve’s is silent. Eddie looks out the window, watching the world go by, shivering and pulling his jacket tighter around himself. Steve turns the heat on wordlessly. Eddie wants to cry.

Neither of them say anything when they get inside, even though there’s a lot Eddie wants to say. He wants to ask why he feels like he’s in a pretentious interior design catalogue. He wants to ask why Steve won’t look at him, why he just silently finds towels and clothes and an unopened toothbrush and toothpaste for Eddie to use and hands them to him before leaving.

Eddie spends a long time in the shower. The heat is welcome, the warm steam cozy and comforting, and he almost cries when he shuts off the water, a chill overtaking his whole body and making him tremble. Luckily Steve gave him a hoodie and long sweatpants to wear, but it’s still not enough.

He finds Steve in the kitchen, filling a glass at the sink. Steve glances up at him.

——

Eddie is different than he was before he…

His skin is paler. Teeth a little sharper. Cheeks redder. He’s colder.

Robin mentioned it in passing, that their cheeks touched when she hugged him and he felt like ice. He was shivering in the car on the way to Steve’s and Steve couldn’t help but turn the heat on for him.

He looks nice in Steve’s clothes. The hoodie he gave him is one Steve got in high school: faded blue with Hawkins Swim Team across the chest. His hair is still wet, dripping on his shoulders, but frizzy like he’d scrubbed it too hard with his towel.

Steve looks away.

——

“Did I do something?” Eddie bursts, and Steve shuts off the tap, sipping from the glass and looking at the white tiled backsplash. “Steve, don’t ignore me. Please.”

Steve takes a deep breath, and Eddie’s stomach flips over as he watches Steve set the glass back in the sink without emptying it. He slides his tongue across his teeth, almost seething, and Eddie’s chest hurts. Steve looks down, gripping the sink, swallowing and taking a breath before he speaks.

“I’m… I’m angry at you.” His voice is shaking, and he looks up at him, pressing his lips together. He releases the sink, turning to face Eddie. “I’m really— I’m really… fucking angry at you.”

Eddie blinks, his lip trembling.

“Wh— Why are you—”

But Steve pushes him, shoves him, and his back hits the walls, knocking the air from his lungs, and he gasps, letting himself fall back even though he knows he could easily throw Steve back.

“I told you,” Steve says, his fingers pressing to Eddie’s chest, his voice breaking. “I told you not to be a hero, Eddie, I fucking told you—” His voice chokes off, and his eyes are glistening. He’s gasping for breath, like he might have a panic attack. “And you went, and you were the fucking hero..”

“Steve…” Eddie breathes.

“I gave you—” Steve pokes his fingers into Eddie’s chest again. Eddie can feel the heat in his fingers through the hoodie, and his eyes burn. He wants to pull him into a hug, to feel Steve’s hands press onto his back and stomach and chest. He wants. “I gave you one goddamn instruction, and you— you were gone, Eddie, you fucking died, you—” He gasps, his eyes wide, a tear falling down his cheek.

“I— I know, Stevie, I’m sorry,” Eddie says softly, watching Steve’s chest move with every stuttering breath. “I just… I needed them away from Dustin, I—”

“I know, Eddie,” Steve says firmly, his voice too loud. “I know, and I— I’m grateful, and I would have— I would have done the same, I just… I’m angry,” he says. His voice is weaker, and another tears fall down his cheek. “Can I be angry? Please?”

Something shifts in the air between them, and Eddie realises how close they are. Heat is radiating off Steve’s body, and Eddie shivers in spite of it.

“Why do you need to be angry?” he asks softly, resisting the urge to reach up and wipe the tears from his cheek.

“Because if I’m not angry, I’ll—” Steve cuts off with a gasp, his eyes flicking back and forth between Steve’s. Another tear escapes.

“What?” Eddie breathes. Steve’s fingers are still pressing on his chest, and slowly, he relaxes his hand, breathing hard. His knuckles press over Eddie’s heart, and after another breath he lifts his fist and hits Eddie’s chest with a thud.

“If I—” He gasps, blinking hard and making tears fall. Eddie’s vision blurs. “If I’m not angry, I’ll kiss you.”

The floor falls out from under Eddie. He exhales.

“And I can’t do that,” Steve finishes, breathlessly. “I need— I need to be angry.”

“Why can’t you do that?” Eddie asks softly. Steve’s brows furrow, and he shakes his head, hitting Eddie’s chest again and pressing him against the harder.

“Don’t do that, Eddie,” he says weakly. “Please, don’t— don’t do that.”

“Why can’t you kiss me, Steve?”

“Stop.” Steve squeezes his eyes shut, his hand gripping the hoodie Eddie is wearing, and Eddie finally reaches up and touches his hand, gently setting his own over his curled fingers.

“Don’t be angry at me, Stevie,” he pleads quietly. Steve shakes his head, his eyes closing tighter, and Eddie squeezes his hand. It’s almost hot to the touch. “Please, Steve.”

Steve is crying,but his hand loosens, Eddie takes it in his own, holding it to his chest.

“I missed you,” he breathes, reaching up with his other hand to brush away a tear. “I missed you so much, I thought of you every hour, every— every fucking second.”

Steve stifles a sob, taking a sharp breath, and Eddie cups his cheek.

“I told you not to be a hero,” he says weakly.

“I know, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, his cheeks flushing pink. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Steve sobs. His cheeks are wet with tears, and a part of Eddie’s mind is jealous at how pretty a crier he is.

Eddie lifts his chin, and they’re close enough for him to press his quivering lips to Steve’s forehead.

“Eddie,” Steve chokes, his hand gripping Eddie’s hoodie again.

“Please don’t be angry,” Eddie begs softly, his lips brushing Steve’s warm skin. Steve’s other hand lifts to the side of Eddie’s neck, holding him tightly and pulling him away. His hand is so warm.

“Eddie.” His eyes are still glistening.

“Don’t be angry at me,” Eddie pleads, a tear slipping down his cheek. “Please, Stevie.”

Steve exhales, pulling at Eddie’s neck until their foreheads press together. Eddie’s bangs are still a little wet, but Steve doesn’t seem to care at all, closing his eyes and breathing and breathing. Eddie lets go of Steve’s hand on his chest and reaches to hold his face, brushing his thumbs over his cheeks.

“I missed you,” Steve says softly. Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. Tears fall down his cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted.

