#Steve Devereaux

[thejohnfleming]

3rd Colin Copperfield - speechless at Pete Townsend’s staging of “Tommy”

3rd Colin Copperfield – speechless at Pete Townsend’s staging of “Tommy”

In the last couple of blogs, I’ve chatted to Colin Copperfield about what happened backstage on Jesus Christ Superstar and about his East End upbringing – his sizzling showbiz autobiography It Don’t Mean a Thing if it Ain’t Got That Zing! is on sale now.  Over the years, he appeared in over 900 TV shows in 26 countries. He appeared in three Royal Command Performances and on five albums and…

[libraryofgage]

The Wish Job (One)

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four | Five Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One | Two1 0th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One | Two Queen Clarisse Renaldi One | Two | Three Leverage Crew One (you're here!)

This fic was line jumped! If you'd like to learn more about line jumping (getting to see your favorite fics updated sooner) you can read this post

I had a lot of thoughts for this AU, actually, so I'm really glad it got line jumped so I was forced to put them down into words lol

Steve becomes one of Nana's foster kids, but he spends a majority of this series with the Leverage crew working a job (as the name of this series suggests), and they fill similarly parental role.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

----

After his father's arrest, everything is a blur. Steve can remember flashes, sure, but nothing concrete. Nothing more than two FBI agents in the door of his classroom, the cold steel of interrogation room chairs, an agent's ponytail with split ends, a kind smile but clammy hand on his elbow, the broken A/C of the car when he finally left the FBI office, and the slippery feel of the garbage bag he's given to pack 14 years of a life he'll never see again.

Nothing comes back into focus until he's faced with an older black woman, standing outside a two-story house. The man with a kind smile but clammy hands introduces her, but Steve doesn't actually hear the name.

"You can call me Nana," the woman says, looking at the man like she doesn't know why he's still there when his work is obviously done.

"Well, uh, Steve, feel free to call if you need anything. We'll keep in touch," the man says, nodding before half-running down the walk way.

"Never liked him," Nana says, clicking her tongue. "Too damn squirrely for my tastes. Now, Steve, come inside and we'll go over some ground rules."

Steve follows her mechanically, gripping his trash bag tightly and wondering far too late why he wasn't allowed to pack his own suitcases. The house is a cacophony of noises: feet running across wood floors, a TV blaring from the living room, shouts coming from every direction, a microwave beeping while the oven timer rings, a crash from the next room over that makes Steve wince.

Nana stands in the doorway, takes a deep breath, and then shouts at the top of her lungs, "Y'all had better stop all this racket right the fuck now before I cancel pizza night!"

The house goes silent, and Steve feels his shoulders tense even more. He hates the silence. Silence means anger, and anger means punishment. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep himself small as Nana nods and leads the way into a dining room.

A girl appears in the room shortly after, carrying a mug and a soda. She places the mug in front of Nana and the soda in front of an empty seat, gesturing for Steve to sit. "Welcome. I can take your bag, if you want," she offers, looking at the trash bag with bright eyes.

"Don't make trouble, Breanna," Nana says, dismissing her easily.

Steve watches her leave before sitting. He licks his lips, opens the soda as quietly as he can manage, and waits for Nana to take a sip from her mug before saying, "Thank you for taking me in, ma'am."

"I said to call me Nana, none of that ma'am business unless you're in trouble, and you're not in trouble," she says, waving her hand dismissively. "Now, the rules. No complaining about sharing a room. No TV remote access after seven because that's when my shows start. We all eat dinner together on Wednesday night. You go to school every day unless you're sick, and you tell me when you're feeling sick. You got all that?"

"Yes, m....Nana."

"Good. Now, I know you're used to a fancier living than this, but I expect you to adjust without too much complaint. You still get your own bed, and whatever you brought is yours to keep, but money is tight. We save where we can, and I expect you to help with that. Turn off lights, use less water, unplug things when you're not using them."

Steve nods again, inexplicably feeling a little better as Nana speaks. She's not treating him like a spoiled brat, but she's not coddling him, either. She gets another boy (an older one named Hardison) to give him a tour of the house. He shows Steve the mezzuzahs on each door and the Kaaba directional marker in each room---"We're a multi-denominational household, kid, Nana will get whatever you need if she doesn't have it already," Hardison says, grinning widely at him---and makes sure he knows which spots are good for hiding when he needs a few minutes.

He ends the tour at Steve's new room. It has two bunk-beds, three of the bunks with rumpled sheets and one bottom bunk devoid of sheets altogether. Hardison gives Steve blue sheets, welcomes him, and then leaves Steve to unpack by himself.

It's new, it's unfamiliar, it's terrifying. Steve hopes, despite himself, that it's not a temporary stop.

----

"I don't care! He can't stay!"

"We're already in London, Hardison. We can hardly send him back on a plane by himself."

"Isn't that how he got here in the first place? He's 17, not seven."

Steve moves his gaze from Hardison to Sophie to Eliot, feeling like he's watching a tennis match. He's sandwiched between Nate and Parker, a hand on his shoulder holding him back from trying to defend himself. Not that he's upset about it. Keeping everyone from turning their frustration on him sounds like a great idea.

"Yeah, and how did he get here?" Parker asks, dashing Steve's hopes right as they're forming.

He shifts uncomfortably as everyone looks at him, ducking his head and staring at the floor. A small part of him is frustrated, angrily protesting the familiar move when its usual target has long been absent.

"Hey, give him some room," Hardison says, moving forward to push Nate and Parker back a few steps. He stands at an angle to Steve, leaving him plenty of room to move away if he wants. "Nobody's angry, kid. Well, I'm a little mad, but only because you could be putting yourself in danger. So, how'd you catch up to us?"

Steve wonders for a brief moment about whose wrath he'd rather endure. In the end, he decides Breanna is scarier than Hardison, so he lies. "Nana and I overheard you on the phone with Parker at Hannukah dinner, and then Nana said she gets worried about you sometimes," he says, meeting Hardison's eyes before glancing away. He makes himself small again, but it's on purpose this time, broadcasting shame as he adds, "I still have, um, access to my savings account...from my....from them. Enough for a plane ticket and cab ride, at least."

"Aww, Nana worries about us," Parker says, smiling brightly as she nudges Eliot with her elbow. "That's sweet."

"If it weren't a lie," Sophie says, her lips pursed and her eyebrows raised slightly as she walks closer to Steve. She taps his shoulder, his temple, and his hand. "Lowered head but not as low as before. Shoulders drawn in but tense to hold them there. Fingers twitching just slightly. Impressive, I will admit, but I'm a professional, darling."

Steve sighs and lifts his head, his shoulders relaxing some as he frowns. "You didn't have to call me out on it," he mumbles.

"Breanna got you here, didn't she? Ain't no way you'd lie to protect anyone else."

"She could ruin me, Hardison."

"I can ruin you, too, did you forget about that?"

Steve considers him for a moment before shrugging.

"Well," Nate says, clapping his hands together and pulling everyone's attention to him. "Steve is here now, we might as well use him. Sophie, give him an Italian accent and some suede shoes."

"I can already speak Italian," Steve says, "and I have my own suede shoes to match a Cesare Attolini suit." He feels something like guilt twinge in his stomach when Hardison glances at him. Steve's mother may have forfeited custody of him, but she still sends gifts every now and then. Steve usually sells them, slips the cash into drawers and wallets and couch cushions so they can be discovered by Nana and his foster siblings.

The suit and shoes, though? Steve couldn't bring himself to sell them. If there was one thing he missed about life before Nana's foster home, it was the clothes. It was the way his clothes made him feel like a better version of himself, a version everyone would admire and approve of. So, yeah, he'd kept the clothes and shoes his mother sent him two months ago, and he'd packed them for this trip just because.

He'd glad they seem to be coming in handy.

After processing his words, Nate blinks, a smile growing on his face like he's discovered a treasure he won't be letting go of any time soon.

----

Tag List

Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[iamstartraveller776]

Listen, I'm just saying

[grimreapermandy]

[hockeytown-gifs]

Break Mid-OT - Wings @ Hurricanes GAME 3 - June 8, 2002

[geekynightowl1997]

Okay, I have no idea how many of you Leverage fans have seen and/or like Hawaii 5-0- but I think it would be funny to see Danny Williams and Steve McGarrett work with Leverage.

Especially with Parker.

Imagine two (semi) by the book cops- working with con-artists. Working with a women people think is legit crazy. And then having her be protected by Eliot who could stare down Steve.

[scifidancer]

Chris Pine

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

A Recipe for Disaster

The Princess Diaries 2 steddie AU no one asked for but that i couldn’t get out of my head!!

On AO3 here

It had taken a lot for Steve to get to where he is.

As a person, not like, “in life”-wise

He was most definitely better off than most, he was about to be King of a whole ass country for fucks sake, but the internal shitstorm he had gone through to become the person he is today...was a lot.

He was 16 going on 17 when his long lost aunt showed back up in his life. News of his birthright hitting him like a ton of bricks.

Queen Joyce Renaldi was his father (Stephan Artur Renaldi II)’s older sister, and became Genovia’s ruler when her father passed away shortly after Steve’s.

She had sat down with him and patiently explained everything to him, that since he was the sole male heir to the throne, the crown’d be his when he turned 18. If he wanted it. That she’d train him in everything he needed to know to get him ready and if she had anything to do with it, he wouldn’t be alone in this. He’d have her to guide him as long as he needed her.

