POV: it's the end of 2019, the pandemic hasn't happened yet, unus annus is still around and relatively new, there's not a single thought in your mind about the channel actually being deleted, you're getting ready to watch the new video because it's almost time for the daily upload. It hits 12pm PST and you're refreshing the page until finally the video has been posted. You click play and laugh for the next 10 minutes. All is peaceful.
itâs comforting knowing anything can happen in season 5 and the steddie fandom will remain the same lol like half the ship is canonically dead and we continue to vibe no matter what
i asked y'all to tell me your most re-read fics and once again got tupperware avalanche.gif-ed, so. for your viewing pleasure, please find below the cut in alphabetical order because i will apparently not being doing any actual work at work today the full rec list thus far:
a special privilege for the resurrected by theopteryx
E | 56k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Among the Wildflowers by ParadimeShifts (@paradimeshifts7)
E | 28k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
baby what's your blood type? (is it mine?) by cheatghost
T | 5k | recced by @steddie-island
bear hugs by steddieas_shegoes (@steddieas-shegoes)
E | 41k WIP | recced by @thefreakandthehair
butter, sugar, and northern mockingbirds. by througheden (@thefreakandthehair)
E | 17k | recced by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation
call me sunshine, send me to space by steddieas_shegoes (@steddieas-shegoes)
E | 90k | recced by @mugloversonly
carve your name into my chest by hexiewrites (@hexiewrites)
E | 43k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Critical Hit by AidaRonan (@aidaronan)
E | 7k | recced by @steddie-island
Cut and Changed and Rearranged by AidaRonan (@aidaronan)
T | 11k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Date me instead by Zhuletta
E | 44k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Dustin Henderson and the Lovebirds by pukner (@pukner)
G | 10k | recced by @steddie-island
i come back to the place you are by pizzabones
E | 212k | recced by @mugloversonly
i don't know, you figure it out by wynnyfryd
E | 61k WIP | recced by @steddie-island
i've been having a horrible time pulling myself together by deadratz (@munsonkitten)
E | 75k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Keep it Steady, Eddie by outofmygourd
E | 105k | recced by @mugloversonly
laughing at the broken glass by mustlovesteve (@mustlovesteve)
M | 151k | recced by @bumblebeecuttlefishes
No Fairy Tale Ever Started This Way by ElliottRook
E | 7k | recced by @steddie-island
Pas de Deux by Malikat22 (@malikat24601)
E | 90k | recced by @br0ck-eddie
relax (lay it back) by wynnyfryd and Gorgeousgreymatter (@gorgeousgreymatter-x) and podfic by flintandfuss (@flintandfuss)
E | 12k | recced by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation
Saltwater Prayer by Asgardian_Pirate
E | 54k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Sanctuary by SpicedSage
E | 47k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) by steddieasitgoes (@steddieasitgoes)
M | 61k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey by pricklywhicket (@messessentialist)
E | 14k | recced by @steddie-island
Someone who cares by Just_my_latest_hyperfixation (@just-my-latest-hyperfixation)
E | 84k | recced by @mugloversonly
start by pulling him out of the fire by pricklywhicket (@messessentialist)
E | 85k | recced by @steddieas-shegoes
The Shire is NOT on Fire by kissesforcas (@kissesforcas)
E | 54k | recced by @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe
Tuesday's Gone With the Wind by thisapplepielife (@thisapplepielife)
E | 184k | recced by @wormdebut
wouldn't it be nice (if we could wake up) by kissesforcas (@kissesforcas)
E | 130k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Your Biggest Fan by LexiRoseWrites (@lexirosewrites)
E | 47k | recced by @mugloversonly
Eddie Munson grew up poor. He learned not to be wasteful. To cut the mold from the edge of the cheese. To freeze the leftovers. Habits like that stick with you, even after you become a vampire-like being. So when the fight is over and Steve is covered in blood, not a single drop will be wasted
Rating: General
CW: Brief mention of Covid-19 (as this is set in 2021)
Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Future Fic, Set in 2021, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Older Steddie, Domestic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Teacher Steve Harrington, The Intimacy in a Bowl of Soup, Emotional Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Soft Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington
Thought about finishing up the fourth chapter of my merman Steve fic. And then I got sidetracked, so here's this. Also, I don't know where they live or what Eddie does for work (maybe mechanic, if you feel so inclined to imagine him that way). Pick your flavor <3
đ„Łâââââđ„Ł
At the end of the day, Steve realizes itâs not the horror heâs experienced that will linger. Sure, they persist and he is frightened and he shakes sweating from it all. But when he comes home, exhausted to his core and sluggish to the soles of his feet, itâll never be the agony he finds in his kitchen. Itâs the warmth.