Steve is kissing him, his fingertips digging into the nape of his neck, his other hand tight on Eddie’s hoodie, and Eddie inhales deeply, clutching at Steve’s face. When Steve pulls away, his eyes are wide, panicked and desperate.

“‘S okay,” Eddie breathes, leaning in and kissing him again, chaste and dry and soft.

“You’re supposed to hate me,” Steve says when they part again, his eyes closed, tears drying tacky on his cheeks. Eddie laughs breathlessly, wetly, shaking his head.

“I’m not ever gonna hate you,” he tells him.

Steve kisses him again, tilting his head and pushing his fingers into Eddie’s damp and tangled hair, and Eddie’s arms wrap around his neck as his lips part. Steve is still breathing hard, but Eddie swallows it all, stealing every breath from the air between them like they’re shotgunning.

Eddie pulls away to wipe Steve’s tears again, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes and letting him, swaying on his feet.

Eddie’s never kissed anyone like this. All the people he’s kissed, he’s kissed hard, rushed and anxious and desperate, and it was all okay. Nice. But Steve is kissing him softly, slowly, like they have all the time in the world. (And now that the world is saved, maybe they do.)

Eddie shivers again as Steve’s tongue traces his lip.

Steve pulls away, close enough that Eddie can feel his breath, and he slips his fingertips under the collar of Eddie’s shirt.

“You’re so cold,” he whispers.

“‘M always cold now,” Eddie says quietly, lowering his hands to Steve’s waist, fisting his t-shirt tightly. “You’re warm.”

“I’ll keep you warm,” Steve murmur, kissing him softly, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck. “Jesus, Eddie,” he breathes when they part. “I really thought you were gone forever.”

“I’m right here, Stevie,” Eddie whispers, kissing him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Promise me,” Steve demands breathlessly. “Promise me you— you’ll run next time, Eddie, please. Please.”

“ I really hope there isn’t a next time, but—” They both laugh softly, their foreheads pressing together. “But I promise, Steve, I swear.”

He seals it with a kiss.

Steve hugs him tightly, burying his face in his neck, and heat rushes through Eddie’s body. He squeezes his eyes shut, basking in it, feeling the way Steve’s chest rises and falls against his with every breath.

“Are you still angry at me?” Eddie whispers.

“No.” Steve nuzzles his face into his neck. “‘M not angry at you, Eddie, I never was.”

Eddie pulls away and kisses him deeply, shivering as their tongues slide together. Steve’s fingers bury themselves in Eddie’s hair again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says softly when they part, and his eyes are swimming with tears again. Eddie is shaking his head, but he continues anyway, his voice thick. “I was mean, I shouldn’t have— I shouldn’t have been angry, I just…” He takes a breath, and Eddie watches his throat move when he swallows. “I didn’t want to cry.”

Steve blinks at him, tears falling, his eyes widening like he’s realised something, and Eddie tilts his head. He sets his hands on Steve’s waist.

“What’s wrong?” he asks softly, because Steve is breathing hard again, his fingers tightening in Eddie’s hair.

“I’m not supposed to kiss you,” Steve says almost absentmindedly, his glistening eyes drifting over Eddie’s face. “I’m not supposed to cry.”

“Sweetheart…” Eddie breathes, lifting a hand to touch his face, to wipe his tears, but before he can touch him, Steve flinches.

Eddie freezes, his hand hovering in the air, and it feels like a bucket of ice water has been dropped on his head. Their eyes lock, and Steve’s eyes widen as he realises what’s just happened. Eddie’s whole body hurts.

“Sorry,” Steve says softly.

“Don’t apologise.” Eddie’s other hand tightens on his waist. “Don’t ever apologise.” Steve’s eyelids flutter, and he looks away. “Is it okay if I touch your face?”

“Yes,” Steve says breathlessly. “Please.”

Eddie wipes his tears away as gently, carefully as he can before he sets his palm on his cheek, leaning in and kissing his mouth softly before pressing their foreheads together.

“‘M not ever gonna hurt you, Stevie,” he whispers. “You’re allowed to cry.”

Steve sniffles and squeezes his eyes shut. Eddie kisses him again, even though he can’t kiss back.

“‘S okay,” Eddie murmurs. “That’s okay.”

Steve is crying. Fully, actually crying. Holding onto Eddie’s neck and sobbing as their foreheads press together. Eddie whispers to him, holding his face and swaying. After a while Steve shifts, and he’s pushing his face back into Eddie’s neck, sobs wracking his body, and Eddie’s hugs him, running his fingers through his hair and holding him until Steve’s knees give out, and Eddie carefully lowers them to the floor.

“I got you,” he whispers as Steve clutches at him, cradling the back of his head. “It’s okay, ‘m right here.”

Steve’s breath is stuttering in his chest, getting caught in his throat, short, quick gasps, and Eddie’s heart hurts.

“Slow breathing, Stevie,” he whispers, shifting them so they’re facing each other, his legs around Steve, and he pulls one of Steve’s hands from his neck to press to his stomach. He takes a long inhale, making sure Steve can feel his stomach rising with it. Steve blearily opens his eyes, looking at his hand pressed to Eddie’s stomach.

“All the way in, sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs, his thumb brushing over Steve’s cheek as Steve inhales, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. “You got it.”

“‘M sorry,” Steve says breathlessly. Eddie jostled his face gently, holding his hand to his stomach tighter.

“I told you not to apologise, Steve.”

Steve smiles in spite of his tears, his eyes opening and looking at Eddie, but he isn’t looking clearly. His eyes looks misty, almost glazed over.

“Sorry,” he breathes. Eddie just scoffs lightly and shakes his head at him, kissing his forehead.

Steve’s breathing calms down, but he keeps crying. Eddie wipes his tears away, and Steve keeps his hand on his stomach, his other hand touching and holding his shoulder. He opens his eyes after a while, still crying, and pulls Eddie in.

Their mouths crash together, and Eddie furrows his brows. He can feel Steve’s tears on his own face, but he doesn’t care. He kisses him back like he’d die if he didn’t.

Clutching at his face. Sucking on his lip. Humming breathily when Steve’s hand presses harder against his stomach.

“Missed you so much,” he whispers when they part to breathe, holding Steve’s face between his hands, his fingertips tucking behind his ears and into his hair. He kisses him again, his stomach fluttering when he feels Steve press his tongue into his mouth and when Steve’s hand shifts, his fingertips slipping under the hoodie to touch his skin.

