Mundus sine caesaribus
we are not a free people until all people are free! highly political / human rights mixed with fandom (particularly stranger things) all pronouns
First things first... FUCK ICE. FUCK TRUMP. FUCK MAGA. FUCK TRANSPHOBES. FUCK HOMOPHOBES. FUCK PEOPLE THAT DON'T AGREE WITH THE INHERENT RIGHT TO SHELTER, FOOD, HEALTHCARE, AND THE RIGHT TO LIVE. Hit the fucking block button if you don't agree with any of those things because this is not the place for you and I want nothing to do with you. This isn't a 'oh, but I agree with everything but one' kind of statement either. If you don't agree with all of that, get away from me.
Now:
If you could have sworn you'd been here before... I deleted my account in 2024 and have had been operating on the DL since (liking a lot, reblogging like crazy, and occasionally leaving comments but otherwise I've been hiding in my little hobbit hole). Now apparently I'm posting shit people like again.
I lost a lot of my tumblr short writings, HCs, and mutuals. Some days I don't feel like I am ready to be back here but that doesn't matter. My page is where I post my own works, I vent, and I share (maybe too much) political things.
Do NOT share any of my shit with AI, I will find you and it won't be pleasant for any of us (I cried when I hit a squirrel with my car, it will likely be more unpleasant for me). Fuck AI.
A note for ANY fandom: here and here
Here's a list of my works (I'm building it back up with new works as well as reposting old works).
You can also find me on AO3 here.
Mental health links (or random links) here!
WORKS IN PROGRESS:
what if instead: master list | ao3 temporarily on hiatus
you sound like i know you: part 4 in the Trapped with You series that I will one day finish - not on tumblr yet | it's on ao3
Hunger Games AU: it's only here on tumblr and it may not be continued extra sad version here.
Smash: AO3 | Part 1 Absolutely Smash | Part 2 Famous My ASS | Part 3 Drip Trip
COMPLETED WORKS:
The Ghost of You: coming to tumblr sometime | ao3
Silence: not here yet | here on ao3
i wouldn't be caught with you: part 1 | part 2 (coming sooon!) | ao3
light in my darkness: apparently, I like to title my works in lower case - soon to be on tumblr | ao3 has it!
Don't Stop Me Now: Another fun one slotted to join tumblr soon | ao3
HOLD THE BUS: Look, this one is all caps and not here yet | A-OH-3
Can You Handle It?: Well, can you handle waiting??? | AO# (jk AO3)
All I Need: is for this to be here already! COME ON TUMBLR! | a03
One Penny: Ouch... Maybe? | ao3
Every Inch: is it done yet? Omg.. more?! | AO3
Trapped With You: it's about to get real... cozy when this gets here | ao3
Stuck with the Thought of You: PART TWO TO TRAPPED WITH YOU WAITTTT - Read that first. (still not on tumblr???) | AO3
Darling Angel: Part 3 of Trapped with you (read 1 first!) (then read 2, obviously) | AO3
Did I have too much fun with that? Yes. Does it matter? Ye-! No, not really. :D
Tumblr Only Works:
Hot Steve
🎵There's something about me that is so poisonous, it's dangerous. I can't be enough.🎵
Hello, I hope you're doing well! Your graphics are all really beautiful <3
I really love everything you've made in the "theme: skeleton" tag, but everything in there is masterlists and dividers. If it's alright, I was wondering if you could make some for an about me, navigation, etc.?
Totally fine if not, of course <3
hello! thank you!! 💖 I can definitely make some more themes - I wasn't sure which headers you had liked/wanted, so I made some new ones with the titles you listed. hope these are okay!!
Steve shot a quick glare to Robin as he dropped the baby bag on the ground by the coat rack. He shed his jacket, pushing off one arm before switching the obvious, eleven-month old to his other hip to free the other arm. "Clearly," he huffed.
Almost two years ago, Steve had to come out to the party when he found out he was two months pregnant during a routine mandatory check-up.
Two months after a slip of judgement, assuming the pill was enough.
Two months after the worst week of his life.
And Steve has yet to tell anyone but Robin who the father is.
Was.
It was without a doubt that Theodore Wayne Harrington is the spitting image of Eddie Munson.
