#amazing ficlet

[asbealthgn]

(i am not immune to peer pressure so here's a continuation. part one here)

It’s so rare that Steve meets anyone nice anymore.

It’s just hard to find people. Dating apps suck, and ever since Robin and Nancy got together, they hardly ever want to go to bars together. And what’s he supposed to do, just drink alone and hope he stumbles across someone? 

Well, that’s exactly what happened today, sans drinking. He was heading for the bus stop, a tiny bit lost but he had a map and was pretty sure he could figure it out. He realizes he’s a tiny bit directionally challenged, and he’s still relatively new in town, and Robin and Nancy just moved to a new place, so it all came together to mean that getting there would take some puzzling out. All the same, he was prepared to figure it out on his own right up until he saw the super hot guy sitting at the bus stop and figured a little help couldn’t hurt.

And that’s how Steve ended up with an unexpected date (sort of) to Robin and Nancy’s baby shower (not a real baby shower).

Robin answers the door and smiles, then does a double take when she sees Eddie. Whoops, Steve probably should have texted her that he was bringing someone. He’d gotten a little caught up in the moment.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind I brought a plus one,” Steve says, hugging her before walking inside. Eddie follows him.

“No, no, that’s fine,” Robin says, voice a little strange as they take their shoes off and she shuts the door. “We’re all in the living room.”

They follow her through the kitchen and into the living room where half a dozen calico kittens and several adults are on the floor.

“Oh my God, they’re adorable,” Eddie says, leaving Steve’s side to get down next to the kittens. Steve gets a huge smile watching him. Fuck, he’s super hot and he’s now holding a tiny kitten, cooing at it? Steve might just get on one knee right now. Or both knees. Honestly, either one works.

If he were paying more attention to literally anything other than Eddie, Steve would notice that nearly everyone else in the room is also staring at Eddie. The only exception to that is El, who’s sitting cross-legged on the floor with the mama cat in her lap, both watching the kittens with the same wide-eyed intensity.

There’s a tap on Steve’s shoulder, and he turns to look at Robin. “Can we talk for a sec?” she asks, voice still odd.

“Yeah,” he says and follows her back into the kitchen.

She crosses her arms and leans back against the counter. “So are you gonna tell me what Eddie Munson is doing in our living room?”

“Oh, have you already met him?” Steve asks.

Her eyes widen. “Are you being serious right now?”

“Uh. Yes?”

“Steve, that’s Eddie Munson,” she says, “From Corroded Coffin?”

“From what?” he asks, though as she says, it does sound a tiny bit familiar. 

“Corroded Coffin?” she says, “It’s that band the kids love. Along with like half of America if they’re not completely scandalized by them.”

“So what, you’re trying to tell me Eddie’s famous?” Steve asks. Robin nods. “Hold on, this isn’t like Paul all over again, is it?” Paul was a guy Steve briefly dated a few years ago, and Robin had somehow convinced Steve that he was an Olympic athlete. In his defense, she had mocked up some seriously convincing news articles.

But Robin is shaking her head. “No, I’m serious this time,” she says. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out her phone. After a second she turns it around to show him the Google results for Eddie Munson. There are a lot of red carpets and pictures of him onstage. And damn, Eddie seriously is so hot.

“Alright, well, you definitely didn’t have time to photoshop these,” Steve mutters. Robin nods, patting him on the shoulder. How did he accidentally bring a famous guy over?

Just then, Eddie comes into the kitchen, a kitten in his hands. 

“Stevie, look at her,” he says, holding the kitten up.

Stevie? Robin mouths. Steve kicks her as he reaches out to scratch under the kitten’s chin. It mews at him.

“I asked Nancy—she’s terrifying, by the way,” Eddie adds to Robin, “And she said I can keep her.” He lifts the kitten to his face and it purrs as it rubs its cheek against Eddie’s. Steve is actually going to combust.

“Alright, well, I’m heading back in,” Robin says, voice back to that strained quality as she escapes the kitchen. Eddie doesn’t seem to notice, too busy whispering praise to the kitten.

Steve scratches under its chin again and it purrs at him. “What’re you gonna name her?” he asks.

“Don’t know yet,” Eddie says, “Isn’t she per—oh, hold on.” His phone is ringing, so he moves the kitten to one hand as he reaches into his pocket and pulls it out. “Hey Gar….Yeah, ‘cause you abandoned me….No, I’m in Japantown getting a kitten….No, that’s not a euphemism….Listen, I’m kinda busy, I’ll call you later, alright?…Yeah, see you, man.”

While he was talking, the kitten clawed its way up Eddie’s shirt and into his hair. “What’re you doing in there, sweet girl?” he asks, tucking his phone back into his pocket and reaching for the kitten. It’s gotten very tangled in his curls, though, and apparently really likes being there. 

“Lemme help you,” Steve says, stepping closer to Eddie and extricating the kitten. Eddie’s hair is very soft. Good to know. “Here you go,” he says, holding the kitten out for him.

“One sec,” Eddie says. He ties his hair up quickly (also hot, fuck) before taking the kitten back. He boops noses with it. “Such a mischievous little girl.” 

“Well, can you blame her?” Steve asks. He brushes a loose curl behind Eddie’s ear. “Your hair seems like a nice place to be.”

Eddie smiles at him, a dimple appearing on his cheek. “I’ll be honest, Stevie,” he says, voice getting a little lower as he moves closer, boxing Steve against the counter. “At first I just came along because you’re gorgeous, but I think I’ve fallen in love.” He holds up the kitten in one hand.

“You think I’m gorgeous?” Steve asks, feeling his face heat. 

“‘Course I do, big boy,” Eddie says, leaning closer and putting his free hand on the counter by Steve’s hip.

Maybe this is stupid and way too forward, but Eddie is so dreamy with his eyes and his dimple and his hair and the kitten in his hand, so Steve leans in and kisses him. It’s a little relieving when Eddie kisses him back, free hand lifting to his hair while Steve wraps his arms around his waist.

Steve doesn’t notice the front door opening or a new group of people that includes Dustin Henderson coming inside. He doesn’t notice them entering the kitchen and freezing as they take in the scene.

That is, not until Dustin shouts, “Holy shit, is that Eddie Munson?”

tagging a few people who asked for a continuation/asked to be tagged (sorry if i missed anyone!): @nburkhardt @stargyles @csinnamon-fox @manda-panda-monium @silly-jellyghoty @lifeisnotsobadonceyoustopcaring @starquirk

edit to add that this ficlet is complete and the last part is here

[hellfire--cult]

toot toot

Eddie has a very important question for you - just eddie being a loving boyfriend with something i know we all struggle with as we enter a relationship (fem!reader) - self indulgent

a/n: idk man. i had this talk with @ghost-proofbaby and I was like, 'yeah, i should write this' and she agreed.

Wc: 1k

-

“Why don’t you fart in front of me?”

You almost spat the water you were drinking all over the book you were reading as you laid on his bed with your back propped up on the headboard. 

“Eds, what?”

“You never fart in front of me.” He was dead serious, looking at you while his arms rested on his guitar, sitting at the end of the bed, his legs crossed. You were blinking at him as if he had just sprouted a leaf over his head.

“What are you going on about?”

“We’ve been dating for a whole year, and I have yet to hear a fart from you!” Your cheeks flushed in embarrassment and you shook your head, looking back at your book.

“And you never will.” He rolled his eyes at you and scooted a little closer with a little jump that made the bed move underneath you, making you jump and glare back up at him.

“I fart all the time with you, with sound, with no sound… I mean, we trust each other, and darling, I do know you hold them in.” Your mouth opened with an o shape, not believing the words coming out of your boyfriend’s lips. 

The worst part, he was right.

You complained many times because of tummy aches, and you knew it was retained gas you weren’t letting out. You were just embarrassed about it. He didn’t care whenever he did it, and you didn’t either. You even laugh at some of his farts because they sound straight out of a cartoon, and sometimes, you die a little bit because they are deadly.

“I don’t feel comfortable doing it!” You retorted back, and he sighed in frustration, shaking his head again, putting the guitar to the side of his bed. 

“I promise you, it’s normal, it’s natural, and the stigma of all the women being proper ladies is such bullshit.” You knew it was that as well. You were also afraid of it being too loud, or smelly, and just utterly repulsive to him to the point he would not be attracted to you in some way.

“I know it’s natural… But I still won’t ever fart in front of you.” He groaned loudly at your words.

“You’re impossible princess.”

“But you love me.” You grinned at him with a sway of your body and he smiled back at you and crawled towards you to plant a smooch right on your lips.

“That I do.”

But it wasn’t even a week later that you were both lying on bed again, and you both were laughing as Eddie told you a story about Steve completely fucking up his date with Heidi.

“He literally tumbled back when he saw a roach sneaking in front of him and he made her fall onto the fountain at the park! That’s why his face is fucking red!” Eddie was cracking up by now and your eyes were filled with tears as you laughed with him.

“Oh shit, she slapped him!?”

“Of course she did! It was a fucking roach! Not a goddamn monster or some shit!” You cracked up at that, and it was a bad idea, because your stomach had been contracting in pain and twisting for the past hour because you were holding your gas in. 

You had tacos for dinner, and that was a very poor decision knowing that you were spending the night at Eddie’s, and knowing how the night might end. Everytime you held your gas in, sex was almost painful sometimes.

And now, with the laughter, with your belly going up and down against your stomach, it happened. And your laughter and his immediately seized, leaving the room completely quiet for a few seconds.

It was small, very thin, but it could be heard. Your face immediately heated up in embarrassment, and you turned to the other side, not being able to face him. Was he going to think you were disgusting? Not lady-like? Was it a boner killer? Why isn’t he saying anything–

“Oh, FUCK YES! I’VE BEEN SAVING THIS FOR THE OCCASION!” You felt him sit up on the bed and your eyebrows frowned, making you turn to look at him rummaging in his drawer from the night table. A small confetti popper in one hand and its string on the other. He pulled and the confetti exploded with a pop, startling you.

“What the hell Eddie–”

“Congrats on your first fart in front of me!” Your eyes were wide at his antic, but he had a wide smile on his face and you couldn’t believe your boyfriend got happy from you letting out an accidental fart from laughing so hard. 

“It was an accident Eds!” You whined as you sat up next to him and you had a terrified look on your face and he shook his head, holding onto your face with both of his hands.

“It’s the first step! Next one is an intentional one, so come on darling, I know you’re holding it in~” He cooed and you pushed him away, shaking your head in utter embarrassment.

“You’re so weird Eddie… you don’t… find it disgusting?”

“Fuck no! Makes me happy you trust me enough to do it in front of me! Accidental or not!” He was smiling at you, and your heart fluttered as you stared at your loving boyfriend. You leaned towards him and pecked his lips softly, only to then shake your head.

“You’re insufferable.” 

“But you love me.” He smiled at you and you couldn’t help but nod and lean in to kiss him again.

After that, you never do it intentionally, but now, if one escapes you by accident you are able to laugh it out with him. 

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

a/n: purely self indulgent plus WE CANT DENY EDDIE WOULDNT CELEBRATE OUR FIRST FART WITH HIM. ALSO, FARTING IS NATURAL.

[formosusiniquis]

inspired by this post by @ruelogy

ao3

Eddie knows he got to Hawkins a little later than everyone else. He wasn't born and raised in the six miles of town with the same eight people his whole life. There was a whole social services kerfuffle that meant he didn't land in this small town hell hole until he was the ancient age of thirteen. He knows he's destined to forever be the freaky new kid with the shaved head and the group home eyes who joined in the eighth grade. But even without all that he is fucking positive that there was no Henderson in any of his three graduating classes.

Yet here Henderson the supposed younger sits painting him a mystery week after week. Steve said this, Steve did that, Steve may very well be a delusion if the way the others giggle and sigh every time he gets brought up is any indication. Cause it goes like this: Henderson comma Dustin is a fellow Hawkins transplant. Son of a single mother -- divorced or widowed, Eddie knows enough now to be sure that fueled the Hawkins gossip mill for weeks -- who brought her young son with her. Son, singular. Dustin joined the first grade class of Michael Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, and William Byers and that is as they say history. If there had been sons, plural, this mysterious older brother should have by all of Eddie's figurings joined Hawkins junior high right around the same time as a miserable Eddie. There should have been whispers about two new kids, there should have been someone for him to commiserate with, befriend.

Yet week after week young Dustin sits at Hellfire spinning yarns of a brother who was, what, homeschooled? Sent to a private military academy? Boarding school? Stayed at home with the mysterious father that Dustin doesn't mention -- and Eddie knows enough about fathers that go unmentioned not to break the silence -- but suddenly decided after he graduated to come join his mother and brother in Hawkins? Cause the thing is, Hawkins isn't that big. If pressed he's pretty sure he could name at least 90% of both of the classes he was supposed to graduate with and at least 75% of the group he's stuck with this year. He'd at the very least recognize them on sight, and not just cause he's dealt to the greater portion of the high school. Eddie pays attention, there are only like 400 students at the high school at any time, he should by all accounts be able to say, "Oh yeah that scrawny, bespectacled loser is Steve Henderson."

