numinosmoon

~ she/her ~ 31 yrs old ~ ~ dp by gabby darienzo on picrew ~

[numinosmoon]

Masterlist

I'm enjoying writing for steddie enough that I've decided to put together a list of fics on here, mostly so I can find them lol. ao3 links will be here, too.

It's All Just Bodies, Right? tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rated: M Word Count: 4314 Summary: Robin is of the opinion that Steve should take some time to settle into his newly labelled bisexuality. Eddie thinks Steve might need some practical experience to confirm it. Steve's just horny. He might need to pay for Robin's therapy going forward. Or: Steve, Robin, and Eddie have a conversation about how they think Steve should approach coming to terms with his sexuality. Steve doesn't see the big deal, and gets a little carried away making his point.

Want You Like a Banoffee Pie Cronut tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rated: G Word Count: 2567 Summary: Steve spent the previous night scrambling to finish his essay instead of eating dinner, so he wakes up craving food. Naturally, Robin has polished off the last of their cereal hoard, and they're still testing the limits of how long a household can go before grocery shopping. Rather than do the sensible thing and go shopping, Steve heads to the nearest cafe where a friendly stranger almost makes him forget about his hunger. But pretty eyes can't distract him from a delicious hunk of banana, frosting, and pastry in the display case. No, apparently all it takes is a text from Robin.

What You Can't See Can't Hurt You tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rated: G Word Count: 4781 Summary: Months after the final showdown with Creel, Steve is struggling with pain he's not sure isn't just in his head. But everyone is feeling the consequences of the Upside Down in their own ways, not just him. Steve's okay. He can cope. He's fine. Or: Steve is having a bad day with his chronic pain, and can't hide it any longer when Robin and Eddie gang up on him about skipping meals.

The Rain Will End tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rated: G Word Count: 2269 Summary: 'The door to the shop swung open, admitting a young man around Eddie’s own age. He was quite handsome, even while swathed in a bright blue anorak, and the effect was not lessened when he lowered his dripping hood to reveal a swooping head of golden brown hair. The outside sighed a heavy breath into the crowded room, ruffling thousands of pages as it dissipated.' Or: A handsome stranger enters Eddie's bookshop, clearly on a quest of some sort, but reluctant to share any details that might put someone else in danger. Neither Eddie's cat, nor his uncle's bookshop, seem to know what to make of him.

In This Together, Whether You Like It Or Not tumblr / ao3

part one

Complete: No Rated: T Word Count: 2885 Summary: ‘“Who the fuck are you?” the trainer whisper-shouts, snapping Eddie out of his hot-guy stupor. “Me?” Eddie scoffs back in the same whisper-shout, “Who the fuck are you?” “Um, I’m the personal trainer,” the trainer hissed, waving a hand over himself like it’s obvious. Which is fair, but- “Then why’re you hiding in here?” Eddie points out, only a little put out that his smug tone is diluted by the need to whisper. The trainer looks suitably flustered, though, so he must get the point across.' Or: Eddie is on a job where everything is going (a little too) smoothly, except for the unexpected presence of a particularly hot personal trainer. The guys are going to kill him when they find out he got distracted by a pretty face.

Call Me By Any Other Name tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rated: E Word Count: 4854 Summary: Steve and Eddie haven’t been together long, and are learning each other’s bodies and minds. An insecurity Steve didn’t know he even has crops up at an inopportune moment. Eddie is quick to solve the misunderstanding. Or: Eddie doesn’t call Steve any of his usual pet names while they’re fucking, and Steve only realises that it bothers him during sex. It’s not a problem for long, though.