Prompt Day 19: rattail | Word Count: 997 | Rating: G | CW: none | POV: Max, Eddie | Pairing(s): Steddie, Lumax | Tags: Eddie will do anything for his spiritual daughter, Max, rattails are not appropriate wedding fashion, walk 'em down Wheeler to the rescue
“Munson, look at me. I need you locked in to the mission.” Max follows this statement by pointing two fingers at herself, and then turning them on Eddie. He’s still looking over her shoulder, grinning, so she snaps her fingers right in front of his face. “Edward, focus.”
“How can I? Look at him.” Eddie sighs dreamily, propping his chin in his hand.
Max follows his line of sight. Steve glances over, in the midst of tucking his shirt in, his brow wrinkling in sweet confusion as he realises they’re talking about him. “He’s a dude in a suit, Eddie,” she says flatly, turning back to her favourite idiot.
“He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Eddie says, with a winsome smile. If he was a cartoon character, he’d have literal hearts in his eyes.
“Hon,” Steve chastises gently. There’s so much love in his tone, that Max would have to rip him for it, if she didn’t have much bigger fish to fry right now.
“Eddie!” she says, slapping her hands together in front of him. “I am deadly serious. If Dustin Henderson still has that rattail at my literal wedding ceremony this evening, I am going to commit murders, starting with you.”
“I already said I’d handle it,” Eddie says, still all moony.
“Yeah, we got it sorted, don’t stress,” Steve says, but he’s just as bad – he goes around to the back of the couch, sliding gentle fingertips over Eddie’s neck, leaning down when Eddie tilts his head back. Max pinches her brown bone exasperatedly while they kiss. “You look good too,” Steve whispers against Eddie’s lips, like Max can’t hear every word still.
Eddie does clean up nicely in a suit, and for all he’s hamming it up, Max knows he is taking the whole event very seriously. He’s giving her away, after all, the running Mom-Steve and Dad-Eddie joke brought to its ultimate conclusion. He’d cried when she asked him, and she certainly won’t be letting him ever live that down.
El comes back into the room with the hairdresser in tow, and Max can’t help but grab Eddie by the tie and shake him before she goes to sit down. “Munson. Rattail. I’m serious. Get it done.”
***
Contrary to popular belief, Eddie is taking Max’s imperative extremely seriously. Not in the least because his favourite of the children, his princess, his angel deserves the wedding day of her dreams, down to the tiniest detail, but also because he too hates Dustin’s rattail. He’s tried to tell him, but the stubborn little shit just won’t listen – long hair is metal, short hair is cool, Steve’s swoops and waves of chestnut perfection is the most gorgeous– anyway, Eddie won’t get off track again. The point is, that ratty little string of hair at the nape of Dustin’s neck is horrible, and it has to go.
“Dustin is missing,” Steve says grimly, opening the door to the suite the Party boys are all staying in just as Eddie is raising his fist to knock jauntily.
“Beg your pardon?” Eddie says.
“Dustin is–”
“No, I heard you–Jesus H. Christ, these kids. Come on.”
Thankfully, they don’t have to go far – they find Dustin strolling into the lobby alongside Jeff, who has a friendly arm slung around his shoulder. Eddie spies Gareth following, looking disgruntled, with a suspiciously scissor-shaped object in his pocket. Eddie exchanges a look with Steve.
“Eddie! Steve! I’m having the best day,” Dustin says cheerily. “Will and Mike bought me breakfast this morning, and Jon and I had the nicest chat while he was showing me the spots he’s picked for photos. And then just now Jeff took me to shoot some pool and drink beers. Oh! And earlier, Frank took me out to lunch – there’s a dumpling place up the road, God, it was so good–”
Eddie tunes out – he and Steve are having a non-verbal conversation, to the effect of; “Are you hearing what I’m hearing?” “I am, I’m hearing we aren’t the only ones who received the same assignment today.”
Maybe Eddie should feel insulted that Max didn’t trust him and Steve to get the job done, but it’s her wedding day and she’s getting exactly what she wants if it’s the last thing Eddie does. He’s not entirely sure his Stevie feels the same – he’s got that gorgeous pouty-sad look he gets, and Eddie loves it when that look is not being used on him. Jeff and Gareth sidle over to them.