At that point in his life, he had already: lost his dad, learned how much of an ass his father really was (and how much people were glad he was gone), and completely shut down. He used to be the King of his school (ironically) but after his dad died, he dropped the façade and became friends with Robin Buckley, local freak.

It didn’t take long before they were the literal best of friends, joined at the hip and at the braincell, platonic soulmates. She became everything to Steve and even after one bad drug trip, finding out he was a royal (for real), their first fight, and his stupid brain thinking that his old best friend Tommy Hagen wasn’t just flirting with him to capitalize on Steve’s newfound status, but because he actually did like him back only to be caught by paparazzi making out in a boathouse at his school’s beach party…Robin was still there. She was always there for him.

She even decided to pursue her degree in languages at the same college; and not just her own degree, but also took another major in international and public affairs, same as him. Fully intending to stay by his side in Genovia.

Steve loves her so damn much (a fact she says he reminds her of all too often).

Which brings him to today. Graduation day.

Finally, finally, he’d be returning to Genovia. With Robin and their co-parented orange cat named Concrete by his side, he’d finally be returning to the country he loved. That he had loved since first landing there the summer after junior year.

He was looking forward to his 21st birthday coming up in a few weeks, nervous about being completely ‘of age’, and the upcoming coronation, but Aunt Joyce had assured him that he would rule at her side before officially taking over.

“Your highness, Lady Robin, look out the window,” Jim Hopper: head of security, local badass, and great friend and father (to his own kids, and a welcome father-figure to Steve these last 4/5 years), interrupted Steve’s tired thoughts and worries, “Welcome back to Genovia.”

Steve looked up at Hopper, grinning, and turned to the window closest to their seats where Robin was already holding Concrete up by his armpits to look out the window too. Steve loved seeing the palace as they flew over, but now all he saw was two-day old, travel-mussed, blonde hair and the bottom half of a very fat orange cat.

—--

The few weeks leading up to his 21st birthday went by in a flash.

The first couple days were appointments with the Palace’s medical team, introductions to the newer members of the staff that Steve would be seeing around daily, official introductions of Robin (and her official titling as Steve’s Royal Advisor) to the staff, fittings for his attire for the ball (a maroon tuxedo, subtly patterned with branches of the Genovian Pear tree in a slightly darker shade, a golden sunflower yellow bow tie and matching waistcoat, Genovia’s royal sash and medals, and a smaller crown of his grandfathers who, like Steve, was partial to warm tones than to cool ones. This crown looked like if the circular backsplash pattern of a drop of  water was cast in gold. The peaks of the crown were each adorned with a ruby, which just barely poked out above Steve’s hair like a halo), and multiple small family dinners, just Steve and his two favorite ladies (Aunt Joyce and Robin) plus Lord Concrete and Joyce’s beloved mutt Maurice. The latter of the two being sworn enemies.

Soon (too soon), it was the night of his ball. Joyce was to enter first with Hopper, and after her speech, would lead the attendees in a toast to Steve as he entered the ballroom. Steve could hear Joyce making her speech though the heavy oak doors, her voice carrying easily though the hall as if the palace itself wanted to send her voice as far as it could.

To top off the pile of anxiety growing in the pit of his stomach, Robin wasn’t with him at the moment. She wasn’t allowed to make the entrance with him, but knowing she’d be just on the other side of the door and down the stairs, gave him little reprieve.

He was pacing between the two doormen on his side of the door, twisting his grandfather’s signet ring worriedly on his left middle finger. The ring was a gift from Joyce for his birthday, said she wanted Steve to have it because “He would have absolutely adored you, Steve. He’d be so proud to see such a handsome, well-rounded young man wear it.” She had his face cupped in her small hands and wiped away his tears with her thumbs when they made their appearance. The ring was too big, big enough for Steve to be constantly worried about losing it right off his finger at the slightest movement. He is already planning on sending it off to be resized, but wanted to have it with him tonight.

Again, too soon, there was no more time to panic as he could hear the announcement of his name coming from the ballroom.

“Presenting, His Royal Highness, Stephan Artur Harrington-Renaldi, Prince of Genovia.”

At the bangs of the announcer’s staff, Steve stepped forward on shaky legs, the double doors opening before him by the ballroom’s doormen just as rehearsed. He dusts off his old “King Steve” mask and smile from his time in high school, puts them on, and walks through the threshold and out to the short balcony created by the twin staircases, beaming at the gathered dignitaries.

“To Prince Steve.” Joyce calls and lifts her glass of champagne.

“To Prince Steve!” The crowd parrots.

Steve lifts his right hand and gives them all a wave, then switches it out for his left, waving a little bit too vigorously toward where he’s spotted Robin who’s grinning at him, looking stunning in the sparkly golden yellow gown she had to almost be wrestled into. He must’ve waved too hard because he feels his grandfather’s ring fly directly off his sweaty hand.

He turns, eyeline chasing the flight path of the ring only to see it land safely in one of the doorman’s grasp.

The elderly man approaches Steve “It happens all the time.” he drops the ring into Steve’s palm and smiles. “And Happy Birthday.”

“Thank you very much.” Steve returns the smile

The titter and giggles from the crowd subdue back into easy chatter as Steve comes down the stairs to his left, and grasps Robin’s hand on his arm as soon as she weaves her arm with his.

“You must be the clumsiest royal to ever grace these halls, Your Royal Dingus.”

“You’re absolutely right, now every important person in the literal world knows it.”

"You are incorrect, Lady Robin,” Joyce calls from behind the two, who turn to face her. “My father was just as clumsy as our Steve, perhaps even more so.” Her smile is polite and loving, but the teasing smile on Hopper’s face betrays exactly what she is thinking.

‘Those two are just as symbiotic as Robin and I, I swear.’ Steve thinks to himself.

“Gee thanks,” Steve rolls his eyes but detaches himself from Robin “Care to be my first dance, Aunt Joyce?”

“I thought you’d never ask, my dear.” She similarly unweaves her arm from Hopper’s and places her palm atop the back of Steve’s downturned one.

Steve leads her to the middle of the ballroom, their guests parting like the red sea in front of them to give an open area to dance. As if they could read their minds, the band starts a classic waltz and Steve leads his Aunt around the outer edge of the circle.

Hopper soon joins them with Robin, and slowly, more and more folks spin themselves into the dance. Steve smiles at Prime Minister Wayne Henderson and his wife Claudia as he and Joyce spin past them, and when the song ends, it’s like the ice has been broken and the party can actually start.

People approach him from all angles to wish him a happy birthday, and make their introductions, including quite a few members of parliament, recognizable by the Genovian Crests pinned to their suits. Robin latches back to his side, they fend off the “Oh, how cute of a couple!” comments as usual, and Robin gets to flex her dignitary muscles. He catches a few excerpts sometimes when she is speaking to foreign dignitaries in their native languages. Steve feels very lucky to have her.

--

He’s whisked away soon after to start the part(s) of the evening he’s dreading the most. Prince Stephan is expected to dance with all the eligible persons of Royal descent. He starts with Robin first, just to get his nerves out of the way.. Then it’s off to the races.

It’s really like they all just expect him to be only a Prince Charming, He asks many of them questions about their own countries/principalities or their interests and they look at him like they'd rather he just tell them how nice they look.

The only one that doesn’t fit this mold so far, is a woman about his age named Nancy. Her small and petite frame is definitely in that mold of most of the attendees he’s expected to dance with, but she tells Steve immediately about how she’d love to be a journalist if it weren’t for her royal expectations.

“I just love to get down to the bottom of things, you know? I like digging in and finding out anything and everything about a story.”

“That sounds fantastic, I’d love to read some of your work sometime.” Steve smiles at her and is rewarded with a small smile and blush. “Actually,” he continues “Our head of security’s oldest son is a photographer, I’d love to introduce you. His work is really good; I feel like your writing and his photo skills could be a great combination.”

He wasn’t lying either, from the few minutes he’s spent with Nancy, he can tell without a doubt that anything she wrote would be fantastic, and though Jonathan and he have always been kinda weird, his photography is plastered all over the Palace’s media releases and he definitely has talent.

“Really? I would love to meet him.”

“Come on, I need a break from dancing anyhow.” They step apart and he offers his arm to her, which she takes. Steve can easily spot Hopper from across the room, easily a head taller than most.

Hopper greets them as they approach, “Good evening your highness, your highness.” directing their titles to each of them.

“Hi Hop, is Jonathan around today? Nancy here is an aspiring reporter and I’d love to introduce them.”

Hopper smiles warmly down at Nancy, “Ah, is that so! Well it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance Madam Nancy, let me radio Jon.”

“Thank you Mr. Hopper.” Nancy beams at him

“Please, your highness, Hopper or Jim is just fine with me.

“Just don’t call him Jimmy.” Steve stage whispers to Nancy, loud enough for Hopper to hear and shake his head at him. “Are Will and Ellie around tonight?”

“Ah yes, they are around here somewhere. I think they and Mr. Henderson have met the young Lord Sinclair, so I’m sure I will have to respond to one of their messes here sooner than later.”

“Your other children?” Nancy asks, genuinely curious.

“Yes ma’am, the wonder twins themselves.” His close-lipped smile makes his mustache scrunch on his face along with causing his well-worn crows feet to make their appearance.

“Whadja need…dad?” Steve hears Jonathan call out then trail off when he catches sight of Steve. “Good evening your highness, happy birthday.” He quickly catches himself and greets Steve with a short bow, “Is there something wrong?”

