#help they keep getting longer

[ink-flavored]

Kinktober2023 Day 5: Cock Warming

banner art by @/auroblaze

Guardian Fallen Angel contains: cock warming, strap-on, anal sex, light dom/sub, cis/trans, angel/demon Kinktober2023 Prompt List & Neocities Page Tips are appreciated!

Pride was beginning to wonder what was taking Justice so long to get home when the door opened. He expected a cheerful greeting, his usual satisfied exhaustion after a day of volunteering, but nothing came. The door shut without preamble.

“Justice?” Pride called, warily, from the living room.

“Yeah,” came the weak reply. “I’m back.”

That… didn’t sound good. Abandoning the TV, Pride trekked to the foyer to see what was up. He found Justice there with his head back against the door, shoulder bag uncharacteristically crumpled on the ground, but that wasn’t the part that made his ichor run cold. It was the splotchy, purple-black bruise around his swollen eye. It spread over his cheek and obscured his freckles, turning his warm brown skin an angry maroon.

“Justice, what the fuck?” Pride blurted, caught between shocked and furious.

“I’ll explain it, I just—” his voice broke, and he took a shuddering breath. “I need to sit down, for a minute.”

He nodded, teeth clenched, and Justice shuffled into the kitchen. Pride fumed in the foyer for a few extra seconds, flexing his fists at his sides. He could not wait for an explanation, along with the full name and current location of who was responsible.

First thing was first, though. He followed Justice into the kitchen. There, he sat on one of the counter stools with half his head in his hands. Slumped, defeated. Pride had never seen him so crushed.

“Want some ice?” he asked.

Justice picked up his head enough to glance his way. “I can heal it on my own.”

“Yeah, but it still hurts. You know I know that.”

He smiled a little, probably remembering all the times he had to heal Pride’s copious, human-inflicted wounds. “Okay,” he agreed. “Thank you.”

Pride shoveled some ice into a plastic bag, wrapped it in a dishcloth, and handed it over. Justice took it gratefully. But he didn’t un-slump.

“What happened today?” Pride dared to ask.

“A lot,” Justice sighed. “It was busy today, a lot of people. A lot of… pain. I wasn’t handling it as well as I usually do, and—” He broke off to swallow. “It was just hard. To know that my help was only temporary, I wasn’t really fixing anything.”

Pride nodded, rubbing his back. If there was one good thing being a demon had brought him, it was removing his ability to feel everyone’s pain—physical, emotional, whatever. Angels had a rough time on Earth versus up in Heaven, where the tiny cries from the humans below were easier to ignore.

“And then at the end of the day, someone started a fight in the parking lot. I went out to try and break it up.” He sob-laughed, one visible eye welling up. “That went great.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Pride tried.

“But I couldn’t stop any of it.” The bag of ice clattered as it hit the counter, Justice turning his palms to the ceiling in a plea for answers. “It feels like I’ll never be enough. No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I can’t help anybody.”

“That’s bullshit, and you know it.”

He shook his head, but couldn’t answer through his tears. Pride pulled him into a hug, careful of his injury, and let Justice muffle his sobs in his shirt. And though Pride stroked his hair gently, his eyes burned smoldering holes into the wall.

If it didn’t mean abandoning Justice, Pride would already be prowling the streets. He would search relentlessly for the sorry piece of shit who thought they would be able to get away with thinking about laying a single finger on Justice—on his Justice—and keep all their limbs attached to their body afterword. Or keep their teeth inside their head. Or keep their skin unpeeled.

A wet cough interrupted his rage. Justice wiped his cheeks, flinching when he touched the fresh bruise. Pride took a mental step back from his violent fantasies. No matter how correct he was or how much that idiot deserved it, it wouldn’t help Justice. It wouldn’t un-punch his face, and it wouldn’t make him feel any better. So he tabled his revenge quest. For now.

“Can I do something?” he asked.

“I think,” Justice sniffed, “I want to lie down.”

“Okay. My room or yours?”

“Yours, please.”

Pride kissed one of his salty cheeks. “Go ahead, I’ll meet you there.”

Justice nodded, shuffling down the hall. Pride made a detour to the living room so he could turn the TV off, then to the bathroom for a bottle of painkillers just in case. When he got to his room, he found Justice lying on the bed, an arm thrown over his face, not noticing him enter at all. A sinking feeling came over Pride as he realized how tired he must have been—he still had his hair half-up in his usual bun, and didn’t even bother to get his nightcap.

Pride snuck back to the bathroom. He took Justice’s favorite nightcap out of a drawer, long, dark blue, and constellation-patterned. Back in his room, he set the painkillers on the nightstand.

“Hey,” he said. “You forgot this.”

Justice peeked out from under his arm. “Oh. Right.”

With clear effort, he sat up. He scooted to the edge of the bed for the nightcap, but didn’t put it on. For a long minute, he rubbed the smooth material between his fingers. Pride couldn’t help but stare at the bruise. It was so unnecessary, and on the least-deserving face.

“Can I ask you something… weird?” Justice said at last.

“I love weird questions,” Pride replied.

“Okay. Well.” He sighed heavily, preparing. “I missed you today. I was really, really looking forward to coming home and being able to see you. Do you—Would it be okay if—if I warmed you? For a little while?”

Not a hint of lust in the air, it caught Pride by surprise. “You want me to get the strap?”

“If that’s okay?” Justice twisted the nightcap in his hands. “I want to be close to you, so…”

“It’s more than okay.” He gave Justice a soft kiss, and privately celebrated when he smiled.

While Justice put his hair up, Pride prepared his harness. He slipped it on over his trunks and fitted the O-ring with one of the medium-small dildos at his disposal. Less prep, still big enough to feel.

After being given the okay, they laid down together, on their sides so Justice wouldn’t have to put any pressure on his eye. He kicked his pants off and bent his top leg to let Pride stretch him open, one finger at a time, until he could take the strap with ease.

“Feels okay?” Pride asked, forehead pressed against his back.

“Yes,” Justice said. “Thank you.”

Pride kissed his shoulder. “I’ll be here as long as you want.”

He nodded, sighing contentedly, and snuggling into the pillow. Pride wrapped around his torso with his top arm, catching his hand and lacing their fingers. It was quiet.

It wasn’t the first time Justice had ever warmed his strap, but it felt different somehow. The other times, there was the expectation that Justice would lose his composure. That he’d be begging to move eventually, that sex would follow at some point. But not this time. When fingering him open, he didn’t get more than halfway hard. Even now, Pride could feel a bit of his dick against his thigh—completely soft. Not a single drop of lust floated onto his tongue, either. Justice wanted to be close, nothing more, nothing less.

In a way, it felt even more special. When Justice was tired and beaten, when he felt useless, when he needed to rest, he came to Pride. He sought out the comfort of his body, wanted to be as close to him as physically possible. Justice came to him to feel safe.

If only he’d actually been able to keep him safe. That thought sparked a bit of the rage he’d stamped down earlier. If Pride had his way, Justice would never be hurt again. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t correct course to his whim as it should have.

Despite how warm and comfortable it was to lie there, he couldn’t stop thinking about how unfair it was. That Justice, out of all the humans in that parking lot, got punched. A literal angel, who spent most of his time helping random passers-by on the street, got caught in the crossfire of a stupid fight that probably wasn’t worth the energy.

And what was worse, Justice thought he was the failure. That some idiot’s impulse made him the bad guy. He thought that if he couldn’t solve all the problems in the world by himself, it meant he wasn’t doing enough. That was the most unfair part of it, in Pride’s mind. Not even Justice was cutting himself any slack.

“Hey, Justice?” he said.

No response. He squeezed their hands. Nothing. He untangled his fingers and pinched his nose.

Justice twitched. “Hrmn?”

“Did you fall asleep?”

“Little bit. Feels nice.”

Pride grinned into his back, squeezing him around the middle. “I can get a bigger one for you.”

“Maybe later.” Justice pulled his leg up a little more. “I like this.”

Pride pushed his hips as close as he could. “Suit yourself.”

“Did you wake me up just to ask me that?”

“Uh—no, I had a thing.” Pride wasn’t sure how much sense he made, but he said it. “I know you want to fix people’s problems. And I know you feel like you didn’t do enough today, because you were only helping a little. But even if you never fix anyone’s problems, I still love you.”

“Thank you,” Justice said, softly. “I love you too.”

“And I totally would have killed the one who hit you if I was there.”