Come Find Me tumblr / ao3

part one, part two, part three, part four

Complete: No Rating: E Word Count: 3376 Summary: 'Eddie hurries into the kitchen and turns on the lights in there, too, and his heart sinks. A smear of blood stains a few of the tiles. It’s unmistakable – Eddie’s seen enough of his own to know. Beside it, Eddie’s socks. One tie-dyed red, the other still a plain, faded grey “Shit. Shit, fuck, shit,” Eddie whispers, fisting his hands in his hair.’ Or: Eddie is enlisted to check on Steve after he turned Robin and Nancy away at his door. Eddie was heading over, anyway, so he's happy to help. Sure Steve's just suffering from a migraine, Eddie's prepared to nurse him back to health. What Eddie is not prepared for, however, is the blood in the kitchen. Or the thing that stalks him through the woods.

Out of the Frying Pan, Onto the Nipple tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rating: M Word Count: 1873 Summary: Steve finds Eddie cooking breakfast shirtless and decides to give him a little fright. Things devolve from there.

Look at You Looking at Me tumblr / ao3

Complete: Yes Rating: E Word Count: 17,129 Summary: The gang are all out at their favourite nightclub in between living their busy adult lives, and they all have plans to pull for the night. So why is Steve so preoccupied with staring at Eddie when he's with some gorgeous girl on the dance floor? Eddie wants to concentrate on the dude who's chatting him up, but he can't stop looking at the way Steve is staring at him. He's even worse at resisting joining Steve and his girl when he's beckoned over, which takes the night in a completely unexpected direction.

The Perfect Date ao3

part one

Complete: No (1/3) Rating: E Word Count: TBD Summary: 1. When you hear his voice on the line when you answer the phone, he will ask you to dinner. It will be on the evening of the same day of the phone call . Say yes. Cancel all other plans. 2. He will pick you up in his car. Let him open the passenger door for you. Compliment his taste in music; do not, by any means, insult the tape playing. 3. Allow him to pull out your chair at the restaurant. If he takes you to a diner and leads you to a booth, you must play footsie under the table instead. 4. Ask him for recommendations before ordering food. Order whatever he suggests. 5. Laugh at his jokes. 6. Answer his questions honestly, but do not ask him about himself. 7. Do not sweat visibly. 8. Allow him to pay the bill after exactly one polite attempt to split the cheque. 9. When he has driven you home after the date, do not invite him inside. 10. If you follow these rules, he will walk you to your door, kiss you on the cheek, and leave. You will not hear from him again. If you break one or more rules he will ask you on a second date the following evening. You have a total of three attempts. If you fail on the third date, he will consume you.

[morningberriesao3]

when steve asked for a light, he didn't know it would be so... hands on.

inspired heavily by this tweet

[munsonmanor]

thinking about that one HC of eddie being originally from appalachia before moving to hawkins and steve going absolutely feral every time the accent slips out, so here’s a tiny ficlet about steve realizing it’s basically his kryptonite

They’re in the horror aisle at Family Video, doing what they always do when it’s dead: finding the worst covers known to man.

Robin holds one up that looks like it was drawn in crayon. “This one,” she announces, “is a crime.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Lord, have mercy,” he says, and it rolls out of him warm and thick, a little different than usual.

Steve freezes.

He’s heard Eddie talk a million times. Ranting, scheming, flirting, yelling over amps. But this is… softer. Rounder. It hits his ears and lights up some stupid part of his brain like, oh. Oh, that’s new.

“Okay, where the hell did that come from?” Steve blurts.

Eddie blinks. “What?”

“That.” Steve points at him like he’s just witnessed a crime. “You sounded like, like a whole other guy for a second.”

Color crawls up Eddie’s neck. He shrugs one shoulder, all defensive and twitchy. “Nowhere. Hush.”

“No.” Steve is immediately, deeply annoying about it. “Absolutely not. Say it again.”

“Not a chance, Harrington.” Eddie shoves a VHS into his chest. “Go alphabetize something.”

“Robin,” Steve whines, turning on her like a traitor witness. “Did you hear that? He did a voice.”

“Oh, yeah,” she says, gleeful. “Country boy jumped out.”

Eddie groans, shoving his hair back. “I hate both of you,” he lies, and stalks off down the aisle.