“Not at all Jonathan, I just wanted to introduce you to Princess Nancy here.” He gestures at Nancy, who’d mostly been hidden from sight behind Steve from where Jonathan had approached. She releases her hold on Steve’s arm and extends her hand for Jonathan to take.

“Many apologies your highness, I didn’t see you there. How do you do?” He takes Nancy’s extended hand and bows with a light kiss to her knuckles. “Is there something I can help you with?”

Steve watches this exchange and immediately the arrow on his brand new internal ‘Nancy’ dial flops from where it was in the “Interested in Nancy” section, to the complete opposite “Get Nancy and Jonathan together at all costs” section.

Nancy’s whole face and neck are blushing a wonderful shade of pink (Steve can even see some dripping down onto her collarbones since the navy blue dress she wears is sleeveless). Steve smirks and is about to cut in to tell Jon all about her, but she gets to it before he can, still eloquent and in command of her words despite her obvious flustered mood.

“I was telling Steve about my wishes to become a journalist and he said your photography work was very good. I am assuming you are on the palace’s public relations team?”

Jonathan still hasn’t let go of Nancy’s hand, and it doesn’t look like he’d like to anytime soon. “Y_yes, I am the lead photographer.. Steve said that?” Jonathan glaces at Steve disbelievingly.

Nancy nods, “He did. I would love to see what you’ve been able to capture so far.” She gestures to the heavy-looking camera around his neck.

“Uhh..” Jonathan looks to Steve worriedly, who quickly mimes standing up straight and offering his arm. “O_of course, I’d love to show you, your highness.” He offers his arm to her and she takes it excitedly.

“Please, just call me Nancy.” she smiles at Jon and his face flushes red.

About an hour later, Steve is starving and starting to get hangry from lack of food. He really doesn’t want to accidentally snap at someone important, so he sneaks over to the corner where his towering birthday cake has been mocking him, picks up one of the tiny serving spoons, and spoons out a mouthful of the cake from behind one of the fondant flowers.

Someone taps him on the shoulder “I saw that.”

Steve looks over, ready to apologize, and has to look down a bit more than he thought. “Uh, it’s my cake.” He tells the younger man. He must be at least 18, he’s definitely not a young kid. Curly light brown hair, slicked backward on the sides, like a fake mullet. “I like your hair dude, very 80s.”

The kid looked embarrassed, “Yeah my mom did it, it’s not what I would have done but I’m not the best at maintaining my curls myself. Our deal is if my mom does my hair, she does all of it. Style and all.”

“It looks really good, I promise, you should tell her thanks.” Steve says, taking another bite of cake.

“Dude.” the kid says incredulously, “Save some for the rest of us.”

“Dude.” Steve parrots back in the same tone “It’s my cake, I can eat as much as I want.” He pauses for a second, and thinks ‘Reel it back in Steve, you don’t even know who this kid is or who this kid’s parents are. Don’t be rude and start a war accidentally.’

“Sorry, I haven’t eaten anything all night and I can feel myself getting hangry. I’m Steve.” Steve switches the small spoon into his left hand and extends his right to the kid

“Yeah, I know who you are, you did make a pretty grand entrance earlier; don’t know if you noticed.” He takes Steve’s hand and gives it a strong (but somewhat clammy) shake. “I’m Dustin Henderson.”

“Ah, so you’re Wayne’s kid.” Steve drops Dustin’s hand.

“No, Claudia’s kid. Wayne is my Step-dad.”

“Oh, sorry...Wait, is that a bad thing?”

“God no, Wayne is the best. Quiet, contemplative, you know he loves you no matter what. And he’s been around as long as I can remember.”

Steve nods along to what Dustin is saying, picking up a second spoon and pulling out another spoonful of cake for Dustin, handing it to him while he’s still talking.

“He even took my Mom’s last name when they got married. He said that he’s the one joining our family, not the other way ‘round.”

Steve has that much more respect for the already well-respected Prime Minister.

“Plus I heard him tell my mom once that his family are a bunch of sleezebags so he’s happy to be rid of his own name anyhow.”

“Wow really? Who’s his family I wonder?”

“Dunno, never asked him and I don’t really want to bring it up if he hates them all, you know?”

“True, true.” Steve agrees. “I like you kid, (“Kid?? I’m only 3 years younger than you!”) I hope to see you around again if I don’t die of boredom talking to all these parliament geezers.”

Dustin grins a big squinty grin at him and extends his hand to Steve again. Steve smiles and shakes his hand, then Dustin puts on a fake, very haughty voice and says “I’ll have my people contact your people.”

Steve throws his head back and bellows out a laugh, “Sounds good man. C’mon, I wanna introduce you to my best friend, Robin. She’s the coolest, I think you guys will like each other.” He pats Dustin on the shoulder, stepping out around the table to lead him across the room where Robin is chatting with Murray and Hopper.

“Oooh, best friend only?” Dustin asks suggestively

“Nuh-uh don’t even go there little man, Steve looks back at the teen, “I am SO not her type and___oh shoot, your..foot” Steve looks up at the person whose foot he just crushed, and his hazel eyes meet chocolate brown. “Are you alright?”

“I’ll survive, your highness.” the man says, standing to his full height, Steve also rises to keep his gaze. “The fault was entirely my own. I apologize.”

The man is just slightly taller than Steve, and has dark brown, almost black, curls. They cascade onto his shoulders, and Steve has the overwhelming urge to reach out and see if they are as soft as they look. Only half of this hair is down, the top half pulled back away from his face.

He is drop-dead gorgeous.

“Are you sure you don’t want to exchange licenses and proof of insurance?”

“No, no, these shoes were a little big anyway, the swelling should help them fit a bit better.” he grins and Steve feels his heart palpitate at the sight.

“Please, excuse me..” He says, stepping back and to the side to squeeze through the crowd.

“Sure.” Steve says, whisper quiet, but dreamboat is already walking away.

As usual, Steve just knows exactly where Robin is, and he turns to meet her gaze (she had already been watching the interaction from her spot across the room).

The two of them mouth “What the fuck?” to each other before Steve’s attention is pulled back to Dustin quietly saying "Holy shit.."

"You saw nothing, that was nothing." Steve points at Dustin accusingly.

Dustin puts his hands up in mock surrender "Okay, okay, that was nothing..."

--

A couple dances later, Steve finds himself dancing with one little girl that honestly, he’d dance with all night if he could. She’s a sassy little thing, a princess from a neighboring country, who calls herself “Lady Applejack” with all the conviction in the world (Steve thinks her name is really Erica though). She stands on his toes while he spins them in dance like she is trying with all her might to crush the digits below her own into the floor for offending her personally.

When he asks about her interests, she tells him almost reluctantly about her love for Dungeons and Dragons, but insists that she’s NOT a nerd. He’s not sure what Dungeons and Dragons even is, but he has an overwhelming feeling that Dustin actually might. Steve tells her as much, and she looks excited that there may be someone else here to talk to about her game.

Steve feels a tap on his shoulder and when he turns, dreamboat is smiling down at Erica.

“Pardon me, Lady Applejack, may I cut in?”

“I’d be mad if you didn’t.” And with that, Erica nearly wrenched herself from Steve’s grasp, and strutted off, looking for Dustin.

“I would say thank you for saving me, but she’s the best dance partner I’ve had so far.” Steve tells the dreamboat, sliding into his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I believe you wholeheartedly, Your Highness.” He chuckles

“Steve. I prefer to be called Steve. And you are…?”

“Eddie. Just.. Eddie.”

Steve laughs “Well, Just Eddie, I’m glad to see that my clumsiness hasn't affected your dancing.” Eddie spins them in a lazy circle, “I’m sorry I stepped on your foot.” he whispers

“You can step on my foot anytime.” Eddie says, a promise.

They had stopped twirling, more or less just swaying back and forth in one spot. Steve was suddenly hyper-aware of how close they had gotten to each other, and how much closer Eddie’s forehead was to his own.

Suddenly, Eddie’s head spun to look at something. It was Dustin.

“It’s Sir Dustin’s turn.” He says to Eddie in that same fake-haughty tone he’d used before.

“You’re quite right, Sir Dustin.” Eddie says, stepping away from Steve and giving Dustin a quick bow.

Steve finds himself missing his closeness when his whole front goes cold in his absence.

“Your highness,” Eddie smolders at him through his lashes with his own bow to Steve, which he returns. And then. He’s gone.

Steve automatically takes Dustin’s hands and starts up the waltz once again, mood soured completely and vaguely aware that Dustin is trying to get his attention.

"Dude. Steve!”

Steve looks down at Dustin, hoping his calm face portrays how pissed he is.

Dustin rolls his eyes, “Look, I know we just met but please just play along here, pretend like you and I both know this is a joke. Laugh or something.”

Now Steve’s just confused.

“With all respect your highness, really and truthfully, love who you love, but the old guys that will end up making decisions for you are not all as cool as Wayne, and would probably have an aneurysm if they think you’re actually making googly eyes at the eligible bachelors here.”

Steve laughs uncomfortably, “Uh, I’m not_”

“You and I both know you were. C’mon man, you know I’m right.”

Steve actually starts laughing at the absurdity of it all. He’s grateful for Dustin, Steve knows he’s right, but he also wants to cry and bury himself in the garden out of embarrassment.