Except maybe there is no Steve Henderson, he's already faintly sure there's no Suzie so what's one more fictional friend from Dustin Henderson. Maybe this Steve is just the product of a fractured mind brought on by too much hands on parenting. Eddie knows people think all of his bad behavior is the product of underparenting, but if the opposite causes imaginary siblings he'll take the hand he got thank you very much.

Cause, sure he's doing his best to be third time lucky with this whole high school thing. He does know that compared to the should be starry eyed, but actually unsettlingly wary freshmen he is an ancient being of chaos. Yes, he feels every ounce of the five year gap between 19 and 14 when he speaks to them. But beyond all of that, he is still young. Still capable of swooning now and then; and the now is when Dustin describes his big brother and the then was all the other times Henderson the older has been detailed.

"Well that's cause I'm not really sorry, Mike," Henderson is on a tear already when he makes it to Hellfire, "I told you I have plans already."

"It's not that big a deal," Lucas placates, "we can do it another day."

"My parents won't be out of town another day," Mike sneers, "Will, you wouldn't ditch out on an all night Nintendo marathon for a date with Steve would you?" He says it like Will is the voice of the populace or something.

Maybe he is, and going by the way Will flushes a bright pink up to his bowlcut the voice of the people would in fact rather go out with Steve Henderson than hang out in a basement playing video games.

"It's not a date, he's my brother, and yeah dude I'm gonna skip out on watching you scream at Mario to go to an all night Stephen King movie marathon." Dustin says.

And swoon. That sounds like a dream.

"Like Steve would ever do something that cool, you can just say your mom won't let you come over cause my parents aren't gonna be home." Mike is surlier than usual, a trait he has noticed happens a lot when Henderson the elder gets broached. Eddie's theories range from misplaced sibling jealousy to repressed queer crush on Steve.

"C'mon kiddies save the tantrums for your mommies," he doesn't have a taste for it regardless of the answer, puberty is a bitch he's glad to be seeing the back of and Wheeler can go from being an angel to the kind of brat you do want to narc on just a little. "The rest of us have hoards to slay, maidens to save, things that don't involve listening to your play date fall apart."

He desperately wants to ask Henderson where they're movie night is taking place, because it sounds amazing and not at all because he wants to finally see this mysterious brother.

“It wasn’t even mine!” Henderson is moaning by the time Eddie makes it from O’Donnells to the cafeteria. He wasn’t that late, five minutes to plead his case for his grade at most, but Henderson could monologue with the best of them and it took about as much to get the kid going as it did Eddie, which was saying something.

“And you and Erica made fun of what was under my bed.” Lucas says with a smirk and a roll of his eyes.

“What was under your bed?” Will asks.

“We are not going to let Dustin get out of the fact that his Mom found his Star Trek porn that easily,” Mike shrieks, he sounds like he’s trying to mind his volume but it’s still too loud for a public venue, “You gave me shit for weeks about that Penthouse you found under my bed.”

“We gave you shit because you stole it from your dad,” Lucas corrects, not that anyone but Eddie hears it.

Cause as Lucas speaks Dustin is shouting, “It wasn’t fucking mine! It has to be Steve’s but try telling my mom anything about her favorite son.”

Three sets of disbeliving eyes look over at Dustin, but it’s Mike who says, “There’s no fucking way anyone is gonna believe it was Steve’s dude, just give it up.”

“I don’t even like Star Trek that much!”

Eddie has been having dreams of a mystery boy with a gorgeous head of hair and Dustin’s sweet smile. He likes horror but will pretend to get scared so he has a reason to hide his face in Eddie’s neck, and when he gets there he’s a biter. “Now, now Henderson, what kind of self-respecting nerd doesn’t enjoy the dulcet tones of Mr. Spock.”

Henderson wrinkles his little nose, what a twerp or maybe he’s thinking of his brother’s zine again, “It’s okay, but who goes to sci-fi for philosophy when you could watch space battles and deathstars.”

Eddie spares a prayer for Dustin’s English grade. “Well at least one Henderson has taste.”

He’s never had a younger sibling in Hellfire before, Gareth and Joey are only children and Jeff is way older than his miracle baby sister, so it is a treat to watch the way Henderson goes red, white, and then green as he cycles through a series of emotions surrounding his brother so fast it gives Eddie a headache.

“Dude, he probably bought it for you not knowing what it was,” Mike says, “it’s not like Steve is watching Star Trek.”

"You didn't see it."

"Maybe it was a prank?"

Eddie tunes them out, returning to the Steve in his imagination. They're slipping out of the movie they just finished, the one they bought tickets for, Steve giggles -- Eddie thinks he'd have a nice laugh, thinks he makes his brother laugh a lot -- and tugs him into The Voyage Home. "You gonna think of your favorite captain while we hide in the back row, Stevie?"

"Kirk is an Admiral now, he has been for three movies. Some fan you are."

He wonders if it’s creepy, this mental file he’s compiling on Henderson’s brother. It’s not like he knows the guy, truly a backwards fucking miracle in this two stoplight nothing of a town, but Eddies’ always liked something that he can sink his teeth into and pull apart. That’s what Steve Henderson feels like to him, like if a rubix cube was also a steak. He’s lost track of the metaphor in his own head, it’s whatever.

Cause Steve Henderson loves horror movies, but watches sappy romance flicks with his mom when they both have the same day off. Steve Henderson’s favorite color is yellow, but he only wears it on days that he can barely get out of bed; Dustin says that like it’s a warning sign for the others “Steve has his yellow sweater on today,” explaining away his absence at the arcade that afternoon. Steve Henderson could have any girl he wants -- this factoid Eddie takes with a salt, lime, and tequila -- but he never goes on dates anymore and only hangs out with his best friend and coworker. Steve Henderson baked a brownie so good Jeff moaned in the middle of Hellfire but can only over or undercook pasta when he tries.

Dustin loves his brother. Dustin thinks he’s the worst person to ever grace this side of the planet.

That Eddie thinks is at least typical for siblings, barring the Byers who seem to be so close knit they’d put the Bradys to shame.

“Henderson, my man, why the long face? We’re about to begin the most dangerous leg of your quest yet!” Hellfire was getting a delayed start -- the drama club was actually using their prop closet, go figure -- it was just him and Henderson lurking outside so Eddie did have to find his fun where he could get it.

“Steve and Robin went up to Indianapolis and they’re gonna be gone the whole weekend.” And yeah, he probably could have guessed it was about big brother Henderson. Dusty has the cutest case of hero worship when he wasn’t wishing big brother dead. “They say they aren’t dating, and it’s just for her birthday, but a weekend trip seriously it screams romance.”

“And you’re mad they didn’t bring you?”

“I could have been out of the way! Do you know the kind of specialty tech shops they have up there? I need some things you can't get in Hawkins to improve Cerebro and it's twice as much to get them mail order. I could make myself scarce for a couple hours so they can get it on.

He smacks the bill of Dustin’s cap, knocking it down over his eyes, but nobly refrains from giving him a noogie, “Dusty if you ever want to pop your little Mormon girl’s cherry, maybe don’t say shit like ‘get it on.’”

“Suzie is an angel, don’t be crude, man.” Dustin’s hands are quick as they smack him away, that must be another little brother trait.

“An angel, huh, another point in the ‘girlfriend isn’t real’ category. How many imaginary friends do you have, kid? A girlfriend in Utah and a brother that no one but your party has seen.”

The rest of Hellfire starts to trickle in, having used their time waiting for their table more wisely than Eddie has. Dustin’s comment is delayed only momentarily as he says hi to the rest of the freshmen that he definitely saw only a few minutes ago. “For the record, Suzie is very real. And you…” It’s the way he trails off that makes Eddie nervous, the way a light goes on in his eyes that sets the hair at the back of his neck on end. His danger instincts are finely honed and that's the same, 'I'm smarter than you look' Henderson was wearing when he managed to sniff out half the traps Eddie had laid out last session. "You should meet Steve, I bet I could get him to pick us up next week instead of Nancy."

He thinks this must be what the raccoons behind the trailer park feel like. The obvious trap of the shiny silver cage that's been baited so sweet it's hard to resist walking in anyway. "Sure, Henderson, tell the mysterious brother to stop by. Have him bring one of those zines that definitely belongs to him."

Dustin is especially vicious as dispatches with every creature that Eddie throws at him that day. It’s hard to be that upset, he’s feeling pretty fat and happy sitting in whatever animal control rodent trap Henderson thinks he’s got him in.

The next week’s session comes in a haze of vague daydreams and intense session prep. He’s had Steve Henderson on the brain for so long that he all but forgot about his little tête-à-tête with Dustin the week before. Forgot if not for the way that Baby Henderson is vibrating at the Hellfire lunch table when Eddie arrives.

“Steve is coming to get us from Hellfire today!” Eddie personally thinks this doesn’t quite deserve the level of reaction that it’s getting, but Henderson is so worked up no one even needs to prompt him to keep him going. “He had to leave right after his weekend trip to go deal with lawyers and shit.”

“Are they still..?” Lucas trails off, he’s clearly concerned but for all that Eddie hates that the kid is looking down the barrel of jock life he is extremely emotionally adept.

“Mom and Steve both said it was handled now. They won’t answer me when I ask any questions.”

Ominous, everything about Steve Henderson was so fucking weird. A kid who didn’t exist all through high school, that he’s never seen in town, who has lawyers now?

“Maybe Hop could,” the kid started to ask, hopeful.

“Mom says that it’s Steve’s business and we should all stay out of it unless he asks for our help.” Will responds by rote, something he’s clearly already tried before.

“So the infamous Steve Henderson is going to grace us with his presence today?” Eddie knows the answer already, but like most of his vices he can't resist indulging.

"He's taking us all out for ice cream after," Dustin agrees, "you could come too Eddie, I'm sure Steve wouldn't mind!"

"Steve minds everything," Mike grouses.

"Steve always buys your triple scoop sundae."

Eddie thinks Steve Henderson would have elegant fingers. He thinks about how they might toy with the straw of his milkshake while he smiles, coy and teasing, at Eddie, who he's charmed by. This Steve lets Eddie snatch the cherry from his drink, blushes when he gets his stem returned tied in a knot by Eddie's tongue.

"Well if Steve is buying, who am I to refuse an invitation?"

He does not end Hellfire early because Steve Henderson is coming. 

He does, by pure coincidence, need to piss 15 minutes before things are set to wrap up. If that gives him enough time to clean himself up a bit that's just luck. This isn't for Steve Henderson.

His bathroom break, and definitely not pre-date primp session, puts him at the back of the pack when Steve Harrington's maroon beemer pulls into the lot. It feels a little bit like sophomore year again. When his hair was in another awkward stage of growing out and curled around his ears, he didn't have his mom to help him with the curls anymore and he didn't know what to do with them now that they seemed to twist and turn in new directions post-buzz. He caught the sweetest looking boy with puppy dog eyes staring and he'd been so embarrassed about getting caught he'd touched his own locks. Hairsprayed into oblivion and locked firmly into place the touch was ripped away and a shy, 'what can you do' smile was shared between the two of them. It feels a bit like junior year when Steve Harrington broke the keg stand record as a sophomore. Rounding the corner from tipsy into drunk or maybe bypassing it altogether for blackout, he wandered over into Eddie's domain. He had that same shy little wave, but a stronger confidence. He sidled up to Eddie and wrapped a curl around a finger. He tugged, just a bit, the way kids do when they want to see if it'll bounce back. "Yknow you'd be pretty if you were a girl." The slip slide of his definitely drunk tone didn't take Eddie out at the knees any less.

The car curves up closer to the front steps and Henderson is shaking like a rocket leaving Canaveral. He actually starts to take a step toward the still moving car when four hands clamp down on him saving Steve last-name-to-be-determined from a vehicular manslaughter charge. Eddie is the last to release him when he hears that car slide into park. The engine has barely had time to rumble to a stop before Steve Harrington is out of it. A toothy smile splits his face and, hidden behind Byers and Wheeler, Eddie watches as Steve Harrington proceeds to engage in the nerdiest fucking handshake he's ever seen. Steve Harrington finishes dying by what seems to be lethal lightsaber disembowelment and waves at the other three teens. 

"Alright let's rock n roll if you twerps want ice cream before I drop you off. Joyce will kill me if you're late."

"Steve, can Eddie come with us?"

As Henderson asks Eddie now sees the exact size and shape of the trap he is in. The actually dweeby, dungeon master and drug dealer forced to watch the hot, once cool older brother bow to the obligation of Midwestern courtesy now that he's been ambushed with Eddie's existence. Or worse he'll have to stand there and pretend to be unbothered while King Steve shoots both Hendersons hopes and Eddie's dreams in the face with one curled lip.

He never could have imagined the furrow of confusion between his brows. The way lips wrap themselves around his name, tasting it. He hadn't, in his many fantasies, pictured golden brown eyes though he often thought of them snapping up to him like they were now.