“Will you sleep in my bed tonight?” Steve asks, gasping for breath. His lips are shining, and Eddie can’t tear his eyes away from them. He nods.

“Yeah. Yes. Please.”

“Okay.”

He kisses him again. He’s not as careful as he was earlier, when he was almost languid and lazy and slow. Now his teeth are pulling at Eddie’s lip, his tongue sliding alongside Eddie’s and tracing his lips and along his teeth. Eddie almost laughs, letting his mouth hang open for Steve to have his way, and when Steve finally pulls away, there’s a string of spit connecting their mouths.

Eddie smiles and just pulls him back in, because he’s wanted do this for so long, and now he can.

It’s messy, and wet, and a little bit gross, but Eddie seriously could not care less. (He even thinks he might like it, how careless and free it feels to lick across Steve’s open lips, to tangle his fingers in Steve’s precious hair.) And Steve doesn’t seem to mind it either, if Eddie were to assume based on the breathy hums that escape him, on the way his hands push under the hoodie to hold his cold skin.

The kiss slows when Steve’s hand presses to the small of Eddie’s back, and then Steve is sucking on Eddie’s tongue, his other hand emerging from under the hoodie to hold the back of Eddie’s head, like he’s holding him in place. If Eddie wasn’t already sitting on the floor, his knees would buckle. (He almost laughs again; he’s making out with Steve Harrington on the tiled floor on his kitchen.)

Steve kisses him one last time, slowly, before they part again. They’re both breathing heavily, lips red and kiss-bitten and shining, and Eddie caresses his face.

“I’ve never told you how beautiful you are,” he murmurs.

Steve’s cheeks redden even more than they were already flushed, and he turns his face into Eddie’s palm.

“Come to bed,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Eddie whispers back, leaning in to kiss just under his eye, where his cheek is squished against Eddie’s fingers.

He helps him get up, standing first before he reaches down and grasps his arms and pulls him up so easily it surprises them both. Steve blushes again. Eddie grins.

He finds Steve’s glass in the sink and fills it to the rim before holding out to him, and he watches his throat move as he drinks it all. The he fills it again and holds it back out. Steve smiles at him, resigning, and drinks it before he refills it himself and hands it to Eddie, who smiles fondly and drinks it.

Steve leads him upstairs, their fingers tangled, and into his room. They leave the kitchen light on. Steve goes to flick on his bathroom light while Eddie climbs into the bed, under the covers and blankets. Everything smells like Steve, warm and masculine and like some expensive cologne, but also the same smell that lingers in every room in the house, and in Steve’s car. Eddie is burying his face in one of the pillows on Steve’s bed before Steve is even back, watching him with one eye as he flicks off the overhead light, still lit up by the bathroom light.

Steve climbs in next to Eddie and wraps his arms around him.

“Jesus, you’re so warm,” Eddie groans, hugging him back tightly. Steve laughs lightly.

“Come here.” He shifts, rolling onto his back so Eddie can lay on his chest, their legs entwining. He carefully threads his fingers through Eddie’s hair, untangling it and combing through his curls.

——

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers after a while. His head is resting on Steve’s chest.

Steve smiles at the ceiling. He likes when Eddie calls him that.

“Yeah.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment.

“It's your dad, isn’t it?”

Steve’s smile falters and falls, remembering how he reacted because Eddie lifted a hand while he was crying. How he jerked his face away and tightened his shoulders and flinched in anticipation. How Eddie’s hand froze, how his eyes widened, how he seemed to break inside.

“It’s…” He pauses, taking a breath, feeling Eddie’s head rise and fall with his chest. “It’s both of them.”

Eddie presses his face against him, taking a deep breath before he lifts his head and looks down at him, his face stern. Serious.

“You don’t deserve it. You understand me?”

Steve exhales, closing his eyes.

He reaches up to touch Eddie’s face, remembering all the slaps across his face, stinging because of the wedding bands he knows neither of them actually want to wear, the wedding bands that are only there because of Steve. Remembering the jerks on the collars of his shirts when he tried to leave, the walls that his back has hit, the corners of the dining table he’s been pushed into.

Remembering the firm scoldings and the fingers in his face of you’re a man, Steven, fucking act like it, every time his eyes watered for any reason. He was never a man. He was just a child.

You don’t deserve it.

“You understand me?” Eddie prompts again, his voice gentle, like he just knows.

“Yes, Eddie,” Steve breathes, his eyes stinging again. But he doesn’t cry this time. He pulls Eddie down to kiss him again, gently biting his lip before Eddie lays down again, sliding a hand under Steve’s shirt. His hand is cold against his waist. He doesn’t mind.

He closes his eyes and tilts his head so his face presses to the top of Eddie’s head. He kisses him, and sighs. He smells like the shampoo in the guest room. Next time he’ll use Steve’s.

“What are we gonna tell the others?” Eddie asks after a while.

“Hm?” Steve’s limbs are heavy. He’s falling asleep. He hasn’t fallen asleep this peacefully in a long time.

“Tomorrow,” Eddie says. “When we see the others. I don’t think I’ll be able to keep my hands off of you.”

Steve laughs sleepily, kissing the top of his head again.

“Keep it above the belt, Munson, and I don’t think we’ll have a problem,” he mumbles.

Eddie snorts, pinching him, and Steve laughs, finding his hand under the blankets, until his hoodie, and sliding his hand over top of it.

“Obviously, dumbass,” he says fondly. Steve smiles at the ceiling. “I mean, like…” He trails off awkwardly, and Steve jostles him lightly, humming questioningly. “Are we— Are we boyfriends?”

Steve hunda again, kissing his head.

“Yeah,” he says softly. “If you wanna be.”

Eddie moves again, lifting his head.

“Yeah?”

Steve rolls his head, opening his eyes and gazing up at him. His hair is falling down around their faces like a curtain, and Steve reaches up to touch it.

“Eddie, we made out for like half an hour on my kitchen floor. I think that warrants a relationship.”

Eddie blinks, almost smiling. Steve touches his cheek, squeezing his hand.

“It scares me,” he says softly. “Being with a boy. But…” He trails his fingers across Eddie’s forehead under his bangs, then over his temple and his cheek until his fingertips are lightly tracing his lips. “After the shit we’ve been through, I think… I think we deserve something nice. Don’t you?”