“You’re right, you’re right! Damn it… He was a total dreamboat though, wasn’t he?” Steve waggles his eyebrows at Dustin and laughs again at his disgusted expression.

“Want me to save you, little man?” This time, it’s Robin who cuts in, moving to take her turn as Steve’s dance partner.

“Ugh. Please.” Steve lets Dustin go. “Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.” he says as he walks away, waving at Steve and Robin over his shoulder.

“Tell me everything right now or I swear to god I will throw your shoes into the fountain.” Robin demands as soon as they start spinning.

“You saw how hot he was! And literally so smooth..”

“What was with the kid?”

“I was mooning over Eddie.”

“Oh, his name is Eddie huh?” She grins at him slyly “And what about it?”

“Dustin, rightfully, pointed out that the peanut gallery wouldn’t be too keen on me dancing with all the hotties in the room, not just the lady-type ones. He cut in to cover for me.”

Robin winced in understanding “Oof.. yeah I should’ve caught that too, honestly.”

"Yeah, me too.”

--

After this leg of the Prince Stephan World Waltzing Tour, Prime Minister Henderson tells Steve once again that “There’s a member of Parliament you should meet.” and heads off to go grab said member’s attention before Steve follows. Murray, Joyce’s #1 and palace scheduling wizard, passes by and Steve stops him with an uncomfortable “Murray, how many more members of parliament are there?”

“Only six left, sir. You’ve got it this.” He claps his hand on Steve’s shoulder.

‘Oh. That’s not too bad,’ Steve shrugs to himself as he and Murray part ways. Someone calls his name from behind him and when he turns toward the voice, he feels a tug at his hair and a weight sliding from his head at the same time.

Whirling around, Steve’s hand flies to his head to try and catch the crown before it falls completely off, but is met with the faces of a very apologetic waiter and a very cold-looking member of parliament who had already saved the priceless item from hitting the floor. The waiter whose tray had knocked the crown off his head is apologizing profusely, and the other man is making what Steve thinks is a very rude shoo-ing motion towards them.

He focuses his attention on the gangly looking waiter. “I am so sorry, It was only an accident!”

“No, No, it’s perfectly fine I promise. I am all good, no harm no foul.” Steve smiles genuinely at them.

The waiter clasps his hands together and smiles gratefully before turning and rushing from the room. ‘I’ll have to make sure he’s not fired for this, that’d be shitty.’ Steve thinks to himself.

“Thank you for catching that.” Steve tells the cold-mannered man, crouching down a bit so he can place the crown back on his head.

“You should be more careful, your Royal Highness.” He tells Steve, fixing the headpiece into position, “someone may try to take that from you.”

“I sure hope not,” Steve says with an awkward laugh, lightly touching his head “thank you for all your help!” and turns back to Prime Minister Henderson, intending on asking who the cold-mannered man was.

Pt. 2 here!

Tagging the couple folks that showed interest on my original post, hope you don’t mind! @totallybitchin, @potentialheartofdarkness, @steddieasitgoes, @princessstevemunson

[hagarsays]

Chris Pine is causing chaos right now like damn🫣

[madamebaggio]

Notes: Previously...

***

“I just worry about them, you know?” Steve sighed. “Those kids are always getting into mortal danger.”

“I know, darling.” Sophie patted him on the back.

“You need to teach them how to shoot.” Sam offered.

“Let’s not encourage violence.” The therapist hurried to say.

“Violence is an appropriate response. Sometimes.” Sam amended when she saw Sophie’s look.

“Very rarely.” Sophie added. “When all the other options have failed.”

“Isn’t one of your kids a hitter?” Steve asked, arching an eyebrow.

“He’s also a great big brother and an excellent cook.” Sophie said primly. “Hitter is just a piece of who he is.”

“Like Adam! Being the Antichrist!” Aziraphale clapped.

“That’s a bit freaky, come on.” Sam protested.

“No need to say things like that.” The therapist intervened when the angel bristled. “Adam is a good kid.”

“He is.” Aziraphale nodded resolutely.

“And I used to think my kids were weird.” Steve grumbled.

[paperbackribs]

[hitchell-mope]

Still a great movie. I’ll start the sequel tomorrow.

[morganbritton132]

Eddie, posting to Tiktok: Of course, we watch Leverage. I think Eliot is hot and Steve is a criminal.

Steve: I love her *pointing to Sophie Devereaux* I’d let her rob me blind.

Steve:

Steve: *realizing what Eddie said*

Steve: Stop telling people I’m a criminal!

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 3)

part 1 here | part 2 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Eddie is a superstitious person, always has been. Avoids cracks in the sidewalk, refuses to walk under ladders. Says ‘bless you’ despite his lack of goddamn faith (well… scratch the god, keep the damn). That’s why, when Eddie wakes up at 11:11 that morning, he takes it as a sign. A good one too.

Okay yeah, it’s a little gross that he didn’t wake up until now. But he spent most of the night tossing and turning. A thirstfest visual loop of Steve Harrington jerking it to him. Or just his voice. Maybe both, but Eddie would be a conceited fuck if he were to ask for clarity on Steve’s preferred fantasies.

Look, he makes a lot of digs about his appearance because it’s harmless fun. In reality, Eddie is aware that he’s not an un-attractive person. Could he put a little more effort into his skincare routine so that it doesn’t peel off of him anytime he’s in direct sunlight? Sure. But his features are decent enough to get him matches on that dating app he used for exactly four days before deleting. 

Steve, though… Steve is something conjured up by a young adult novelist - creating the dreamiest boytoy for the angsty yet endearing protagonist. Steve is that. He’s something from a fictional world of hotness. And somehow, he exists beyond coffee-stained manuscripts and bestseller lists.

He’s real. And Eddie Munson has a fucking date with him in exactly eight hours.

Holy shit.

It takes two hours for Eddie to decide on an outfit. He facetimes his audio engineer/closest friend after the first hour, because his room is starting to look like an M. Night Shyamalan adaptation of Grey Gardens. 

“Show me the jean options again.” Chrissy’s tone is all business, staring intently on the other side of the phone screen. 

They met at an escape room right outside of the city. After setting a record-breaking time at that location, they got to chatting and quickly discovered they were both in the audio production business. 

Each of them lives the freelance lifestyle now. Highly ideal for their competitive escape room fixation.

Eddie holds up the three pairs of jeans. One pair is his favorite, well-worn and loose around his thighs, just how he likes them. The other two, are pairs that Chrissy bought for him last Christmas.

Lets just say… he only wears those when she’s offering to pay for dinner on their weekly hangouts. 

She hums for a while, twisting her mouth side to side before speaking again. “The dark blue with the gray crew neck. Final answer.”

“These?” Eddie holds the skinny jeans up to his hip bones. He tugs on the waistband to show how very little movement will be possible in these pants. “My dick cannot breathe in these, Chris. It’s like you want me to embarrass myself on this date.”

“I’m doing you a favor.” She shrugs, concealing a smirk behind her water bottle as she takes a sip. “Those pants are so snug, he’ll have no choice but to get you out of them as soon as possible.”

“Are you insinuating that I put out on the first date?

“Absolutely not.”

“Good.”

“I’m insinuating you put it in on the first date.”

“How dare you.” Eddie points at his phone screen. Sucks in his laughter because yeah. Props. That was a good one. He can’t admit that though because no part of him wants to wear these boa constrictor jeans.

“You were just telling me how you fucked him with your words last night.”

“Fair. But I also explained that I was clearly possessed by the spirit of Blanche Devereaux.” Eddie slips out of his lounge tee, pulls over the one Chrissy picked out for him instead. “I swear, that woman had quite the knack for dirty lingo.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes and gives Eddie a halfhearted salute. “And that’s my exit cue.”

“What? Why?”

“Because anytime you bring up Golden Girls, we start arguing over who would play them in the gender-swapped remake.”

Wrong. Totally false. There’s absolutely no argument to be had. Eddie knows exactly who he’d cast right off the top of his head. Joe Pesci, Michael Caine…

Chrissy must see the gears turning in Eddie’s head because she hangs up before he can launch into his well-rehearsed presentation. Which isn’t a joke, he has a PowerPoint on this particular topic (with cited sources and fancy transitions).

Eddie does one last glance in the mirror before heading out. The pants make his waist look slender, nice. His skin is being squeezed in too many areas, but that’s kind of the point. At least the shirt is loose, albeit a little short. Reveals a patch of his lower tattoos every time he lifts his shoulders.

Okay damn, Chrissy probably knew that too. Maybe she’s the one possessed by the horny spirit of Blanche Devereaux. 

Spiritual possession or not, Eddie ruffles out his bangs one last time. Heads out feeling much more confident than he did after his initial interaction with Steve Harrington.

Eddie agrees to pick Steve up at his last photoshoot of the day. It’s close to his side of town, which means he doesn’t have to fight his way through LA traffic. 

A good sign sent from his lucky wake-up time, no doubt.

He doesn’t expect the photoshoot to be at an amphitheater, but it is. A small one, probably only used for local productions. There’re cameras lining the outer rim of the stage, shuttering and flashing like headlights on a highway. Eddie can hear the director and photographers spewing directions from his car. There’s an audience of producers and crew members, seems like a big fucking deal by the looks of it.

The set is, well, breathtaking - way better than that knockoff fantasy shit from the cologne ad. It’s full of greenery. Trees swaying with the breeze and ivy carpeting the stage floor. A forest that’s almost too beautiful to be synthetic. Eddie wonders if any of the plants are real or if the props department was just that damn good at finding fake ones.