A rosy blush blooms across Steve's face. He has the same shy finger wave he did as a freshman. "Depends, Dust, are you gonna give up your shotgun dibs or are you gonna make your troop leader sit in the back with the rest of the Party.” 

He watches as if in slow motion as Henderson lunges for Steve, the elder is laughing as the younger wraps his arms around his neck. There is something very intensely attractive about the lingering jock of it all. How Steve is still upright even as his teenage brother dangles from his neck. “You know it’s Dungeon Master, you get it right with Erica!”

“I have a lot of respect for Erica, the things she does with goblins and kobolds is masterful. You asked me about the lead up to a trap so obvious it felt like an eagle scout showing his little cubbies poison ivy." It's bitchy and nerdy in all the best ways, and then Steve H- Steve looks up at him and winks, "No offense, Munson."

"None taken, Stevie." That seems to catch them both by surprise, the lack of a certain last name to fall back to -- and weeks of imagining what it might be like to interact with the guy who is and isn't right in front of him -- has Eddie overly familiar. "I drove here though." His van stands like a monolith alone in the middle of an empty parking lot.

"Oh."

"But I could meet you there? Are you going to the Dairy Queen by the library or the haunted one?"

"It's not actually haunted," Byers pipes in with frightening sincerity.

"But yeah, the haunted one," Steve says with a boy next door grin.

"Then I will meet you and your charges there Sir Henderson." He bows and only immediately regrets it, now that the once Harrington lord of the school is out of his line of sight. His brain feels like it could short out, faulty wires sparking against memories and daydreams and general hormones.

A sheepie he saved from the slaughter snorts, another - probably Mike - whispers "Gross." There's a grunt that Eddie hopes is the traitor catching an elbow from one of the others. 

But it doesn't. fucking. matter because Steve Whatever laughs, practically giggles at Eddie and his antics.

And Dustin's rocket has come in for a rough landing, "I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"

Steve's hand envelopes the top of Dustin's head, he nearly palms it. It's not quite a noogie, more like he shakes his head for him. "Dusty-bun, why would you regret introducing me to your Dork Mother?"

"I'm gonna tell Ma you're being a bitch again."

"She won't believe you, I'm her favorite." He shoots another wink toward Eddie, a joke he's being allowed in on.

Level headed Dustin Henderson, who explained to him, in depth, how getting overly emotional impairs higher level critical thinking, stomps his foot. "You're so full of shit."

"I am. She chose me, she got stuck with you."

"Steve!"

He laughs at the despair he's caused, ruffling cap covered hair again until Dustin stomps out of reaching distance to climb in the Beemer with the other boys. Brown eyes are bright with mischief when he looks to Eddie, and he's struck by a thought. He was right, he hadn't ever met Steve Henderson before today. This is not the same boy who sat in the cafeteria with a closed mouth smile listening to Tommy H. and Carol. "Let me walk you to your car?" He asks.

"It's right there, Stevie, and do you really want to leave that band of miscreants alone with your car?" He's playing with fire, but the fear of getting burned has never stopped him before. He leans in close, whispers, "They might steal it."

Steve pales, a haunted look in his eye. He shakes it off, squeezing his eyes shut tight,  and that soft smile slips across his face again. "Let me watch you leave then." That smile slides into a smirk, as he looks Eddie up and down.

He was right about getting burned, his face feels like it's on fire as he flees the scene. His tail is definitely not tucked between his legs because Steve is absolutely staring at his ass right now. He doesn't remember how walking is supposed to feel, but it's probably not like this. It would be embarrassing, the fact that he probably looks like a baby deer discovering he has knees for the first time, if it weren't more important that he makes sure each foot is planted so he doesn't acquaint himself with the ground below him. Safely encased in the van, he chances a look through the windshield and confirms that Steve is watching him.

He waves, and yeah it is gratifying to see the guy who at one point had half the girls in school fawning over him duck his head like he's embarrassed at getting caught staring. Sinclair leans up from the back seat, Eddie watches him clap Steve on the shoulder and make a comment on… something, probably him. It makes the rest of the car laugh and Steve thunk his head down on the steering wheel. The horn sounds, an echoing burst of noise that cuts off just as quickly as it starts when Steve jumps in his seat. The seat belt stops his jump short, and he sends another flustered wave Eddie's way when he notices him still watching.

Maybe he'll mention this to Little Red, his new neighbor has mentioned stealing young Henderson's brother and making him a Mayfield instead. A joke that makes a little more sense now. Sinclair has been making moon eyes at her and baby Hopper at lunch for the last week. That will be a better punishment than anything Eddie could do to him at the table.

He waves back at Steve, gives him his most winning smile -- the one he practiced in the mirror for charming pretty boys if he ever got out of the armpit of Indiana. Mimes driving like he's in a bad movie. Across twenty feet and two windows, he can't hear Steve laugh, needs to get to somewhere where he can. He can see the smile though, the dorky thumbs up.

He lets the Beemer pull out in front of him, watches it for just a moment as reality sets in. Reality. He's going to meet Steve Henderson for soft serve. It's a dream come true.

Arwen shifts into gear, and he slides out behind Steve and the sheepies. A whole new world of daydreaming unlocked.

Maybe next week Steve Henderson will let Nancy pick the kids up next week. He'll slip in the back doors of the school, unnoticed by everyone. Stealth bonus obscene for a fighter class. Eddie is moving slow as he moves minis and graph paper maps into the tackle box Wayne gave him, back to the door he misses his rogue slip through the door until he's already grappled.

"Was it a good game, Munson? You win?"

"It's not like one of your sports, Henderson, the wins aren't as clear cut."

Hands start to wander, "Isn't any time you pull one over on the Party kind of a victory?"

"In which case I do stand victorious, your sweet baby brother lost his brand new axe to a mimic."

"Hmm, you know what we used to do after a victory in my 'sports?'"

A hand has migrated to an especially interesting place. "What?"

"We'd hit the showers."

Eddie shakes himself out of the daydream, easing just the smallest bit harder onto the accelerator. He needs something to cool himself off with. He also really wants to see Steve again, to make up for lost time.

[createserenity]

@actual-changeling I'm so ridiculously flattered that a post I wrote led to this gorgeous ficlet being written. I'm always amazed when anyone interacts with anything I've written in any way, so to know something I posted inspired you to actually write an entire story is super amazing. Thank you so much for writing and sharing it!

y'all already know i'm about to present you with angst based on this post so without further ado, here you go. these bitches always end up way longer than i plan. thank you to @createserenity for putting this scene into my head

-

He is about to leave. His palm is pressed against the door, already pushed open enough for the noise of the street to slip into the dusty silence of the bookshop. 'I forgive you' is echoing around his head as if someone had turned it into a bell and hit it with a hammer, every vibration another flash of needle-sharp pain.

Crowley should most definitely leave.

But.

There's always a but with him, with them, and he wouldn't have it any other way. So, with one last sigh and a prayer to no one that he won't regret it, he drops his hand and watches the door drift shut with a tiny, fading tinkle. Behind him, barely contained sobs are escaping Aziraphale despite his best attempts, and if his heart weren't already broken, it would shatter now. They're just as good as hurting each other as they are at loving, but somehow the former is the only reality they are ever allowed to experience.

Crowley turns back around, and, fuck it all, he might as well take his glasses off, too. After this, there is nothing to hide anymore, not really.

In the aggressively cheerful rays of sunlight shining through the windows, the tears gathered along Aziraphale's waterline glint like tiny sapphires and break up the stormy hyacinth of his irises. He blinks once, twice, and they carve a wet path along the lines of his face as he allows his tears to drip from his jaw. Crowley inhales, shaky, nervous, angry, and so, so desperately in love, and barely feels the sting of his own tears as they roll down his cheeks.

The question in Aziraphale's eyes is simple yet impossible to answer.

Still, he knows why he turned around, and even after everything has been said, there is one sentence—three words—that he needs him to hear. Something to erase 'I forgive you' from both their memories before it festers and grows thorns like particularly mean poison ivy, ripping them apart from the inside out.

"Crowley?"

Hope. There is a spark of hope in Aziraphale's voice, and he has to bite back a low whimper of pain - he cannot leave now, can't even look away. Tremors run through his hands, causing his glasses to clink together, and before rational thought can set in, he drops them to the floor. This is a horrible idea; he already screwed them up, left, came back because Aziraphale asked him to, kissed him, left again - and now he came back all on his own.

Because-

"I love you."

All the air leaves his lungs, the confession is carried by a sigh, and the tears begin streaming down his face in earnest, hot enough to burn like acid. Aziraphale freezes, and for a second Crowley is worried he accidentally stopped time, but then his fingers twitch, his mouth opens, and he can hear the breath he sucks in like a drowning man.

"I love you," he says again, because now it is the only thing he can say, and Aziraphale presses his fingertips against his lips with something akin to reverence.

"Do that again," Aziraphale whispers into the unfurling silence, words muffled by his hand, but Crowley understands them nevertheless.

"Do that again, please, right now."

This time, they're both moving, their bodies drawn to each other by the same gravity that has been at their centre while they have been orbiting each other for millennia. Warmth, heat, salt, iron, and touch-touch-touch—their world narrows down to the glide of tear-slick lips and hands grasping for anything they can hold onto.

Crowley cups his face, allowing his palms to slide along his cheeks until he can bury his fingers in his hair, and he kisses him the way he has always wanted to kiss him—breathless and urgent, and with every heartbeat screaming, iloveyou over and over.

Pulling him in as tightly as inhumanly possible, Aziraphale slings one arm around his waist and the other around his neck, cupping the back of his head and scratching his nails over his scalp. His mouth opens for an airless moan, and in the tiny break, their eyes fly open, gold meeting aquamarine as the colours of the world seemingly flow apart. Nothing matters except the twin thrum of their hearts.

"I love you," Aziraphale gasps, choking on his breath and turning it into a sob. "I love you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Crowley, I love you too."

They fall back into the kiss, their cheeks wet with tears, and there is no telling whether they are tears of joy or regret, anger or forgiveness. Within seconds, though, all of that stops mattering, too.

Unable to resist, Crowley leans back just enough to dart his tongue out to taste them, peppering tiny, fluttering kisses along his jaw, still crying.

"I know," he breathes, pressing their temples together and nudging against him until their foreheads meet. "I know, angel. I love you."

It does not fix them. It doesn't fix anything, but right now, neither of them cares. They need the time, want the time, and Crowley inhales the taste of love from Aziraphale's lips and gives them as long as they need and more; no one, not even God, can break his hold on reality.

Not when it means he gets to kiss Aziraphale againagainagain.

[unclewaynemunson]

Pt3/5

Read from the beginning | Ao3 link

Robin's rant leaves an ear-shattering silence behind. Eddie shakes his head, like he can get the fog out of his brain in the same way a dog gets water out of its fur. It doesn't really help as well as he was hoping, though.

He slowly walks out of the backroom and into the garage. He's the only one there this morning and he makes his way to the old boombox in the corner, where he pushes one of his favorite cassettes – Seventh Star by Black Sabbath – in the player and cranks the volume dial up all the way to the right.

It's a quiet morning, with no customers waltzing in and barely any phone calls. Eddie is glad to be alone and have some time to come back to himself. The music attacking his eardrums, in combination with the familiar movements of cleaning up the garage, helps him organize his thoughts. He keeps replaying everything that happened since Steve showed up at the trailer yesterday night in his mind’s eye, trying to make sense of it all.

When Steve asked him out last month, Eddie hadn't seen any reason to say no, even though he didn't fully trust him. Surely they could have some fun together. As long as he'd make sure to properly guard his heart, Steve wouldn't be able to hurt him anyway.

But it soon got tricky: Steve turned out to be better company than Eddie had expected. The time they spent together wasn't solely about their bodies, like Eddie had expected of someone like Steve Harrington. No, Steve took him out on all kinds of original dates, he actually seemed to listen when Eddie was rambling about random nerd shit, and he always treated Eddie with respect. By the time a month had passed, Eddie was getting worried about the way his stomach started doing cartwheels every time he saw Steve. And when Steve surprised him with flowers last night – something nobody had ever done for Eddie before – he got the confirmation that Steve had been playing the exact game Eddie had wanted to avoid all along.

He had been sure of it: all Steve wanted was to know that he could have anyone he wanted, that even the Freak of Hawkins High would fall for his charms. And he'd walk away as soon as Eddie would try to turn them into something more. And all Eddie knew, as soon as he saw the flowers in Steve's hand, was that he had to keep him at a distance or he would actually fall in love in a way that he would possibly never be able to come back from.

In stark contrast to those memories, his conversation with Robin is still ringing in his ears, no matter how loud Danger Zone is blaring through the garage. Her voice keeps drowning out the music, telling Eddie on a loop how he is the one who has been playing a cruel game all along.

Steve is in love with him. Steve thought they were in a real, proper, actual Relationship with a capital R. And he, Eddie Munson, king of blind loser rats with bricks for brains, broke Steve's heart because he thought Steve was breaking Eddie's. Because he couldn't see past the high school stereotypes that apparently everyone around him had already long grown out of.