Steve follows, grinning, tossing movies back on the shelf. “C’mon, just one more ‘Lord, have mercy.’ Just for me. Just a little one.”

“Drop it, Steve.”

He does not drop it.

By the time they close up, Steve’s said “Lord, have mercy” in three different terrible impressions, and Eddie’s told him to shut up in at least five creative ways. The accent doesn’t come back, though, and Steve goes home weirdly, stupidly disappointed about it.

—————————-

Later, they’re at the trailer, door propped open to let in the night air. Some crappy late-night talk show mumbles on the TV, volume low. They’re half lying, half sliding off the couch, feet tangled on the coffee table.

Eddie’s flipping through a battered magazine. Steve’s not even pretending to do anything else; he’s just watching him.

“You’re staring,” Eddie says without looking up.

“You’re avoiding,” Steve shoots back. “Say it again.”

Eddie drops the magazine onto his face for a second like he wishes for death. “You are so persistent.”

“Yes,” Steve says. “I am. We’ve established this.”

Eddie peels the magazine away and eyes him. Steve is sprawled out, hair a mess, socked toes nudging his thigh. He looks… annoyingly sincere.

“One word,” Steve says. “One. Then I’ll shut up forever.”

“Liar.”

“Okay, I’ll shut up for, like, ten minutes.”

Eddie snorts. He should say no. Dig his heels in. But there’s this warm, fizzy feeling in his chest that he doesn’t want to look at too closely, and Steve’s looking at him like he hung the damn moon.

“You’re real persistent, ain’t you, sweetheart?” Eddie says finally, letting it come out the way it wants to, vowels soft, consonants a little lazier, the word sweetheart wrapped up in the drawl he’s been choking down for years.

Steve’s brain short-circuits.

It’s like someone unplugged and replugged him in a different outlet. His stomach does this weird swoop. His face goes hot. Something about the sound of it, about Eddie saying sweetheart like that, all slow and easy, hits directly behind his ribs.

“Oh,” Steve says, a little breathless.

Eddie raises an eyebrow, already smirking. “There. You happy now?”

“No,” Steve says, and then he’s moving before he really decides to, leaning over the tiny space between them.

He kisses him.

It’s not planned. It’s not smooth. He just goes on impulse, mouth landing on Eddie’s with a soft, shocked sound like he surprised himself. His hand catches on Eddie’s shirt, fingers fisting in the worn fabric without thinking.

Eddie makes a tiny noise, half gasp, half laugh, and kisses back on instinct, then pulls away just enough to see Steve’s face. Steve’s flushed, wide-eyed, looking at him like he just handed over the Holy Grail.

There’s a beat where Eddie could pretend he doesn’t know exactly what just happened. Then he feels the grin pull at his mouth, slow and sharp.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, letting the vowels go loose on purpose now. “I can work with this.”

Steve swallows. “Eddie.”

Eddie leans in again, close enough that Steve can feel his breath, and drops it low, sweet, a little smug. “Watch me, darlin’.”

Steve practically launches himself into the next kiss, and that’s when Eddie realizes he’s just unlocked the most unfair advantage in the world.

[the-yappstronaut]

i spent three hours making these tiktok comments into stranger things pls enjoy them

[kristpeace]

🪨

[2jihiir0]

The Crawl 🦇 Part 2 (end)

Part 1

[2jihiir0]

The Crawl 🦇 Part 1

Part 2

[wootwona]

since the old version of this post was flagged for ‘adult content’…

reblog this post if your account is a trans safe space or owned by a trans person!

along with that, reblog if your account is a non-binary spectrum safe space or owned by someone on the nb spectrum!

[nug-offical-deactiv]

support. always.

[evil-pukicho-real-offical]

Forever and always.

[mechanicallyfantasticriddle]

Always!!! My blog is owned by a non binary/trans person!!!