The sweet musk of vanilla bourbon candles bought from the home aisle of the neighborhood Walmart. A singular orange bulb in a second-hand floor lamp, tucked cozy by the couch, in the corner between the back door and the right armrest. Bookshelves of knick knacks and framed photos from 2003âwhen he finally tried the college route and graduated. The sprawl of mini-figure painting equipment on the coffee table: half-open paint jars that he closes up tight, still drying clean paint brushes, paper towels and yellowed newspaper, and magnifying goggles.
Itâs to music. Soft crooning through theânow considered ancientârecord player from 1988. Sometimes Jim Croce. Sometimes John Prine. Sometimes the goddess, Dolly Parton. Something familiar and nearly worn out from playing the records over and over and over. Tonight, itâs Jim. Itâs coming back to the floating husking rasp of Eddie Munsonâs fifty-five year old voice, not all that great but always sweet from by the stovetop.
To where Steve migrates, shoeless and briefcase free and his teacherâs badge hung up. Where soup simmers on the low heatâsmelling of paprika and roasted carrots and chicken bouillon. The oven heating up a loaf of French bread, basted in garlic butter, sprinkled with shredded mozzarella cheese. Where Eddie stands, stirring and singingâhis now silver hair pulled up into a bun, dressed down in a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants, and his scruff not shavedâhe mustâve had a lazy day. Steve wraps his arms around Eddieâs waist, his body warm and his tummy a little pudgier. Eddie hums, reaching down with a free hand to cover the back of Steveâs, squeezing. And Steveâll never be used to their wedding rings clinking together.
âLong day?â Eddie murmurs low.
Steve grunts. Digs his chin into Eddieâs left shoulder. His glasses going crooked from the angle. Peers down at the bubbling pot of dinner. âKids kept threatening to take their masks off. Nearly started a coughing fight,â he answers at the same volume. He sighs, long and genuine. âTheyâve officially turned Covid-19 into classroom warfare. Whatever happened to spitballs and globs of food?â
Eddie chuckles deep in his chest. âDonât give âem ideas, Stevie.â He smiles softly down at his cooking, dimples deep and smile lines deeper. Steve kisses under his left ear just because. Because he can. Because this is what the world is when it doesnât end, thank god. The soup is stirred slowly for a few more beats. He scoops up a spoonful in their beat up ladle. Itâs got a few char scars from when they first learned to cook meals for one anotherâSteve believes itâs from the time he forgot to turn off the stovetop when making macaroni and cheese. Lesson learned.
âHere, taste this for me, baby?â Eddie gently requests, holding the ladle to Steveâs face over his shoulder. Hand cupping the underside. Face turned slightly to try and make eye contact, heâll give himself a knot if he does it too long. Steve knows, having given many massages over the last decade.
He leans forward slightly, accepting the soup as Eddie tilts the ladle. Makes an obnoxious slurp that Eddie snorts at. Smacks his lips and hums. âOoo, thatâs good,â Steve mutters close to Eddieâs ear. âGot a little kick to it. You put a little bit of that new chili oil?â
âMm and chili flakes,â Eddie hums. âThought it would pair nicely. Remember that chicken I began marinating last night?â
âThe chicken you told me I couldnât make for my lunch today?â
Eddie rolls his eyes, turning back to the soup pot, shutting the burner off. âI told you not to take it all,â he points out with pleasant tease. âBecause youâll do that if I donât stop you. And then you come home and complain that your stomach hurts because you ate too much. And then I have to put you on bed rest for the night.â
âIâm not that badââ
âAnyway,â Eddie cuts in. âI marinated it in this ginger, coconut sauce that I saw a few nights ago on uhâŠWhatâs that app that Robinâs always sending videos from?â
âTheâŠThe TickTick app?â Steve guesses.