A nauseating cocktail of guilt, shame and repentance is brewing inside of him. He needs to get out of here. He needs someone to talk to; a voice of reason, someone to tell him what to do, someone to let him know if it will even be possible to fix this at all. Someone like Jeff.

But unfortunately Jeff also has a life of his own and he was just leaving for his shift at the RadioShack when Eddie called him in the morning, so Eddie concludes he'll have to settle for the one person he knows that is most like Jeff: Jeff's mom, who he knows is currently at home baking her famous chocolate pie.

He calls Richie to tell him there's a family emergency. Against all odds, luck is on his side this time: Richie appears at the shop to take over within half an hour and Eddie leaves the garage with screeching tires. He rings Jeff's doorbell like his life depends on it and when it finally opens he's looking into the familiar smiling face of Aunt Pauline.

She's not actually he's aunt, of course, but that's what Eddie has been calling her ever since he first met her. It was back when the word Aunt only meant the female version of Uncle, and the word Uncle meant nothing more to Eddie than someone taking care of you when your parents wouldn't. If Wayne is the father he never knew he needed, Aunt Pauline is the mother he desperately missed.

'Who's dying this time?' Aunt Pauline asks. It's a joke between the two of them that goes back ages, stemming from Eddie's tendency to ring her doorbell like a maniac every time he would show up at Jeff's house. Jeff's place was the first real house with a real doorbell that Eddie visited, and while his fascination with doorbells has faded over the years, his bond with Jeff's mother has only grown stronger.

'I am,' Eddie answers dramatically, stabbing himself in the heart with his hands.

Aunt Pauline chuckles as she steps aside to let Eddie in.

'Jeff's at work,' she tells him. 'But I'm glad you stopped by. He told me to save some pieces of my chocolate pie for you. Everything alright?'

'I have a question for you,' Eddie tells her urgently.

She raises hands covered in flour at him. 'I was kind of in the middle of something,' she tells him. 'But if you help me with my pie, you can ask me anything, how does that sound?'

'Hm...' Eddie pretends to think it over for a second. 'Okay, deal. But I get to eat as much dough as I want.'

'As long as you spare some for me, you can do whatever you want, kid,' Aunt Pauline says over her shoulder while she disappears into the kitchen.

Eddie quickly trails after her. 

'Do you remember how I always said I wanted to marry you when I was younger?' he asks.

'How could I ever forget, Eddie?' She looks at him with a fond smile while she shoves a bowl his way. 'Here, knead this while I melt the chocolate.'

Eddie takes off his rings, one by one, and proceeds to wash his hands. 

‘I wanted to marry you because you were basically perfect, you know? You always have been, for as long as I remember.'

Aunt Pauline huffs.

'What were you like in high school?' Eddie asks when his hands are covered in flour and sticky with butter.

'Huh.' She pauses, takes a moment to think before she lights the fire underneath a pan with a bowl filled with chocolate on top of it.

'I was...' She chuckles. 'I was very different from you and Jeff, that's for sure. I was on the cheerleading team.'

Eddie gasps dramatically. 'You weren't!'

'Oh, yes, I was. Got the pictures to prove it if you don't believe me.'

'No need to traumatize me with that, but thanks.'

'Hey, I looked good in that uniform!'

'Don't make me think about it.' He shakes his head, getting serious again. 'Did you do anything you regret?' he asks her.

Aunt Pauline laughs. 'Good thing Jeff isn't here,' she says with a wink. 'Of course I did. Who didn't, in high school?'

'No, I don't mean, like, dumb shit,' Eddie clarifies. 'More like... Mean shit.'

Her mischievous smile morphs into something more melancholy. 'Dumb shit, mean shit... I did it all,' she says. 'No one was perfect in high school.' That signature twinkle returns to her eyes when she adds in a teasing tone, 'Except for you, of course.'

Eddie snorts. 'So when exactly did you turn into this perfect human being?' he asks her.

'You know damn well I ain't perfect, boy,' she says, shaking her head. 'But let me give you the boring answer: growing up certainly helped.'

Her answer sinks through Eddie's ear canal towards his stomach, where it settles uneasily among the guilt and shame that were already there.

'Are you gonna tell me what this is all about?' Aunt Pauline asks him after the kitchen has been filled with silence for a while, only disturbed by the sounds of a Tina Turner record playing in the living room.

'I think I made a terrible mistake,' Eddie quietly confesses. He doesn't look at her, but instead stares at the sticky dough between his fingers. He suddenly feels like a little boy again.

'What did you do?'

'I broke someone's heart,' he says. 'Because I didn't believe he could change.’

'Oh, Eddie,' Aunt Pauline says. The way in which she pronounces his name is enough to make him tear up: not angry, not reproachful, not even pitying.

'People always keep changing,' she says. 'No one's personality is set in stone. Especially when you've only just finished high school: there's still so much to explore, so much to discover about yourself and the world. You become more conscious of who you are, and who you want to be, and what you have to do to become a better version of yourself. You can't go through life putting labels on people and never taking them off again.'

'Guess I learned that lesson exactly one day too late,' he states with a sigh.

'Hey now, listen to me, Eddie,' Aunt Pauline says. 'You will always keep changing, too. So you can take this lesson, whether it's one day too late or half a lifetime, and use it to fix your mistakes. And if that boy you're talking about has enough experience with learning from mistakes, he'll know exactly how important it is to be forgiving.'

Next part

Okay, ngl, this was definitely one of the more difficult parts to write. I hope that it sufficiently made clear where Eddie is coming from, even though it obviously doesn’t excuse what he did (and I also hope you like the addition of Jeff's mom. Idk why but every time I write about Jeff his mom just materializes. It got out of hand this time. Shout-out to my beloved Liam @withacapitalp and Cass @henderdads for giving her a cool name!) (And credits to @stevesbipanic for picking the album Eddie listens to ily)

And on another note: HOLY SHIT i genuinely cannot believe that so many people were asking to be tagged on this story! I honestly consider it a huge compliment so I’m happy to spend a few seconds adding you to the list, it’s the least I can do for someone who tells me they enjoy my writing. Buuut to make it as manageable as possible: i’d prefer tag requests in the comments and not in the tags when you reblog. I do read all the tags religiously and they all warm my heart, but it’s way easier for me when I can find all the urls in the same place :)

Taglist: @pluto-pepsi @i-less-than-three-you @estrellami-1 @epiclazershark @angelscoops @missmagillicuddy @fxndom-hoe @chaoticvictorianspirit @itsali-taken @merricatty @its-a-me-a-morgan @lilacrobin @adaydreamaway08 @starman-jpg @irethsune @starry-eyedlune @littlemsterious @7shrewsinatrenchcoat @lostonceandneverfound @a-gae-af-racoon @heartstarstar-blog @ignoretenderness @thehorrorandme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @vampireinthesun @ntwolf69 @thatonebadideapanda @jackiemonroe5512 @tinynebula @obliosworld @sleepy-time @daydreaming-mood @aizawa-emma @lenathegay @irregular-child @just-a-tiny-void @evix-syne666 @niniel-karenine @scoopstomyahoy @pearynice @bambibiest @snapshotmaestro @carlprocastinator1000 @jcmadgirl @0o-queendean-o0 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @starlight-archer @deputyheller @goodolefashionedloverboi @stxrcrossed186 @aol19 @i-must-potato @slv-333 @cupcakesnwhiskey @anaibis @stevieschrodinger  @str4wb3rry-guy @thealwithnoname @telidina @samsoble @hardboiledleggs @hallucinatedjosten @solalasoforth @theluckyalien @rainydays35 @hellfireone @neonfruitbowl @i-have-three-feelings @sc00ps-ahoy @scarletyeager @ashwinmeird @sunfloweringstories @tillystealeaves @newtstabber @kknockursocksofff @potato-of-the-lord @messrs-weasley @yourbuckingkiddingme @lazyavenuewhispers @my2amgaythoughts @pomegranate-sock88 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @says-swag-unironically @sleepdeprivedflower @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @dididisrespectyourbridgegoatman @ineffableoutpost @ellietheasexylibrarian @g4ys0n @howincrediblysapphicofyou @zaddipax @nightmareglitter @aizawa-emma @sparky--bunny @marvel-ous-m @freddykicksasses @gingersass @turboprops69 @remingtonsposts @bushbees @justforthedead89 @honeycomblattice

[stevesbipanic]

For my favourite matchmaker, happy birthday @thelastwalkingsoul

If there's a world where time travel was possible Robin Buckley wishes she was in it.

Not to stop the Upside Down or save lives no she wishes she could go back in time and help Eddie Munson graduate so she didn't have to watch him make heart eyes over the Family Video shelves at one Steve Harrington.

Steve hasn't even noticed Eddie has been in the store for the last ten minutes. He's had his headphones on and has restacked the candy bar five times since the day has had a grand total of zero customers.

Finally, against her wishes, Eddie approaches the desk, the tape in his hand has a lot more teen heartthrobs and a lot less gore then he usually rents. The gooey lovesick expression is still plastered over his face. Steve still stacks the candy at snail pace, his head bobbing along to whatever is playing, probably the mixtape Eddie gave him last week.

"Sixteen candles, interesting choice, Munson."

The metalhead just sighs, his eyes still glued to Steve.

"Oi doofus, making goo goo eyes at dingus."

She slaps his arm which thankfully breaks his focus, Eddie doesn't even look sorry.

"Oh Birdie! Hey, do you think Steve would like this one?"

"You're not even going to watch it and you know it."

She wheeled the chair over to Steve giving his arm the same slapping treatment, "Steve your boyfriend wants to know if you'd like Sixteen Candles playing while you make out."

A dopey expression falls over Steve's face as he takes his headphones off and looks over at Eddie who shares the same dumb look.

"Aw Eds we could've had The Thing playing and I'd still want to kiss you," Steve says wandering over to him, leaning over the counter.

"Well I got to pick last time sweetheart it's only fair."

Steve quickly rings it up and puts his own cash in the till, "Well only fair that I pay then, sunshine"

"Baby you treat me too well, I'll buy us dinner on the way over."

"I'll show you how well I can treat you late-"

"STOP! I don't want to hear about you two bumping butts or anymore pet names, I'm melting away here."

"Aw Robs, don't worry you're still my snookums," Steve says a mischievous look in his eye as he walks over and squishes her cheeks together.

"Birdie, our lesbian love, our queen, you can pick our next make out movie so you don't feel left out."

"Ah!" Robin yelled and she decided now was the perfect time for her break leaving the two lovers to giggle and return to their heart eyes.

Maybe she didn't need time travel, as long as Steve kept that smile on his face, Robin was happy too.

[devildogdemon]

You don’t miss with such domestic bliss 😍 Oh to peer over the fence at this delightful scene! Doting insistent Mako, restless cranky pregnant Korra on the verge of combusting, and Asami and Iroh dexterously inserting themselves as the desperately-needed buffer between them 😁

Badass women going through pregnancy and their chivalrous-to-a-fault baby daddies is srsly the most entertaining combo (for readers at least, probably not for them 😅). It really is Mako’s luck Iroh’s a few steps ahead of him to pass along the perspective he def needs to hear. Also, adorable af Aika stealing the show as she should 🥺 she deserves all the comfort holds from Uncle Mako and her Tree Daddy 🥰

There is no better demonstration of “Stronger Together” than Makorra and Irosami conquering anything from as big as the world, to a backyard bbq. Thank you so so much, this is def better than any super bowl bbq I could hope to go to! I’m gonna live in this lovely world you’ve created now, I like it here 😉

A late entry for @makorra-week-2023 for Day 4: Parenting and Day 7: Stronger Together. Thanks to @devildogdemon for the idea of the family BBQ.

Out of the corner of his eye Mako saw her start to get up. He dropped the paper plates clattering to the table. “Korra!” he called. “What do you need?”

His wife glared blue daggers at him. Her arms were braced on either side of her rounded belly, her butt half in and half out of the yellow lawn chair already.

“What I need is for you to not treat me like I’m weak,” she said. “For spirits’ sake I have legs, Mako. I gotta pee. Again.”

Asami snorted softly from the chair next to her. Mako met her eyes. “Can you help her?” he asked.

Asami laughed. “No way. I like being alive.”

“See, she gets it?” said Korra. She shoved herself tottering to her feet and it was everything Mako could do not to reach out and steady her. “Women have been making babies for thousands of years,” she huffed. “We don’t need you hovering.”

“I’m not hovering,” he said. “The grass is uneven. Can you even see your feet?”

Korra opened her mouth but Asami hopped to her feet. “I think Iroh is burning the sausages,” she said quickly. “Go help him. I have to go to the ladies’ anyway. Too many margaritas today.”

Mako was about to reply when a shrill screech cut through the air. “Moooooooooooooommm!!!” A moment later Asami was hit in the leg by a whirl of purple and long black pigtails. 

“Hi, honey,” she said, dropping her hand to her daughter’s sobbing head. “What’s wrong?”

“San changed m-m-my r-r-r-roooooooooock!” wailed Aika.