Eddie blinks hard, swallows thickly and taking a breath before he leans down and kisses him again, more intensely than before. Steve inhales, holding Eddie’s jaw, his whole body flushing with heat like it’s the first time.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes when they part. “We do.”

Steve smiles, kissing him again. He wonders if this is what it’s going to be like every time they kiss, if it’s going to get him breathless and lightheaded and floaty like his skull is full of cotton instead of a brain.

Eddie lays back down after they’re done kissing (which takes a while because Steve doesn’t want to let Eddie’s tongue out of his mouth), cuddling into Steve’s side.

“You don’t think they’ll… be upset?”

Steve blinks, thinking.

“No,” he decided. “I mean, Mike, maybe. Just because he doesn’t like me.” Eddie snickers quietly. “But the others… Surprised, maybe. Not upset. Not angry.”

��Are you sure?”

“Very. I’ve thought about it,” he says. He has. Relentlessly. Even before Eddie was gone. How everyone would react if Steve said out loud how pretty Eddie is, how he wanted to hold his hand. If Eddie felt the same way. If they kissed in front of all of them just because. (He still wishes they did. Before they parted ways. Before Eddie was gone. He kind of wishes he’d skipped the don’t be a hero thing (which hadn’t really mattered anyway), and instead just grabbed the front of his shirt and tugged him close.)

“We’ve all witness the near-end-of-the-world like five times,” he says. “Seen horrors beyond reality. I don’t think two boys kissing will freak them out.”

Eddie sighs.

“Okay.”

“Go to sleep, baby.”

Eddie squeezes him.

Everyone comes over the next day. Steve happens to have popcorn in his pantry and stays in the kitchen to make it while everyone gathers in the living room, blankets and pillows and limbs everywhere comfortably like they’ve all lived here for years.

Eddie finds him and snatches a handful of popcorn before Steve can warn him off, and Steve glades at him but he’s smiling.

“Pretty sure Henderson went to your room to find ore blankets,” Eddie says, munching on the popcorn. Steve shakes his head, smiling fondly.

“Buncha little shits.”

“Hey,” Eddie says, because he can’t stop himself, and Steve lifts his head to look at him, but Eddie is already leaning in, kissing him hard.

Steve laughs.

“Why are you kissing me with your mouth full?”

Eddie grins. Pauses to chew and swallow while Steve finishes pouring the popcorn. And then he kisses him again, his fingers gently holding his chin. Steve smiles, forgetting the open door the kitchen, forgetting the popcorn, forgetting the gaggle of children in the other room, and kisses him back, reaching up to hold the back of his head.

Eddie tilts his head head to deepen it, and Steve is still smiling, and—

“Hey, Steve, do you have—”

They break apart, startled, and Steve’s hand just barely misses the edge of the popcorn bowl, tipping it and spilling popcorn to the counter as they both face the door.

Max is standing there, leaning on her crutches and blinking at them behind her thick glasses. Then she wrinkles her nose and furrows her brow.

“Ew.”

Steve blinks. Eddie’s hand lands on his back before it slides across his shoulders, and Eddie leans on him.

“Didn’t take you to be judgemental, Red,” he says easily, but Steve can feel his nerves, can almost sense his heart pounding.

“I’m not,” she says without changing her expression. “I just don’t wanna see my dads making out. Steve, you have soda right?”

Steve blinks, jerking his chin back like he has whiplash.

“Uh. Yeah. In the pantry.”

“Cool, when you guys are done making out can you bring us some?”

“I— Yeah. Sure.”

“Cool.” She turns and leaves, but not before giving Eddie a look that Steve can’t quite read.

They’re both silent for a moment after she’s gone, listening to the loud banter from the living room. Will is yelling at Dustin about something.

“Her dads,” Eddie says dryly. Steve scoffs.

“I have so many mixed feelings about that.”

“Guess you were right, though,” Eddie says lightly, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek before he releases him. “Now we gotta see how Mike reacts.”

Steve sighs. He looks at Eddie as Eddie cleans up the popcorn, tossing a few pieces in his mouth, tossing the rest into the bowl.

A thrill goes through Steve’s body. He feels like he’s dream.

He reaches out and tugs at the hoodie that Eddie is still wearing, pulling him into another kiss, and a startled noise escapes Eddie before he chuckles softly and buries a hand in Steve’s hair.

“I love you,” Steve says softly when they part. Eddie’s eyes widen.

“…Really?”

“Really, really.”

Eddie wraps his arms around his neck, kissing him so hard their teeth clash, and Steve smiles.

“Jesus, I love you too.”

Steve kisses him gently, touching his cheek.

“Will you take the soda into the living room?” he asks after another quiet moment. Eddie nods.

“Into battle,” he says, pecking his lips before he pulls away. “See you in there, hot stuff.” He smacks Steve’s ass, and Steve laughs, rolling his eyes, but he pauses to watch Eddie lift a case of soda effortlessly.

He pauses in the living room doorway when he finishes with the popcorn.

Max’s crutches are resting against the side of a sofa, and she’s cuddled up against Lucas, his arm around her, her chest on his chest. El (wearing an oversized flannel that Steve recognises as Jonathan’s) is sitting on the floor, Lucas’s legs over her shoulders, holding onto his shin with her head tilted back to rest between his legs. One of Lucas’s hands is playing with her curls. Mike and Will are on the floor, by the coffee table, Mike’s head in Will’s lap, and Dustin is sitting next to them, talking with Will. (Mike is oddly quiet, looking up at Will as he speaks.) Erica is also listening to Dustin, leaning against the sofa that Robin and Nancy are sharing.

Robin is sitting cross-legged between Nancy and Argyle, who’s playing with Jonathan’s hair as he sits contently on the floor next to Erica.

Steve gazes for a moment, watching it all. There are blankets and quilts covering everyone, pillows stacked under feel and behind heads, and when Steve’s eyes find Eddie, sitting on the sofa next to Max and Lucas, he almost melts.

He has his hood up, curls snaking out around his neck, and there’s a dark purple blanket around his shoulders. He looks cozy, and warm, and Steve wanders through the room, setting bowls on Lucas’s legs, Mike’s stomach, in Robin’s and Jonathan’s laps, and he comes to a stop in front of Eddie, who looks up at him and beams, displaying his sharp teeth.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah.”

Steve leans down and kisses him.