After a few minutes, he checks the time. The shoot is running long. No biggie - Eddie is enjoying the view anyways. Especially, when he finally spots Steve. The view is exceptionally priceless now.

Steve perched on top of a tree trunk, feeding some other model grapes. The dark and stupidly jealous part of Eddie hopes they choke on those grapes. 

His costume almost blends in with the backdrop, dark hues of green. Subtle shades of browns. Perfectly camouflaged by nature. There are vines wrapped around his bare arms, leaves tucked into his tousled hair. 

Honestly, he looks a lot like a wood nymph that Eddie would selfishly design for a DnD campaign. Better, actually. Eddie should take notes. Steal the designer's sketches when nobody's looking.

He’s positively itching to get out of his car, get a closer look at Steve in all his botanical glory. But that might come across as too impatient. Or worse, too presumptuous. So Eddie picks one of his lengthier playlists and settles into his seat.

There’s a tap on Eddie’s window, startling him out of his nap. He must’ve dozed off about twenty minutes ago because the last song he remembers listening to was from the mid-90s section of the playlist. Now, they’ve moved into early 2000s territory.

Seriously, math is way easier when music is leading the equation.

Steve is right there, peering in, still tapping incessantly. His eyes are wide, concerned maybe. Which, yeah. Concern makes sense, considering his date is yawning before the date has even started. Fucking yikes.

Eddie rolls down the window, gives Steve a toothy grin as he rubs the sleep out of his eyes. “Heya, FernGully.”

Steve doesn’t acknowledge Eddie’s costuming reference. Probably missed out on that era of cult classic cartoons. “Up late?” He leans against the car and smiles, far more dazzling than the sun setting behind him.

“You would know.”

Oh, and that earns Eddie a wink from Steve. The nun-converting wink he saw months ago and still thinks about.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Steve reaches into the empty space, pushes the latch down to unlock the front door. “Come on.”

“Uh-”

“I’ve gotta change before we head out.” Steve swings the door open before Eddie can protest.  “Unless you want to have dinner with me dressed like this.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

If there were a Renaissance Festival in town or a Medieval Dinner Show still in business, Eddie would definitely trick his way into getting Steve to go dressed like that. But he tucks the idea away for now, walks down the hill with Steve to the amphitheater. Does his best impression of a civilized human.

“So… what are you supposed to be exactly?”

Steve points to the body glitter on his cheeks. “A fairy.”

Yup. A new file of woodland fantasies starring Steve Fairyington have downloaded into Eddie’s mind. If voice acting didn’t pay so well, he could make an impressive career out of his whimsical porn concepts.

So he deflects. Humor is the only solution to keep the conversation PG-rated. “Just because you’re into guys doesn’t mean you’ve gotta use outdated terms like that.”

“You know what I mean.” Steve knocks an elbow into Eddie’s arm. “I’m a literal fairy.”

“Are you implying that literal fairies exist?” Eddie teases.

“No.”

“Seems like it.”

“Jesus, you’re a piece of work.”

“I can tone it down.”

Steve stops walking, places a hand in the center of Eddie’s chest to stop him too. His playful energy fucking warps into something new. Savory and seductive. Bewitching.

“Don’t even think about it.” He answers, slipping his hand down a little, almost between Eddie’s ribs. The motion sends static through Eddie’s core, up his spine. Raises the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck.

It shouldn’t be alarming that Steve’s touch is powerful. Look at him. 

Eddie has a hard time focusing on the conversation after that. Luckily, the timing works out for him to get his shit together, as Steve heads into the trailer that's parked next to the stage.

He tells Eddie he can take a closer look at the set that he suddenly can’t seem to shut up about. It really is stunning. The size, the details, the color choices. Eddie is fairly certain this is the closest he’ll ever be to experiencing Endor in real life.

Most of the crew members are gone, a few still packing up equipment while Eddie observes a variety of plants used for decorating the wooden platforms. Learns that some plants are real and some are fake, which is actually genius. The mixture of the two distract from the plastic-y finish on some of the vines.

“This is for a special-edition cover of some Shakespeare script.” Steve says, joining Eddie at his side. His outfit is rather colorful. It checks out that he's one of the few people that can pull off a purposeful athleisure aesthetic (Eddie hates that he knows what that style looks like, ugh). “Hence the fairies and forests and shit.”

“Wait.” A lightbulb goes off in Eddie’s head. “Is this for A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

“That’s the one.”

Eddie does a sharp turn, starts shaking Steve by his shoulders. Absolutely bursting with excitement. “Steve literal fairy Harrington, this is ridiculously cool! Like… the history-making kind of cool!”

“If you say so.” Steve agrees calmly.

“How the hell are you not more jazzed about this?”

“You sound just like my manager.” Steve mumbles. “Truth be told, the only Shakespeare play I’ve ever read is Macbeth.”

Eddie gasps, sucks in enough air to fill an inflatable kiddie pool. “We’re on a stage, you can’t just blurt out the Scottish Play like that.”

This is not good. Horrible, even. Not a damn chance that Eddie can be mellow about this. Superstitious person, believer of traditions, blah blah blah. 

And while hiding that piece of his personality should be a simple task, he cannot blatantly ignore such a major fuckup on Steve’s part. No matter how accidental of a fuckup it might have been.

“Okay, what are you talking about?” Steve asks. Still calm. 

“It’s bad luck.” Eddie explains. “The closest thing to cursing a theatrical production.”

“Well, good thing this isn’t a theatrical production then.”

And as Steve laughs off the thoughtless joke, a loud thud is heard at the back of the stage. 

There it is. A warning of impending doom in the form of a loose stage light, hanging by a few loose wires. 

Almost everyone is gone, only two crew members remain on the sidelines. One of them gets on their walkie talkie, mumbles something about a safety hazard incident.

Pfft, not just an incident. A fucking threat from the ghost of theater, that’s what it is.

“See?” Eddie waves both arms at the light structure swinging upstage. “You’ve pissed off Thespis with your loose lips.”

“Who?”

“Oh my god, you’re so-” 

A high-pitched scream cries out from a nearby street. Both Steve and Eddie jump at the sound. It’s a long, frightening scream. Something straight out of a slasher film, which is a likely possibility, for sure. Things are filmed out on the streets of Los Angeles quite a bit.

But the fear ringing out from this particular scream sounds real. Gritty and hoarse.

Fucking terrifying. 

Once the screaming stops, no sign of returning, they share a look. It’s not an ‘I’m gonna jump your bones’ look either. It’s awkward. A fine line between guilt and ‘I told you so.’

“That was just a coincidence.” Steve waves off the scream like it’s just a daily occurrence. Nothing out of the ordinary. “Curses aren’t real.”

Eddie doesn’t want to shout ‘you’re wrong’ from his metaphorical megaphone. Not on a first date, at least. Outright dogmatic behavior shouldn’t come into play until like… the end of the third date.

All he can do is shrug, swallow back the urge to correct this beautiful person standing beside him.

He’s so rigid now, almost timid from the lingering anxiety that more freaky shit is about to happen. 

“Come here.” Steve motions his head to the side, peering softly at Eddie’s expression. His shoulders are relaxed, arms reaching out for Eddie to follow. Join him.

Which he does. Can’t help it. Fully dazed by Steve’s patience, legs moving without a chance to reconsider.

“Wanna get out of here?” Steve thumbs over Eddie’s cheek, skims his nail against the scratchy bits of stubble along Eddie’s jaw. His movements are slow, precise. Only a smidge of pity in his smile. 

Yup. That’s what this must be - Steve probably thinks Eddie is being dramatic. Must assume he can smooth over Eddie’s knotted nerves by just touching him. Tracing hypnotic patterns over his skin.

Eddie is mildly irritated that it’s working. If he can’t find the strength to look away from Steve’s sunny-tinted eyes soon, he’ll float away. Slip through the air as particles. Dust. Nothing but his slutty wishes will remain.

“Not yet.” Eddie gulps.

“No?”

He can’t in good conscience let this theater stay plagued by Steve’s words. This place is on verge of being the location for a Final Destination sequel.

So Eddie removes Steve's hand from his face, squeezes once before returning it back to Steve’s side. “Gotta reverse the fuck out this bad omen first.”

“There’s no such thing as-”

“Don’t.” He pleads. “Put my superstitious mind at ease. Can you do that for me?”

Steve at least has the decency to look away while he rolls his eyes. Pretty and considerate. “Fine. How do I break the curse?”

Eddie has spent enough time in theaters to know there’s a few variations on this process. Changes from director to director. The most common one is going outside and spinning in a circle three times, then knocking on the door till someone lets you back inside.

But that’s where the problem comes in. They’re already outside and there’s no door to knock on, while pleading for forgiveness.

Hmm…

It’s a good thing Eddie remembers a few adjustments to the protocol. It’s an even better thing that he was captain of his improv troupe for three years back in college. Thinking of solutions on the spur of the moment? Adapting for the sake of the scene? Eddie lives for that shit. Comedy fucking chameleon, that’s him.

And what’s better than all of that? His leftover luck from waking up at 11:11am.

Guess it pays off to be a superstitious person. Sometimes.

Eddie clears his throat, delivers the instructions with a southern drawl. Fucks around with it because he can. “So first, you have to walk around the theater three times.”

“Okay.”

“Backwards.” That’s definitely not part of the procedure, but oh well. Steve doesn’t have to know that.