“San changed your rock. I see.” Asami looked up at Mako and cocked an eyebrow. “Aren’t you excited?” she deadpanned. Then she popped down into a crouch and cupped Aika’s tear-stained face. “Why don’t you let Uncle Mako here take you to see Uncle Bolin?” she soothed. “He’s an expert with rocks. I bet he can put your rock back the way you like it.”

The little girl sniffed dramatically. “I want Daddy,” she said.

Asami smiled. “Or that. I’m sure Daddy can fix it, whatever it is.” She wrapped her arms around Aika’s back and hoisted her to her hip, then handed her over to Mako with a grunt. “It’s like I’m chopped liver some days,” she muttered. “Would you do the honors of delivering this important package to Daddy while we ladies go relieve ourselves?” 

Mako nodded as Aika was passed over, her sobs already fading to sniffles. Her little body felt so hot and light in his arms. She smelled like grass. He knew he’d love whatever came, but a part of him hoped for a girl all the same. Getting to know Aika over the last four years wasn’t a small bit of that, either. Against all odds Asami had turned into a good friend to them both, and through her steady love Iroh had become another. Deciding to buy the house down the street from them once he and Korra got the news had barely merited a discussion. The twins would only be a year and a half older, too. 

“Got something for you, I!” Mako called as he walked back over to the grills. In the distance he could hear more children’s shrieks, probably San and his brothers melting all the rocks in the park while Bolin egged them on. At least that’s what he hoped it was. Meelo had joined them along with Ikki, Huan, and Jinora, and the last time that had happened had involved mud tornadoes. 

The man at the grill looked up and grinned. He shook out the flames in his hands, wiped them both on his apron, then opened his arms. That’s when Mako spotted the two wide-eyed little boys wrapped around his legs. 

“Full house,” he said, taking Aika, who nuzzled promptly into his neck. “I feel like a tree.” 

“San bent my rock,” his daughter mumbled. 

“I heard,” he said. “I think the whole city heard, actually. Maybe if Uncle Mako can take on these sausages we can go find you a new one?” Iroh looked down to where his sons clung to his pants. “We’ll go slow.”

“How do you do it?” asked Mako. 

Iroh looked up. “Which part?”

“The part where Asami didn’t murder you when she was pregnant. I try to be helpful, but all Korra wants is for me to get lost.”

The general chuckled. “No, she doesn’t. She just wants to feel in control.”

“But it’s Korra! What if she hurts herself? Or the baby?”

“I once caught Asami at the top of a ladder with a welding torch,” Iroh said soberly. “I almost pissed myself. I think it was the biggest fight we ever had.” He shrugged, then shifted Aika to his other shoulder. “Then we talked about it. I told her what I needed, which was for her to take her and our child’s safety seriously. She told me what she needed, which was for me to trust her that she knew how to do that. After that it got better. Asami started asking more for what she wanted to keep me from interfering in the things that she didn’t. The fact that a lot of it required I spend all day across town wasn’t lost on me. But the way she’d light up when I came back with whatever obscure pickled thing she was craving helped me feel like I was doing something useful instead of standing around while she did all the work. I gave lots of foot rubs and firebent baths to perfect temperature. I oversaw the contract for the steam room and let her tackle the crib. And in turn she agreed to delegate more at work and hit pause on a couple of projects. It helped.” 

Mako nodded. He couldn’t see Korra letting go of anything, but she did like foot rubs. And it made him realize they really hadn’t talked much about division of labor. Mako had assumed that his job was to take care of her. Maybe there was more to that than simply trying to take over. Korra’s strength was one of the things he’d always loved about her. 

“Thanks, I,” he said. Then he looked down at the green-eyed purple bundle in Iroh’s arms. “Go find your kids some rocks. I’ll handle the rest of lunch and call you all in when it’s ready.”

Iroh smiled. “You’re going to be fine, Mako. Both of you.” Then he looked down at his legs. “Who’s ready for a colossus ride?” he called. The boys started screaming. Iroh laughed and lifted one wiggling leg high in the air before bringing it gently back down to earth.

[silverskye13]

Mind control tanguish?? (i was gunna offer time loop for the hell-raisers as another one, but ut canon is Basically a time loop aint it SO!! Make tanguish do something wild)

Helsknight hummed tunelessly under his breath as he cooked dinner, piling some chicken and mushrooms into a pan to fry. He didn't know when Tanguish would be home [every trip to Hermitcraft was a gamble, when it came to time] but he figured whenever the little pest came home, he would be hungry. Besides that, Helsknight was hungry, so he might as well do something about it. Worst case scenario, he would just reheat a plate for Tanguish on the furnace when he got here. Or threw away wasted food. The point was he was hungry, so it wasn't wasted time at least. He pulled some flour out from a cabinet, frowning down at it and wondering what his chances of making a decent gravy were.

[Gravy was the bane of cooking. It either turned out like wallpaper paste, or it turned out like soup. Rarely, when every god and saint turned their greatest blessings on Helsknight for a moment, and every star in every heaven aligned, and every angel and allay and fairy-dust creature held its breath and crossed it's fingers, he would make a passable gravy.]

Helsknight sighed, tossed a few spoonfuls of flour into a pan, and resigned to try his luck. He didn't feel very lucky today, but then again, any day he made gravy, he didn't feel lucky, even if it did taste good in the end.

"I should learn how to bake," he grumbled to himself, eyeing the little bag of flour dispassionately. Tanguish would certainly appreciate it, and it would be cheaper to make a batch of muffins from scratch, instead of buying them from a cart four times a week. Helsknight stirred his fledgling gravy absentmindedly, waiting for the flour to brown, and considering his chances of finding a half-decent cookbook the next time he went to the market. Behind him he heard a clatter of claws, the unmistakable noise of Tanguish stepping into hels. A soft breath of chill dampened the room like a breeze. Helsknight threw a glance over his shoulder.

"Hey, what's your opinion on homemade--?"

Instinct made Helsknight slam to the side as Tanguish propelled himself over the kitchen island, Helsknight's rondel dagger in his hand. The point dug itself into the wall over the stove at about chest-height, a very intentional, very lethal lunge. It missed him by a decent margin; Helsknight was quick, even when he was caught off-guard. That one look over his shoulder, and years of Colosseum training and instincts, had saved his life.

Anger, hot and baffled and electric, raced through Helsknight's chest. He backpedaled towards their little dining table as Tanguish yanked the dagger out of the wall. He needed distance, he needed room to move. [He needed a house that wasn't so saints-damned small.]

"Tanguish, what in hels--?!" Helsknight managed before Tanguish was lurching for him again, a sharp, quick, dagger-pointed shadow dappled in flickering stars. Helsknight snapped a hand out, trying to bat him aside, only for Tanguish to duck nimbly beneath his outstretched arm. The dagger stabbed in towards him again, and Helsknight barely twisted away in time.

"Tanguish! Stop!" Helsknight shouted, confusion and adrenaline crashing together in his chest, muddling up his instincts. His training, his impulse, his experience in the Colosseum, demanded he fight back. He was unarmed [why would he stay armed and armored in the safety of his own home, when he planned to stay in the rest of the day?] but that didn't mean he wasn't dangerous. He knew a few ways of disarming someone with his bare hands, and he knew how to punch, and kick, and break bones. But his louder, conscious mind screamed at him this is Tanguish! He can't break Tanguish.

Tanguish didn't give him long to be horrified by the thought. He was lunging again, arrow-quick, and this time when Helsknight jolted backwards the blade nicked his out-flung arm. He didn't know if he was proud, or if he regretted how sharp the blade was -- his training had come in handy.

[It was marvelous really, how deadly his little pest could be when he put his mind to it. Helsknight had always thought Tanguish learned more than he let on. He was simply too scared of causing harm to use it. But he wasn't scared of causing harm now. No, he seemed hels-bent on shredding Helsknight where he stood, and he didn't know why.]

"Could you at least tell me what the hels I did to bring this on?" Helsknight demanded, a grin writhing across his teeth. It was something he knew intimidated people, intimidated Tanguish. There was something about baring teeth while fighting that seemed dangerous. If Tanguish cared, it didn't show, and he didn't respond. He just crouched low and gazed back at him, eyes half-shut in something like concentration. It gave him the look of a sleepwalker, and Helsknight didn't like it. He was used to the wide, curious, cat-like gaze, glittering in dandelion yellow.

"Tanguish?" Helsknight breathed, taking advantage of the pause. "Look, I don't want to hurt you--"

Tanguish lunged again when he was mid-sentence, something that might have killed him, if he hadn't seen Martyn do it a thousand times. Even with that knowledge, he almost reacted too late, side-stepping and slamming a heavy palm into Tanguish's shoulder, tossing him off-balance. Helsknight let out a short breath through his nose when Tanguish regained his feet, undaunted.

"I'm not running away," Helsknight said witheringly, dashing for the door. He could feel Tanguish following like a wasp over his shoulder, more the impression of danger than a true knowledge of what he was doing. Helsknight ducked out the door and managed to yank it shut behind him before Tanguish could follow, and was treated to a heavy slam as Tanguish tried to follow. Helsknight held it shut for a second, trying to figure out -- trying to figure out anything.

[Would Tanguish try to break down the door? Surely he couldn't. Even as... weirdly determined as he was to harm Helsknight, that wasn't something he was strong enough to do, especially with Helsknight bracing the other side. But the house had windows. Would Tanguish care about glass? It would cut him to ribbons. He could seriously hurt himself if he -- why was he worried about Tanguish jumping through a window? If the little idiot wanted to deal with a face full of glass--]

Helsknight released the doorknob and stepped aside. He needed to get that knife away, pin him still, preferably without hurting him too badly. His guts gave an uncomfortable squirm.

[How bad is too bad? And why? Why was this happening? It wasn't just strange, it just wasn't Tanguish. He didn't have a dangerous bone in his body.]

The doorknob clicked. Helsknight pressed himself against the wall, hiding behind the door as it swung open. He just needed a few seconds. He was stronger -- that's all he needed. Tanguish stepped onto the street, and before he had the chance to look around, Helsknight lunged forward and wrapped his arms around him, pinning his arms to his sides. He lifted Tanguish off his feet, trying to keep the thrashing feet from kicking anything.

"Tanguish, I need you to--"

Tanguish's head snapped back suddenly, slamming into Helsknight's mouth and nose. He swore, and his grip loosened, and Tanguish's sharp elbow dug itself into his side hard enough wince away some of his breath. A clawed foot came down on his ankle, and then Tanguish was twisting, and Helsknight, whose only objective narrowed into [don't get stabbed you fucking idiot] drove a punch into Tanguish's sternum. Tanguish's breath left him in a whoosh, and he curled in on himself a little, some sense of self-preservation kicking in. But he didn't cry out in pain, and he didn't drop the knife.

A lancing, twisting feeling darted through Helsknight's guts. It was a feeling so unfamiliar it was nearly foreign, hard to place, and hesitant to name. Dread. Dread as Tanguish turned that sleepwalker's gaze on him again, re-positioned his dagger to continue fighting. His tail gave a contemplative lash, a cat figuring its best approach on a bird, and it had been a long, long time since Helsknight felt like prey. Dread made his mouth dry, closed his throat, blanked his already reeling thoughts.

[What should he do? What could he do?]

Helsknight took a hesitant step back. Tanguish's eyes narrowed, and glittered blue.

[Blue? Blue. A little ring of blue, like a clear, winter's morning, ringed his yellow iris. That hadn't always been there. He knew the color of Tanguish's eyes.]

"Tanguish, talk to me," Helsknight said, taking another hesitant step back. "What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix this. I promise."

Tanguish let out a slow breath, and the blue ring around his iris seemed to flicker, then flashed brighter. Helsknight swore again as Tanguish pounced. He caught Tanguish's wrist, and might have even considered breaking it, had Tanguish not twisted out of his grip in the second of hesitation he gave in to. Helsknight's perception narrowed to the point of the knife as he dodged it, sidestepped it, and then spun on his heel and ran.

Helsknight needed time to think, needed time to figure out what was, whatever was happening. And he was faster than Tanguish. Even if he couldn't fathom harming him, he would always be faster. And armor-less as he was, he felt unnaturally fleet, near to flying. He was down three blocks, into an alley, over a wall and two more blocks over before he stopped, panting, to check for pursuit.

"I'm not running away," he breathed again, to himself, to his Saint, to Tanguish. He wasn't. He just needed time. He just needed to pull himself together, to figure shit out, to stop shaking. To stop shaking? Helsknight looked down at his hands, at the tremor starting. He swallowed hard.

[Okay, he was a little freaked out. He was allowed to be a little freaked out. His best friend was trying to kill him, and he didn't know why, and apparently the veil between "Nice Normal Tanguish" and "Silent Death-Machine Tanguish" was unnervingly thin. And Helsknight wasn't used to someone trying to kill him assassination-style, through dogged pursuit and bloodless silence. He was used to arena fights, and occasional back-alley brawls, where things were loud and obvious and made fucking sense.]