The rooms fall silent, and Eddie grins against his mouth, and Steve pulls away after a moment, face flushing before he even stands up straight.

“What?” Mike’s voice says loudly, cutting through the tense silence.

Steve smiles awkwardly, turning to meet Robin’s eyes. She’s staring, mouth ajar and full of puffs of popcorn.

Argyle and Nancy and Max are smiling. Jonathan looks like he couldn’t care less, an approving sort of frown gracing his lips. The others are all staring, wide-eyes.

“What,” Eddie says, looking around Steve’s legs at Mike, who’s lifted his head from Will’s lap to stare at them. “You got a problem, Wheeler? You know boys can like each other, right?”

Mike’s face flushes red.

“That— That’s not— I don’t care about that!” he bursts. “Just— Him?” He points at Steve sharply. Steve almost laughs.

“Yeah?” Eddie says, reaching up and holding Steve’s hip. “What’s the problem?”

“You should have way higher standards.”

“Hey,” Steve exclaims, offended. “Watch it, Wheeler.”

“My standards are right where they need to be,” Eddie says curtly. “Thank you very much.”

“Ugh.” Mike lets his head drop back to Will’s lap. “Whatever.”

“Does anyone else have a problem?” Steve says, somewhat defensively.

“Nah, man,” Argyle says calmly. “It’s all love.”

“I just expect an invite to the wedding,” Max says dryly, holding a can of Coke up for Lucas to open for her. He’s grinning.

“You guys are cute together,” he says lightly, brushing Max’s hair back lovingly as she takes a sip.

“But you’re gonna be extra annoying together, aren’t you?” Erica says, and Steve almost laughs again.

“You know it, Applejack,” Eddie says brightly. She rolls her eyes at him.

Dustin is still staring at them. Steve meets his eyes.

The rooms falls quiet again, and Steve can feel the others’ eyes on them as he raises his eyebrows at Dustin. And then Dustin grins.

“Oh, Christ.” Steve rolls his eyes, turning away, and Dustin starts to laugh.

“I can’t call you my brothers anymore, can I?” he says, and Steve can hear the grin in his voice.

“Ew, no.”

“I called them my dads earlier,” Max volunteers, slurping the Coke like she’s bored, but Steve knows she’s having the time of her life. Eddie laughs behind him.

“No one call us your dads,” he says loudly. “That’s almost as bad as brothers.”

There’s a chorus of No, it’s not around the room, followed by light laughter, and Steve rolls his eyes again.

“Whatever.”

“Come sit down, sweetheart,” Eddie says softly, tugging at his hip, and Steve collapses on top of him heavily. Eddie wheezes out a laugh, and Steve watches as Erica kicks Dustin, asking him a question about whatever he was talking about earlier. He sends them one last smug look before he launches back into his rant. The others settle again. Steve takes a shaky breath.

“We’re good,” Eddie says softly, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. “Everything’s okay.”

“I know,” he says quietly. Eddie tilts his head and nuzzles into his neck, kissing just under his ear.

He pulls away when Erica says Hey loudly.

“I’m cool with you guys being lovers or whatever—”

“Yikes,” Steve interrupts.

“—but I draw the line at PDA. I don’t wanna see my dads make out.”

Steve splutters as Max cackles, and Eddie tucks his face into his neck again, his body shaking as he laughs.

“Whatever. Mike, turn on the movie.”

“What— Why me?”

“Because you were mean to me.”

Mike groans loudly, slowly getting up from the floor and passing the popcorn to Will, grumbling as he crosses the room. Will watches him god, smiling, and then he moves, sitting next to El with his back to the sofa next to Steve’s legs. Eddie reaches down and ruffles his hair.

When the movie starts, Mike lays back down, his head in Will’s lap, and Will sets the popcorn on his chest. Mike smiles up at him. Steve pretends not to notice.

Robin catches Steve’s eye. He shrugs half-heartedly, and she just mouths you rule. He grins. She looks back at Nancy, smiling softly, and something settles in his chest.

He sighs, looking up at the ceiling and relaxing against Eddie, who’s kissing his neck against because no one’s looking.

They still need to figure out what to do with Eddie when Steve’s parents get back. And what the side effects of Eddie’s coming back to life might be. (Why the fuck are his teeth sharp? And why is it hot? Steve has many questions.) And how to explain everything to Wayne. And Steve needs to find another job (probably with Robin), and he needs to decide if he’ll stay here for another year or finally move out. (And he needs to figure out how to tell his parents he’s moving out of he decides to.) Maybe he’ll find an apartment with Eddie. Maybe it won’t be in Hawkins, instead in Indianapolis or something. Or maybe he’d stay in Hawkins until the kids all graduate.

“You’re thinking,” Eddie murmurs in his ear. “Stop it.”

Steve laughs softly, turning his head to look at Eddie, whose chin is resting on his shoulder now.

“Okay.”

He sighs, closing his eyes. In the background he hears Robin giggle about something, and he hears Erica complain to Dustin about something, and he hears Argyle’s voice say something that’s probably directed to Jonathan.

The lights are all on, steady and unflickering, and there’s a movie playing on the television, the room smells like popcorn and air freshener, and Eddie’s strong arms are wrapped around him firmly.

It’s all nice.

He falls asleep.

[littledreamling]

Now on AO3!

"Hob," Dream called out, in that tone. It was a tone that Hob had learned meant that Dream was confused, utterly and entirely, but he didn't want to admit it. Hob was, as always, more than happy to help. It wasn't often that his lover asked for help and while he couldn't exactly call Dream's odd and often ill-timed questions pleas for help, he knew Dream's understanding of the Waking often depended on his steadfast and reliable answers.

"Yes, love?"

"What is this... Goncharov?"

Hob was suddenly very glad that Dream was lounging on the couch, safely out of sight of the kitchen, where Hob was currently questioning every life choice that had led him to this moment. He placed his mug of coffee (thankfully empty enough to have not spilled all over him during his knee-jerk, full-body convulsion of silent laughter at his lover's question) on the counter (to save it from further spillage risks) and, once he had schooled his face as best as he could, popped his head around the corner to glance at Dream, who was engrossed in something on Hob's phone. Scrolling through social media, no doubt, given the topic at hand.

"It's uhh... a movie from the 70's, if I remember correctly," Hob said, as smoothly as possible. "Something about the mafia? It was sort of a cult classic, but I'm not surprised you haven't heard of it. It had it's little blip of fame and then faded back into obscurity pretty quickly. Why?"

