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please please please please reblog if you’re a writer and have at some point felt like your writing is getting worse. I need to know if I’m the only one who’s struggling with these thoughts

#dev your prev tags are SO GOOD #prev tags -> #its absolutely normal and not an actual reflection of your quality as a writer #theres a million tiny different specific avenues of writing and no single work can capture them all #from scene to scene and work to work theres a new combination of elements that make the process different from your past works #plus any outside factors like taking hiatus and whatnot #there will always be something to challenge you as a writer no matter how much you study or practice #thank you for writing thank you for creating thank you for trying #you're doing great

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#it’s wrong. bangs too long #sensory nightmare bangs rn #and it’s too thick #need to get my hair thinned #and highlights touched up #just a lot needs to get fixed

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Saw someone mention how Steve tends to get defensive when he's anxious and it stuck with me, so here's my take on the "Steve breaks a dish and has a panic attack about it" trope

cw: descriptions of nonstandard panic attack, implied/referenced child abuse

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The distinct sound of shattering porcelain is followed by a vehemently hissed, “shit,” and then silence.

“Steve?” Eddie calls from the couch into the kitchen. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve calls back, but his voice sounds tight in the way it does when something definitely isn’t okay.

Eddie pushes himself up and moves to the doorway, looking in to see what the trouble is. The kitchen of the house he and Wayne had been “gifted” by the government isn’t exactly huge, and he has a straight line of sight to where Steve is standing by the sink, eyes squeezed shut as he pinches the bridge of his nose, and to the red and white shards of porcelain on the floor by his feet.

“Hey,” Eddie says, but Steve doesn’t look up; if anything, his posture only gets tenser. “You’re not cut or anything, are you?”

“No,” Steve says, and his tone is still a little off, but he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

“What was that, anyway?” Eddie asks.

Finally, Steve takes a deep breath in and opens his eyes, looking down at the mess on the laminate. “Mug.”

As soon as he says it, Eddie recognizes the colors for what the design must have been. “Shit, the Campbell’s one?”

Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives one sharp nod.

Eddie sucks a hiss of breath in through his teeth. “Shit,” he says again. “That was Wayne’s favorite.”

“I know,” Steve says tersely. “I’m sorry.”

His tone is definitely weird. “I mean, I’m sure it was an accident, Steve–” Eddie starts.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, almost snapping this time. “I’ll clean it up.”

“O-kay,” Eddie says slowly, watching as Steve jerks into motion and moves over to the corner where they stash the broom and dust pan.

“I’ll apologize to Wayne when he gets home,” Steve says as he starts sweeping up, even though Eddie hasn’t said a word.

“He gets home at, like, six in the morning.”

“I’ll make sure I’m up,” Steve says shortly.

“Steve, you can just tell him what happened later, he’s not going to stand around demanding an explanation. I mean, seriously, you think Wayne is gonna be pissed if you’re not there, immediately scraping at his feet when he comes through the door?” Eddie scoffs, but Steve remains silent. Eddie watches as he finishes sweeping in short, sharp motions, brows pulling together as Steve apparently fails to pick up on the joke. “…he won’t be, y’know.”

Steve shrugs. His expression has gone eerily blank, and he takes the dustpan over to the garbage can to dump it.

“Hey, don’t–” Eddie reaches out, and Steve jerks to a stop just in time. “You don’t have to toss it, man, we might be able to glue it back together.”

Steve sends Eddie a sharp look. “I’m not gonna be able to hide that it was broken, Eddie,” he says slowly, as though this should be painfully obvious.

“I’m not suggesting we hide it, I’m just saying we might still be able to use it,” Eddie answers in the same slow manner. “It’s not junk until you’re sure you can’t fix it.”

“Right,” Steve snaps, dropping the dustpan on the counter so sharply that the shards of porcelain clink against each other. “Can’t even clean up right.”

Eddie frowns, stirrings of defensiveness rising up in his gut at Steve’s continued sour mood. “I didn’t say that. I just said we might be able to fix it.”

“Fine. We’ll try to fix it,” Steve bites out, turning away from Eddie so he can put the broom back in the corner.

Eddie shakes his head, unwilling to engage with whatever snit Steve’s got himself worked into. “What happened, anyway?” he asks instead.