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “Yeah, fuck that.”

“Sorry. I don’t make the rules, gorgeous.”

Except he does make the rules. Currently having way too much fun watching Steve squirm at the stupidity of it all. He’s quickly learning how easy it is to push Steve’s buttons. That shouldn’t be so thrilling for him but whoops. It is.

“Whatever.” Steve kicks a piece of gravel off the stage and sighs. “Then what?”

So he wants more? Eddie can do that. “You have spit on the ground to show your remorse.” 

“This is a bunch of shit.”

“I said spit, not shit.” Eddie leans into Steve’s ear, uses his studio voice, watches as Steve turns pink all over. He lowers the volume down to a whisper. “Try to keep up.”

“Asshole.” But there’s a grin plastered all over Steve’s face as he grumbles. Eddie’s chest is fizzing, total carbonated joy inside him knowing that Steve is a vicious little monster, just like him.

He shoos Steve off to complete the reversal process. Sits on the edge of the stage, legs dangling over the rim, fingers fidgeting with a thread on his jeans.

He’s so smug, watching the prettiest boy on the planet become the grumpiest goofball. Steve might look like an angel, but he has the aura of a full-bred Pomeranian left in the rain.

“I’m making a new rule!” Steve shouts from the back of the theater. 

“How ambitious of you!”

Eddie swears he can hear Steve growling in response, which fuck, that shouldn’t be such an adorably hot combo. But Eddie pictures the curve of Steve’s upper lip as he snarls and the zigzag of his arched eyebrows, and that’s exactly what it is. Hot. Adorable. Sensational.

Steve Harrington is a game of Mad Libs. Every adjective, every word that invokes head rushes and heart flutters, they’re all about him.

“As I was saying before you rudely mocked me,” Steve is in Eddie’s peripherals now, still stepping backwards. Toe to heel, hands loosely in his pants pockets. Not fair that he can make walking backwards look slick and cool. The nerve, the gall. “My new rule is that I get to ask you a question each time I get to the front.”

Eddie pulls one knee up to his chest, lets his chin rest over top of it. “Well then... ask away, o’ cursed one.”

Steve stops at the front of the stage. He doesn’t turn all the way around or start walking forward again. He turns just enough to look at Eddie. Focusing on him.

The sudden attention to Eddie’s face gets him all stuffy. He tries to hide the color that’s surely settled on his cheeks by digging one side of his face into his kneecap. It’s a dopey move. Too bashful, even for him.

“Alright.” Steve says. “How do you know so much about theater?”

An easy question with an easy answer. Relief surges through Eddie. “Most voice actors start out as stage actors. Not always, but a lot of us do. Gotta start somewhere, ya know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Steve nods, and continues with his second lap.

Once his footsteps are far away enough for Eddie to think properly, it dawns on him - they’re getting to know each other. Like authentic people would do.

Like… an actual date.

Shit, it’s been so long since someone in this artificial fucktown has wanted to know things about Eddie beyond hookups and screenames. A genuine moment was right in front of him, and he almost missed it.

That sobers him up. Eddie shoves away his need to Cause Chaos and accepts the sincerity. Gives it right back to Steve. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“How did the modeling gig start?”

“Agents found my instagram again.” Steve replies. “Liked my pictures enough to offer me some shitty jobs to build up my resume. The usual story these days.”

“Right.” 

Eddie can’t fathom being that attractive. So attractive that people seek him out. 

Different worlds is an understatement. Different realms is more like it.

“Next question.” Steve says, arriving to the front again. “Would you rather visit the beach or the mountains?”

Eddie has to think about that one for a minute. He doesn’t take many vacations, can’t afford to on a single artist’s income.

But he remembers a trip to Colorado that he took as a teenager. Vaguely recalls not appreciating any of the landscapes because he was too busy texting his new girlfriend during the whole damn trip.

“The mountains.” Eddie answers, just as Steve begins to walk again. “The Rockies and I have some… unfinished business, if you will.”

Steve chuckles. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.”

“Definitely.”

“Maybe I’ll get to hear it sometime.”

“If you want.” Eddie says, beaming at the implication. 

Steve’s footsteps stop. “Like I said on the phone, Eddie. Hearing you talk is...” The Earth feels silent. But the tension in Eddie’s ears is audible. “Well… I'm into it, I guess.”

Eddie has to switch knees to ease the thump in his dick. “And is Steve Harrington a mountain man or a beach bum?” 

“Depends on the season.”

“Such a diplomatic answer.” Such a vague answer too, Eddie thinks. 

“Okay. Last question.” Steve arrives at the front, shorter of breath than he was the first two laps. He hesitates for a second, then takes a couple of steps towards Eddie. “All those tattoos you have… did getting them done hurt?”

“Like a bitch.” Eddie bunches up his shirt to show off the sleeve of ink he has on his left arm. Took years for it to look this intricate. This complete. He’ll never get tired of staring at it. “Why? Itching to get one or something?”

“Nah. Never got the appeal of putting yourself through hours of pain or whatever.”

“It’s all about the art. The memories. The stories.” Eddie stretches out his bent knee. Lets it drop back down, relaxing into his explanation. “All of those things stitched into designs that I get to admire every damn day for the rest of my life.”

“Art, huh?” Steve takes a few steps closer, close enough to touch.

“What can I say?” Eddie is shamelessly studying the specks in Steve’s eyes. How all the colors blend and separate the closer he gets. Can hear himself grinning as he speaks. “I’m a big fan of gazing at pretty things.”

He’s so tempted to reach out, pull Steve in. Have him straddle his waist while they taste each other for hours.

But he’s still mooning over those eyes - the ones that deserve myths and legends to be told about them for ages. Centuries. Whichever is longer.

“Um.” Steve’s voice snaps Eddie out of his spell. “So… spit?”

“Sorry what?”

“The curse.” Steve says. “I’m supposed to spit on the ground, yeah?”

“Right, yeah. Uh huh.”  Eddie rambles, still internally choking on the fact that Steve just said spit to him. In public.

Steve backs away, puts some space between them. He begins making this nasty, gravelly side with his mouth. His jaw sags slightly as he does it, the lump in his throat bobbing the whole time. 

Eddie gawks, fully unable to look away while Steve swishes the spit around. Filling one cheek, then the other. He’s getting harder with every noise, every swish.

All at once, Steve forcefully hocks the stream of spit onto the ground. It goes diagonally, lands way closer to Eddie than he was expecting. Gets some goddamn distance, which makes Eddie’s eyes roll back. He’s pretty sure he lets out a wobbly ‘fuck’ at how obscene it all looks.

Steve wanders back over, avoids stepping in the wet mess he made on the ground. He places a hand on Eddie’s knee, works his way up the rough edges of denim.

Eddie’s vision is still spotty from what he just witnessed, so he decides to talk until everything clears up. Steve is into that right? The talking bullshit?

“There’s one more step to complete this.” Eddie watches the blurry outline of Steve’s hand rubbing his thigh, slowly blinking the image into full focus.

“And what’s that?” Steve’s voice is low, eyes fixed on Eddie’s mouth.

“You gotta…” Eddie licks his lip. Places a hand over top of Steve’s. Moving where it moves. Going where it goes. Buys himself some time to get the words straightened out. “You gotta kiss the nearest sewer rat loser.”

“And if I don’t do that?” Steve leans in till their noses touch. “Then what? The curse won’t be broken?”

Eddie nods. Only able to give a thin ‘mhmm’ in reply. He wraps two fingers around Steve’s wrist, the hand that's still trailing heat along his thigh. Needs to press against the pulse there, feel it jump. Spike.

Steve is so quiet. So controlled compared to his pulse. “Can’t have that then, can we?”

His lips part, hovering over Eddie’s mouth. The kiss starts out like that. Lips treading, only meeting between breaths. Neither of them pushing for more than seconds of warm contact, brief and sweet. 

That is until Steve’s free hand starts twisting into Eddie’s shirt, tugging him along by the soft fabric. Eddie sinks forward, dives fully into the kiss. He holds his breath or maybe it just gets caught in his lungs from how good it all feels. How Steve touches him like he's captured. How Steve kisses him like he’s dessert.

Eddie can't help but smush their lips together, forcing their faces closer than faces can scientifically be. He hears the wet smack of their tongues echoing underneath the amphitheater, waking his lungs the fuck up. Lets out the weakest sigh, hopes most of the sound gets trapped between Steve’s lips. 

Oh god, his lips. They’re fuller than Eddie’s, puffier now from kissing this hard. He wants to squish them around with his fingers, push them into pout so he can suck on them. Turn them nice and red. Eddie gets his hands tangled in Steve’s hair, knots them up enough to resist the lip-squishing temptation that’s burning him up inside.

“Here.” Steve exhales, hooks one of Eddie’s legs around his waist. 

That… okay, fuck. That’s so hot, so unexpectedly assertive and right. Eddie takes the hint, wraps his other leg around Steve. The heel of his scuffed boots is digging into Steve’s ass, not too hard, but enough to earn a dirty whine out of Steve. He pushes them together, clothes rubbing back and forth, scratching loudly. Muffles their mouth noises though.

“Can we…” Eddie wants to move this elsewhere, anywhere less public. He’s so fucking selfish for that. Needs to swallow every sound Steve makes, secure every expression with a lock. Nobody else should be allowed to see Steve like this besides Eddie.