"It has gained something of a resurgence, it seems," Dream mused without looking up, a fact that Hob was eternally grateful for. He wasn't sure his facial expression was even remotely close to anything that could be called innocent. One glance from Dream and the game would be up. "There have been many dreams about it in the past few days. Something about clocks and apples and lit cigarettes. I was simply wondering after your opinion on it."

"Oh, it was Al Pacino in his prime. It came out right before The Godfather, if I remember correctly. God, I haven't heard anything about it in years," Hob lied through his teeth, trying desperately to keep the grin off of his lips and the laughter from bubbling up in his chest. "Might be fun to rewatch it. Like I said, it kind of flopped when it came out; I'm glad that it's getting the attention it deserves, even if it is fifty years too late."

At that, Dream did look up, something like affront in his eyes.

"There is no such thing as too late for a story, Hob," he said, not unkindly. "A story always has time to be told. So long as the story remains, its message persists. The revival of a story is an inevitability in its lifetime; they never die, they simply twist and evolve. That this particular story is garnering such avid, new attention after so long is a comfort."

Well, now Hob felt bad. His playful teases shriveled in the face of such a display of sincerity and emotion from his beloved. It burned through Hob's heart, scorching away the last traces of mirth and leaving only soft love in its wake. It must have shown in his face, in the quirk of his fond smile, in the gentle warmth of his eyes, because Dream set his phone aside and reached a hand out, an invitation and demand all in one, and Hob snorted lightly. You could take the Endless out of the Dreaming, but you couldn't take the Dreaming out of the Endless; he was a King through and through. Luckily for Dream, Hob was as devoted as a knight and he went easily, as if pulled by puppet strings to Dream's side.

---

Later, loose-limbed and buried under a veritable mountain of blankets in Hob's bed and embrace, Dream was back to scrolling. Hob didn't hold it against him--being disconnected from the Waking world for so long must have been disorienting, especially with the technological advances of the twentieth and twenty-first century, and Hob couldn't answer every question his lover had. The internet was by far the better source of niche information and Hob was humble enough to admit it.

He could feel the moment, however, that the internet betrayed him. Dream stiffened in his arms and Hob bit at the inside of his lips to keep from chuckling.

"You are many things, Hob Gadling," Dream said lowly, "but I never took you for a liar."

And then Hob really did laugh. He couldn't help it; it rose in his stomach like champagne bubbles, bursting with tinkling joy. By the time he caught his breath, there were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes and Dream was huffing in laughter next to him.

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't mean to," Hob gasped, breathless from the hilarity of the situation. "It was just-"

"A meme," Dream said, all traces of anger gone from his voice. "So this Goncharov, it never existed?"

"I'm afraid not."

"That is a shame," Dream mused. "I had found myself quite looking forward to seeing it."

Hob pressed his lips, and with them, his fond smile, to Dream's hair.

"Perhaps you could inspire its creation," he said. "After all, stories must start somewhere, right?"

And if Hob dreamed of a flickering flame igniting two cigarettes, of bloody hands clenched around a gun, of a clock tower in the snow, well... he had always suspected that his sleeping mind was Dream's testing ground. Perhaps, one day, far in the future, they would reap the benefits of Dream's tests. Perhaps, one day, far in the future, Goncharov would take shape and take hold in someone's mind. Perhaps, one day, far in the future, they would be able to see Goncharov in all of its revived glory.

But for now, it was merely a dream, a whisper of potential in a collective mind. Perhaps, one day...

[skyward-floored]

Too tired to do anything but I don’t want to go to bed yet

[weaselmcdiesel]

as someone who grew up on Dofus and Wakfu (the only good French show at the time) I wanna study you like a bug

!!!! I didn’t play that much dofus and I didnt really watch much of any of the dofus series but ouhhghghghhh wakfu was my darling I had such a crush on percedal when I was little XDXD so then when I found out that it was also a game?! It was literally my dream come true no joke

… I also may or may not have made a comic a couple years ago about the mmo which I posted on tapas ahdhahd but i won’t ever continue that pfff it was called Api Pudding if you feel like searching out really old bad art XD

[dont-offend-the-bees]

I was tagged by @bookwhimses to post a snippet of my WIP! I have just OH so many to choose from, none of 'em progressing particularly fast atm, but freshest on my mind seems to be the Sandman so we'll go with that ^^

I'm tagging @kieren-fucking-walker @firstaudrina @girl-bateman @evilphrog @kelpiemomma @excellentcollectionofwords @victorluvsalice and anyone else who has a WIP they're just dying to share with the class ^^

Anyway, this is from the Sandman fic that keeps kinda bubbling away in my mind, which is sort of a semi-AU based on the Fanily of Blood/Human Nature Doctor Who episodes. The 'Daniel' in this snippet is a Dream without his memories, living a constructed human life. I know his human name being Daniel has potential to be confusing, what with Daniel Hall also being a thing, but none of the other names I've played with have really felt right!

Food prepared and a modest glass of wine on the side, Daniel sinks happily into his sofa and once more loses himself in the story, one earbud removed so that the sound of his own chewing doesn't echo thunderously in his skull. The TV sits unused, as it often does. Later on, when he has to drag his attention from stories into grading, he'll replace the audiobook with music. Something else to fill the silence; it always gets so heavy around this time in the evening. He plants his feet on the cushions, tucking his knees up—and lifts his plate to his chin when the cat pounces for her spot in his lap. Silent, assured, her chattering done now that food has been acquired, segueing with ease into the quiet, comfortable routine of the night.

Daniel doesn’t give that silence opportunity to take hold, notching up the volume and listening well as talented young author Miss Walker guides him through her bittersweet debut tale.

Silence has never sat well with Daniel. Unfortunate, since he seems often to be surrounded by it. It’s not that he’s a shut-in, or a hermit; he has friends, thank you very much. He goes out, he has visitors. He dances in clubs where the music is so loud it reverborates in his ribs, he laughs over cups of coffee when the sun rises and pints of beer when it sets. He has in depth conversations with his friends, his colleagues, his students. He listens to the hum of conversation as he prepares a meal for his guests he promises will knock their socks off. He even, on occasion, shares clandestine whispers with semi-strangers, charms them, beckons them into his home and fills his quiet little flat with sounds of pleasure until all involved can only fall into satiated sleep. He lives a life in the sounds of others, and relishes it.