“That kid is the slipperiest little fucker on the planet,” Jeff says darkly.
“It’s like his bones are liquid. Every time any of us have gotten close enough to cut that thing off, he slips right out of our grip,” Gareth adds, sighing in defeat.
Eddie hears the clicking of heels, and he looks up, spotting Nancy and Robin coming down the stairs, the former with a look of steely determination on her face and something glinting and silver clutched in her hand. Within a split second, Eddie’s mind is made up; he shrugs out of his suit jacket and hands it to Steve, who shoots him a panicked look.
“Ed, what are you–”
Dustin shrieks like a little girl when Eddie tackles him to the ground, right then and there in the lobby. He screams even louder when Nancy brandishes the scissors, but Corroded Coffin swarms in to help.
“Hold him down, hold him still!” Nancy orders over Dustin’s shrieking. “Hold him!”
***
Later, at the end of the aisle, Eddie takes Max’s face between his hands and just looks at her for a moment; his princess, his beautiful, smart, strong, spunky girl. He’s so proud of her. He kisses her on the forehead, hugs her tight and doesn’t let go until she does first, and then guides her hand into Lucas’ outstretched, waiting palm. Her smile is incandescent, and there’s not a rattail in sight.
“So... We got the exploding diarrhea. Here's my advice for anyone who doesn't have it yet:
It's going to take a minute for the government to pin down where this is coming from, and then issue a recall, because the FDA has been gutted. But, I can tell you, without a shadow of a doubt : this is coming from Taylor Farms produce, and you will see them recalled.
You'll want to avoid all Taylor Farms produce in the grocery store. They supply McDonalds, KFC, Pizza Hut, about any fast food place you can think of.
Raspberries, watermelons, cilantro, and the veggies you're hearing about are not causing this many people to get sick. It's the shredded lettuce, specifically, that's the problem. But, you'll want to stay away from every type of produce this company puts out, because one strand of shredded lettuce is all it takes to contaminate bushels.
Taylor Farms is the source. Taco Bell proactively pulled their produce from their restaurants. You're going to see other fast food places doing this, and probably will see that before the government names a source. The FDA knows this, but they can't come out and tell us all until there's proof, which takes resources and research, which takes manpower, but the FDA has been cut by about 20-30%
During the Biden term, onions at McDonald's had ecoli. We knew this because DNA testing was done quickly and they were able to narrow it down to one place that caused the outbreak. And, it was traced back to Taylor Farms. This isn't going to be solved as quickly though.
When you get this, make a virtual appointment to your PCP - a "same day sick" appointment. Tell them someone in your family just tested for this and was positive and was prescribed Bactrim. If you go in person, they're probably going to make you poop in a cup and wait until results come back to prescribe.
You'll know when you get this. Trust me on all of this.
You'll want to stay hydrated because this parasite damages the lining of the small intestine. Your small intestine, in turn, secretes more water into the gut, and less nutrients and liquid are able to remain in the body. So no matter how much you shit, you're going to want to drink. A day of this leads to dehydration if you don't increase your fluid intake, and a few days will land you in the hospital.
If you have headaches, weakness, muscle cramps, dizziness, or an increase heart rate - hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. Go to the ER for fluids if you can't drink enough.
Thank you for coming to my Ted talk. Brought to you by America's 250 birthday celebrations, workforce reduction in the FDA and CDC, and viewers like you.
Please feel free to share this.
And, MAGA - don't blow up the comment section. I argued with y'all on COVID bc I was afraid y'all would die, but I really don't care if you get explosive diarrhea.
In case anyone hasn't heard, the cyclospora outbreak affecting tons of people in the US right now is coming from Taylor Farms produce. Best to stay away from bagged lettuce and prepared salads completely right now, but especially the ones mentioned in the screenshot:
Taylor Farms
Earthbound Farms
Little Salad Bar (Aldi)
Marketside (Walmart)
Kroger House Brand
Target private label greens
Costco salads and greens etc
Trader Joe's chopped salad kits and fresh produce
Fast food: McDonalds, Taco Bell, (Yum! Brands), Chipotle, Subway, Pizza Hut, KFC, Olive Garden, Top Golf, Red Lobster, Burger King, etc.