Apparently, this is the wrong tactic.

“What happened is, I’m too stupid to even do the dishes right,” Steve declares as he whirls back around. “Is that what you want to hear?”

“What?” Eddie is baffled, suddenly caught in the middle of an argument he hadn’t even realized was happening. “No! Why would I want to hear that?”

Steve throws his arms up, a demonstration of giving in. “Well I already said I’m sorry, and I am, and I don’t know what else you want from me!”

The heat of Eddie’s own temper is beginning to flare, but he does his best to shake it away because he still doesn’t know what the hell is going on and he doesn’t think getting angry will help. “I don’t want anything else from you! Why are you acting like I’m yelling at you? I’m not, I’m not even upset about the stupid mug, so what the hell is your deal?”

He takes a couple of steps into the kitchen, reaching out for Steve, hoping just to touch some part of him. Physical contact has always been grounding, has always been a comfort for them both; it almost seems like they can communicate better if they can just be in contact somehow. Instead of reaching back, though, Steve tenses up; it’s not exactly a flinch, but it’s as if he’s bracing himself, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to–

Eddie takes in the painfully blank expression on Steve’s pale face, the way his chest is rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths that he can’t quite seem to control, the way he’s angled himself just slightly away from Eddie, and suddenly Eddie feels cold.

It’s as if he’s waiting for Eddie to hit him.

Eddie wonders how the hell he hadn’t realized he was walking through a minefield until he was already standing in the middle of it.

(It still takes him by surprise, sometimes, that Steve’s anxiety, his panic, tends to look more like anger. That he tends to lash out like a wounded animal when he feels backed into a corner, hurt too many times in moments of vulnerability to do otherwise.)

(It takes him by surprise, but he’s learning.)

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, dropping his hand slowly back to his side, “I’m not angry.”

Steve stares at him, almost confused, like Eddie’s not doing it right, like this isn’t what’s supposed to come next. Eddie sort of wants to break something (he thinks, briefly, that he’d like to start with the fingers on Mr. Harrington’s right hand, and then move on to his left).

“It’s just a mug, Steve, it’s okay. No one’s upset about it,” Eddie says. “I’m preemptively speaking for Wayne, because I know he’s not gonna be mad at you. Seriously, getting upset over a broken cup? Does that sound like something Wayne would do?”

Slowly, once he seems to realize that Eddie is waiting for an answer, Steve shakes his head.

“Does that sound like something I would do?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head again, though he’s still watching Eddie with something approaching trepidation.

“I promise it’s fine. I’m not angry,” Eddie repeats, and chances a couple of steps closer to Steve.

Steve doesn’t react this time, no tensing, no flinching, no verbally lashing out, and so Eddie lifts a hand again, reaching slowly for Steve’s. Steve lets him.

When he gets his fingers wrapped around Steve’s own, Eddie can feel how cold they’ve gone, can feel the fine tremble of adrenaline working through them, and can’t quite choke down the noise of sympathy in his throat. He tugs on Steve’s hand.

“C’mere,” Eddie says, invites him by lifting his other arm, but leaves it up to Steve.

It only takes a moment for Steve to step in close, and when Eddie lets go of his hand to wrap his arms around Steve’s shoulders, Steve reciprocates by cinching his own arms tight around Eddie’s waist. He takes one sharp breath, and then another, and Eddie can hear the way they shake going in and out.

“There you go,” Eddie says quietly, rubbing Steve’s back.

“I just dropped it,” Steve says, his voice a little hoarse. “It was an accident.”

“I know it was,” Eddie assures him. “It’s okay.”

“It was an accident,” Steve says again, and Eddie wonders how often someone has believed him – how often he’d ever even been given a chance to explain.

“It was an accident,” Eddie agrees. “You’re okay, Steve.”

Steve lets out a little noise, like maybe he’s trying to laugh, but then he pulls in another shuddery breath and rests his chin on Eddie’s shoulder. “Okay.”

In a little bit, Eddie might lead Steve to sit down on the couch, or maybe just take them both up to bed, because fuck doing the dishes after this anyway; he’ll make sure to leave a note for Wayne about the mug (ask him not to bring it up until Steve does, to not even jokingly make a thing about it), but for now, he concentrates on holding Steve close.