But eventually, everyone must go to their own home. Eventually people go to work, to their families, to wherever they were before they picked each other up for a night of fun. And Daniel, for all that his alone time is important to him and his work, has never quite got to grips with the silence. He fills it in any way he can. With stories, with podcasts, with music, with ambient noise. Sometimes just with his own voice, and conversations with his cat. Why, he can’t possibly say. Something to do with his youth, perhaps. The days of childhood feel far away much of the time, memories tinted sepia. He was a happy child, so far as he can tell. From a happy home.

But somewhere in that past, in a place he can never quite reach; there was silence.

No, he doesn’t like silence. Not one bit.

As the story winds to a close and the plate lies picked clean, he makes an indulgent decision. He sets his paperwork aside for a few minutes—he’s not tired, so there’ll be plenty of time for it later—and reaches for his notebook instead. On his phone he clicks past his usual selection of narrative folk to his other vice, the rambling trip-hop mix that makes his brain jump in interesting ways without filling it with any words that aren’t his own. As dreamy synths and erratic beats fill his ears in chorus to the soft snores of his feline companion, he takes up his pen, and opens his notebook.

A trickle of sand bleeds from the crease of the pages.

Daniel rolls his eyes, shaking the irritating grains out onto the empty plate on the side table. How one little trip to Brighton six months ago could leave it’s impression so thoroughly, he would never know.

Sand decanted, he turns to the next page with blank space, mind already turning over what he wants to spill onto the page. It was nice, actually, talking out loud about his dreams earlier, however brief and impersonal his chats with Robert tend to be. The image feels sharper in his mind, the impressions of his characters tripping off the pen nib as he sketches them into being, as he takes what little snippets of story he can remember and scribbles them into rudimentary shapes. The impressions of his Dream Lord, that strange and lonely creature in his palace of glass and stone.

[namakes]

Date Night

—

“Hey Marie, guess who’s got a date tonight~!” Callie chimed as her cousin walked into the room, white tentacles down and dressed in an old splatfest t-shirt and sweatpants.

Marie flopped down on the couch in their shared apartment, kicking her legs up on the coffee table with picture perfect nonchalance as she flipped open the book she was reading that week. “Well, it’s not me.”

“Yep, it’s me!” Callie struck a pose. Maybe that was a bit much. Ah, well, it’s not like she was looking anyway.

She got the Marie-signature “that’s nice (I’m not really listening to you)” hmm in response.

“Oh, wanna know something funny?”

The older inkling didn’t look up from her sci-fi novel, flipping the page with, Callie was sure, a smug little smirk. “That you managed to get a date?”

“Har-har, no. Her name’s also Marie!”

A beat of silence.

Marie grunted. “It’s not an uncommon name.”

Cod, was that a weird thing to say? Or just weird in general? Callie hadn’t really thought anything of it when she’d agreed to the date; the inkling seemed nice, she was cute, and her tentacles were lime-green. She kind of wished they were white— or, well, no. Maybe not. Green was a good Marie color too— no, stop that. Callie frowned at herself.

None of her other relationships lasted very long; her own fault, she just didn’t… feel anything for them. Maybe this one would be different. Something to get her to maybe stop thinking of Marie. Well, her Marie. Not hers hers, just—

“Cal. Earth to Cal.” The older inkling whistled to get her attention.

Callie shook herself, blinking quickly as her eyes focused back on her cousin. “Hbwuh— y-yeah?”

“What time do you think you’ll be home?” She said it slowly, making sure to pronounce every letter as she held eye contact. Guess she’d been asking while the younger inkling was off in space. Whoops.

Callie felt her cheeks color a bit, hoping she could play it off as general embarrassment or excitement for the date. “Oh, uh… probably late.”

Marie readjusted her grip on her book, looking back down to the pages as she settled into the back of the couch. “Right. See you at 9, then.”

Callie rolled her eyes, faking a grumpy pout as she crossed her arms. “I can stay up later than that.”

“Mmhm, sure.” She licked a finger and flipped the page.

“I can!”

Marie hummed that way she did when she meant to say “yeah, sure thing Callie”, which just made said inkling roll her eyes again. “Alright, we’re going to dinner at 6 and then a movie, so I’ll be back sometime after that.”

Marie gave her book a lopsided grin, which the younger inkling knew was directed at her, making her huff. Still, at least she didn’t seem upset or anything. Even if her smile didn’t reach her eyes; well, she was reading. But not upset. That was… good. Right? Callie chewed her lip. Ugh, maybe she should just cancel her plans and tell Marie— hers-but-not-hers Marie— how she felt. Get it off her chest. It wouldn’t be hard, you know; just a quick little “I love you!”. She’d been crushing for years now, and the only thing stopping her was that she was afraid of what Marie would think. Well, they’d probably still be friends, but would things be weird between them? There’s no way cool, pretty, handsome, funny Marie would feel the same, right?

“I’m gonna start charging a fee if you keep staring.” The other inkling deadpanned as she looked up from her book, tapping her phone to make it flash the lock screen. “Also… if you’re eating at 6, you’re gonna be late.”

“Wh—“ Callie flipped her own phone out of her pocket, fumbling with the cracked screen and nearly dropping the device for the umpteenth time as her eyes caught the clock. 5:47. “Oh, carp. Okay, I’ll be back later! Love you!”

She sped out the door, nearly tripping on the lip of the frame as she made her way out and her heart caught up with her mouth.

[onbeinganangel]

least read fics ✨

i was tagged by @danpuff-ao3 and @sweet-s0rr0w (see their posts here, and here, respectively, and go read those unloved hidden gems pls and thanks) to share my 5 least read fics on ao3, by either hits or kudos. this game was going around for National Author's Day and, as per usual, i'm so late it's not even fashionable anymore. ooopsies. thank you for the tags, pals!

while i think both hits and kudos are very flawed statistics i decided to go with hits for this one. my least read five, from the very bottom up are:

2020 Microfics [1100 words, 22 drarry microfics, rated E, warnings vary]

A collection of microfics written for Drarry Microfic's 2020 prompts.

a little too good to be true [800 words, ginsy, rated T, no warnings]

For a date that had started with Pansy surreptitiously pulling her phone out and texting Draco, in all caps, “You told me it was someone I didn’t know, you actual ballbag” the blind date had gone surprisingly well. It helped that Pansy accidentally blurted out what Draco had told her as soon as she laid eyes on Ginny, and Ginny laughed and replied with a “Well, Harry said, and I quote ‘She’s really lovely, give her a chance,’ so here I am.”

do it again [750 words, drarry, rated T, no warnings]

Luna,

I’m sorry. I know it’s the second time we’ve had to reschedule this interview. Work has been mental today and Ron got punched in the face. (He’s fine, it was kind of funny.) Draco will be mardy so if you have any of those hibiscus biscuits of yours with the lemon icing that you could spare, send him home with a few. I’ll owe you.