This is not the first time I've heard about a Taylor Farms foodborne illness outbreak. I stopped eating their salads after reading a description of the conditions in their facilities. Doesn't sound like they've improved anything.
We need a fully funded and staffed FDA, and regulations with teeth - and that's exactly what we don't have under Trump. To make things worse, the CDC is no longer tracking these outbreaks. We're on our own.
Throwback to the time I thought “pro-shipper” meant “professional shipper”. I thought that for a long time. Please do not mind me.
That said, if you don’t like what you see, it takes less energy to just keep scrolling than it does to leave a hateful comment. I know that’s a fucking crazy concept, but it’s true. 😎
Prompt Day 18: wood paneling | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: G | CW: brief mention of substance abuses | POV: Jeff | Pairing(s): established steddie | Tags: Famous Corroded Coffin, the steep price of getting everything you dreamed of, decor faults as a metaphor for a gilded cage, band tension
The lodge is luxurious, even for them; all marble benchtops, accents of velvet and silk, warm low lighting, and expensive dark wood paneling, with molded edging that separates it from the cloth wallpaper above.
Eddie is at the grand piano, framed by the massive picture window (surely a nightmare on the heating bill) and the scenic view of the snow-covered landscape outside. His fingers dance across the keys, playing something Jeff doesn’t recognise, but it sounds polished and well-formed, even as Eddie occasionally pauses and scratches notes in his music book.
Frank is in the kitchen – Jeff knows this, because he can hear cupboards being shut with more force necessary. Gareth is on the plush, outrageously-sized couch that Jeff swears could easily fit twenty people on it comfortably. He might have been dead, if not for the intermittent, indistinct groans about how hungover he is.
For his own part, Jeff should be doing something productive. But he keeps getting distracted by the corner of the wood paneling that’s lifting away from the plaster. It’s such a jarring detail, amongst the surrounding luxury.
“Ugh, I think I’m dying,” Gareth groans.
“I told you the jäger bombs were a bad idea,” Eddie says from the piano, and though his tone is mild, it’s completely without the fond, indulgent teasing it would have held when they were twenty.
Jeff spreads his music book open on his knees, looking over the songs they’ve written so far. There’s some promising material, none more so than the last song they worked on, but it feels like there’s still something missing, like the bridge is a bit weak, and the chorus could be tighter. But God, it had been a hard fucking slog to even get to this point – half-a-dozen half-finished songs, nowhere near enough to fill out the album they need to deliver in under two months.
Jeff’s gaze drifts back to the wood paneling.
When Fleetwood Mac locked themselves away to write, they’d been coke-fuelled, fighting non-stop, sometimes fucking, and always chaotic, but they’d emerged with Rumours – one of the greatest albums ever written. Jeff had proposed this lodge as a writing retreat for them, given their fast looming fourth album deadline, but so far, it hasn’t quite yielded the same results.
They are, objectively, very successful. Their second album had blown it all apart; a phenomenal, resounding, incredible success, fuelled by the excitement that touring their first album had brought on. Jeff has never seen Eddie like that before, or since; writing music like he was possessed, always tapping melodies against his own thigh, always testing new things out after soundchecks. The jam sessions they’d had in those days had been transcendent.
But now, Eddie is playing something on the piano – something he’s definitely written, because it’s got his indelible style in it – and it’s new and it sounds almost finished, and this is the first time Jeff is hearing it at all.
It never used to be like that.
Eddie used to play him riffs and melodies and snatches of lyrics the moment he thought of them, eager for input and ideas. Jeff stares at the dark gap created by the way that one corner of wood paneling sags away from the wall, and thinks that maybe it was sometime around album three that things started to change a little. Because Eddie was in love by then – or, he had been all along, but he and Steve had finally stopped pretending they were just the best of buds – and so his songs had all started coming out distinctly flavoured. Still metal, but certainly themed, and Jeff can admit they picked at him about it. He can admit they’d all kind of forgotten how vulnerable it made Eddie, writing music and giving it up for the consumption of others, even if it was just them, who’d known him so long, at first. Like sharing little pieces of his soul, from beyond the walls he’d maintained his whole life. Ed was the sort who feigned emotional openness, to make everyone around him comfortable being open too, while keeping the realness hidden, because he still saw his wants, his needs, his feelings as burdensome to others – some bullshit no doubt learned from his dad. But he couldn’t hide it in the music – it was just there, in the open; a raw, splintered edge.