[shares-a-vest]

Sometimes Eddie wonders if Steve is even enjoying himself when he is watching his sports games. Especially on an evening like tonight, where Steve is sitting on the couch in silence, seething. Arms folded and glowering so deep, Eddie worries it might etch a permanent crease between his partner's brows.

Steve has long given up on his complaining about the game officials and bad calls, the weather conditions, stats and mitigating factors. Hell, at one point Steve was even blaming his team's (admittedly, abysmal) performance on the new hairstyle of his favourite player. A shaved situation Eddie wholeheartedly agrees looks god-awful.

Though he had no idea such a thing might affect one's athletic prowess.

"Oh, come on!" Steve groans, throwing his hands up in the air. He goes limp, melting into the couch before standing with a huff, "I'm getting ready for bed. This is bullshit!"

He stomps off – at least as loud as is possible in his fluffy, baby-blue slippers.

Eddie cranes his neck over the back of the couch to watch as an even deeper scowl illuminates with the flip of their bedroom's light switch. He gulps, imagining tomorrow's inevitable (and loud) breakfast debriefing with Lucas over the phone.

"So..." he calls after Steve, eyeing the television where another player fumbles the football – again. He squares his jaw as he hesitates to speak, "You want the TV off, sweetheart?"

No answer.

At least not until Steve pops his head out from their bedroom, toothbrush in mouth, and spits, "How – how did these assholes get to the Superbowl last year and then play like that!"

He sucks back a glob of toothpaste at the end of his diatribe and Eddie grimaces.

"Do you want the television?" he repeats, insistent this time.

That furrowed brow quirks into a look of utter confusion. Steve rolls his eyes.

"Uh... I need to watch the rest of the game," he says around his toothbrush, like it is the most obvious answer in the world.

Now it is Eddie's turn to frown.

[morganbritton132]

“Mr Hopper.”

Hopper looks up at the hiss of his name and sees no one, but there is only one person who still calls him that so. He turns back to the shelf of dish soap and waits.

“Psst, Mr Hopper,” He hears whispered in that kinda loud way five year olds do everything. “Mr Hopper, can you hear me?”

“I don’t talk to ghost, kid.”

“I’m not a ghost,” Steve grouches, appearing in the aisle. “It’s me. Steve. I’m a person.”

Hopper raises an eyebrow at him and asks, “Why are you haunting me?”

“Cause there’s a criminal here.”

“What?”

“A robber,” Steve clarifies. “I sawed them rob a bank and followed them here, an’ I told ‘em they better go away but criminals don’t listen. That’s why they go to jail.”

Hopper is almost positive this is nothing.

He’d be willing to bet Dick Harrington has started trial prep for a client with an armed robbery charge and Steve has overheard him talking about it.

But nonetheless, “Show me.”

“Okay, but don’t shoot her,” Steve warns, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the front of the store. Before Hopper can respond, Steve is pointing at two women at the checkout counter, “Not Miss Joyce. The other lady. The one dressed like a criminal.”

Hopper’s eyes sweep from Joyce to the woman dressed in black and white horizontal stripes. He breathes out and then, “Claudia.”

Steve shoots him a look of wide-eyed disbelief but Hopper pays him no mind as he asks, “What the hell are you doing back in town?”

He was never friends with Claudia in high school. He doesn’t think he ever talked to her but he knows her the way everyone in a small town knows each other.

She got married and left town. She wouldn’t be back unless, “My dad took a bad tumble the other day. I’m here to check on him and my mom. How’s Diane?”

“She-“ Hopper pauses when there’s a sharp pull on his hand and an insistent look glaring into the side of his head. He sighs and asks, You robbing the place, Claudia?”

“Not at the moment, Jim.”

Hopper gives Steve a gesture that says ‘there you have it’ and Steve shoots back, “That’s not a-mist-able ‘cause you didn’t tell her about Miranda.”

“This isn’t a courtroom.”

“You’re not being a police officer right,” Steve protests. “You didn’t even get a war-ant to surge and cease her even though I gave you possible cause.”