“No killing, we talked about this.”

“Fine—but I wouldn’t have let them touch you.”

Justice laughed under his breath. “Thanks, I think.”

“You’re welcome.” Pride was quiet for a moment, then added, “You know I’ll always protect you, right?”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“But I will.” He shifted onto all fours, keeping himself inside Justice the whole time. Pride brushed his cheek, under the very edge of the bruise. “I want to.”

Justice didn’t say anything. His mouth wobbled into a smile. His swollen eye leaked a single tear across the flat bridge of his nose. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Pride gently grabbed his chin and tilted his head for a kiss. He reached out to cup his neck, another bid to be closer. In response, Pride parted, pulled out, and rolled Justice onto his back. He pushed his knees back when he slid the strap back in, and Justice pulled him down for another kiss.

And for a while, that was all they did. Pride kissed him slowly and deeply, not moving an inch. Justice didn’t ask him to, either, content to warm him while they got lost in each other. The one thing that changed was the state of his mood. There was a faint whisper of lust in the air, and his cock was a bit more responsive.

Pride didn’t take any initiative. He kissed Justice, sucked his lip, mouthed a soft line down his neck and back again, but never made a thrust. It was hard not to think about, though. On his knees, with Justice’s legs splayed on either side of him, pressed against his hips, he did think about it. Very much.

“Pride?” Justice said, mid-kiss.

“Yeah?”

“Can I, uh.” He glanced away. “Can I have a bigger one now?”

Pride could not have agreed faster. He swapped the current dildo for a larger one, in both length and girth. When he came back to bed, Justice tasted of a lot more lust, and he was fully hard at last. Taking equal, if not greater, pleasure in it, Pride pushed his legs back and pushed in slow. Justice gasped hotly, scrabbling for the sheets. When it was buried to the hilt, he groaned. Pride leaned down close, kissing his ear.

“Is that what you wanted?” he purred.

“Yeah,” Justice breathed. “Yes.”

“Good.” He pulled back out. “Me too.”

Pride thrusted at last, and Justice whined beautifully for it. He swore to himself he was going to go slow, make it a tease, but that plan quickly fell apart. Before he knew it, Pride fucked into Justice deep and hard, and worked his cock for good measure.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he breathlessly swore. “I’ll protect you, I’ll make sure no one ever touches you again.”

Justice bucked his hips, whining and moaning. Pride caught his next noise in a kiss, breaking away enough to keep going.

“No one can touch you but me. You’re too good for everyone else, I’m gonna keep their filthy fucking hands off you, Justice, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

He nodded frantically. “P-Pride, I’m—”

Pride didn’t let him finish, landing a hard thrust to cut him off. “You’ll never get hurt again, I won’t let anyone ever, ever hurt you.”

A series of broken cries left Justice, then he jerked his hips and came. Pride rushed to shove his shirt up his chest to avoid staining it. He partly succeeded, some stripes flying further than he expected.

“Whoops,” he muttered.

Justice wheezed a laugh. “I was trying to tell you.”

“I was in the zone, okay?”

He laughed some more, and Pride scoffed about how he couldn’t have possibly known that’s what he was trying to say. In the end, Justice took his shirt off and let it sit in shame on the edge of the bed. Pride tried to pull out to clean up the rest of the mess, but Justice pressed his hips back in with his heels.

“A bit more,” he mumbled.

Pride happily obliged, leaning over to kiss him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Justice smiled a real, happy smile. “Thanks to you.”

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

My biggest fear when I was younger was forgiving those who have wronged me, because it meant I moved on.

[santanasaintmendes]

¡Cosmic Girl Records!

a smau series in which y/n accompanies her boyfriend Ollie Bearman around the world whilst beefing with the 2019 rookies (especially Lando) and Charles.

spotify playlist here ✨

Part1: did you order pasta, miss?

Part2: singapore lovin’ had me a blast

Part3: new york, concrete jungle where dreams are made of

Part4: make tacos, not war

Part5: la mano arriba, cintura sola, da media vuelta, danza kuduro

Part6: might sound crazy but it ain’t no lie, baby bye bye bye

Part7: g’day mate, how are ya?

[allastoredeer]

Me : well maybe it's not that bad?

Me : looking for radioapple art and immediately get hit with big buff Alastor and tiny shorter than in canon Lucifer, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by Alastor, Lucifer in a dress getting fucked by big buff Alastor, Lucifer who look like 5 yo and 'suave sugar daddy' Alastor who holds him and each with thousands of likes and absolutely zero of anything else than that

Me : nope 🙃😔

Save me Vox/Al artists, save me

Man, I love Vox/Alastor art so much.

I just love the Vox/Alastor ship as a whole, be it one-sided, mutual, or anything in between, and a lot of it stems from Alastor still feeling like he's Alastor.

I mean, I think people make Alastor a little more cruel and heartless towards Vox sometimes, but overall he still feels like himself. He gets to be dangerous and manipulative and he gets to be silly and whimsical. It's perfect.

Adding a cut right here because this post got WAY longer than I anticipated ⬇️

I think with RadioApple, when it comes to Alastor, people lean too much into this:

And not enough into this:

It feels like his fun, sassy, and whimsical side gets stripped away and he's turned into a stereotypically tall, dark and menacing love interest.

Where's his flamboyancy? His razzamatazz! As Susan would say, "Where's the showmanship? Where's the pizzaz? Fucking mediocre."

If I'm reading a fic or looking at art and I can't imagine their Alastor doing one of his girly-pop wrist flicks -

- then I can't keep going. His girly-pop vibes are too important to me.

Of course, when it comes to tone in both fics and art, sometimes fun and whimsical aren't what the artist is going for. But even outside of NSFW art and stories, so often Alastor just feels...bland. He feels too stiff. Too much like a suave, old fashioned, smooth talking gentleman, and not enough like a fun, silly, and sassy little freak who loves trolling people.

And with Lucifer if feels like they lean too much into this:

And not enough of this:

I feel like any, if not all, of Lucifer's flaws are brushed aside so often and so easily.

He feels softened and watered down. Like he's either a sad & awkward UwU boi all the time, or he's the most flamboyant, seductive little minx there is. And to be fair, he is both a very sad boi and a seductive little minx.

But rarely does he ever come across as powerful to me. A lot of the time he feels too normal. Or too sad and naive. Literally, like he could be any other sinner if I didn't already know he was the kind of Hell. And that's so funny to me because we've seen him openly and extravagantly display his powers multiple times in the show--not to the extent that he did in the finale--but he was definitely flaunting all the things he could do, make, or summon for Charlie during his musical-battle with Alastor. He was 100% showing off how powerful he is.

Not only that, but, honestly, Lucifer feels too open and sincere because that man is judgmental as fuck.

Going back to the "Dad Beat Dad" episode, there are multiple examples of him being a self-righteous little shit: 1) he was incredibly critical of Charlie's hotel the moment he stepped inside, even if he tried, and failed, to cover it, 2) he didn't even try to hide his disgust for Alastor's bar, which he didn't even know was incorporated by Alastor (who he hadn't even met him yet) and could've been incorporated by Charlie or Vaggie, for all he knew, 3) he wasn't taking Charlie's hotel or her plan for redemption seriously from the start, he didn't even have his mind open to the possibility, he wasn't there to hear about her plans he was only there to see her, and 3) when the hotel was attacked by the loan sharks, instead of making them go away or preventing the hotel from being damaged - which he could have very easily done with no amount of effort - he hung back and smugly reiterated that he was right and sinners can't be redeemed and Charlie should just give up on her goals/dreams because it's just not possible so there's no point in trying.

Like, Charlie was very clearly in distress over her hotel being attacked and destroyed, but he was too busy boasting about how he'd been "proven" right to see that.

He's very easy to anger and his ego is so easily bruised. Alastor got under his skin immediately and effortlessly - though I also believe that's on part that Lucifer doesn't have a high opinions of sinners anyway - and Lucifer 100% escalated the conversation/argument he had with Alastor during their first meeting.

See the whole scene of him referring to Alastor as a "has-been" and insulting the name he'd given the hotel, especially when you take into consideration that until Alastor said that he named the hotel, Lucifer thought it was Charlie who came up with it.

And I'm not going to say that Alastor was an innocent, picked on little baby in that scene, he was 100% riling up Lucifer from the start, but also, like...Alastor's lines weren't outright antagonist like Lucifer's were. They were more subtle, slightly needling and passive aggressive, but nothing that could really be taken as a insult.