Like a cracked piece of wood paneling.
Gareth hadn’t been cool about Eddie and Steve either, maybe still wasn’t fully on board even after years of proof that King Steve was dead – had maybe never even existed – and that was another crack in the wood. Jeff wondered if it was jealousy – Gareth had a nice girl for a long time, but she wanted kids ASAP and when it was clear the glittering Corroded Coffin success train wasn’t slowing down, she’d left. Gareth has drunk too much, taken too much, felt too much ever since, and they’ve all tried to help, they really have, but they’ve been tightrope-walking that whole situation for years with no improvement.
Frank’s sensitive; he feels the tension with all of them and it manifests in him as irritability – hence the current racket from the kitchen.
The phone rings, and the piano abruptly stops as Eddie gets up to take the call, like he knows instinctively it’s for him. In the other room, where he can pick up the line with at least a little privacy, Jeff hears his muffled voice saying, “Hi sweetheart. How are you? I miss you so much.”
Jeff’s eyes go once more to the broken panel. He thinks album four might break them, if they keep ignoring that crack, and the rot underneath. They’re surrounded by distracting opulence, like Corroded Coffin’s fantastic success. And all everyone sees is that success, and Jeff feels like he’s the only one who can see where the wood paneling is starting to crack and fall away.
[Image ID: The Destiel confession meme edited so that Dean answers 'JK Rowling posted upskirt photos of a woman on Twitter' to Cas 'I love you'. /End ID]
No one doing this should be allowed to call themselves a feminist.
The wealthy author escalated a social media spat that resulted in posting a photo from a 2023 event at the Institute of Economic Affairs in
Let's not beat around the bush: Children's author JK Rowling sexually harassed someone. In some jurisdictions, this would count as sexual abuse. JK Rowling has committed a sex crime against a woman and fell back on the old rape apologist standby of "she was asking for it".
ilya opening their mail one day and then yelling SHANESHANESHANE who rushes in to where ilya is holding up a piece of mail gleefully
its a speeding ticket (not uncommon) with a traffic enforcement photo attached and its undeniable that it’s ilya’s (very few orange lamborghinis in the area) so shane is like “wow way to go. another few of those and your license is finally going to get revoked” and ilya is like “no. look closer.”
and shane leans in to look at the photo and tiny, just barely perceptible on the grainy photo, is ilya’s hand with a handful of dark hair in his lap
shane is beyond mortified but ilya keeps trying to hang the photo on the fridge
You know, when I've remarked that a lot of the responses to my posts feel like people are just plucking out keywords they think they recognise based on the shape of them and replying to what they imagine the post says based on that, the possibility never occurred to me that this is actually how many American schools are currently teaching kids to read.
Like, my assumption this whole time has been that when folks go "I misunderstood this post that says [thing] as saying [unrelated thing] because I mistook [word] for [completely different word that happens to start with the same letter]", that was a bit. What do you mean they're teaching kids a reading method that's tailored to produce this exact error?
Content Tags: Platonic Sobin, major character death, grief, depression, major character undeath
Inspired by this beautiful art by @tarraing
------
When they found Steve, broken and bloody and scraped raw from the bats, all Robin could think about was that Steve's favorite sweatpants were ruined. She'd never understood those things or how someone so obsessed with fashion could wear them, but he'd always loved how comfortable they were. She razzes him about it every time he wears them.
Now they're ruined. Dirty and ripped.
She can hear Nancy ordering them to help her and Eddie freaking out but it's all just white noise to her right up until the moment everything comes flooding back in and the world has never been louder. Her breathing is deafening like she's trying to breathe for both of them.
Steve isn't breathing.
Steve isn't breathing but somehow she still is.
One moment she's stuck watching Nancy Wheeler try to patch her soulmate back together the next she's doing it for her so Nancy can start CPR. Eddie has stopped freaking out, she is dimly aware of him standing behind her, hovering because he doesn't know how to help. Doesn't know if there's any way to help.