“Search and seizure.”

“That’s what I said.”

Hopper opens his mouth but Claudia cuts him off with a squeal. They both look at her.

She hides her smile behind her hands, “Oh, you two are just adorable.“

Claudia’s always had a sweet smile. It’s warm and provides warmth but her words hit like a cold shower when she awes, “He looks so much like you, Jim.”

She looks down at her stroller and adds wistfully, “I hope my Dusty-buns looks up to his daddy as much as your little one.”

The implication of her words seized Hopper.

It freezes something in him that he refuses to look further into so he directs his gaze to Joyce and the way she hides her smile in the palm of her hand. He sees the amusement in her big eyes and knows that she was aware of this assumption. Knows she made no attempt to correct it.

He tilts her head towards her in silent conversation.

Steve misses the context of the conversation and moves on to a more pressing issue, “You have a baby in there?”

“I sure do,” Claudia says.

“You don’t have bags of money and jewels hidden inside?”

“The only precious cargo I have is my dusty-kins,” She replies. “Do you want to see him?”

Steve nods.

He approaches the stroller, looks inside, and, “He looks like broccoli.”

[damndarrenineedacigarettenow]

[morganbritton132]

Technically Steve has his first interaction with one of Robin’s parents in this post when he runs out in front of her mom’s car.

[morganbritton132]

(Day after this conversation)

There’s a new restaurant across the street from the Fair Mart.

It’s small and exclusive, Hawkins’ most recent attempt at fine dining.

He doesn’t really make note of it - not of the crowded parking lot or the business suits congregating in it - when he parks.

He’s halfway to the Fair Mart’s door when he hears - “Steven!”

He turns his head and watches with abject horror as Dick Harrington’s five year old darts away from him and into the road.

The probability was low that Melissa Buckley was going to hit the kid with her junker of a car but Hopper’s heart still falls into his ass when she slams on the break. Steve never breaks stride even when his dad recoils.

“Mr Hopper!” Steve calls, skidding to a stop in front of him in his dress shoes. “Mr Hopper, let me get the door for you.”

Hopper hasn’t recovered from nearly seeing the kid pancaked by a car and can only respond with an incredulous, “What?”

“Oh,” Steve says and the speaking louder, “I WILL OPEN THE DOOR FOR YOU! My grandpa can’t hear good either.”

Hopper, at a loss for any words that don’t include swearing, is just… “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you.”

This fucking kid, Hopper thinks because, “Why?”

Steve opens his mouth to respond but slams it closed when a hand whirls him around. Richard, finally coming after his kid, assesses him for damage and swears, “-to god, Steven. Are you hurt?”

“No, but-“

“Then apologize to this man for wasting his time and let’s go,” Richard demand, pulling him by the arm back towards the road and, presumably, their dinner plans.

“But Dadddd,” Steve protests, digging his heels into the ground and refusing to move. “I have to help Mr Hopper or he’ll die.”

That gets a twin, “What?”

“You’re supposed to help old people,” Steve explains, shaking his arm loose and stepping away from his father. “Mr Hopper is super old. He’s thirty.”

Fucking Callahan, Hopper thinks.

He takes a little satisfaction in how Richard - who is also thirty - stiffens up at the implication that he’s old. He runs a hand in his prematurely graying hair and says through his teeth, “Thirty isn’t old.”

“It is,” Steve insists. “Everybody thinks so.”

Hopper watches Richard sigh, look towards the crowd of his business friends observing them, and then wave a dismissive hand, “Hurry up.”

“Thank you!” Steve lights up. “Mr Hopper, can I get the door for you?”

Hopper eyes Richard one last time, making sure the man knows that he didn’t like the way he grabbed his son, before answering, “Sure, kid.”

He pauses just over the threshold and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his card.

“Thanks for the help,” He tells Steve, handing him the card. He makes eye contact with his father over the kid’s head as he says, “If you ever need help, you give me a call.”