This is literally the dialogue, word for word, of their very first interaction:

Lucifer: What in the unholy Hell is that?!

Alastor: Just some of the renovations we had done. Adds a bit if color, don't you think?

Lucifer: And you are?

Alastor: Alastor, pleasure to be meeting you, Sir, quite a pleasure. It's nice to finally put a face to the name. You are much shorter in real life.

Lucifer: Who is this? Who is this now - are you the bellhop?

Alastor: Ah-ha, no! I am the host of the hotel. You might've heard of me from my radio broadcast.

Lucifer: Hmm, nope! I guess that's why Charlie called it the "has-been" hotel, hahaha!"

Alastor: Ha ha ha, it was actually my idea.

Lucifer: Ha ha, well it's not very clever.

Alastor: Ha ha, fuck you.

Like. That's their first interaction. And if you go back and actually pay attention to facial expressions and body languages, this was the first time he's seen Alastor, and Lucifer was immediately disdainful.

I went back and screenshotted Lucifer's face, right after Alastor's first line (which was a relatively innocent in and of itself and didn't even sound that antagonist), and:

That's a lot of disesteem for someone he literally just met. At most, you could argue that it was Alastor's smirk or tone that set him off ⬇️:

But even that is such a small thing to get upset over.

I'd say the only time Alastor really started getting openly hostile towards Lucifer was when he wiped his hand after shaking Lucifer's cane (which Lucifer didn't even see as he was too busy fixing his hat) and commenting on Lucifer's height (as a shortie myself, can confirm, that'll get on the nerves very fast).

My point is, Lucifer was immediately unfriendly towards Alastor and escalated the situation just as quickly, if not quicker, than Alastor did. Alastor implied that Lucifer might know of his radio broadcast, and Lucifer jumped right to calling him a "has-been." He doesn't even know him. This is their very first meeting. He was judgy and dismissive of Alastor at first sight, and, let's be honest, he kind of threw the first punch with that "has-been" line. Alastor said Lucifer was shorter than expected, but it's not like he laughed, pointed at him and called him a undercooked little chicken nugget. I'm sure a lot of demons/sinners who've never seen Lucifer would also assume he would be taller and more menacing at first glance, and I doubt this is the first time someone was surprised with his height (still not cool, Alastor. We vertically challenged folk have feelings too).

But Lucifer was prejudice from the start and antagonized Alastor just as quickly, and way more openly, than Alastor did to him. And don't get me wrong, this isn't me saying that's a bad thing on Lucifer's part! This isn't me criticizing or scorning him for it. I think it speaks so much of him as a character!

Cause we've seen the soft and tender moments he has with Charlie. We know how much he loves and cares for her. But he's also egotistical, antagonistic, and judgmental as hell, and that's what makes him such a fun character to write about. He's awkward yet showy, smug yet caring, depressed yet prideful. And by god, this man will show off his power without hesitation. He knows he's hot shit. He knows he's the strongest person in all of Hell. He knows he's the top dog and he can do whatever he wants - even if he has no love or interest in interacting within the Pride Ring (as far as we've been shown).

He's got a lot of multi-facets to him and I adore it, and that's why I get so annoyed when all of that is stripped away and he's turned into this soft little sunshine UwU boi who's just a sad, sweet lil lamb who's done no wrong.

No! He has done many wrongs! There's a reason he and Charlie were estranged and I don't think it was Lilith's fault - or, at least, I don't think it was all her fault (I have many thoughts about Lucifer and Lilith's divorce, okay)

I didn't mean for this to turn into a full-blown character analysist post LOL but alas I tend to get carried away. This was all to say, I really enjoy RadioStatic because Alastor typically gets to keep his sadistic and whimsical side, and I appreciate that. His silliness means a lot a to me, and if he comes off as too stiff or formal, it takes me out of a story.

Lucifer's flaws and sheer power also mean a lot to me, and I wish there were more fics and fan-art that showed that. If Lucifer reads too much like a normal, every-day person, I lose interest. I like the idea of people getting used to him, and getting comfortable around his presence, only to get a sudden and overwhelming reminder that he is, in fact, an ancient and immortal being with immense power that their brains wouldn't even be able to comprehend.

I have so many headcanons about Lucifer as a fallen angel and how his habits and lifestyle developed over the thousands upon thousands of years he's been in Hell. Habits he's adopted that unconsciously help him duplicate the mannerisms and behavior of sinners and demons, but also those small, indistinct tells that are quick and subtle reminder that he could destroy everyone in Pentagram City with ease if he decided to; and also, those times if you were to look closely and really pay attention, you get the faint, unsettling feeling that there is something very un-human about him. A subtle, unnerving shiver down your spine as your instincts yell at you that this person is not a person at all, he's just passing off as one.

That shit gets me. Give me ancient, eldritch Lucifer and I'll love you forever.

I am sorry Anon, I did not mean for this response to get so big 😅 You gave me a paragraph and I gave you a novel. But yeah, save me RadioStatic artists, save me 🙏 I rarely have to worry about Alastor turning into a big, buff alpha man or a soft little UwU when he's with Vox, and I appreciate that.

Edit: Adding a screenshot of my tags here because apparently I wrote down too many and it cut off the character tags.

[0xeyedaisy]

Hehehe.... Just cut my hair on my own again... Oopsie <3

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OOH YEAH BABY ITS THE SURGERY EPISODE BABY!!! ME AND THE HOMIES NEED SOME NEW FACES FOR OUR NEW PLAN, AND WHO BETTER TO GET THE JOB DONE THAN THE TWO MOST EVIL PEOPLE WE'VE EVER HAD THE MISFORTUNE OF HAVING OUR LIVES VIOLATED BY? I MEAN IT WOULD BE FUNNY. IT WOULD BE FUNNY.

[letsplaythermalnuclearwar]

ok but can we talk how in Legendary, Antinous asked a question. he’s being as rude as possible but “when’s your tramp of a mother going to chose a new husband” is a question. a question that Telemachus does not want to answer. and yeah, the immediate follow up of “why don’t you open her room so we can have fun with her” makes it seem rhetorical, but rhetorical or not, it’s definitely a question. and I’ve always wondered why Telemachus is offended by ‘tramp’ when the ‘why don’t you open her room’ thing is a million times worse. 

But what if Telemachus wasn’t offended that Antinous called Penelope a tramp? The suitors have probably been saying stuff like that for ten years, he’s used to it. What if, more than anything else, Telemachus wanted to make them forget about the question they asked? What if he was just trying to distract them?

[theotherbuckley]

Okay but Tommy drops out of high school — he told his father he was gay and he told him he could either be homeless or go to military school. He goes to military school and joins the army and he likes flying the helicopters because it means he doesn’t have to do any of the killing himself. And he makes some friends.

There's one guy who's like the squad leader who's a few years old and built like a Greek god and Tommy's young and a little bit in love. And they're friends maybe even family because this whole group of people spend every waking (and sleeping) moment together. And they all talk like a family and they all say they love each other and tease each other and it's nice. And one night it's just the two of them trading a flask of some sort of alcohol that Tommy doesn't know the name of and the man asks Tommy why he joined the army and where he wants to be in five years and Tommy trusts this man. He's half way in love with him so he doesn't even think twice before he tells the story about the time he came out to his family and his father nearly beat him to death before sending him here. And the conversation tapers off after that and he doesn’t register the change in the air but when he wakes up the next morning he’s being dishonourably discharged because he poses “unacceptable risk to the high standards of morale, good order and discipline, and unit cohesion that are the essence of military capability”. He knows what that means.

Tommy joins the fire department because he doesn’t know what else to do. He represses anything regarding his sexuality because he knows now that it’s wrong. He almost feels like he has a family again because his captain seems to like him and some of the guys are cool even if they say things he doesn’t agree with. And then he starts agreeing because maybe they’re right and he’s wrong and he’s just inherently wrong. So he follows their leads and is just straight racist because that’s how he can fit in.

And then a black lesbian woman joins and says she’s a black lesbian woman and Tommy doesn’t understand that either because you can’t be queer you just can’t be because it’s wrong.

But he nearly dies and and an Asian man saves his life and a black lesbian woman comes up with a better idea than any of them had and she tells them she’s no different and she is just as capable. So he improves himself he does and he tries to be better but he still can’t be who he is because the last 2 times he was honest about that he was betrayed.