He’ll stand with him as long as it takes for the shaking to stop, for his breathing to even out, for him to relax even just a little against Eddie, and he'll promise, as many times as Steve needs to hear it, that it’s okay. Things will be okay.

[Prompt: Embracing your partner]

#oh man #this hit like a punch to the gut #I loved it!! #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things

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oh no I’ve drawn eddie again

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I forgor how to draw

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Buzzcut

For @klausinamarink ‘s birthday. I’m sorry this is late, my friend 💗

Eddie’s gonna kill him. Gonna murder his uncle and bury him in the backyard so he can never embarrass Eddie ever, ever again.

“This one,” Wayne the Betrayer continues, leafing over to the next page, “was Eddie’s eighth grade talent show.”

Steve makes a particularly strangled noise that lands somewhere between a coo and a laugh, pointing at the photo that Eddie is positive he’d set fire to last year.

Wayne must’ve made copies.

“Look at your hair!” Steve giggles, downright bouncing in his seat as he points to Eddie’s hideous buzzcut, “you were so cute!”

Eddie makes another grab for the photo album but his stupid jock boyfriend with his stupid, hot jock reflexes dances away, getting up from the couch to turn to the next page, which only makes him giggle louder.

“Look at you!” Steve downright coos this time, holding the photo album so close to his face it nearly rubs at his nose.

“I will never forgive you for this.” Eddie grumbles, Steve practically bouncing on his toes as he takes in Eddie’s woeful eighth-grade haircut, and Wayne has the audacity to scoff.

“Your boy asked. I ain’t about to refuse him.”

“You’re supposed to be on my side.” Eddie whines, and Wayne rolls his eyes.

“Not when you’re bein’ an idjit.”

Steve dances back over, keeping the album a safe distance away as he shows Eddie another photo, this time with him at a table covered in dice and miniatures, his hair still cropped close to his head. “I’m framing these.” Steve announces, tapping at the photograph, “look at you!”

And Steve’s smiling so big and wide, so obviously enamored, and Eddie, despite himself, feels his irritation shrink.

“We’re burning it.” Eddie counters, but it’s without heat, and Steve sits down next to him, no longer afraid for the albums safety.

“I love them.” Steve maintains, and Eddie softens more at the heartfelt way his boyfriend gazes on his awkward, gangly phase, on Eddie’s shaved head and how it accentuates his too-big ears and buggy eyes, Steve cradling the pages like those years are something precious.

“You’re biased.” Eddie grumbles, but he scoots a little closer to Steve. Presses their shoulders together. Their thighs.

“‘Ve got baby photos.” Wayne suddenly announces, and Eddie nearly topples off the couch, “you know he didn’t get hair until he was three?”

My permanent tag list (sorry yall are getting tagged twice in one day I am overdue on some gifts!!!) 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle

@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre

@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade

#SO CUTE AAA IM MELTING #Wayne and Steve would conspire against Eddie so frequently I am sure of it #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #Leigh you are just writing banger after banger!!!! z #fluff #established relationship #established steddie

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BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award, you're supposed to paste it in the ask of 8 people who deserve it. If you break the chain nothing will happen, but it's sweet to know someone thinks you’re beautiful inside and out♡

OMGGG HELLO!!! Sending this right back at you 🫶🏼

#em speaks #me when my favs end up in my inbox: 😭🥰❤️

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this does not apply if you wear exclusively leggings. Those things tear all the time you need like a million on standby

#five that I wear and enjoying wearing #I have two pairs that i need to donate bc they don’t bring joy #but I’m considering buying another pair of pants bc I feel like it would be good to have more jeans I like

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Fairytale

A (late) birthday drabble for @penny00dreadful, because I can’t write fast to save my life ✨

“And then,” Eddie continues, and his voice is so low Steve can really only feel the rumble of it, feel the vibrations in his chest more than the words themselves, “the knight realized something very important: the dragon had not been holding the princess hostage. The dragon was there to slay all those who were unworthy of her.”

Eddie’s fingers dig into his neck, Steve’s head on his chest, and knead into the hot, curling pain that radiates up Steve’s spine and across his scalp. Eddie’s voice is calm. Low and soothing, like it always is on nights like this.