“You already gave me your business card.”

“I know.”

[morganbritton132]

“Are you married?”

Callahan is just trying to eat his lunch when he has this question lobbed at him. He thinks about ignoring it and the kid that asked it but, “No, I’m not married.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m nineteen?”

“My mama was eighteen when she married my dad.”

“Yeah, well,” Callahan fumbles for something to say. “Look how happy she is.”

“She’s happy when she’s with me,” Steve says and then before Callahan could respond, “Hopper is married.”

“Hopper is thirty.”

“Hopper is thirty?!” Steve exclaims. “Is he going to die???!”

It’s about this time that Hopper comes back from making a call and is immediately confronted with a distressed child, “I don’t want you to die, Mr Hopper!!”

[morganbritton132]

Post-Season 2 AU where Steve and Eddie start hooking up and the only person to realize it is Carol.

She’s observant.

She sees Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson chomping down on a peanut butter sandwich at lunch and then the next period, Steve has a hickey and an allergic reaction in Calc.

Two plus two plus those weird longing looks they’ve been sending each other in the hallway equals, “You’re sleeping with the freak.”

“Shhh,” Steve hisses at her in the empty nurse’s office. “I mean, what? No, I’m not.”

“Convincing.”

“Shut up. That’s not happening.”

“Oh, then what happened?” She asks. “He tripped and fell peanut butter side up on your lips? You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not,” He blushes and then rolls his eyes. “Don’t tell-“

“Do I ever tell when you do gay shit?” She asks. “I didn’t tell anyone when you and Tommy-“

“Okay, it’s not gay if you’re there,” He cuts her off. The silence lingers before he says, “I really like him.”

“I know,” She replies. They were getting too sentimental so she adds, “I’m going to threaten him.”

“Don’t threaten him.”

“No, I’m going to,” She smiles. Steve is smiling too even if his face is puffy and his breathing weird.

It almost feels like before everything went sideways. She can tell Steve thinks the same thing because he looks away.

He picks at his nails, “Don’t tell Tommy.”

“Oh, god no,” She says. “Never.”

[morganbritton132]

If Steve didn’t want Carol to walk in on him and the freak than he wouldn’t have given her a key to his house in the fourth grade.

She pauses in the open doorway of his bedroom, observes, judges. She thinks Munson should have more confidence in his hand placements. Kiss with less tongue. But judging by the soft moan in Steve’s kissed, he doesn’t mind so, “Are you ever going to get off first base?”

She takes a lot of joy in the way Munson practically levitates off the bed, and even more joy in the annoyed look Steve shoots her, “I - my ribs are broken thanks your friend-“

“Not my friend.”

“- so it’s hard to. It makes it hard.”

Her eyes drift down, “Looks hard.”

“What are you doing here, Carol?”

“There’s no hairspray in the hall bathroom.”

“I knew someone was stealing my hairspray,” He mutters, easing out of bed and bitching about it all the way into the ensuite. He’s still bitching when he comes back with a can, “-all ‘why would someone steal your hairspray, Steve?’ ‘That’s crazy, Steve.’ Unbelievable.”

He flips the can of hairspray in the air before handing it to her like, “Get out.”

She ignores his words and the hairspray for a moment, taking in both the hickeys on his neck and the bruising lingering on his ribs, “Munson did that?”

“Hargrove,” He replies and then rolls his eyes at her raised eyebrow. “The ribs, not the-“

Steve pauses, looking over to where Eddie is being way to quiet like, “Hey, are you okay?”

“No, not fucking really, Steve. People can’t know-“

“It’s just Carol,” Steve says. “She already knows.”

He turns back to Carol, “I thought you threatened him.”

“I did,” She said. “Did you think I threatened you for no reason?”

“Yes!”

[hawkinsbelfry]

"I'm sorry," Steve says, "I thought you were gonna be a woman. Does that make me sexist, that I thought you were gonna be a woman?"