Tommy leaves the 118 and “don’t ask, don’t tell” is lifted and he meets this guy he likes who likes him back and the 217 don’t seem to have a problem with the gender neutral pronouns and he slowly but surely lets himself open up again and be who he is and when the thing with that guy doesn’t work out because he’s moving to New York and Tommy’s not sure he’s ready to leave, it’s okay because his crew is there and they support him and he can still be himself.

[notdysfunk]

TUTORIAL: HOW TO BACKROOMS ????

[seiwas]

HI MY BELOVED ANGEL!!! i am sending u mattsun + campfire as well as kisses n hugs <33

SAINTTT hello 🥺 thank you for sending a prompty!! 🥹 idt i've ever written mattsun fully before so this is something new!

help me get back into the writing groove! send me a character + any word and i'll write a short blurb about it!

contains: exes, stranded-y situation, feelings are complicated, some expletives

mattsun + campfire

"i told you we should've brought the spare—"

"yeah, let me go back in time for a sec and do just that."

"asshole."

lesson #1: nothing good ever happens when you're stuck in a car with your ex on the way to somewhere remote.

you blame iwaizumi for this one. who the fuck chooses to spend their birthday weekend in the fucking wilderness?

(okay, you don't actually think it's so bad. to be fair, he did plan this a year ago. and it did sound like a good idea. then. at the time. anywhere with the boys was always guaranteed fun―at least, until you and matsukawa broke up.)

"can you pass me the flashlight?" he points at the backpack behind you. when you hand it over, your fingers brush over his as he takes it away from you.

and you hate it, because―

lesson #2: you should never be alone with your ex when you still have feelings for them.

you'd agreed to take two cars to the camping spot: iwaizumi's with oikawa and hanamaki and matsukawa's with you. there was no way you'd fit in one, and hanamaki ultimately decided to ride with iwaizumi because, "you and mattsun have shit to sort out," he'd said.

with night setting and the two-hour headstart they managed to get ahead of you, the best thing you and matsukawa can do is to set up camp temporarily and wait for them to come back for you come sunrise.

you sigh.

leaves crack underneath your feet as you maneuver around your camping space. the light from matsukawa's flashlight tells you where he is, just a bit deeper in the forestry as he looks for wood to help set up the fire.

you unload the car in the meantime, bringing out some snacks and sleeping bags while waiting.

matsukawa eventually comes back with arms full of wood, and you help in whatever way you can, clearing the space and fetching more twigs when needed.

the entire car ride here had been quiet, so it's not surprising that this entire process has been equally as silent. until―

"did you already pull out your tent?" he asks, half of his body disappearing into the trunk of the car.

"huh?" you go closer, "i only brought out the sleeping bags."

then he sighs, ducking out from the trunk with a hand on his hip, "we only have one tent."

"what?"

"makki must have gotten yours with his when he decided to move cars."

his hand runs through his hair, a habit you know well. it lights up all sorts of weird feelings in your tummy

you don't know how to feel―

"i can sleep in the car."

―but you know that you definitely don't want him to do that. all things considered, you were friends first. and you've both been trying to be friends again since the breakup. you wouldn't want to cause him discomfort like that.

so, with a deep breath, you say, "it's okay, we can just share."

"are you sure?" he stares at you.

you nod.

after setting up the tent, you eat a few energy bars and clean up from the day's events. the campfire provides ample enough heat, but with how fast the flames are burning, you're doubtful it'll last the two of you the entire night.

it’s much later on, past midnight, that your doubts are proven right when you and matsukawa are cramped together in a tent made for one. it started to get cold a few minutes ago, and you've found yourself inching closer and closer to the warmth you’ve gotten used to laying against for the past two years.

he's only pretending to be asleep, you know that much, too. the rise and fall of his chest is hardly there; you can see it, how he's holding his breath being this close to you.

"issei," you whisper.

he opens his eyes, eyelids lifting lazily as he meets your stare. the vibration of his hum reverberates to you.

"it's cold."

for a moment, your stomach drops at the thought that he could ignore you; how it would make perfect sense for him to. you broke up with him after all, and he doesn't owe you anything, much less favors as intimate as this one.

but he closes the already dwindling gap between you, wrapping an arm around your waist as he pulls you closer. it's near, far too near for exes to be―noses touching and all.

"warmer?" his voice comes out hoarser through the whisper.

you nod, your head shifting up and down—which, truly, is where you ultimately fuck up. you feel it, a little chapped but still pliant against your lips.

in your carelessness, you accidentally brush your lips against his, the sensation alone surprising you enough to inch your head back as you mutter your apologies.

"sorry? really?" he asks, eyes half-lidded still as he chuckles.

his question settles into the small space you're in.

your vision trails from his eyes, down to the slope of his nose, until it lands on his lips again. a little split like you've always known, but still your favorite. still the only lips you want against yours.

when you lean in again, you know you're fucked, because―

lesson #3: the number one rule is that exes shouldn't kiss each other anymore.

[harmonictechnicality]

Memory Log: Day 52

part 1 here | part 2 here | part 3 here | part 5 here | part 6 here (ao3 link here)

After seeing his ink-smeared biography all over Eddie Munson’s arm, Steve becomes extremely motivated. Obsessed, even.

He assembles a makeshift army. Eddie’s Memory Soldiers, he calls it. Okay - he doesn’t call it that out loud, only to himself (because even Steve is self-aware enough to know how deranged this all sounds).

Steve compiles a ragtag group of Eddie’s friends to nudge his brain along faster. Band mates, theater dweebs, potheads that can carry a tune. All of them bring mixtapes on their visits. After two weekends, there’s already a fuckload of thrashy melodies for Eddie to choose from.

He lets them take the reins on this music-healing plan because there’s no fucking way Steve will be helpful in that department. It means less visits that include his presence, which sort of sucks, but it’s worth it. Worth it to get Eddie back to where he used to be.

Before Steve heads out for one of his morning visits, Robin interrogates him. Asks him the question he’s been ignoring for weeks.

“Steve… not to sound harsh, but why do you care so much?” 

Yeah. Why does he care so much? 

She quickly follows it up with, “I just didn’t know you two were friends now. So I’m just curious, I guess.”

They’re not friends. They’re lukewarm tolerators - tethered together by monster hunting and Dustin Henderson.

They’ve flirted, sure. But who doesn’t? Steve would flirt with half of the leggy cartoon characters that appear on Saturday Mornings if he could. So that’s a weak argument to assume they’re more than just friends. Tolerators. Whatever.

So he lies. To Robin. To himself. Lies so much that it sits in his stomach like motion sickness.

He answers the exact same way he’s been answering since day one:

“I’m just doing this for the kids, Robs.”

He’s pretty sure neither of them are buying that statement. He tries again. Stamps the words onto his confused brain. Considers writing them on his arm just like Eddie might do.

“I’m doing it for them.”

Eddie is always on his Walkman (Steve’s Walkman) now that he has skyscraper of cassettes on his desk. Pretty much every time Steve returns, Eddie is head banging. Won’t stop until the nurses scold him.

Or Steve. He’ll stop if Steve scolds him too.

“You can’t keep jostling up your brain, Munson.” Steve whips the headphones off of Eddie’s ears. “Gonna undo all of our hard work.”

“Our hard work?” Eddie attempts to grab the headphones back. Gives up as soon as their hands make contact. “And who might be included in this our that you speak of?”

“You know…” Me. “The doctors and nurses and your friends.”

“Right.”

This is how things have been going lately. Eddie teases him mercilessly and Steve bats it all away. Doesn’t encourage it for a second.

Which blows so hard because he wants to flirt back. Steve wants to know what Eddie feels like beyond tubes and bandages and hospital gowns. He wants way too much after watching Eddie fall asleep smiling that night. After finding out that Eddie scams his own mind into remembering Steve in technicolor details every day.

But it feels wrong. Deep down, there’s this part of Steve that worries that Eddie only likes the scribbled notes, the good qualities of himself. The non-prickster qualities.

He doesn’t scribble the bad qualities on his arm. Eddie lets himself forget about those every night. 

So it seems wrong. Unfair to let Eddie only remember the good parts of him and take advantage of his weak mind.

Life was a fucking breeze before Steve cared about not taking advantage of people. Shit, he used the world’s biggest advantage-taker before all of this evil wizard nonsense.

“Quiz me, Harrington.” Eddie insists.