Robin knows she's talking but it doesn't matter what she's saying. She doesn't think Steve can hear her. How could anything she says matter when her best friend isn't there to hear it? But she can't make herself stop, just in case.
But Steve never hears her. Nancy pushes on his chest and forces air into his lungs until her arms are shaking and she doesn't have enough strength to move his chest anymore. Then Robin takes over even though she has no idea what she's doing. Even though Nancy and Eddie are trying to tell her it's no use, that they need to go.
Like she could leave him here.
Then she's kicking and screaming because they're trying to pull her away. She's biting down on Eddie's ringed hand and kicking out into Nancy's ribs. She's not leaving, she's not. She can't do that to Steve, would rather lie down next to him, take his hand, and let the bats find her than leave him behind.
The last thing she sees before someone knocks her in the head is Steve's eyes, open and empty and staring right at her.
------
When Robin wakes up she's surrounded by people, but no one says a thing. She sees Dustin, red-eyed and empty standing in a corner across from the couch she's been placed on. Max won't look at her, Erica is glued to her side, Eddie looks lost, Lucas is trying to keep a siff upper lip for his sister, and Nancy looks like a block of steel. Steve isn't anywhere to be found.
But then again, Robin knew that. She'd know if Steve was her because their hearts beat as one, but now her chest feels empty. It's Max, brave, scared Max, who breaks the silence. Robin doesn't hear it. Doesn't listen as people start explaining plans around them. Can't channel the righteous fury she sees in Nancy and Max, or the barely concealed fear in Eddie and Erica, or the building weight of responsibility growing in Lucas and Dustin's too old eyes. All she feels is empty.
She's going to do whatever they want her to do because she knows it's what Steve would do. Knows without a shadow of a doubt that if she was the one lying dead in the Upside Down he would be on a war path in her name, so she needs to do the same.
When she launches that last fire bomb into Vecna's ugly head, it's a hollow victory.
Everyone else survives. The Byers move back to Hawkins. The town starts to rebuild. The big bad is gone for good.
But it doesn't mean anything to her. She lies in bed most days without saying a word. She lets her parents dote on her, listens passively as they try to remind her of the college acceptance letters waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Manages to sit up and smile just a little when Eddie brings Dustin and Erica by to see her. Cries with the two of them tucked under her arms, all three of them aware of how vulnerable they feel without a strong pair of arms wrapped around their other side.
Robin asks Eddie to hang back one day and makes a request. The next day he comes by with a clean needle and a pot of ink and Robin sits motionless as he engraves a sunflower inner her wrist, somewhere she'll always be able to see it.
She always swore to Steve that she would never get a tattoo, too freaked out by the possibility of an infection, but those fears feel so distant now that the worst thing that could happen has come to pass.
She catches Eddie with one of his own to match the next week.
------
A month goes by. She doesn't leave the house, even when Dustin comes by to beg her.
Then two. She can tell her parents are starting to really worry. They've given up trying to get her to think about college and started trying to get her to think about therapy.
Then Five. She started going to work again. She puts on her Family Video vest and thinks about Steve. She walks through the door and imagines Steve leaning over the counter. Keith turns on Back to the Future and she goes home with a panic attack. She doesn't speak unless it's necessary, but she's trying to move forward. She knows it's what Steve would want for her, even on the days when it's not what she wants for herself.
And then Six months pass.
There's a tap at her window.
She ignores it, at first. She refuses to go to a shrink, there are too many things she can't say to the ones her parents recommend, and she won't accept anything from those government goons who turned her best friend into a soldier. Into cannon fodder. Instead, she writes letters.
She sits down at her desk once a day and pours her heart out to Steve. She lets herself pretend for a few moments every day that he's just been dragged away by his parents for a few months. He's out there somewhere in the world, relying on her to keep her updated on the kids and the drama at work and herself until she can go out and join him, wherever he is. Some days she writes about nothing at all, some days she rages at him for leaving her behind, sometimes she speculates about their future, where she goes to college wherever he is, and they get an apartment and two dogs. She seals every one in an envelope, tucks them in a drawer, and lets herself breathe in that perfect fantasy for just a moment. It's the best part of her day, and nothing can tear her away from it.
Except the tapping doesn't stop.