"I'm going to kill him," Helsknight hissed, stealing down the alley as fast as he dared. He didn't know who he was going to kill. Whoever had done this, maybe. Certainly not Tanguish. He hadn't really tried, physically he thought he could, if he'd just commit. But he had no weapon, and his options for killing his best friend [one of a slim handful of people he would gladly die for] were all slow and grim and painful, and not something he would inflict on anyone willingly.

[He would just have to evade, and try to knock some sense into him? But head wounds were difficult. The margin between unconsciousness and death was illusive, and he was a knight for helssakes he didn't bludgeon people. He was so ill-equipped for something like this, it was staggering. But why would he be equipped for his best friend randomly trying to kill him?]

There was a sound. There must have been. The whisper of breathing. The slide of claws. The crackle of gathering frost. Something set Helsknight's hair prickling, the gooseflesh on his arms raised.

[The rooftops.]

Helsknight didn't have time to look up. Suddenly a weight fell on his shoulders, and he was slamming to the ground. Tanguish's hand dug claws into the back of his neck, his knees dug into his shoulders. Helsknight twisted his whole body as hard as he could, wrenching his elbow back to slam into Tanguish's side. He flipped over, throwing Tanguish off him for just a moment. He got an arm underneath himself, tried to scrabble backwards, boots digging into tiles. Tanguish lunged on top of him again, and Helsknight threw a hand between them. A noise escaped his throat as the knife slashed through the webbing between his thumb and his forefinger, but he managed to wrap his fist around the hilt.

Tanguish was on top of him, bearing his full weight down on the dagger, trying to drive it into his throat. Helsknight clenched his bleeding hand around it, while is other arm scrabbled at the cobblestones, and through the haze of half-panic finally found its way around one of Tanguish's wrists. They were too close. He couldn't make full use of his longer arms, his strength, his leverage, and while his feet scrabbled, Tanguish's long tail twisted out for balance, and he held firm.

There was a buzzing starting in the back of Helsknight's mind, a panic he wasn't used to. His hands shook. His hand was bleeding, and it had to be his hand, didn't it?

[Note to self, Tanguish had laughed once, Helsknight is weak to hand wounds.]

He couldn't pass out. Little sparks and stars crowded his peripheral vision, his awareness narrowed itself to the space between his hands, and the slickness of the dagger, and the tear in the webbing between his fingers, and how stupid that was. A Colosseum gladiator, a knight of Blood and Steel, laid low by a flesh wound.

"Tanguish, you don't want to do this," Helsknight grunted, his voice buried beneath the buzzing of panic and his heartbeat in his ears. "You don't want to hurt me."

Tanguish threw his shoulder forward, and the twist sent tearing pain through his hand, and his grip slipped dangerously. Every muscle in his body tightened in dread and desperation, and he screwed his eyes shut as he clenched his bloody fist tighter. An undignified wince of a noise squeezed its way out of his throat, but it was better than screaming.

"Okay! Maybe you want to hurt me. Fine." Helsknight grimaced. He could feel the blood from his hand dripping onto his neck. A dangerous foreshadowing of just where the blade was aimed. "Tell me why. Tell me anything."

He managed to crack an eye open, to blink away the blooming stars. He gripped the knife and a spinning world in his bloody hands, and clung to consciousness and life with equal fervor. And Tanguish watched him, impassive and cold, that little blue ring a persistent chain around his iris. It reminded Helsknight of something, something that made his stomach twist. It took a moment to place a coherent thought to the feelings, a long moment where he breathed and shook and bled, and Tanguish watched.

[Wels. The open sky blue of Wels's eyes. Ice dagger blue. He clawed at his memory for any way that made sense, and in his flailing finally remembered what Tanguish had said about those golden, inescapable commands. How far could they compel? Surely not this far. Surely--]

Helsknight swallowed hard.

[Right. He just needed to break the command. That was all. That was all.]

Helsknight reached into himself for any lie of calm, any ghost of reassurance. He tried to steady his voice. Tried to force command, and calm, and certainty into his words. Stilted and shaky, and hoarsely whispered, he half commanded, half pleaded.

"Tanguish, let go of the knife."

Above him, Tanguish blinked. The pressure on the knife didn't relent, nor did the blue ring around his iris.

"Please let go of the knife."

Tanguish's fist balled tighter, and as it did the knife twisted just barely. He felt the burning in his hand, and Helsknight lost his words behind pain that should have been insignificant, and stars and noise in his head.

"You're scaring me," Helsknight whimpered, and then managed more firmly. "You don't scare people. This isn't you. You don't want to do this to me."

He searched Tanguish's eyes again. Was that a flicker in the blue? He couldn't tell. He couldn't tell.

"Helssakes," he swore. His hand grasping Tanguish's wrist reached up to grab the back of Tanguish's head, fingers tangling in his hair. He wished he could force Tanguish to focus, to center that sleepwalker's stare on something other than his general direction. "If you're going to kill me, look at me."

Tanguish blinked again. There was a shimmer in his eyes, and Helsknight winced as a tear dropped onto his face. A grim smile worked its way onto his teeth. No, that blue ring hadn't flickered. Tanguish had simply started crying.

"You're not going to kill me." Helsknight whispered. He closed his eyes, and his voice was a prayer, and it was a command. "You're not going to kill me."

He couldn't tell how much of the shaking in his arm was from him, or from Tanguish. He couldn't tell if the pain in his hand was from pressure, or from the wound. But he knew this was hurting them both, and he needed it over with, one way or another.

"You're not going to kill me."

Helsknight had been killed by wounds to his neck before. The Colosseum was a terrible place to die sometimes. He told himself he could bear it. Told himself if the pain came, he would try to hide the terribleness of it. He wouldn't gasp, or scream, or any of the other horrible, dramatic thrashings a person could do when they bled. He would make himself small and silent. He would respawn, if he could, and he would find his way back here, and he would find a way to fix this. Helsknight released Tanguish, and, eyes closed, braced himself for whatever happened next.

He couldn't stop himself from flinching when a few more teardrops fell on his face. But the blade didn't come. Helsknight dared to crack an eye open.

"Tanguish?"

Tanguish moved, and Helsknight stiffened, only to relax again when the blade clattered to the ground beside them. Helsknight let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, and before Tanguish could scramble away from him, or devolve into a blubbering mess, or shake apart or fall under some new spell, or any of a thousand other things Tanguish could probably do, Helsknight wrapped his arms around Tanguish's neck and dragged him into a hug.

"Helsknight--"

"You idiot," Helsknight snapped, crushing Tanguish against his chest. He had the grace to drag them over to the side, so he couldn't bleed quite so much on both of them, but when Tanguish squirmed he held him tighter and refused to let him go. "Don't scare me like that again."

"H-helsknight I'm s-"

"You're sorry," Helsknight interrupted him, screwing his eyes shut, suddenly scared he was going to start crying too. From relief. From the ridiculousness of whatever had happened. From the closeness to disaster. From how angry he was that Tanguish felt the need to apologize. "Gods. I thought I'd lost you."

Tanguish had the audacity to laugh, a miserable hiccup of a noise that tangled itself in growing sobs, and muffled itself against Helsknight's chest. "You thought you lost me?"

"You were so quiet," Helsknight said, feeling dread lance through his stomach like a knife wound. "It's like you weren't even there."

"I was there," Tanguish whispered, his fists balled into Helsknight's shirt, like he could somehow cling closer. "I was there."

"Of course you were," Helsknight murmured back. "Of course you were."

[diazsdimples]

"You're the only person I could even fathom doing this for" + Buddie

"You're the only person I could even fathom doing this for," Eddie grouses as he and Buck weave their way through the crowd, heading towards the meetup point near the starting line.

There are ten other teams (couples? Eddie's never entirely sure what to call them) also milling around, waiting to be called up. Among them are what feels like hundreds of crew members, camera people, health and safety coordinators, you name it.

Buck nudges Eddie's shoulder with his as they walk. "And can I just once again reiterate how grateful I am that you agreed to come. I could have asked Hen or Chim, but I don't think they would have been so keen."

Eddie snorts. "Hen and Chim would have walked off before you even finished the first leg." He hoists the overly large backpack up his shoulders, swinging it around to do a last-minute check that they've got everything they need.

"They just can't keep up with my boundless enthusiasm," Buck replies airily. He grins down at Eddie. "It's not their fault, I suppose. You're just the only person I know who's got a chance at keeping up with me."

"Yeah well, I did say I'd have your back." Eddie puts on a show of sighing loudly, but there's no hiding the grin that's pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I probably should have seen this coming."

Buck stops, causing a crew member to dodge him and shoot him a dirty look. He remains oblivious to this as he regards Eddie with amusement.

"You should have anticipated 7 years ago, when you said you'd have my back, that I'd sweet talk you into coming onto a reality TV show with me?"

"Yep. Exactly that. Silly of me, really."

Buck laughs, a bright sound that makes something in Eddie's chest warm. Buck's smile is a beautiful thing to behold and Eddie can't help but grin right back.

"You're ridiculous," Buck chuckles, falling into step beside Eddie once again as they make their way over to the tent where the other racers are waiting.

When Buck had approached Eddie with the idea of applying for the Amazing Race USA, it had initially seemed like a harmless joke, a "yeah we should totally do that," without any real intention of actually applying.

And then Buck had shown up at his house with a tape recorder and a grin, and had begged and begged and begged for them to record a clip to send in. Had it not been for Christopher's puppy eyes ("please Dad, I'll be the coolest kid in school!") Eddie probably wouldn't have gone through with it. But Buck knew Eddie's weakness (his son) and boy had he weaponised him.

They sent in the tape the next day within a week had received a callback, and now here they were, several weeks and one somewhat awkward conversation with Bobby about why he'd be losing two of his firefighters for a month later, wondering how exactly they managed to push past all the other people applying.

Eddie wasn't one to turn down the opportunity to win a million dollars, not that that amount of money went particularly far in this economy. As he'd joked to Buck, if they won he'd use his share of the money to pay off Christopher's student loans, and then buy himself an ice cream with the leftover cash.

Also, he'd get to travel the world with Buck, which was a huge selling point. Eddie knows he's whipped when it comes to Buck. The idea of travelling with him, seeing the world, competing against others, being at their peak BuckandEddie, it would have been too good to pass up.

They finally reach the tent where the rest of the racers are, and are immediately swooped on by a hoard of crew members, checking over them, making sure they're mic'd up, general TV show admin, Eddie assumes.

"No turning back now, huh," Buck comments, trying to seem as nonchalant as possible. Eddie, however, can see right through him. He hears the slight quaver in Buck's voice, notices the way Buck doesn't quite meet his eye, how Buck's eyes are flickering around him as though on high alert.

"Hey," he says as he places a hand on Buck's shoulder, his thumb brushing against Buck's pulse point. "We're going to be okay. It's going to be fun! Just breathe, okay?"

Buck takes in a deep breath, his shoulders rising and pressing against Eddie's hand before releasing it. Eddie rubs his thumb back and forth over Buck's neck, giving him the smallest of squeezes.

"Right," Buck nods, his mouth quirking into a half smile. "Just us versus the world, huh?"

Eddie returns his smile with an easy grin, and he has to resist the urge to lean over and press a gentle kiss to Buck's cheek. "You and me, and 11 countries. We've got this."

There's a loud foghorn noise, signalling the teams to line up at the starting line, facing the host. Eddie's hand moves to cup Buck's cheek, patting him once, twice, before dropping down to his side. Buck flushes a beautiful pink and together they make their way to the line, ready to begin the adventure of a lifetime.

Gonna tag some friends who might be interested.

@theotherbuckley @hippolotamus @daffi-990 @bidisasterevankinard @neverevan

@spotsandsocks @aroeddiediaz @steadfastsaturnsrings @watchyourbuck

[lighthouseas]

begging you guys to reblog art & fic & gifs & analysis & like. posts. i mean this especially applies to creations but i like. guys. likes don't do shit. how many times do we have to say this for it to get through your head. it makes me so sad when i look at a piece of beautiful art , or a fic, only to see that it has like. 5 reblogs and 60 likes.

REBLOG. SHIT. even if it's from creatives you don't know. THAT is how we keep this fandom alive while we have no new content due to the strikes.

[imfinereallyy]

#38 "i was eavesdropping and i heard something i can’t scrub from my memory" sounds like it could be very funny, especially from a kid's perspective!

you read my mind, it 100% needs be a kid POV, sorry this one is a bit shorter than my usual but it was fun to write. *it actually ended up being longer than I thought cause I have a problem with not knowing when enough is enough lol* ♡

find the request game here

Lucas was going to throw up. He liked to think he had a strong stomach, he really truly did, but this was too much even for him.

“What the hell is your problem?” Max asked him as he came back to Steve’s living room.

“Yea you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Will pipes up, head leaning on his knee.

Lucas swallowed dryly, he had to phrase this carefully. “Well I was eavesdropping…”

Max snorted from her seat on the couch. “You Lucas Sinclair was eavesdropping? Didn’t think I’d ever see the day. What about the whole ‘respect people’s boundaries’ thing you rave about?”