So Steve does. Steve goes down the list of questions. Things that Eddie’s memory typically hesitates to recognize. 

Music helps Eddie remember his childhood memories the best.

That’s the biggest discovery they’ve made over the last fourteen days. Tapes that include songs from the early to mid 70’s have the biggest mental impact on his memory skills. Every day, he recalls more moments from his past.

Winter birthday parties. Recess and tire swings. Nineteen chickenpox. A pet hamster named Sterling.

“Can’t believe Wayne trusted you with a living creature.” Steve sneers.

“Never said he did.”

He always gets fuzzy with stuff from the late 70s though. And the early 80s is just a jumbled-up shit show. That’s when Eddie really starts failing his quiz.

“What year did you get the tattoo on your chest?”

“You mean this one?” Eddie pulls down the wrinkly hospital gown, exposing way too much of his collarbone. “Or this one?” He pulls the fabric down even further.

They must’ve finally turned the heat on in this place. Or maybe Steve’s sweater is just extra itchy, scratching his skin all splotchy red. He rubs furiously at the collar, spreads the flush all over by accident. 

His eyes dart up to the fluorescent lights. Away from Eddie’s chest. “Um… the… creepy guy.”

“You’ll sprain your neck looking up like that.”

“Good thing I’m in a hospital then.”

“Okay - seriously, what’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Sure.” Eddie snorts. His heart monitor beeps faster. Steve hates that laughing must be a bit painful for him. “And he’s not some creepy guy. He’s a creepy demon. Please respect the body art and get your facts right.”

“Fine.”

Not flirting back makes Steve feel like he could break out into hives. He has a fucking stockpile of pickup lines. He hoards provocative catchphrases like a horny pack rat. Talking is becoming increasingly difficult when he can’t banter back the way he wants to.

“Don’t remember what year I got it.” Eddie admits. “Sorry.”

Steve pulls his focus away from the ceiling and scribbles that down:

Eddie still can’t remember when he got his tattoos.

“Gee mister,” Eddie imitates a very masculine Shirley Temple voice. “Am I failing the pop quiz already?”

Eddie remembers who Shirley Temple is (weird, but okay).

Eddie does a really shitty impression of Shirley Temple.

Steve just keeps writing. Not even writing words anymore, just moving the pen to stay focused. Stay distracted from flirting.

The energy starts to feel swampy and stiff as he continues to give short responses with lifeless enthusiasm. Steve can tell that Eddie is picking up on the weirdness too. 

He’s so fidgety. Drumming his fingers, twisting the one ring he’s allowed to wear on one of his less busted fingers. Bobbing his knees and kicking off his blankets. 

Eventually, Eddie puts his (Steve’s) headphones back on and closes his eyes. A nonverbal surrender. A borrowed Walkman instead of a white flag. Why does it feel so shitty to see that he is just as defeated as Steve?

Once Eddie is asleep, Steve peaks over at his arms.

The notes are still there. Fading, but there.

It shouldn’t jab him in the heart the way that it does every time he checks, but christ. It’s so fucked up.

Slowly but surely, Eddie is gaining pieces of his past, but never his present. Why the fuck is that? Steve is so selfishly pissed about that because he’s a main role in Eddie’s present life. 

He’s the one that’s here most days. He’s the one that listens to Eddie’s rants and incessant complaints. He’s the one that calls the nurses when Eddie is too prideful to admit when he’s in pain.

Steve should be remembered without smudgey reminders and foggy recollections.

Steve should be un-fucking-forgettable.

After an unhealthy amount of moping, he comes up with an idea. Well, Dustin comes up with an idea, actually. Steve bribed him with nougat and R-rated movie rentals to construct a gameplan.

“And you need Eddie to remember your favorite sweater…why?” Dustin’s mouth is full of chewy candy as he asks.

Steve chucks a raisinette at his dumb hat. “I thought we agreed this was a no questions asked request.”

“You suggested that.” Dustin points at Steve. “I never agreed to it though.”

This is the part Steve despises. If he admits it to others, he has to admit it to himself. And while he’s come a long way since that first day with Eddie, he’s not there yet. His pride can only take so much vulnerability before it fractures completely. “Just… I’m testing a theory I have on his newest memories.”

“Right. And what theory would that be?”

That he thinks about me in kissable ways. “That he remembers more than he gives himself credit for.”

Dustin chugs back his soda and scrunches the can in his grasp. “Okay. Well, the mixtape theory is working decently well with older memories, right?

“Yeah. Definitely.”

“So maybe it can work with newer memories too.”

Steve is lost already. “Meaning?”

“Find songs that relate to you.” Dustin shrugs like duh. He must sense Steve’s hesitation, so he sputters back into his brainy explanation. “Think about it: you’re there all the time -”

“Not all the time, but -”

“Shut the hell up. You’re there all the time, so he must remember the essence of Steve Harrington.”

Steve fake gags. “Don’t say essence, that’s fucking gross.”

“Will you stop interrupting? Jesus christ.” Dustin yells, scrunching the soda can even more with his irritation. “Just make a mixtape with stuff that relates to you. Get his current memories to stick with lyrics and shit.”

Steve twists his mouth to one side. Then the other. “That’s…”

“Genius?”

“I was gonna say worth a shot, but sure.” Steve agrees. “We’ll go with your conceited analysis.”

Dustin finally picks up the raisinette from earlier. Throws it back at Steve. “You should be nicer to me. I possibly just solved your dilemma.”

“I should be nicer to you?” Steve tosses the raisinette into his mouth, despite its questionable duration on the floor. “Dude, you’re never nice to me.”

“Yeah, but it’s affectionate hostility.”

“And that makes it better?”

“Basically, yeah.”

“Fine.” Steve rolls eyes, offers a hand to Dustin. “Thank you for the hostile affection.”

Dustin accepts the handshake. He’s overly smug about it too. “You’re very welcome.”

Memory Log: Day 53

Right away, Steve determines it’s a Kathy Day. Eddie is a verbal nightmare already, whining about the dead batteries in his tv remote.

“I’ll get Sam to grab some batteries when her shift starts.” Steve reassures the bitchy entity possessing Eddie Munson’s body at the moment.

“Why don’t you just get the damn batteries?” Eddie bites back. “You have legs, don’t you?”

“You have eyes, don’t you? Of course, I have fucking legs.” Steve can play it this game. Doesn’t want to but he can be just as obnoxious if Eddie keeps going with his attitude. “Please don’t pull this Kathy shit today.”

That simultaneously shuts them both up for a while. Steve begins flipping through one of the outdated magazines on Eddie’s desk, avoiding the escalated atmosphere. At this rate, there’s no fucking way Steve is going to bring up his mixtape. Kathy/Eddie will probably smash it. Roll over it with the wheels on his imprisoning hospital bed.

Eddie clears his throat, speaking softer than he did at Steve’s arrival. “You know… you were sort of a Kathy yourself yesterday.”

Eddie remembers Steve’s weird mood from the day before (needs to check Eddie’s arm notes to make sure he didn’t write that down).

“Yeah well… I’m allowed to be the pissy one sometimes.” Steve doesn’t look up. He just keeps pretending to read the fossilized magazine in his hand.

“Whatever you say, Harrington.” There’s another pause. Just as awkward as the last one. Their dynamics today are clashing harder than their music styles. Eddie breaks through the awkwardness once again. “So… what’s on the brain agenda today?”

Eddie remembers their pop quizzes.

Right. The quiz. The quiz that Steve has no intention of administering today because he’s supposed to give Eddie this stupid mixtape. 

And look, Steve is pretty good at avoiding shit - homework and phone calls and extended family members. He’s good at dodging shit too, like the relentless one-night stands that can never seem to take a goddamn hint.

But this situation is different because Steve would clearly like to avoid the potential weirdness of giving Eddie Munson a gift. However, he’s innately aware that this particular gift could be helpful. Maybe more to himself than to Eddie, but who knows? If Eddie gets his memory tank back on track and Steve gets someone that reciprocates his affections? 

The payoff might be worth the weirdness.

“I actually wanted to contribute to your…” Steve gestures apathetically at the stack of tapes.

Eddie looks over at them and then back to Steve. “Oh you mean, Munsonopolis?”

“Boooo.” Steve heckles him immediately for that.

“You think of something better then.”

Steve thinks about this way too hard. “The Ed-pire State Building.”

“Boooo.” Eddie imitates Steve’s heckling.