The witch squints at him for a second, which might be a warning sign - on the other hand, it might just be that the guy looks like he's just rolled out of bed, hair long and wild and boxers hanging low on his hips.

"I mean, probably," the witch says. His voice is low and a little scratchy, faintly familiar, and Steve has the distracted thought that he really wants the guy to say his name. No reason. He just wants to know what that would sound like.

"Shit, sorry," Steve says, after an awkward second, and the witch shrugs, prompting a shrill complaint from the bat perched a little precariously on his shoulder.

"You're fine," he says. "Unless you were relieved - pretty sure that would make you a dick."

"I try not to be."

"More than most, and better than I expected." The witch grins at him, and he has dimples when he grins, and Steve has no feelings about that at all. "So what brings you to my door at the crack of - "

"Noon," another voice says, and a grizzled older man pushes out of the trailer, past the witch. He's got a crumpled lunch bag in one hand, a battered tin flask in the other, and he stops to give the witch a judgemental look. "You're not gonna dress for company, Ed?"

"When company comes over in daylight hours it takes me as it finds me," the witch says. "When you're up all night performing dark and arcane rituals - "

"Atari," the older man mutters at Steve, folding his arms, doing an almost-perfect impression of someone who's not the least bit amused.

" - and, okay, maybe taking some relaxation time after - "

"So that was relaxation I was smellin' coming from your room all night?"

Steve couldn't help snorting, earning himself a sidelong little twist of a grin.

"Alright, Wayne, how about you let me go back to earning a livin'," the witch complains, and Wayne reaches out to tousle his hair - earning himself complaining noises from both man and bat - and heads off towards a battered truck.

"Fuck it," the witch says. "Mystique officially ruined. That's Wayne, I'm Eddie, the little guy on my shoulder is Ronald James, you're Steve Harrington, and I'm guessing you're in pretty dire fucking straits if you've wound up in Forest Hills."

"Yeah, I - " Steve pauses as the witch turns and heads inside, then follows him in, ducking a little to avoid the splintered branches nailed over the door. "I think I might be cursed."

"Huh," says Eddie, and eyes him thoughtfully. "Well that's probably about damned time."

[frownyalfred]

me, quietly whispering to the ao3 page of an author who doesn’t even know I exist: I am obsessed with you

[newskyillusion]

me, whispering to the ao3 page of an author who hasn’t updated anything in four years: I think about you often and I hope you’re alright

[azrielgreen]

me, whispering to the ao3 page of an author who wrote one life altering banger and nothing else: I hope your pillow is cool and your skin is clear and you find money in a forgotten jeans pocket

[jezebelgoldstone]

me, whispering to every single person on this post: please leave one singular comment saying literally any of that

[whereismymonsterlover]

Proud to say I have exceeded the word limit on comments multiple times and left two anyway, because the parasocial relationship I have with some authors' works is truly unhealthy.

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

i appear to have made mortal nemeses with a pigeon

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

tumblr stop rooting for the pigeon

[iamcon-fu-sion]

pick a side

team gaud

team pigeon

Voting ended onJun 1

[biggest-gaudiest-poltergeist]

CEASE THIS IMMEDIATELY

[allsteddie]

Omega Steve who after spending years and years looking for a suitable mate so he can start a family decides that, actually, he doesn't need one to achieve his goal.

At 34, he decides to have a kid by himself with the help of a IVF Clinic.

The whole process is a little overwhelming, Steve has to admit. There are a lot of tests and appointments, the clinic hands Steve a list of possible donors so he can choose the ones he judges could be a good enough sire for his pup.

After a very long and thorough consideration, Steve picks an alpha a couple years younger than him. The file says he's a lawyer, used to be an athlete all through high school and college. No health problems at all and the scent sample the clinic gives Steve is pleasant enough. Not the best Steve's ever smelled, but still nice nonetheless.