“And so the knight laid down his blade. For how could he slay which protects the one which he hopes to love? And when he rested it on the ground, and stepped away, the knight saw the fire in the dragon’s throat dim.”

A set of headlights flash through their closed blinds and Steve flinches, the pain that had begun to drain flaring at the harshness, only to have Eddie’s free arm come to cover his face, his elbow curling over Steve’s eyes, blocking the violent light.

Eddie goes on, his voice unwavering, the fairytale falling from his lips as soothing to Steve’s throbbing migraine as anything a doctor has ever prescribed him, and he’s able to relax once again.

“No words were exchanged between the two. The knight did not know if the beast could speak, but the common tongue was not needed between him and the fire-breather, for the moment their weapons were dropped, the knight believed they finally understood one another.” Eddie’s hand moves from his neck to behind Steve’s ear, his thumb rubbing gentle circles where he knows the pain rests, and Steve melts further into Eddie’s embrace.

“And so the knight bowed to the creature which had protected the princess from all who had been unworthy. And although he was beaten and bruised, and although his joints protested, and his ribs smarted where the dragon had struck him previously, he bowed deep, knowing that the creature could still see him as one unfit for the lady that lived in the high tower above, and end his life with a mere swipe of that taloned foot.” Eddie pauses, shifting, for a moment, to reach for the glass of water from their bedside table. The pain in Steve’s head is waning, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

It’s a new story on each night like this. Almost always does it involve dragons or knights or princesses or bards, the battle of good versus evil, of true love or destiny. Each and every time lights and sound and movement become too much, Eddie talks until Steve sleeps.

“But the dragon did not end the young knights life. The dragon, for the first time, saw someone who would respect the princess. Would respect her and love her the way she deserves.

“And thus the dragon carried the knight up to the highest part of the turret by the only way how: with five beats of her great and powerful wings, perching herself at the very top. Only then did the knight see the staircase built from the roof and down, ensuring only those who earned the dragons favor could hope to see the princess.”

Steve’s breathing deepens, and Eddie kisses the top of his head.

He continues, lips against Steve’s hair, ruffling the strands, “the dragon extended one of her scaly blue legs, assisting the wounded knight to his staircase.”

It grows harder for Steve to hear what Eddie’s saying. He feels the tendrils of sleep, finally, beginning to wrap around him, his boyfriend’s story tucking him in.

Steve knows without hearing it how the story will end. That the knight will earn the princess’s favor. That the two of them will fall in love. That they will rule the land fairly and justly under the protection of her loyal dragon. That their kingdom will prosper for all of their days, because Eddie is a sucker for a happy ending.

Steve knows, but doesn’t hear, because he falls asleep, at last, to the comfort of knowing it will.

Permanent tag list 💗: @hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle

@westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @finntheehumaneater @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre

@itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade

#cryingggg #Leigh this is so soft #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #established relationship

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Yup

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Trailer park Steve AU part 63

part 1 | part 62 | tumblr masterlist | ao3

cw: references to canonical horror. short update today while i restructure some stuff in the next scene <3

“I’m staying with him,” Steve says, toeing a weed in the soft soil. Testing the give. Thinks maybe he’ll be doing that for the rest of his life. 

“Uh,” Robin objects. They’re at the top of the hill again, halfway to the car — everyone but Eddie, who refused to leave the boathouse after telling them in horrific detail how a cheerleader floated up to the ceiling and popped like a cheap balloon, and whose pale, frightened face Steve can see staring at them through a grimy window, two black dots hardly daring to blink. 

“Steve.”

“Huh?” 

Max calls him a total space-case.

Robin groans up at the sky. "As much as we would all love to have a spooky sleepover with you two under a tarp—”

“Mm, would we love that?” Dustin wonders. 

“—I'm not so sure our parents would be too thrilled about us not coming home when there's a freaky evil killer magician on the loose!"

Max snorts at that; mutters under her breath. “My mom probably wouldn’t mind.”

Dustin whines, “Mine would!”

Three people turn in unison to lay into him for being a dick, but he’s already holding up his hands in surrender, cringing so hard it folds his face like crumpled paper. “Sorry,” he winces. “Sorry. That was rude.”

“Yep,” Max agrees with a flat smack of her lips.

Eddie's still waiting by the window.