He lets one hand unravel from Steve’s hair, glides down to the collar of Steve’s tank top. He yanks the material lower, presses his lips against the new area of exposed skin. Sips and sucks over that spot, claims it like he could extract a piece of Steve’s soul if he sucks hard enough.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Steve responds, whimpering into the top of Eddie’s hair. Not entirely clear if he’s saying that out of pleasure, or agreeing with Eddie that they should relocate, but whatever. It's all too good to overthink the meaning.

Eddie unhooks his legs and kisses the deep purple mark he just made. Too fucking proud how easily the color spreads into reddish tones around the edges. 

His vision goes fuzzy again as he stands upright, has to blink away all the white specks of dizzy lust. Eddie offers a hand to Steve, but there’s no damn point for that. Steve is already hopping up onto the stage, makes it look effortless. Cool as shit.

“Follow me.” Steve grabs the crook of Eddie’s forearm, pulling him into the forested scenery.

As if there were any need for Steve to request that. Eddie Munson would follow Steve into the sketchiest alleyway of Hell, if it meant they could kiss like that some more.

They duck underneath a few tree limbs, weave through the maze of green. A few leaves get into Eddie’s mouth, but he hardly notices anything besides the dent that Steve’s fingernail is leaving in his arm. It would make the sickest crescent moon tattoo, inked and perfectly shaped. 

Damnit, Eddie’s thoughts are getting more fucked the deeper they hide. Steve slams Eddie against the trunk of a large tree. He realizes with the thud on his back that it’s plywood, not tree bark. Doesn’t care one bit if his shirt tears from the nails jutting out. Cares even less if he gets splinters from the slow grinding of their hips, hitching his shirt up further with every thrust.

“These are sexy.” Steve tugs at Eddie’s empty belt loop. Didn’t need an actual belt with how suffocating they are. “But they’ve gotta go. If that’s cool.”

“Get them the hell out of here.” Eddie is subconsciously thanking Chrissy for suggesting these stupid pants. She’ll be insufferable when he tells her about the jean's success rate. But right now? Worth it.

Anything seems worth it to have Steve popping the button out, ripping the zipper down. He’s so focused on getting these pants off that his forehead wrinkles, little beads of sweat gathering on his temples. 

Eddie can’t resist any longer, not after seeing Steve equally covered in desperation. He palms the front of Steve’s pants, wants to give him some relief for this valiant jean-removing effort.

“Steve.” Eddie huffs, brushes his lips over Steve’s ear. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” He bites over the skin, nibbling carefully with the tip of his teeth.

It must tickle because Steve laughs while shrugging the jeans lower, boxers going with them. 

“So tell me then.” He kisses Eddie. It’s harsh, mostly panting into his mouth. Steve sinks to the floor and looks up. “Keep talking.”

This. This goddamn view. Eddie wasn’t expecting to get a view of Steve on his knees tonight. Wasn’t expecting his head to go limp, looking up at Eddie the way he eyefucked the camera on the day they first met. 

Only difference is, Steve’s not acting - not pretending to be needy.

He just is. He’s all of those coy and sinful things, exclusively for Eddie this time.

“Spit in my hand.” Steve stretches his hand up towards Eddie’s chin - gives him those big, midnight eyes that could make dormant volcanoes erupt instantly. Defy physics, end climate change. 

Eddie doesn’t use brain cells anymore, just does what he’s told. He gathers enough spit in his mouth, then watches it trickle out. Pooling in the center of Steve’s hand. It’s gross, sure. But also, it’s the hottest thing he’s ever done. 

Gross and hot. Those sensations are fucking synonymous right now.

“Tell me, Eddie.” Steve gets his fingers around Eddie’s cock, the warm wetness makes it twitch in his hold. Apparently, no part of Eddie’s anatomy can believe this is really happening, not even his dick.

“Uh-”

“You said you’ve thought about it.”

“Lots.”

“So tell me while I get you off.”

“Oh.. god, okay.” And Eddie is good at that. Talking nonstop. Revealing all of his filthy secrets when asked so politely. He did it last night, slipped into his darker persona with ease so Steve could feel good.

But that’s just it, isn’t it? Eddie would say a flurry of fuckery for Steve Harrington’s approval. Get him to come until he shakes because Eddie wants that. Wants Steve to feel like liquid gold dripping between his fingers. Wants Steve to bend and break under his words and touch.

Talking dirty to get himself off is new territory. Eddie is a perpetual giver, loves being that way most of the time. Especially for someone as spectacular as Steve.

“Go ahead, babe.” Steve urges, licks the muscle of Eddie’s inner thigh till it tightens.

Right, he can do this. Even if he is short of breath. Eddie can be as confident as he was last night while Steve strokes him. “Thought about you since the commercial production.”

It’s a start. He bites his lip and keeps going. “All I could think about was… fuck. Opening you up. Leaving my fingerprints on your hips.”

“What else?” Steve purrs, working Eddie roughly with his spit-slick fingers. Sounds just as ruined as Eddie does.

“Wanted to fuck you in my lap.” Eddie pauses to moan, chest falling hard. He gets another glimpse of Steve’s hand on him, picking up the pace. A tempo so delicious that it shuts off Eddie’s judgment skills. His mouth running wild. “Let you ride me just like that. Use me till your legs go weak.”

Steve huffs out a laugh. His grip gets a little firmer, loosening up between strokes. Makes a fucking pattern out of it, has Eddie craving it. Needs more.

“And what if I wanted to fuck you, huh?” Steve’s question hits his ears like a whip. Cracking every nerve in Eddie’s body.

“I’d let you.” And it’s true, so very true. Eddie’s mouth is still going rogue, uttering truths like he’s on trial. Ready to testify all his desires to Steve. Sign his name on the dotted fucking line. “You could wreck me any way you want, sweetheart.”

Eddie seems to have found the secret words to Steve’s wild side. He’s taking Eddie down his throat, almost too fast. So fast that drool forms at the corners of his stretched lips, mouth gurgling already.

Eddie is swearing, not even real words half the time - just moans that sound explicit enough to get bleeped out on public access television. One hand goes over his own mouth while the other keeps combing through Steve’s hair.

It’s so damp now, sticking out erratically at the sides. Eddie curls a few strands over his thumb, watches the color drain from his finger. So demented, so good.

Steve is taking his cock so damn well, so Eddie tells him. Truly, all that he’s capable of is sex-drunk praise. Letting Steve know how gorgeous he is, how bruised his throat will be from sucking this much cock, how swollen and sore his lips look at this angle.

Eddie can’t stop because every phrase makes Steve get messier. Whining and whimpering each time he pulls off. Looking up at Eddie before taking him in again. Getting louder. Loud enough that sidewalk pedestrians definitely could hear him if they linger nearby for too long.

Eddie's knees buckle as he gets close. Doesn't have the energy to straighten back out, let alone warn Steve that he’s about to come. None of that seems to matter though. Steve nods twice, still bobbing around Eddie, like he just knows. Knows Eddie is there and is fucking willing to work him through it.

“Holy fuck, Steve.” Which yeah, Eddie gets it. Uttering someone’s name while he comes in their mouth is a little tacky and cliche. But saying it is involuntary, totally out of his control. Truthfully, Eddie relinquished all control to Steve hours ago.

Steve swallows, cleans Eddie with a few swipes of his overworked tongue like it’s nothing. No problamo. Like that’s the only way to handle the aftermath of an orgasm. In the most delightful way, or whatever musical shit Mary Poppins sings about. 

He gives the laziest, dreamiest grin as Eddie collapses down to his level. Both of them heaving, kissing with aching lungs. 

“Fucking fantastic.” Eddie whispers, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s pink-stained cheeks. Hopes his rings don’t hurt too much, absently forgetting how chunky they are.

Steve leans into the small touch. “Glad to hear it.”

“You’re fantastic.” Eddie clarifies. Means it more than any superstition he’s ever heard in his life.

He’s more than ready to get his hands all over Steve, make him come until he faints. But Steve is adamant that he’s chills with waiting. Says he actually enjoys the buildup from staying horny for hours and hours. Mentions something about that being a new discovery that he wants to explore. 

With Eddie. 

Steve fucking Harrington wants to explore new sides of himself with Eddie. That sends him reeling. Smitten and spiraling.

“Are sure?” Eddie paws at Steve’s hard-on, ready to jump in and save the day via orgasm.

“Very sure.” He lifts Eddie's hand away, snickering as he lays a quick kiss on each finger.  “I like being around you. That’s not gonna change overnight.”

“Like being around you too, Steve.” He takes Steve’s face into his hands, smushes it back and forth until Steve smiles. “Crazy about it, actually.”

The sun is low, barely any light left in the sky. But as Eddie holds Steve’s face, watching him smile, he notices that Steve is glowing. Not beaming, actually glowing. Even through the dimness of sky and the shadows formed by tree limbs, Eddie can see all of Steve’s features.

How is that possible?

They each look up and see it. Taking it in, this mysterious glow.

“Wow.” They say in unison, almost matching pitch. Matching levels of disbelief too.

Between the branches and leaves, they are tiny lights. Floating, orb-like lights. The brightness shining off of them is warm, soft on the eyes. They’re scattered high over the forested backdrop, orange and yellow hues twinkling against rich greens. 

Enchanting is the only word to describe this new addition. Incredibly and unbelievably enchanting.

“Set designer really popped off with this cover shoot, I guess.” Steve throws the theory out there, barely sounds like he believes it himself.