“And I still stand by that! It’s just I didn’t want to interrupt and…” Lucas thought back to a few minutes ago. He had gone into the kitchen to grab Max an ice pack; she was having a bad hip day. When he had reached the door, he had heard Steve and Eddie talking, and it had sounded serious. Lucas felt bad about interrupting, but he also couldn’t go back to Max without the ice pack. They had been good for months now, and he didn’t want to risk it. (He knew this was ridiculous considering they weren’t really that dysfunctional, and she loved him, a reluctant secret smile confession on her end. But there was this deep part of Lucas who was terrified of disappointing her). So he was content with waiting outside the door until they were done.

Lucas really should have turned around and left.

“What if they don’t…want to be around us Stevie?” Eddie whispered.

“Baby they are just kids. They are good kids. They are our friends. They won’t be upset.” Steve murmured back.

This was the point Lucas should have turned around, but he was confused and wanted to understand.

“You aren’t even the slightest bit worried, that maybe they won’t be accepting? I don’t think any of them have been exposed to gay culture, let alone two men dating?”

Oh. Oh no. This was really private. Lucas should have really turned around but at that point, his feet were glued to the ground.

“I mean yea a little bit…they are shitheads. Especially Mike—“ Lucas had to hold back a snort, “—but they are good. It’s why we are friends with them. As much as it pains me to admit we are friends with children.”

Lucas wished he could see their faces.

“What if…what if they are more than shitheads this time?” Lucas had never heard Eddie’s voice sound so small.

“…do you want to wait a little longer?” Steve’s voice asked gently, with no anger.

“If that’s okay. I just…want to live in our bubble a little longer. Well our bubble plus Robin.” Lucas imagined Eddie biting his hair in that moment.

“Yea baby. We take this at the pace you need. And Robin already knows, which is pretty much the only person I can’t keep a secret from. And I like our little bubble too.” Lucas heard shuffling around, like fabric reaching around itself.

“Yea?”

“Yea. I think I can go a little longer without the twerps making gagging noises every time we kiss. We can wait to tell them we’re together.”

“Hmmmm should we do a practice show right now, to prepare for when we need to freak them out?” Eddie’s voice turned suddenly flirty.

“I like the way you think.” This was the last words Lucas heard before the sounds of the two of them clearly heavily making out came through the doorway. It was at the first moan that Lucas ran away.

Lucas was brought back to reality when Max snapped her fingers in his face. “Want to share with the class loser?”

Oh god, Lucas was gonna throw up at the memory.

It wasn’t the fact that they were men and that they were dating. Lucas was, in fact, really happy for them. He had never thought about it, but in a weird way, it made sense. He wanted them to be happy. And if he was really being honest with himself, he was hoping maybe this would get Max to stop staring at Steve when he doesn’t have a shirt on (a few months later, Lucas would be horribly proven wrong of this theory).

It wasn’t this kissing that made him want to vomit either. Sure, the idea of his older brother figure making out with his dungeon master wasn’t a pleasant thought, but he had witness Mike make out with El, so he was pretty immune to grossness.

No, the problem was Lucas realized with great certainty he was going to have to keep a secret.

He gagged at the thought.

Sure, he could keep a whole other dimension and government conspiracy theory a secret from his parents (and, ya know, the world), but he caved relatively quickly when it came to Max. And Max could tell whenever he was lying. But Lucas wasn’t stupid; he knew you couldn’t just tell other people that someone you know is gay. He didn't know the word for it, maybe there wasn’t one, but Lucas knew what it was like to be different. He didn’t want to make Steve and Eddie feel bad, or cause others to be mean to them. He didn’t think the rest of the party would care about the gay? Bisexual? Queer?—wait, that’s a bad word, Lucas thought—it didn’t matter what specifically, but he didn’t think they would care about the gay stuff—more like Lucas knew his friends. El and Max would have a million, invasive questions. Mike would be a dick, but not for serious reasons. More like “I have weird insecurities” reasons. It would probably be good for Will (again, Lucas isn’t stupid). And Dustin, holy shit, he would most definitely either be pissed he didn’t know sooner, or would rub it in everyone’s face that he made it happen. Both of which Lucas knew would be horrible reactions.

God, he was going to throw up. He was going to lie to his friends. His girlfriend. He couldn’t just share this secret. It would go horrible if he told, it’s not his secret! His stupid, stupid friends (not El and Max) would blow up if it came from him first. And then Eddie and Steve would be upset, he told, and they would think that the party hated them for something out of their control, even though they love them no matter what! And oh god, he’s gonna have to lie so much—

He was spiraling, he needed to calm down.

“Lucas?” Max’s face suddenly softened, like she knew he was having a hard time getting the words together. Lucas looked at her face, and took a couple of seconds to count her freckles but lost track quickly. He didn’t mind; he would to start again later. He followed the laugh lines around her eyes that weren’t there last year, and thought about trying to make her laugh.

Max said nothing as he stared, even as the guys pressed him to answer. It was strange, he was terrified of lying to Max, but he knew deep down she would understand. That she would know he was lying but wouldn’t call him out on it.

“I was eavesdropping and I heard something I can’t erase from my memory. I almost walked in on Steve giving sex advice to Eddie, so I walked away before it got gross. I forgot your ice pack; I’m sorry.” Lucas apologized; he did genuinely feel bad he didn’t succeed on his mission.

The guys started chattering behind him, asking questions and yelling out in disgust, but Max stayed quiet for a second, then said, “It’s okay, stalker. Didn’t have high hopes for you anyway. You always get distracted.”

Lucas sent her a grateful smile, and pretended to be offended. “Are you saying I don’t finish what I’ve started? You should know better, Max.”

Max threw her head back, and full body laughed. She scooped Lucas’ hand and wove her pale fingers between his. “That’s me being nice, Lucas. Don’t go around telling people that. Or I’ll have to up the ante.”

Lucas kissed the back of her hand and whispered, “Maybe I like it when you’re a little mean.”

Max blushed and looked to check if the guys were paying attention (they weren’t; they were still arguing over sex they weren’t having), and leaned over to give him a soft kiss on the cheek. Max didn’t ask any questions even though Lucas knew she knew he was lying.

Lucas didn’t let go of her hand, and quietly hoped that Eddie made Steve feel the way Max made him feel.

He deserved something special like that.

**

I need you guys to know that I had to keep backtracking to correct boys into guys, cause I’m so used to writing from an older persons perspective. But I wanted some steddie and lumax mixed together. And Lucas! Deserves! More! Attention!!!

thank you so much for the ask I had so much fun with this one.

[weird-an]

"Captain Harrington!" someone yells.

Steve has to hide his grin. He still can't believe it. He did it. He's the Captain of one of the biggest starships in the galaxy. The USS Hawkins has been a dream for long and now she's under his command.

"Henderson," he nods. His science officer. An annoying little know-it-all Steve has known since the academy, has survived the horrors of the tunnels with on the first mission he was leading all those years ago. Steve is so happy they're on the Hawkins together.

"Have you heard?" Dustin's voice nearly cracks. "They're about to announce First Officer today and you'll never guess who is here today!"

That's what they are all here for, to meet the last crew member, one of the most important positions on a ship and then get debriefed for the first mission. But Dustin's eyes are wide and he's forgetting to breathe between words.

"Steve, it's-"

"Captain Harrington," a voice drawls. Steve knows this voice too well, it was the first thing he heard when he woke up hungover after the orientation week of Starfleet Academy.

Shit.

Billy Hargrove grins at him, teeth all wide and shiny. He's still got his mullet, against all of Starfleet's regulations and wears a black leather jacket above his uniform.

"Hargrove," Steve says, putting his hands in his hips. "What a... surprise."

"A pleasure," Billy corrects, licking across his teeth. "Lookin' forward to bein' your Number One."

"I can't believe it," Dustin murmurs behind Steve.

"Can't wait." Steve rolls his eyes. "You know, it's the first officer's job to obey and implement the Captain's orders."

"Oh, I can obey," Billy says, staring at Steve. "If I want to."

Steve's neck turns warm. Billy winks at him.

Dustin makes a belching sound.

"This will be a suicide mission," he moans.

"Oh, Henderson," Billy purrs. "Our Captain will keep us safe."

Steve gets the sinking feeling that no one will keep him safe from Billy and that unfortunately, he looks way too hot in that uniform.

[plistommy]

Just… Steve and Billy swimming inside Steve’s pool during the summer of ’85, kissing and laughing as they let the night fall around them. And soon, the stars are up in the sky as they lay on the ground with a soft towel under them, bodies close and warm while Steve explains the star sings to Billy with a sweet smile.

And Billy?

Billy has never been this in love.

[sorinethemastermind]

16 & 20 for Sorvus🙏🏻

 Corvus had really tried to keep an eye on Soren. He had promised Claudia, after all. She’d made it very clear what would happen otherwise. But in the mass of gyrating bodies, roaring music, and strobing lights it had been far too easy for him to slip away into the crowd. Corvus cursed under his breath as somebody bumped into him, sloshing part of their drink down his front. They didn’t even notice in whatever haze they were in; just continued dancing. He swerved around them, ringing whatever it was from his shirt as best he could. He hated parties.

 The only reason he had agreed to come to this one was because Soren had asked. Corvus had to admit he’d been surprised. They’d been playing on the Katolis Crownguards together for years and the other boy had never seemed to show any particular interest in him. But something about Soren had changed recently. And whatever had changed had also brought him waltzing across the locker room after practice to ask Corvus if he wanted to go to the New Year’s Eve party. And for some stupid reason Corvus had said yes. Even though he hated parties and he’d already made plans with Gren and Amaya. She’d rolled her eyes when he canceled on them, but Gren had tried to be supportive and offer words of encouragement. That might have been worse. It was certainly more embarrassing.

 And then he’d shown up, and Soren’s sister had been there, ducking out the door giggling with boyfriend in tow. She’s drawn up short when she saw him, then thrown her arms wide and grinned, swallowing him in a gigantic hug. 

 “Corvus!” she’d cried. “Thank god you’re here. Can you keep an eye on Sor-bear for me?”

��Her breath had reeked of alcohol and mistakes about to be made. But he’d just nodded, even as she warned him that for all Soren might boast, he couldn’t handle his booze and that Corvus was under no circumstances to let him have more than three drinks.

 “How many has he had already?” Corvus had asked.

 She’d thought for a moment. “Five!”

 Corvus had been about to ask how that was supposed to work, but she was already skipping down the drive and away, dragging Terry with her (he at least gave Corvus an apologetic smile before allowing himself to be pulled behind a bush). Corvus had sighed, rolled up his metaphorical sleeves (it was too cold to actually do it) and gone inside.

 He had caught sight of Soren several times over the course of the night, usually by the cooler, often surrounded by the other members of the Katolis Crownguards. But by the time that Corvus had fought his way through the crowd, he had vanished, melting back into the throng of celebrating teenagers. That was how Corvus ended up with drink spilled down his front. 

 Giving up, he pushed frustratedly through to the bathroom. It was occupied, but the door was open, and he took that as an excuse to kick out the pair of lovesick seniors who clearly weren’t using it correctly. They ran off giggling and he was able to close the door behind them and block out some of the noise.

 Corvus took off his shirt and wrung it out over the sink before slipping it back on, wrinklier and still smelling strongly of vodka. He should never have let himself be this stupid. What had he been thinking? New Year’s Eve parties are always like this. They’ve always been like this and they always will be like this. And he was stupid to think that he could like one, no matter who had invited-

 Corvus opened the door to find Soren standing there. Alright, standing was a stretch. He had very clearly had more than three drinks (and probably more than five) and it looked like he probably would be on the floor without the support of the banister. And yet there was still a plastic cup in his hand, newly filled by the looks of it. 

“Corvus!” Soren exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air and sloshing the contents of the cup onto the floor. “You made it! Guys, look, Corvus made it!” 

 Corvus looked around, but the announcement had been made to a mostly empty hallway. Certainly not to anybody he recognized.

 “How many of those have you had?” he asked, pointing to the cup in a desperate attempt to live up to Claudia’s (drunken and most likely misguided) trust.

 “Oh, uh. I don’t know.” Soren mused, taking a few lopsided steps forward. “Seven-”

 “That’s not so bad.”

 “-ty four?”

 Corvus was about to explain why that number was highly improbable, but decided it would be breath wasted. 

 “Let’s get you some water.” he said instead, guiding Soren over to sit on the edge of the tub even as he plucked the plastic cup from his hand and dumped it’s contents into the sink.

 Once he was satisfied that Soren wouldn't fall backwards and hurt himself, he rinsed the cup out a few times (just to be safe) and filled it with water from the tap. Soren didn’t even seem to notice that the cup had been absent by the time he’d slipped it back into his hand.

 “You’re so perfect.” Soren said as Corvus sat down next to him, one hand steadying him. “Did you know that? You should know that. People probably tell you allllll the time. How can anyone be so perfect?”

 “Soren, drink your water.” 

 “Maybe you’re just a dream.” he continued, but afterwards he did take a sip. 