Tell him I’m really sorry and I’ll see you both at the Gala tonight.

H x

overture [115 words, drarry, rated T, no warnings]

In which Harry tells Draco all about his life.

2021 Microfics [5050 words, 95 drarry microfics, rated E, warnings vary]

A collection of microfics written for Drarry Microfic's 2021 prompts.

i accidentally rambled on (who's suprised? not me) about stats and about quality and about hits vs. kudos and all that nonsense so i'm putting the rest of this post under a cut. before that though, i'm going to link you to what is my 6th fic with the least amount of hits, because i am honestly appalled that it ranks 6th, as it's one of my favourite things i have ever written.

the underdog, the honourable mention, the but-mari-that's-not-in-the-rules:

Liturgia Horarum [1500, drarry, rated M, no warnings]

From morning melodies to evening encores, a day in the life through the soundtrack of routine.

and now, for my thoughts:

except for that last minute mention, the actual bottom 5 doesn't really surprise me at all. we have both sets of microfics, 2020's and 2021's and I think we all agree short form (especially extremely short form like micros) does much better on tumblr, plus the fact that they're all under the same work on ao3 despite it not being a cohesive story isn't super helpful. they're mostly there for archival purposes, and mostly for me. i do love having them all in the same place, and it does help me personally when i lose perspective. sometimes i open it just so i can tell myself "look at that, you wrote all those 50 word wee fuckers in numerous genres and styles, and tropes and ideas, all of them about the same two guys" lmao as a reader, i would much prefer to come across microfics and drabbles on tumblr than crammed into one work on ao3, so that makes sense to me.

the other three are T rated, short, and on top of that one of them is femslash too! (truly the holy trifecta of nopes, let's be honest there). so, really. this is unsurprising all around.

it's interesting though, because i'm a curious cat, and i couldn't help compare this to my stats by kudos — do keep in mind i never open my statistics page so looking at it to make this post was really cool! i notice that while i understand why none of these have more hits, they're pieces i quite like, personally. they're nowhere near my favourite things i've ever written, but they're stuff i think it's decent. i think they're alright.

on the other side of that though, are my kudos. when i sort by kudos, both sets of microfics are still on that bottom 5, which again, makes sense. BUT very different fics join those at the bottom of the list. interestingly, the other three fics are quite possibly my least favourite things i've written, the ones i keep on ao3 for the sake of archival but secretly pray no one ever reads! they are a lot higher hit-wise than the ones on the list above (E rated, generally quite porny though the writing/tropes/pairings are rather questionable), but they're at the bottom kudos-wise, which is a fun revelation! maybe it means my own judgement isn't that clouded and that readers and i agree when stuff is a bit... you know, shit. LOL

i find it really fun to look at this kind of thing. i do think the whole point of the game was sharing our less-loved stuff in way of reccommending it/getting it more love, and i ended up just analysing the statistics page. i do enjoy all of these, and none of them are shit, but if you were gonna pick any, for the love of god, read Liturgia Horarum.

can't think of who to tag, but if you haven't done it and you have read all my stupid rambling, you should do it and tag me on it so i can look, thank you <3

[stylinsoncity]

i remember tipsy you once publishing a very flirty and HOT snippet about overwhelmingly you if i’m not wrong, it was a great surprise

lmfao yes… are you trying to get me to post another hot snippet?

[peachpitss]

my mom is in another state rn and she just texted me a bunch of local bird calls from where she is rn. she knows me too well…

[elephant-in-the-pride-parade]

2018 Elephant: I just love Kathryn Janeway and Chakotay to bits and pieces i want to write lots of angsty soft romance about them!

2022 Elephant: Hey Sis, sup? You remember that soft angst/romance series you in love with. Yeahhhh. Youre still working on that. But you got distracted.

2018 E: By what 👀👀👀

2022 E: ...

2018 E: ...

2022 E: Hyperevolved lizard smut.

2018 E: 🤯🤯🤯

2022 E: I said what I said.

[finely-tuned-line]

RP:

Log 229

FTL: Progress on the creation of the purposed organism has been sufficient, I believe. I've decided to use a lizard, as it's the (type of) creature whose genetics I'm most comfortable in my knowledge of. Specifically a green lizard.

FTL: Making a purposed organism is just as difficult as it always has been. I'm going to have to ingrain the urge to look for living transplantable samples of poleplant within its very instincts, since I am unable to just simply make it intelligent enough to understand instructions. I'm sure that that level of intelligence would very much fall within the boundary of intelligence that I'm incapable of making my creatures surpass.

FTL: So I just need to modify this lizard to instinctively know what its purpose is, and then be capable of fulfilling it. Surely it cannot be too difficult, right?

FTL: I am able to imagine an issue that could potentially arise, though. What do I do with lizard after it (hopefully correctly) serves its purpose? It's probably inadvisable to release it, as it'd end up eradicated extremely fast - whether it's due to other lizards and their superiour intelligence or due to its complete willingliness to approach poleplants. Both of those things could very easily kill it, and I'm sure that it won't be part of the Great Cycle, due to the low levels of intelligence that I am capable of creating.

FTL: But why should I care about the fate of a measly non-intelligent lifeform that has served its purpose? If it dies, as it most likely will, then it dies. It's bound to happen eventually, and some would even say that it should rejoice that it's even capable of doing so. If it survives, then it spreads its genetics. Not necessarily a negative thing - nor is it a positive one. It could ruin Eternal Anomaly's isolated attempt at creating an environment for natural evolution. Which would be good revenge on some level, I suppose.

FTL: My progress so far on this purposed organisms consists mostly of planning and figuring out how to do this. I should be able to start the experiment of creating a poleplant-white lizard hybrid within the next two cycles, if all goes well. And I doubt that it won't.

[crimsonblackrose]

I think I might’ve finished the first draft of this fic.