Eddie snaps his fingers together. âYeah! That app!â He exclaims softly. (Theyâll learn later itâs definitely not that, but it doesnât matter.) He shrugs Steve off to grab the bread from the oven. Steve just moves around to their bar countertop, not a complaint on his tongue. Eddie continues, âI also added a little bit of coconut milk to the base broth. So, hopefully, thisâll be good. With the leftovers, I was thinking you could make your cauliflower rice for lunch and put the soup on top? Only if itâs good, though. If this sucks, Iâll pay for pizza tonight.â
Steve laughs from his belly. âIf you do, make sure to get the gluten free crust. Stupid stomach has been acting up again,â he says softly.
Standing up, Eddie hisses. âYouâre lucky that the bakery section at the grocery store only had gluten free baguettes then,â he teases gently once more. He sets the finished bread on the countertop, grabs the bottle of chili oil from by the pot of soup, and drizzles it lightly overtop the cheesy, garlic goodness. When he finally dishes up their dinner, he settles next to Steve at the counter. Bowls and small plates of bread in front of them. Glasses of crappy Barefoot red wine, because this is what they can affordâand it doesn't really suck, not when it's served thoughtfully like it is tonight.
âThank you, baby,â Steve murmurs. He leans in close to Eddieâs side, presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, and then promptly digs in.
And itâs good. Everythingâs so good. Jim Croce is singing about time in a bottle. The soup is warm and fresh and homemade. Every light is a careful amber. Heâs tired and happy andâŠcomplete.
Eddieâs got soup in the scruff under his lip. But Steve doesnât say anything. Just admires the fine wrinkles and lines to his face, where theyâve begun to really deepen. Admires how his eyes are just as big and soft and expressive as they were thirty-five years ago after Vecna. Where his body is soft. His endearingly white hair.
How heâs alive.
âHey, Eds?â
Immediately, Eddie looks onto him. Eyes wide with trepidation. The corners of his mouth pinched downward. âIs it not good? I can go get my wallet if itâsââ
Steve lays his hand on the back of Eddieâs forearm. The right one, closest to him, where scars swamp the bats. And that says something, too, heâs sure. About how Eddie fought the bats and came out victorious anyway. His thumb runs soothingly over Eddieâs malleable, aged, warm skin. And his eyes prickle with tearsâit wouldâve been embarrassing if he were nineteen still, but what a wonderful thing to be alive and cry at all.
âIâm so fucking happy youâre here with me,â Steve breathes out all at once. He sighs through his mouth, a gentle sob escaping.
Eddie drops his spoon into his bowl of slowly cooling soup. And he reaches up, dislodging Steveâs hand on his arm completely, cupping his face between his hands instead. âOh, baby,â he coos. âBaby, are you alright? Whereâs this coming from?â
Steve shrugs because he doesnât know. Not really. But itâs here. And heâs got a therapist in the aftermath of everything, and feelings deserved to be feltâso theyâve said. âI justââ He wetly exhales, leaning into Eddieâs soft hands. ââI donât know. Itâs so fuckingâŠIâm so happy to just be boring. To do the same mundane things every single day. To just come home.â
âOh,â Eddie coos again. He tugs Steve closer, burying his face into his shoulder. Pets a hand through Steveâs own white hair. A hand between his shoulders. Letting him dissolve safely. âI am, too, Steve,â he states like a promise. âYou have no idea how my heart just soars in the morning when I look over and youâreâŠGod, youâre drooling all over your own forearm and snuffling deep into the pillow and your hair is all spiky and youâve got creases all over your face from going to war with the top sheet.â Steve chuckles just as Eddie pulls him back. Hands back on his cheeks, thumbs soothing tear tracks. âYou have no idea how relieved I am to look over and see you at peace, sweetheart. Every dayâI donât know how you do itâbut every day you let me discover a new part of you to love.â
They smile at one another, softly, eyes shiny with tears. Their soup is going cold, but it doesnât matter. Theyâve got all the time in the world to reheat it.
âI love you,â Steve breathes, states. Just because he can.
âI love you, too,â Eddie says immediately. Because itâs that easy.
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