Steve just nods at them — arms folded, shoulders broad. "Dustin’s right.” He turns to Robin. “You both are.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, the sound long and airy, sweet with relief that he's seen reason.

She takes a wide step toward the car.

Steve says, “Which is why I'm staying here, and you're all going home."

Her foot falls back down to the ground; legs stretched in a standing split, shoes slipping on wet grass. “Oh, my god." This sigh is sour. "Oh, my god, of course you are.”

“We’re not leaving you,” says Dustin.

“Wasn’t asking,” Steve replies.

Robin lets out a strangled noise of frustration and shimmies herself upright. "Steve, please!" She marches over. "I know you’re all” —her hands come up around her head, voice warbling; wooOoo-ooh— “about your boyfriend-slash-not-boyfriend-slash-whatever being in danger, and I get that, babe, I really do, but I don't! Know how! To drive!"

Steve turns to Max. 

She’s looking right at them, mouth pinched in a flat line over the laugh she's holding back. Restrained as ever, but Steve can see the glimmer of excitement at the edge of her expression — the subtle twitch of her nostrils, the muscle jumping in her jaw. 

I've driven it before. 

"...Do not," he warns as he presses his keys into her palm; closes her fist around the metal, "fuck this up."

—

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#AAAAA #oh my gosh the potential ANGST #trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #I am soooo in love with this

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ROBIN BUCKLEY + patches

STRANGER THINGS | 4.03 Chapter Three: The Monster and the Superhero

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For the colour palette challenge, could I please get Steve and Eddie in White Noiz? (Ko-fi sent ^__^)

^_^

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　　 ˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 .

i hope you feel at peace today,

know that better days are coming

　　 ˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 . ✧　　 　　˚ 　　　 .

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Laika to Ground Control

Prints

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🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

Friendly reminder that asking your lycan partner to turn you is incredibly insensitive! Seriously can we retire this trope already? Not only is it just offensive, but no one would ever actually choose this life! Lycanthropy is a curse. Full stop.

🐾 superhowllock69 Follow

Ok user "moon-moon" as if that original meme wasn't created to mock pack nomenclature 🙄

Anyway I'm not gonna touch that internalized lycanphobia with a ten foot pole. Being turned by your partner is something that can be incredibly intimate as long as both parties are consenting and the one being turned is 100% sure they want it. Literally the only downside to transforming once a month is the pain, but midol works just fine. No one with these "lycanthropy bad" takes ever wants to discuss the legitimate positives that come with this "curse" lmao.

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

I'm literally reclaiming moon moon but go off I guess. Anyways turning your partner is absolutely disgusting and morally reprehensible and anyone who does it should be muzzled permanently.

🌜 impawssible Follow

lmao my wife literally saved my life when she turned me but i guess she should be muzzled huh? we run through the woods hunting deer together and can each haul in groceries in one trip now, but nooo she's obviously a danger to society because she cares enough about me to help me when insurance wouldn't cover my medicine

also it was confirmed that the creator of that meme literally makes and sells silver bullets so if you still wanna use moon moon for yourself that certainly is a choice. source: (X)

🦴 pupperoni Follow

I love that instead of naming the more common benefits of lycanthropy, you mentioned that you and your wife can carry all the groceries in one trip. I think that's definitely a positive that gets overlooked far too often and I commend you for speaking your truth, sir

🌜 impawssible Follow

lol thanks but I'm a woman 😅

🦴 pupperoni Follow

🦇 count-fuckula Follow

Plus werewolf blood tastes way better and is as filling as 10 humans 👍

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

Oh my GOD you vampblr freaks will just flock to anything. It clearly says "vamps DNI" in my bio!

🐾 superhowllock Follow

lmaoooo of course you're a vampire exclusionist

🌕 daddy-fenris Follow

wasn't OP the same guy who said fursuits were offensive to lycanthropes and doxxed a werewolf fursuiter?

🐺 moon-moon4w00 Follow

They ARE offensive and harmful to this community and I'm tired of pretending they're not. They perpetuate harmful depictions of what a humanoid wolf is actually like.

🌜 impawssible Follow

me when I dox someone for making candy colored animal costumes that look nothing like what a real werewolf does

🦴 pupperoni Follow

K

🌕 daddy-fenris Follow

U