Eddie rubs his eyes. His voice comes out hushed, doesn’t really mean for it to but it does anyways. “Steve… those aren’t attached to anything. No strings, no wires. They’re just-”

“Floating?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Be serious, dude.”

And Eddie is. Completely serious. No jokes or snarky replies in his system right now. He points to the nearest light, then back at Steve. “You broke the curse, right?”

“Apparently.” Steve shrugs.

“So maybe Thespis is showing his forgiveness.”

“Who the hell is Thespis?” Steve pinches the skin between his eyes and groans - acting like Eddie’s hypothesis is giving him a migraine. Honestly, it might be. Wouldn’t be the first time Eddie worked someone up to the point of desperately needing tylenol.

He switches tactics, nuzzles into Steve’s shoulder with his nose. Attempts to lighten the mood with at least one joke in these trying times of bad luck and headaches. “Or he’s giving us his blessing for copulating on his holy grounds.”

The lights answer, flaring out all around them. They pulsate for a minute, maybe two, before returning back to their normal glow. Eddie tucks in a grin because Steve’s gorgeous little head looks like it’s about to detonate off of his gorgeous little body. So if he smiles right now, Steve will undoubtedly explode on this very flammable set piece.

Which would be a wicked awesome way to die. Post-orgasm, then up in flames. But alas, they have dinner reservations. It would be rude not to show up.

Really, it’s no surprise to Eddie that the ghost of theater is into partial voyeurism, signaling his approval with twinkling lights. Semi-public sex probably classifies as its own unique strand of performing art in Ancient Greece.

Or the dead dude is just into taboo stuff. 

If so, good for him. You do you, Thespis.

“Look.” Steve says, standing up. “Maybe it’s… an optical illusion.”

“Or magic.”

Steve lets out a deep sigh and offers his hand to Eddie. Pulls him up in one swift motion. Doesn’t let go of his hand afterward either. “How about we drop it and go get some dinner?”

Typically, Eddie is all about a verbal bloodbath. But Steve laces their fingers together, connects them in a way that has Eddie forgetting all about his need to be right. 

“Consider it dropped.”

The lights flicker out as they walk further away from the stage. And as they get into Eddie’s car, they go out entirely. Steve flicks on the radio, defaults to the classic rock station, which is playing “Magic” by The Cars.

“It’s a sign.” Eddie sings to the tune, poking a finger at Steve.

“Just drive, you big dork.” Steve swats him away, placing a hand on Eddie’s thigh while he drives. He turns up the volume, surprisingly knows every lyric by heart. Belts them out. Full on screams the parts he likes best.

Which Eddie totally can relate to. He wants to scream about all the parts he likes best about Steve. About their date that’s not even finished yet.

On their way to dinner, Eddie avoids the cracks on the sidewalk. On the drive home, he taps the roof of his car whenever he makes it through a yellow light at an intersection.

And when he drops Steve off at his apartment precisely at 11:11pm, he doesn’t say a damn word. Keeps his mouth shut, only opens it to kiss Steve goodbye (with tongue, obviously).

Sure, it’s just a dumb superstition, Eddie can admit that to himself.

But tonight… it feels like more than that.

More than a coincidence.

More than a good omen.

He sends a ‘got home safely’ text to Steve as he pulls into his designated parking spot. Totally obsessed with how fast Steve texts him back, it’s too fucking cute.

Steve: glad :) had a great time btw

Eddie: really?

Steve: yes *really*

Eddie: i had a great time too

He quickly taps the voice-record button before Steve can respond:

“Actually,” Eddie sneers. Uses the voice that Steve goes crazy for. “I had a magical time.”

Steve: ugh

Eddie: ;)

[thezombieprostitute]

Dragonfly - Part 3

Summary: Steve has just about everything he could ever want in life. He's got you, a baby on the way, and a successful Family. No one would dare interfere with that. Right?

A/N: Reader is female, pregnant. No other descriptors used.

Word Count: ~1.1k

Warnings: Death threats, Implied violence, Pregnancy. Please let me know if I missed any!

Part 2 -- Part 4

Series Masterlist

With the contract burned, you were breathing a little easier. Too bad you couldn't say the same for Steve. The insight from Mr. Smith that Dragonfly after you, not trying to hurt Steve, had him questioning anyone and everyone you'd ever met before. So far nothing had hit. There was only a couple of months until the birth and Steve was adamant that Dragonfly be found before it happened.

As much as Steve wanted to keep you locked up inside you still needed to go out every so often. When you did, the security team was always around and Steve always held you close. As much as you wanted to run free, you could pick up on his stress every time you did so. He was hyper-vigilant, had trouble keeping up with conversations, tensed and drew you close at every loud noise.

Thankfully your pregnancy was so far along that the people he worked with, outside of the Family, figured it was him being overprotective. No one questioned his propensity for pulling you away from handshakes and other physical contact.

One of the older ladies, Mrs. Devereaux, at the fundraiser smiled fondly and commented, “I remember my husband being the same way during my first pregnancy. You've got to love how protective these big strong men can be when they're nervous.”

You chuckled, “he is delightfully good at making me feel safe. You should've seen him during the ultrasounds.”

She coos, “oh, I'll bet he was a big ball of nerves!”

“He was, though he'd never admit it,” you reply. “And you should've seen him when he found out we're having a boy.”

“Oh yes,” she sighs. “My husband was the exact same way. I'm so glad to see you two have such a loving relationship. And that your bear of a husband is keeping you safe.”

“I'm just glad he isn't growling at people who get too close.”

You and Mrs. Devereaux had a good laugh over that before she went to speak to someone else.

Steve pulled you close and whispered in your ear, “if I recall correctly, you enjoy when I growl at you.”

“Exactly,” you smile at him. “At me. You growling at others isn't as fun.” You kiss him before gently hissing at the pain in your lower back. “Still, if you want to get out of here a little early, I don't think we would mind.”

Steve nods and gives his silent signal to his security team that you're getting ready to leave. The two of you say goodbyes as you head out, Steve's far more terse than yours. Anyone who takes longer than ten seconds gets a glare from Steve that has them finishing up their goodbyes quickly.

Steve helps you into the back seat before climbing in himself. Bucky sits up front with Dayton driving. You always feel safe in the car. Steve will do everything he can to keep you safe; Bucky is head of security for a reason and Dayton White is the best driver they've got on the crew. You let yourself breathe deep and relax as you rub your stomach.

“How are you holding up,” Steve asks, rubbing your arm.

“Better now that I'm sitting.”

“I keep trying to make sure we only go to events with seating,” he grumbles. “Still, it's nice to have an excuse to leave early. I don't think we're gonna be able to get that bill passed, regardless of how much time we spent there.”

“I'm so sorry, Sweetie,” you coo, moving your hand to rub his cheek. “I know it would've helped a lot of people. Oh!” Everyone in the car is on alert until you move Steve's hand to your stomach. “Yeah, he's also happy to be sitting down,” you chuckle as your baby kicks where Steve's hand is. “I think he's also hungry.”

“And what is he hungry for,” Steve asks, his eyes never leaving where his hand is.

“I'm thinking ice cream with some of that spicy sweet Tabasco sauce.”

Steve gives you a look but the baby's persistent kicks seem to confirm your choice and he chuckles.

After your ice cream and a long nap, you find yourself in the kitchen again, looking to make some baked apples with extra cinnamon. As you work, Steve comes in and watches you, smiling contentedly. At least, until your back starts hurting again, causing you to wince and look for a chair.

Steve walks up behind you, “there's something I'd like to try for that back pain, if you'll let me?”

“Of course.” He reaches around to your front and slowly, carefully, lifts your pregnant belly. “Oh, Steve,” you moan. “Oh, that helps so much.” Tears form in your eyes from the relief.

“However long you need me to stand like this,” he promises, kissing your cheek. “You know I'll always support you however I can.”

“I know,” you assure. “And you know I'll always do the same for you.” He nods in confirmation, his beard lovingly scratching your cheek.

After a few minutes your cravings get the better of you, “that was wonderful, Sweetheart, but I gotta get the baby some food.”

“Are you sure? I can stay like this for a while longer.”

You chuckle, “yeah, I'm sure you could. But then your arms would be too tired to hold me later when we're in bed.”

“Never,” he jokinglly snaps, making you laugh. He gently lets go and you get back to work on the baked apples.

“Have you given further thoughts to which friends we're naming the baby after?” It's been a major topic of discussion between the two of you. Bucky and Sam have been running their own campaigns for who the baby should be named after. So much so that the Garbage Men have a betting pool for who gets to be the namesake.

“Honestly,” Steve starts, “I'm thinking of none of them. Giving our son a name of his own.”

“A lot of people will be upset,” you chuckle. “But I very much understand what you're going for. I think it'd be good for everyone, especially baby Winston.” Steve arches an eyebrow at that and you giggle even more. “We could also call him Jameson? Being a combination of James and Wilson?”

“That one I'd give some thought to. But it feels more like a last name.”

“Oh I know,” you chirp, “Jack! For the artist who brought us together!”

“I think I like that,” he muses. “We've still got time to decide, but I do like that one.” He stands behind you and loosely wraps his arms around you again. “Hmm. Jack Steven Rogers...”

Part 2 -- Part 4

Series Masterlist

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[abbymcraft01]

Just drew Steve, blue and his grandmother AKA rue McClanahan AKA Blanche Devereaux from golden girls. (Ref on right, drawing on left)