 “But not like a nightmare. No, not like a nightmare.” Soren shook his head violently, something he seemed to regret immediately after. “Like a good dream. A good, good dream.”

 Corvus tried to ignore what he was saying. Sure, if he hadn't of been drunk, then this would probably be a scene right out of one of Corvus’ own dreams. But he was drunk. Corvus reminded himself of that several times. He was drunk, so none of this was real. It might as well be a dream, for all the truth in it.

 “Wait no.” Soren said after a moment of silence, holding up a finger as if to ask for pause. “This is not a dream. I think. Cause in my dreams, we’re usually kissing.”

 And that did catch Corvus’ attention despite his best efforts.

 “We’re usually… kissing?”

 “Yeah.” Soren nodded, a little more gingerly this time. “Yuppers.”

 Corvus ignored the word yuppers. “Do you… do you like me?”

 “Why wouldn’t I like you?” Soren asked, perplexed. Corvus wasn’t sure if it was because of the amount of alcohol in his system or if it was actually a stupid question to ask. “Of course I like you. You’re Corvus.”

 “Then did you… did you invite me…” Corvus glanced around, and even though it was just them, he still whispered the last bit of his question. “As a date?”

 “What? Nooooo.” Soren said, and Corvus' heart dropped to his stomach. His face burned as Soren continued; "You're Corvus.”

 “Yeah. I’m Corvus.” he agreed quietly, feeling silly. Of course Soren didn’t like him back. He’d invited all of the Crownguards. And after all, like Soren had said, he was Corvus.

 But Soren wasn’t done yet. “You’re Corvus.” he said again. “You’re so cool, and classy, and you play the giant violin-”

 “Cello.”

 “That’s what I said. You’re just like so… Corvus.”

 “And is that… a good thing?”

 “Duh.” Soren slapped him on the back so hard Corvus nearly fell forward onto the floor. But he was laughing, and then they were both laughing. After a moment Soren fell silent, and he stared into his little plastic cup the way people stare into shot glasses in movies.

 “And I’m so… Soren. You’re all cool and cute and confident and I’m all… not.”

 “What are you talking about?” Corvus asked, genuinely confused. “You’re one of the most confident people I know.”

 He didn’t add that Soren was also definitely cute.

 Soren snorted, and though there was still a bit of a slur in his voice as he spoke, his expression was downcast. “I’m so not confident. I’m like… I’m like stupid, and not smart, and worthless.”

 Corvus wasn’t really sure what to say to that, so instead he just looped an arm around Soren’s shoulders, which did seem to successfully distract them both from anything else that had been happening. So they just sat there for a moment, until eventually Soren freed his own arm from where it was trapped between them and looped it around Corvus’ shoulders in turn. 

 “This is nice.” he said. “Why don’t we do this all the time?”

 “Well-” Corvus began, but he cut himself off. “I don’t know.”

 “We should. I think I’d like that.” And then Soren ruined the moment by winking at him and adding; “Dream boy.”

 Corvus could just imagine Amaya rolling her eyes. But he banished her spectral presence, feeling heat rising in his cheeks. Which Soren then proceeded to poke. 

 “What are you doing?” Corvus asked, startled.

 “Making sure you’re real.” Soren replied, poking him again. “See. You are real. So that’s cool.”

 “Yes. Very cool.”

[thatonetwig]

A small Jawbreaker (Orbsman x Gummigoo) fic. [Credit to @tboom10 for coming up with the ship name]

"So then I decided..."

"Yup. Yup. Uh-huh.", Gummigoo said as he continued to stare at Orbsman across the table with a faint smile on his face.

If he was being honest with himself, Gummigoo didn't really care all that much about what his boyfriend was talking about at all. He was just happy to hear his voice, and that was all that mattered to him.

Suddenly, he felt something brush up against his shoulder. He turned around in his seat and saw Gangle standing there with the tragedy mask she usually wore.

"Eh? Whaddaya want?"

"Umm...would you mind telling him to...be quiet for a little bit? I-its been a little since we've gotten any silence.", Gangle asked.

"Huh? Now what makes you say that?"

"Just look..."

Gummigoo took a look around the circus and saw everyone standing around and walking by with very annoyed expressions on their faces. Meanwhile, Pomni was banging her head against the wall, and Loolilalu was gripping her scepter extremely tightly with a twitching eyelid.

"Whatcha talking about? They seem pretty fine to me! Now get outta here, I got more important things to do.", Gummigoo said while nonchalantly shrugging his shoulders.

"But-"

"That's it! I can't take this $#&% anymore! I guess I'll just have to deal with this nuisance myself!", Loolilalu shouted as she charged at Orbsman with her scepter.

"Get me in on this. Maybe we can even play a game of basketball after.", Jax said before running with her.

"Jax! Give me back my arm before I have to strangle you with it again!", Zooble shouted in the distance.

"Well, ain't this sumthin'? Welp, sorry ribbon girl, but I'm gonna need your help for this.", Gummigoo said.

"Wait, what do you-"

Gummigoo then grabbed Gangle and stretched her out before tying her lower body into a hoop. He then spun the makeshift lasso in the air before throwing it around Jax and Loolialu and tightening it around their ankles.

The two stumbled and fell into each other before they continued rolling towards them in a ball. With one swift movement, Gummigoo whipped the lasso to the left, sending the rolling duo in that direction with Gangle as well when he let go of her.

"Hm? Gummy, did you say something?", Orbsman asked, somehow having not noticed this entire ordeal.

"Nuthin', luv. Go on, I wanna hear more of what you have to say.", Gummigoo said, turning to face his boyfriend again with a faint smile once again.

"Oh, okay then! So, as I was saying..."

[queerfanfiction]

hi!! could i request a Lucifer fic where the reader repeatedly tries to persuade them into taking her flying? and when they do go flying, it’s really cute and fluffy!!

thank youu, i hope you have a great day <33

Flying

Prompt is shown above. :)

word count: 1.5k includes: fluff; no content warnings i don't think?

“Oh, come onnnnn.” Your singsong voice badgered at Lucifer. “Pleeeeeeease??” They hated when you got stuck on an idea and wouldn’t let go of it. So far, you have bugged them about eating dinner together as a date (even though they don’t technically need to eat), making a music streaming account, and why they don’t have 300+ degrees being immortal and all. Humans were so stubborn—you especially. The past few weeks you were relentless about Lucifer taking you flying.

“I want to feel untethered! From the ground. From everyone. From reality.”

“Being untethered is not what you imagine it to be,” a pensive voice recounts softly, almost as if they were reliving a memory and providing a cautionary tale. At this, you reign in your excitable energy and peer at the once-angel before you. They normally reacted in an annoyed manner when you brought up flying. Now their eyes were distant and unfocused, giving you a rare chance to examine them without their awareness. You knew they often masked their interior thoughts and feelings, probably as a deflection or defense. You didn’t know why they did it, since no one dares to mess with one of the most powerful beings in the universe.

An overwhelming need to wrap Lucifer into your arms arises within your chest, aching to be fulfilled. You’re not sure how that would be received, though… Lucifer usually initiated contact between you two, and being new to a relationship together, you were unsure about the unspoken boundaries between you.

You settle for slowly approaching. Your steady hand extends to graze the pale, fixed jaw of the god before you. In a whisper, you plead, “Come back to me.”

Another moment passes. The change in them is almost imperceptible—a hardening or tucking away of memories and emotions occurs. Their eyes focus and lose the glossy, distant shine to them. With a mischievous smirk extending over their features, Lucifer retorts, “You’re sure you don’t want to be untethered?”

“Tether yourself to me.”

With that, you shift onto your tiptoes to press a kiss to Lucifer comfortingly. You knew the time for playful nudging was over. After a few moments of gentle and precise kisses, a hunger replaces the careful, sweet energy. You think about how flying can wait.

Finally, one day Lucifer relents to your requests to take you flying. The requests were now a routine between you two—a dance of sorts. You would endear yourself to Lucifer and sit in their lap with rather large puppy dog eyes. With each stern and polite decline, soaring through the air while clutching onto the lean, capable torso before you became seemingly improbable. That’s why you were surprised when they relented to your begging. It felt out of place almost. You would have thought Lucifer’s newfound agreeance was a joke or prank, but their eyes were deliberate and decided.

Their body language turned more serious and direct, and they ordered you to sit down in front of them. Lucifer took your hands in theirs, not caring that their abrupt and direct actions had caused yours to turn clammy. What came next was a long discussion of consent, boundaries, and what to expect when flying.

“At any time, you may signal for us to slow or stop.” Then, Lucifer reasoned, “You may feel uneasy. It is not for mortals…” You could swear you heard affection and concern in their voice.

You didn’t know what to expect, and questions filled your mind. Would Lucifer run off the balcony in Hell? Do they need momentum to fly? Is there a secret way to exit Hell when flying? How do mortals not see them in the sky? Had Lucifer ever taken another human flying before?

Unsure of how to proceed, you only nodded obediently. Lucifer reached for you, sensing your hesitation now that you are presented with the very thing you desired. Your heart reacted—thrumming faster in your chest at the contact and anticipation. “Come now,” Lucifer cooed.

You climbed into their lean arms, feeling safe and secure against them. Funny how the ruler of Hell, the eternally damned, was the one you trusted with your life. The irony was not lost on you. Still, though, it wasn’t something you were ashamed of. The Lucifer you knew was charming and mystifying…and really cared for you. You knew they did, because it was apparent in their actions and demeanor. They made sure you were comfortable and unbothered by others in Hell when you visited. They dropped in on you throughout the day when you were on Earth living your life. Lucifer didn’t even break your phone or make you turn off the music when a One Direction song came on shuffle. 

Lucifer’s voice breaks you from your thoughts. “Ready?”

In only a blink of your eye, you and Lucifer were somewhere outside on Earth. If you had to guess, you’d say some U.S. national park in the northwest—some of the trees were as wide as cars and the air felt crisp and cool against your skin.

“Hold on tightly to me.” This whisper from Lucifer fills the air between you two, giving you goosebumps across your arms. With that, they stretched out their wings and pushed away from the ground with only one substantial thrust. 

Being airborne…it was almost like…..gliding through the sky, rather than powered flight. Lucifer’s wings were definitely moving, but unlike anything you could have imagined. They weren’t flapping or producing thrust. Instead, the wings reminded you of how things move and distort underwater. The flight stroke was so unusual, defying physics. It was as if there was no effort or strain for them. 

Meanwhile, you felt pressure all over your body. You expected to feel like Rose at the front bow of the Titanic or a happy dog with its head out the window. You expected the cool air to whip against your face and burn your cheeks. However, this…produced tingles all over your body. A wooziness in your head, almost as if you were in a slowed-down dream. You didn’t feel sick; you felt intoxicated. Is it from a lack of oxygen? You could breathe perfectly fine, though. You think back to Lucifer’s words of caution, and you’re still not frightened. Flying with Lucifer felt almost like being both in yourself and outside yourself simultaneously. It was magical.

The evening sun glistened against your lover’s blonde curls. You found yourself wanting to admire the view below and around you, but the determined face of the once-angel before you was too mesmerizing. You hope this won’t be the only time they take you flying, because you haven’t been able to focus on any of the beauty from the aerial view you found yourself in.

You could feel Lucifer’s steady breathing, which boggled your mind considering the activity you two found yourself in. Then again, you expected your own breathing to be choked or unwieldy. You felt so calm and trance-like. Lucifer was holding you with such care, occasionally glancing down to ensure you were okay.

Unknowingly, tears began to wet your cheeks. They started slowly but fell quicker and quicker. It took only moments for Lucifer to see that you were crying. Worry immediately plastered itself over their face. Their concern led them to land (in a vast field of rolling hills) as soon as they could. You questioned in your head how far you two had traveled to go from cedars and firs to grassy meadows.

“Are you okay? Was it too much? I never should have taken you. Foolish.”

Confusion hung over you, because you felt amazing. Well, a bit sad to be torn away from the experience so abruptly. You had so many emotions swirling through you, and you couldn’t translate how severely you felt for the being in front of you.

In response, all you could utter was, “W-what? I’m happy.” So very happy.

Lucifer swipes at the wetness on your cheeks and brings a finger in front of you as a way to question why you were crying.

“They’re good tears. I’m…leaking joy.” You couldn’t quite explain how you felt, and you knew your spacey rambling probably wasn’t satisfactory in reassuring Lucifer. In fact, a puzzled look appears on their face. You knew Lucifer didn’t like to be befuddled or to misunderstand a situation, so you quickly clarify, “You bring me so much joy.”

Lucifer’s concern subsides a bit. It’s been so long since Lucifer was the cause of pure joy. They almost forgot what it was like, how addicting it could be. It made them want to never let you down, give into your every silly, human request. The glassy, pleased look in your eyes made Lucifer want to crawl out of their prison of pompousness and self-hatred. Here you were appreciating them and getting closer to them with no ill intent or expectations of anything in return.

Lucifer stroked your hair and kissed your forehead—thankful you were okay. It was in this moment that they decided taking you flying would be a regular occurrence.