The procedure is, well, a procedure. The doctors and nurses are kind and attentive. Everything goes smooth and without any trouble. When the transfer is done and the embryos are safe in Steve's womb, he is soon discharged and Dustin is there in the waiting room to take Steve home and to make sure his best friend is okay.

The kid (who's not a kid anymore, but in Steve's eyes always will be) stays over at Steve's for the night just to be safe, then leaves the next day after a surprisingly teary hug.

"Why are you crying, dipshit? I'm the one who should be getting emotional."

"This thing you're doing is so cool," Dustin sniffs. "You're finally gonna have your pup, man. This is your dream since always."

"If you make me cry, I'm gonna punch you," Steve threatens even though his eyes are already red and stingy.

Two weeks later, Steve goes back to the clinic to confirm his pregnancy, this time by himself, and he can't help but shed a few tears when the test comes back positive.

This is it. This is real. Steve's having a pup and he couldn't be happier.

After the confirmation, the clinic hands him a schedule of tests and appointments, and also explain to him the scenting sessions he should have with the donor he's chosen.

"The scenting helps with your hormonal balance through the pregnancy," Dr. Morgan explains. "It also helps the pup because they can sense their sire through you. You'll get samples of your donor scent once a week, but it's advisable that you come here once a month for a scenting session. These sessions are supervised by our team to ensure your safety, Mr. Harrington, and your pup's. They are very safe and also very quick."

The doctor also guarantees that Steve doesn't have to go on with these sessions; that despite the benefits they would bring, the scent samples were enough to keep Steve's hormones in healthy levels during his pregnancy.

In the end, however, Steve agrees with the sessions because he wants what's best for his pup, so if he needs to spend thirty minutes every month being scented by a stranger to achieve that, then that's exactly what Steve is going to do.

Steve starts to suspect there's something wrong when the clinic gives him the first scent sample and the smell of grass and earth makes him puke his guts put. Steve has a vague memory of it being alright when he smelled it the first time, but now it just smells rotten, like a dead, muddy field instead of the freshly cut grass ans rich earth he remembers.

But maybe it's just the pregnancy, Steve tries to reason. Dr. Morgan said that his sense of smell would get more sensitive, so maybe that's what she was talking about.

He endures it for two weeks, until he just can't anymore. It smells too bad, it smells wrong and his inner omega is extremely distressed every time Steve as much as looks at the scent samples.

After two weeks, Steve goes back to the clinic and explains what's been happening. Judging by the doctor's face, that's not something that should be happening at all.

"We're gonna run some tests to see what could be causing this rejection," she says. "We will find out what is going on, Steve, don't worry."

And find out they do. Four days later, he's back at the clinic and Dr. Morgan is finally able to explain what is happening.

"Your omega is rejecting the scent because the samples don't belong to the sire of your pup."

"What?"

"I am very sorry, Mr. Harrington, but the lab messed up and the sperm used in the fertilization did not belong to the donor you chose. It belongs to another donor, so that's why you're reacting so badly to the scent samples we've been sending you."

Needless to say, Steve freaks the fuck out. His heart is beating so fast the blood his rushing to his ears and he can't even hear what the doctor is saying anymore.

She's probably explaining what happened, how the lab messed up the sperm samples and some other shit. She's probably trying to placate Steve but he doesn't want to know or hear any of it right now. The only thing Steve wants to know is...

"Who is the donor, then?" He asks bluntly, interrupting the doctor's monologue. "Who's the sire of my pup?"

Dr. Morgan doesn't seem surprised by the question. She just hands him a file.

Steve opens it with slightly shaking hands.

'EDWARD WAYNE MUNSON. 35. MUSICIAN.', says the file, followed by the man's health info, physical description and a small plastic bag with a scent sample.

The bag is closed, the black cloth inside looks ordinary, and yet the faint smell of dark chocolate and cinnamon coming out of it is enough to calm down and quiet all the noise in Steve's mind.

It's finally right, his omega rejoyces. They found the sire. They are safe.