And Robin lives on the second floor.
And everyone she knows would just come through the front door.
She turns, so slowly, toward the window. The glare from her bedside lamp makes it impossible to see anything through it, but she doesn't need to.
There are fingers, claws, forcing their way under the sill. She sucks in a sharp breath as they curl upward, crashes to the ground as they start to pull.
She's scrambling back, getting ready to scream and make a run for the walkie she leaves on silent on her desk to call for help. To warn the others that their monsters are back before it mows her down.
But then the window gives way and she stops. Stops everything.
Because the thing in her window is wearing her best friend's face. It's wearing his hair and his moles and his stupid fucking sweatpants.
And at the end of the day it doesn't actually matter what he looks like. It doesn't matter if there are new hinges in his jaw to show off new, shark-like teeth. It doesn't matter mater if he can't say anything besides a hissed, garbled rendition of her name. It doesn't even matter when he latches onto her wrist, right above that little sunflower, and sucks, taking just enough blood to make her light-headed.
Because she can feel his heartbeat pounding along with her own, perfectly in sync.
For the first time in six months, Steve wakes up feeling like everything might end up okay. Like he can stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Because Eddie is still holding him tight, breathing hot against his shoulder, gentle and even, still sleeping. But Steve needs to pee, and he’s made it very few days without puking first thing in the morning, so he should really disentangle himself now. He’s still got a hand over Eddie’s, and he squeezes it. “Ed?” he says softly. “Eddie, I needta get up.”
Eddie shifts and hums and nuzzles against Steve, relaxing his hold before rolling onto his back. “Sorry,” he mumbles, “Didn’t realize how much I needed this.”
“Needed what?” Steve clambers awkwardly out of bed, pausing just long enough for Eddie’s answer.
“You. I sleep better with you. Smells like home having you.”
If his bladder weren’t forcing him to go, Steve would crawl back into his bed and never leave. “I’ll be right back.” He swallows, throat oddly tight, and rushes to relieve himself.
Steve sits still after, taking a minute on the toilet to think. Because a part of him was positive Eddie would be gone in the morning—that once he was safe, Eddie would have time to freak out and spiral and run. Maybe leave a half-assed note about talking later and disappear. But he stayed.
He knows, and he stayed.
Steve blows his nose and washes his hands, grateful his stomach has remained calm as he walks back to bed. Eddie lifts the covers so he can slide back in, and Steve curls against him, resting his head against Eddie’s chest. He listens to his heartbeat, the rhythmic da-dum, da-dum, da-dum soothing him until he works up the courage to say, “You still aren’t freaking out.”
“I am, a little. Like, this changes things, but not that much. I was planning on getting a real job soon anyway, and I guess we’ve got a reason for me to meet your parents now. It just doesn’t change how I feel about you, Steve.”
“Oh…” Steve is glad he isn’t looking at Eddie, that his face is out of view. If he could see him, he’d probably start crying.
Eddie plays with his hair, encouraging Steve to cuddle closer to him. “And I know we should talk about it more—we will, at some point, soon—but seeing how scared you were last night… You already love the baby, don’t you?”
“Yeah… I- Eddie, I should have…”
“It’s okay, Steve. Everything’s okay,” Eddie murmurs before pressing a half dozen kisses to the top of Steve’s head. “I’m not mad, and I’m not going anywhere.”
“I love you,” Steve whispers, “And I’m still scared.”
“Then I guess we’re gonna be scared together.” Carefully, Eddie shifts their positions so Steve is on his back and he can look down at him. He can see the tears in his eyes, the confusion and relief. “You’ve been really brave, Sweetheart, but you aren’t alone. I’ve got you.”
Leaning down, Eddie kisses Steve, a soft, tentative touch of their lips before pulling back a hair’s breadth to give Steve a moment to process. To let him decide how far he wants to go right now. They still need to talk, but they’ve always communicated better with their bodies.
Steve raises a hand, cupping the back of Eddie’s head and guiding him back down, kissing him with a quiet fervor that echoes the frightened declaration of love he just made. Giving himself over to the sensation, Eddie sinks into the comfort of it, his body pressing close to Steve’s. It all feels so good—so right, and now Eddie knows about the pup, Steve’s sweetened scent makes his mouth water—he should have expected he’d get hard, that he’d shift his hips a little. He has no intention of taking it further, but he can’t help his body reacting.