“Better than yours.”

“Says who?”

“Says anyone with a sense of humor.”

“Brave of you to call that a sense of humor.”

“What can I say?” Steve clicks his mouth twice and does the most douchey finger-gun bit, blowing out the nonexistent smoke from each index finger. “I’m something else.”

Eddie bites down over his lip, hard enough that it goes white for a second. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Steve while he bares down.

“You sure are, Steve.”

Oh shit - did they just mindlessly segue onto Flirtation Boulevard without even trying? Is it really that natural with Eddie? Damnit, Steve needs to get his mind on the task at hand.

“Here.” He walks over, lays the tape on Eddie’s lap.

“Is this another one from Gareth?” Eddie flips the tape over, studies the back. “Cause I already assured him that I remember the concert we went to back in ‘84.”

Eddie remembers one of his closest friends.

“No, this one is actually…” Just fucking own up, Steve. “Well, I made it.”

Eddie’s eyes do that sequin thing again. Almost turn into disco balls. “You made me a mixtape?”

Ugh. “Don’t get too flattered, Munson.” 

“Too late.”

Steve was afraid that might be the case. So he does his damndest to channel Dustin Henderson. Provide a scientific explanation to his crush-driven theory. “It’s just an extension of our little music experiment. Some stuff that will help you remember me.”

“And why exactly do you want me to remember you?” Eddie does the same lip biting thing from before. He bites harder, and the color stays white even longer this time.

Steve involuntarily glances down at Eddie’s arm, giving himself away.

“Oh.” Eddie stops biting his lip, swiftly lifts the blankets over his arms. Hiding what Steve already knows is there. “Look… that’s just -”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, really.”

Eddie looks down, nodding in agreement. “Right. But it’s not-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a firm hand on Eddie’s shoulder because he can’t. He can’t listen to whatever Eddie is about to confirm or deny. “It’s okay. I mean it.”

He’s not ready for it, for whatever barricade that’s between them to come crashing down. Steve didn’t bring the proper tools to shield himself from raw emotions or desperate declarations of true feelings. And from the way Eddie goes breathless and tense under Steve’s shoulder-grip, he doesn’t think Eddie has the proper tools for that either.

“So you uh…” Eddie peers down at Steve’s hand. Catches a glimpse then abruptly looks away again. “Do you want me to listen now or…”

God no. Steve releases his grip at that thought. “Wait till I leave.” 

“Got it.”

The rest of the visit goes both fairly smoothly. There are only a few lingering particles of awkward tension left behind. It doesn’t bother Steve, not necessarily. The whole day has been kind of all over the place, just like Eddie’s Literary Behavioral Scale. So this uneasy atmosphere is to be expected.

They talk about movies while Steve packs up his things to leave. Eddie asks about all the new movies that have come out since he’s been in the hospital. Steve tells him to make a list of the ones he’s interested in seeing. Tells him that they’ll have a marathon at his place once they’re released to vhs. Eddie says he knows a guy that sells bootlegs before the vhs release date, but Steve shoots that idea down so fucking fast.

It’s not their usual banter, but that’s okay. At least they're talking. Getting along. Tolerating one another at a lukewarm temperature again.

“Steve?”

“Yeah?” Steve is met with the most anxiety-ridden face. Eddie’s whole forehead is covered in wrinkles, like that one fancy dog breed that his next-door neighbor used to have. There’s no shimmer in Eddie’s eyes, no disco balls. It’s all just dull. Fearful.

“Sorry if the arm thing made you...” Eddie trips over his words. He pinches the skin between his eyes, makes his even more forehead wrinkles. “I don’t know what’s the word I’m looking for.. Uncomfortable, I guess.”

“Don’t worry. It didn’t.” It made Steve a lot of other things: gutted, determined, confused, sulky, smitten. But no. Worried did not make Steve’s grocery list of Feelings.

“Don’t forget to tell Sam about the batteries on your way out.”

Eddie remembers bitching about the batteries.

Yeah, Steve’s memory isn’t the faulty one here. Even so, Steve reassures him:

“I won’t forget, Eds.”

Day 56:

Wayne had a couple days off from work and took over Steve’s Wednesday and Thursday shifts in the hospital. It’s probably for the best - especially since Steve decided to do the most high school shit ever, and gift Eddie a fucking bouquet in the form of radio hits and plastic.

He’s breaking out from the stress, just marinating on what Eddie’s thoughts might be of the mixtape. It can’t be good. None of the songs are his typical riffs of eternal damnation or whatever. But it certainly sounds like Steve Harrington in a Speaker. So it better help him picture Steve dressed in the tackiest, most burnable sweaters imaginable, goddamnit.

But like, why is he breaking out from thinking about Eddie Munson? Absurd. All of it. The feelings and the acne. His weird little crush is making him regress into adolescent woes and it’s pissing him off.

After popping the zit and crossing his fingers that it’s not outrageously noticeable, Steve sucks in a deep breath, and heads into Eddie’s hospital room.

“There’s my favorite Material Girl.” Eddie lowers the headphones, smiles bonus-level wide.

Steve’s gulps. His face feels like a fucking toaster. “I take it you listened to the tape?”

“I didn’t just listen to the tape.” Eddie picks up the Walkman and smacks it against the side of his head. “I practically absorbed that bubblegum bullshit. Think some of it is still stuck in my teeth.”

Steve plays along, hoping that his face will return to its usual complexion. “You should see a dentist about that.”

“With what insurance?”

“That’s fair.” Steve slides his hands into his jean pockets. He’s so rigid. “So?”

“So?”

“Final conclusion?”

“Oh, I hated it.” Eddie says bluntly. “In a very stick-that-syringe-in-my-neck kind of way.”

“Shocker.” Steve actually expected a meaner response than that.

“Why did you put so many songs on there that use Girl in the title?”

“Hey - it’s not my fault that all of the rich poster child songs are about women.” Steve gets defensive about that one. Honestly, it’s true. There needs to be more music about wealthy guys with genetically flawless hair. Somebody needs to get on that shit so Steve can have more songs that apply to him.

“Whatever you say, man.” 

“So did it…” Steve is still standing. Hovering a bit. “Did it help?”

Eddie sticks out both of his arms, flipping to reveal his forearms to Steve.

They’re blank, besides the usual tattoos and contusions. They’re as blank as Eddie’s arms can be at the moment. No more Steve Cheat Sheet to be found.

Steve exhales all of his relief. “And you remember me?”

“Remembering you was never the problem, Steve.”

“It wasn’t?”

Eddie shakes his head. “But if I ever allowed myself to forget, I…” He taps rapidly over the Walkman. Steve’s Walkman. “I just didn’t wanna risk starting over.”

“Oh.”

“With you.”

The metaphorical arrow, the one Steve has alway seen on department store Valentines Day cards, goes straight through his chest. Eddie aims the words with you directly for Steve’s heart. Punctures that wall he built up after Nancy Wheeler.

The monitor connected to Eddie is beeping faster again. It’s not like that day Eddie was writhing in pain. No, it’s a different tempo.

It sounds like his nerves are conducting the pattern. He’s nervous. Steve is making him nervous.

Or Steve’s lack of response is making him nervous.

But how does Steve respond? Is this Eddie giving him permission to flirt back again? To keep driving down the detour of attraction, take the scenic route?

Eddie’s heart monitor is screaming, ‘say something, Steve.’

But Steve’s archive of failed relationships is screaming, back, ‘don’t fuck this up, dickhead.’

Steve tries to meet the two in the middle. Say something inviting yet keep it simple.

“So… do you wanna make fun of the shitty soap operas together?” 

Steve puts a little emphasis on the together part, hoping it’ll tame the monitor. Make the tones evenly paced. He lets his hand tap once against Eddie’s arm. Right over his newly blank wrist. So clean. No more scribbles.

“I don’t know, I’ll have to check my schedule.” Eddie teases with his words, sure. But his hand lifts up. Tapping Steve back. Twice. “I’m a very busy man, you see.”

Steve shoves him away, laughing as he does it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You’re not wrong.”

His monitor is ballad again.

One of Eddie’s (many) doctors walks into the room during their third hour of mocking the Home Shopping Network. Eddie has developed an elaborate backstory that they’re all cyborgs who are taking civilian money to grow their army of killer robots. Steve is surprisingly on board with this theory after the second hour. Some red headed lady twitches her eyes way too much to be human.