He wishes he could.
Steve freezes beneath him. “No,” he whispers, pulling away. “Not now.” He sounds so small and scared, the way he sounded last night. Eddie’s heart aches for him.
“It’s okay, Sweetheart. We’re not doing anything.” Eddie shifts away, his focus shifting too as he ignores his arousal and rolls onto his side. “You tell me what you need right now, huh?”
For being just about as tall as Eddie is, Steve can curl up pretty small. He balls himself up as he snuggles close. “I don’t know,” he breathes. “I- Everything I want feels like too much.”
“Everything? Steve, I’d give y-”
“Because Dr. Lockhart said everything with the pup was fine, and I want to believe that it is, but what if it’s not?”
Eddie gets his arms around Steve and rubs soothing circles over his back. “Then it isn’t fine,” he says gently. It’s entirely possible what Steve went through will have lingering effects. Or that something else will go wrong that is entirely out of their control. “And we get through it together. I told you, I’m not leaving your side until you tell me to, but I think we need to actually talk about all of this.”
“Yeah…”
“The kind of talk we should maybe get dressed to have.”
“Because we have to be grown up about it,” Steve agrees with a sigh.
“Yeah, Stevie, we do. You’re gonna be somebody’s mother soon.”
“Right,” Steve says with a nod, voice sounding suddenly wet.
Eddie just pulls him closer. “But we can take a few more minutes in bed.”
🍒🍒🍒
Before they talk, Eddie insists they eat. Steve grumbles as he leads the way down to the kitchen, but once he has a bowl of cereal in front of him he admits he was hungry. His bites are small and cautious, and Eddie finishes his food twice as fast. “You feeling okay?” Eddie asks, paying close attention to the way Steve wrinkles his nose after another tiny bite.
“I’m fine. Everything just tastes weird now…” Steve tips everything off his spoon without taking another bite.
“Even Cheerios?”
“I think it’s the milk.”
“Do you want something else?”
“No, it’s fine. I’m done.” He pushes the bowl across the table. “You want the rest?”
“No sense in wasting it,” Eddie says as he tucks in and polishes off the bowl quickly.
Steve shakes his head fondly, then clears away their bowls and returns to the table because it feels like the right place for a mature discussion. “So…” he starts, “What are we going to do?”
“I think maybe we should start with what do we *want* and then make a plan,” Eddie says with a soft smile. “What do you want, Steve?”
Steve’s smile falls, confused. “I’m keeping the baby, Eddie.”
“I Know! What do you want from me?”
If anything, that confuses Steve more. He told Eddie he loved him less than an hour ago. “I thought I was pretty clear I want you around. Do you not want that?”
“Steve, of course I want that.”
“Then what are we even talking about?”
“Do you want more than having me around?”
“Eddie.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and swallows around the lump in his throat. “Can you just say what you want? Because I don’t want to have to guess and I’m still really tired after everything, so just tell me wh-”
“I want us to do something because we want it, not because we think we’re supposed to do it.”
Steve’s head is starting to hurt. “What?”
“I know we wanna be together, and that we’re gonna do everything we can for the baby, but do you want to get married? Do you wanna be mated before the baby comes?”
This is too much. “Eddie…”
“Steve…”
“You’d marry me?”
Eddie gets up from the table and circles to crouch beside Steve’s seat. He takes both of Steve’s hands in his and looks him in the eye. “Yes, Stevie, I’ll marry you tomorrow if that’s what you want. I just don’t want you to think we have to get married because we’re having a baby.” Reaching up, Eddie wipes away the tears that have finally escaped down Steve’s cheeks. “I want you to be happy, I don’t want you to feel trapped.”
Steve starts crying in earnest. Eddie’s a giant nerd who sells ditch weed to high schoolers; he’s also the kindest alpha Steve has ever met. He’s too good for Steve. “But *I* trapped you,” he whimpers.
“No, Sweetheart, I’m right where I want to be,” Eddie soothes as he stands and pulls Steve along with him, holding him tight. “I love you.”
“And you wanna marry me?”
“Yes.”
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