The doctor runs a few tests, looks over Eddie’s chart, the typical procedure. However, at the end of the visit, he decides to put Eddie on a new medication for his headaches. 

Headaches…

Steve flips back to that first day he started visiting Eddie. Finds the note he passive-aggressively took back then:

Eddie has a headache (that’s not a memory thing - he’s just told Steve a thousand times now).

He fans through the other pages as well. At least two-thirds of them mention Eddie complaining about headaches. How did Steve miss this? How could he be so stupid? He was too busy fantasizing about Eddie’s chest tattoos and making shitty mixtapes, that he glossed over something so significant.

Dustin wouldn’t have missed this. Robin wouldn’t have missed this. Nancy definitely wouldn’t have missed this - hell, she would’ve already cracked the Case of the Missing Memories by now. 

Steve is the wrong man for this job. Not enough brainpower to fix a broken brain.

“Uh oh.” Eddie says. “Where you’d go, Harrington?”

Steve glances up to see Eddie pointing his finger at Steve’s head. “Just.. thinking.”

“Share with the class, please.”

Steve struggles to make his voice sound causal about this. “I should’ve known about the headaches. Paid better attention.”

“Are you joking?” Eddie asks. “Because if you are, we need to work on your delivery.”

“Not joking, no.”

Eddie’s tone is mildly annoyed, still gentle though. “Stevie… that guy gets paid a shitload of money to figure out my problems. Truly - the reason there’s no pot of gold at the end of the rainbow is because it’s going straight into that guy’s pocket.”

Steve snorts. It’s even funnier to visualize because the doctor is kind of short.

“What I’m saying is, it’s his job to have a big brain.” Eddie’s eye contact is sharp. Broken bottle to his neck sharp. “And your job is to be my eye candy. Sit there and look cute while I try to not hack up my dinner.”

Steve’s hearing went crackly at all of the compliments. “Eye candy, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

Steve no longer has an excuse not to flirt back. Eddie has his mixtape; his arms are bare. He’s obviously encouraging it, even with the knowledge that Steve is a spoiled brat. He likes Steve, not just the good stuff. Eddie is still willing to pursue this even with Steve’s bad qualities.

So fuck it. Steve is gonna delve into his stockpile of pickup lines. He’s gonna rummage around his hoard of provocative catchprashes. Be the horny pack rat that he was born to be.

“Is the sitting part of my job description mandatory?” Steve leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“Oh, I’m very lenient on that detail.” Eddie’s voice drops lower. “The cute part… not so much.”

“So you’re only keeping me around for what? My great hair? My symmetrical bone structure? My biceps, maybe?”

“Definitely not your humility, that’s for damn sure.”

They share a smile as Steve gets up, inches closer to Eddie’s bed. He reaches out and pinches the sleeve of Eddie’s hospital gown between his fingers. He cautiously rubs it over a few times, waiting to see Eddie’s reaction to this droplet of affection.

Eddie catches Steve’s wrist with his other hand. Mirrors the rubbing motion Steve set in place with the material.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Steve nudges Eddie lightly. “Is this okay?”

And before he can even get a response back, Eddie’s face starts turning grayish-green. 

This happens. Eddie throws up biweekly, so it’s not a big deal at all. It’s just that Steve is usually not laying on the moves when Eddie is about to blow chunks. Honestly, it knocks Steve’s astronomical ego down a few notches.

He probably deserves it.

Eddie is really sick. He pukes three more times, and he starts running a fever after the second time. He’s all clammy and curled into a pillow, clutching it with shaky fingers.

It’s all side effects from the new medication apparently. Yeah, Eddie’s head is no longer splitting open, but his body is rejecting all of the cardboard hospital food.

Steve keeps an eye on him, not that he can do much about it. He gets a styrofoam cup of ice chips so Eddie can chew on it whenever his temperature spikes. He wipes the sweat off Eddie’s temples because one - it’s a nice gesture, and two - it gives him an excuse to be nearby.

The shivering is driving Steve crazy though. He’s so on edge just watching Eddie like this. Eddie keeps making jokes like ‘at least I’ll remember your stupid worried face in the morning’ or ‘damn, my past better be worth all of this.’ And Steve will chuckle halfheartedly each time.

The heart monitor is all jumpy now. Even, uneven, even, uneven. If Steve focuses on it for too long, it starts to sound like he’s driving by a highway collision. A pileup of beeps and tones.

He gets another cup of cafeteria coffee. Hopes the bitterness and chalky creamer will be enough to muffle his hearing. Steer his mind to an empty exit lane.

“What? No coffee for me?” Eddie is under an extra blanket now.

Steve scoots his chair even closer to Eddie’s bedside. “What’s the point? You’d just puke it all up.” He’s pretty lousy at supportive words, isn’t he?

“Aren’t visiting hours almost over?”

“You trying to get rid of me, Munson?”

“Never. Just figured you needed to catch the bus or whatever.”

Eddie remembers Steve taking the bus.

“Robin finally gave me my car back.” Steve conveniently leaves out how he demanded  for it to be returned to him. “So, I’ll stay until they kick me out… if that’s cool with you.”

He places his non-coffee holding hand over top of Eddie’s open palm. It’s sort of instinctual. Doesn’t give his mind a moment to wonder if this is crossing a line. 

Holding hands in a hospital doesn’t mean romance. It never has. People do it all time, no one bats an eye at them either. It’s just a gesture of helpless support. It’s what people do to signify, ‘I can’t heal you with medicine, but I can warm your under-circulated skin just a little.’

But when Eddie’s fingers curl around his own, Steve’s stomach swells like its romance. It swells with hot air, helium maybe. It swells and stays swollen. Stays thermal and full.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to pay my eye candy overtime.” Eddie’s face rushes all pinkish-red. Almost as if he’s trying to combat his blush with humor, but it’s not working. He’s all the colors now. And with or without them, he’s attractive.

“You don’t pay me at all.”

“You got me there.” Eddie shakes a frizzy curl in front of his cheek. A poor effort to hide his flushed face. “I’m a terrible employer.”

Steve traces the grooves of Eddie’s palm lines. Pretends that they form a railroad track. “The worst.”

Once his fever finally breaks, Eddie falls asleep. His body unfolds, his fingers uncurl. It’s a heavy sleep, one that makes him all languid and soft. Any traces of bones are questionable now.

And even though Steve is about to pass out from exhaustion, he doesn’t move his hand from Eddie’s. He’d rather give up his whole arm than move it.

Sam peaks in just before Steve nods off. She lets in the bright hallway light, not too much though. Not enough to wake Eddie. Honestly, not a lot of things wake Eddie up these days.

“Sorry.” Steve yawns. “I overstayed my welcome.”

She shrugs, checks the fluids in one of Eddie’s IV bags. “You know, you can stay the night, if you’d like.”

“Really?”

“It’s pretty late… you shouldn’t be driving on the highway at this time of night.”

“Won’t I…” Steve reworks the phrase. Tries to be less selfish about it. “Won’t you get in trouble for letting me stay?”

“Oh no.” She winks. “Because I never saw you here.”

Steve smirks. “Got it.”

“But if I did see you here,” She gestures her head to the door on her right. “I would tell you there’s extra pillows in the linen closet over there.”

Sam deserves a fucking raise. Steve would become a goddamn patron of this hospital just to give her more money. Let the godsend of a woman retire early for christ’s sake.

“Thanks, Sam.” Steve whispers.

“Thank you for keeping him company.” She whispers back. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.”

Steve doesn’t know if that’s true, if Eddie is lucky to have him, but he nods anyway. Gives a gentle wave as Sam heads back out of the room.

He sets the pillow next to Eddie’s leg, keeping their hands connected as he dozes off. Steve falls asleep the same way he used to fall asleep in class. All bent over in his chair, one cheek flattened out on the desk. It’s very reminiscent of that.

Only better because he’s with the guy that makes his chest swell, even when he’s being sarcastic or melodramatic. Even when he’s cobwebbed himself into a maze of cords. Even when he’s bitching about batteries and Steve’s vomit-inducing fashion sense.

Steve thinks maybe he likes the undesirable traits of Eddie Munson just as much as the desirable ones.

And once he’s knocked out entirely, the rhythm of his heart matches the beeping monitor hooked up to Eddie’s chest.

Day 57:

It’s been a long time since Steve has had a decent dream. And this dream he’s in right now? It’s fucking luxurious.

He’s at the hair salon, because of course he is - it’s his home away from home. 

His head is reclining back in that giant sink thing. The one that’s like a soup bowl for hair or whatever. The stylist is shampooing his scalp, scrubbing all of those foamy products into his roots. This is Steve’s favorite part of getting his hair done, he always feels blissed out of his mind afterward.

They keep washing it for the whole dream, digging their nails into his head, dunking water over his hair every so often. It’s downright perfection. A dream he could stay stuck in forever. 

The scenery of the dream flickers out, but the sensations linger as he gains consciousness. His squints both of his eyes open, immediately greeted by too much brightness, too much sunlight. Steve shuts them again, soaking up the remnants of his dream. The hair scratching that’s ongoing even though he’s awake.

Awake.

Steve is awake and can still feel all of that salon paradise. His brain finally wakes up enough to realize it isn’t a dream. It’s Eddie’s hands in his hair, combing it thoroughly.

Fuck, it feels so good too. Steve wonders if Eddie is aware of what he’s doing or if he’s also in that suspended place between awake and asleep.

It doesn’t matter, not really. It all feels way too incredible to care about the logistics. Steve nuzzles deeper into the pillow to hide the happy little hums that keep escaping through his mouth. 

Eddie doesn’t stop. He keeps moving his hand around. Twirling strands and releasing them. Ruffling strands and smoothing them. Massaging the pads of his fingers in all the right places. Every bit of it is dreamy. Better than the dream Steve initially believed to be unbeatable.

Being Eddie’s own personal petting zoo is way better. Miles, light years better. Is there any form of measurement longer than lightyears? Because it’s bigger and better than that too.

Eddie tugs a little harder, just once, but once is all it takes to make Steve melt. He open-mouth sighs into the pillow, hoping the fabric mutes the neediness of it. There’s drool on the pillow and it’s unclear if it’s from when he was asleep or if it occurred just from that one hair tug. 

“Steve?” Eddie’s voice still sounds coated in sleep. “Is this weird?”

Steve shakes his head no, still unable to lift his face from the pillow.

“Should I stop?”

Steve shakes his head much faster. Absolutely not. Stopping should be banished from Eddie’s vocabulary. The word ‘stop’ should be homeless as far as Steve is concerned.

Eddie tugs again, more firmly this time. The tug goes straight to Steve’s dick, which yikes. Humiliating. Yeah, it’s morning and this shit happens, but not this kind of boner. Not one brought on by hair salon fantasies and a metalhead with magical fingertips. This can’t be the reality of Steve’s life right now but somehow, it is.

“I think I combed through all of that cake-up hairspray.” Eddie talks as his hand continues to roam around Steve’s scalp. “Feels like cashmere now, so you’re welcome.”

Steve sighs again, pretty sure it’s much more audible this time because Eddie laughs.

“Embarrassing.” Steve mumbles. That’s all he can muster out without becoming a puddle of humiliation.

“The sounds you’re making?”

Steve nods.

“Oh that is not the adjective I would’ve gone with.” Eddie claws his fingers all the way down to Steve’s neck. “Not even close.”

Steve is all hormones now, all slurred speech and thoughtless words. “So good, Eddie.”

“Oh my god.” Eddie whines, sounds breathier than Steve. “You cannot say my name like that when I’m in a tissue-thin gown.”

Steve wants to sneak a peek, see if what Eddie is suggesting holds any truth. He resists, only because he’s trying to sort out his own tent-pitching problems at the moment.

He gradually lifts his head off of the pillow, back cracking as he straightens his spine out after hours of being shaped like fucking tetris piece. It’s the last thing he wants to do because it means Eddie has to take his hand out of Steve’s hair. But as Eddie pulls away, his knuckles brush against Steve’s ear, awakening this newfound urgency to not let this moment fizzle out.

Steve hops up onto the bed, sitting side-saddle next to Eddie. He looks through Eddie’s eyes, the ones that remind him of shimmery dresses and the backseat of his car on prom night. He looks through to find a reason to stop his actions. Stop his need to touch Eddie’s jawline or thumb over his lips. He’s searching for a reason to stop and finding none whatsoever.

“Do you remember me?”

“You’re Steve Harrington.” Eddie kind of stutters as he says it. “Hometown Slut extraordinaire.”

The nerdy bastard is never going to let that one go.

Steve gives a quiet laugh, leaning in to his impulses. He slides his thumb over Eddie’s bottom lip, curving around, mapping invisible outlines. A blueprint for his imagination when they’re apart later. “Am I reading this wrong?”

Eddie’s gaze is glued to Steve’s lips as he shakes his head no.

“Good.”

Steve uses his free hand to lift himself up, get closer. Breathing in the same stale oxygen, sucking up the same early morning courage, existing in the same dizzying climate.

He can feel Eddie exhale softly over his skin when there’s a knock at the door.

Steve has never stood up so fast in his damn life. Gets a head rush that’s so overwhelming that his vision speckles out momentarily. 

It’s Sam. Thank god it’s only Sam. But also, screw god for interrupting what almost happened just now. Not cool, sky man.

“Just a heads up,” she starts, shutting the door behind her. “You have another visitor that just arrived.”

Right. It's the weekend.

Steve and Eddie say it in unison. “Dustin.”

Sam hums in reply. “I can stall him for a couple minutes. Give you time to sneak out the stairs that are tucked in the back hallway.”

“You’re the best.” Steve says. “I’ll be quick.”

She leaves, cracking the door on her way out.

Both of them just look at each other for a moment. There’s no time to even discuss the events that just took place. No time to recover the kiss that is already sneaking out the back hallway stairs.

Steve nervously whistles. “So…”

“I’ll see you Monday?”

“Monday.” 48 hours apart seems insane. “Yeah.”

Steve hurriedly makes his way to the door - refusing his horny impulses the opportunity to kick back in and ruin everything. “See you later, Eds.”

Eddie licks over his bottom lip - the one Steve mapped out with his thumbprint. “Later, sailor.”

Um. What?

Steve’s eyes go large. “What did you just call me?”

“Go.” Eddie flashes the wickedest grin. “We’ll talk all about your ocean of flavor on Monday.”

This can’t be happening. “Ocean of -”

“Get out of here already!”

Steve flings himself out of the room, sprinting down the hall. Does Eddie actually recall Steve working at Starcourt? How can that be possible? Steve doesn’t remember seeing Eddie outside of school ever. 

Plus, they’ve never even talked about his job at Scoops Ahoy. Family Video? Sure, that’s more recent. But Scoops? Steve tries to forget just about everything from his time at that seaside shithole.

Goddamnit, this is confusing. The hair foreplay. The almost-kiss. The nautical nickname. Confusing is an understatement. Steve needs to go back to high school and learn a better word for what this is. Confusing isn’t cutting it anymore.

If Steve can make it till Monday without spiraling into a bucket of nerves, he deserves a fucking trophy.

And a kiss on the lips.

Mostly the second option (although a trophy would be nice too). 

[vero-valzer]

I have emotions! It’s not all abraca-fuck-you and what have you. I have a beating heart! I’m multi-dimensional! I’m a fully-realized creation! FUCK!

@vero-valzer as Taako the Wizard from The Adventure Zone

Realized Tumblr and its smol but rad and dedicated TAZ Fandom might be the right place to share my Taako cosplay that I'm proud of and really enjoy wearing. 🌂✨️💖

These pics span multiple years and multiple outings, featuring a few different iterations on this cosplay at this point—from conventions to Ren Faires.

It has filled my heart with glee every time I heard someone gasp and go, "Is that Taako? From T.V.?!" which gave me the opportunity to spin around and say, "Why, yeeeeeees~! ✨️" in my best Taako impression or give a tip-o'-the-hat and wave and get to see people's eyes light up and smiles spread across their faces. 💖

[ryuki-draws]

Still on the Witch from Mercury roll and then the ending of Evangelion 3.0 + 1.0 happened to me, so here's birthday boy in the epilogue, living the best life on Earth.

[guppygiggles]

If you're sad right now, this is for you, too. 💙

🔞 No minor interaction, please. 🔞

[9ofspades]

It’s disability pride month, and if you are disabled in the U.S. from Long Covid I want you to know that you’re not alone, and you’re valid in whatever you feel. Whether that’s sorrow at your new problems or rage at society for failing you, you are valid, and it is truly messed up that society is continuing to fail you.

[front-facing-pokemon]