sp0o0kylights

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in the end, the way Steve and Eddie end up together is bc of a dare Robin makes; she insists that Steve could get anything out of Eddie and, to prove her point, dares him to try and ask Eddie to do something they both know is impossible. So Steve pulls out the big guns, Harrington charm out full force and flirty touches... and Eddie folds in seconds.

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“I’m ok with X topic being written abt as long as the narrative doesn’t condone it” u need 2 b spoonfed the conclusion that bad stuff is bad? u can’t come 2 it on ur own? are u serious.

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Lucas: Please tell me you didn’t drag Steve into this.

Dustin: I did not drag Steve into this.

Steve: [knocks on the door]

Lucas: Who’s that?

Dustin: I think you know.

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stranger things as random headlines

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everyday I pray Zillow makes a comment section

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So I’m on a trip with my robotics team and there’s only two “girls” (me, an enby, and a cis girl), so we get our own beds in our own room, but the guys are rooming four to a room, but there’s only two beds in each room. Which means that two guys are sleeping on the floor every night.

I’m not joking. They were literally arguing over who’s sleeping on the floor tonight (apparently they plan on rotating).

And I asked them “why don’t you just share a bed?” And they all gave me the same answer:

“No, that’s weird! That’d be gay!”

And I just looked at them and I decided to break the bad news to them

“If lying next to another guy makes you wanna suck dick, you already wanted to suck dick.”

I’ve never seen so many Straight Guys™️ enraged by a single sentence before

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There's a huge difference between redemption and humanization. I feel like a lot of "redemption arcs" aren't actually redemption at all, they're just attempts to humanize the villain so that they seem multi-faceted, but people read them as "redemption arcs" and think that that is meant to justify all the evil they've done before and negate whatever made them a villain in the first place. I think true "redemption arcs" are actually kind of rare because true redemption would take making the villain acknowledge their crimes, reevaluate their actions, actively choose to do better, and then proceed to make amends and become a better person, and that would this take more time than most stories are allowed to give their characters.

I've also seen people argue that a character has to be poised for redemption from the jump for it to work because once a character does something "too bad", they can't be redeemed. I completely disagree because redemption isn't justification or forgiveness, so no matter how horrible a character's actions, they could choose to become better, but because a lot of people (including writers) think redemption means "erasing the character's flaws and making it so they did nothing wrong ever", a lot of attempted "redemption arcs" just end up erasing a character's entire history or justifying every evil thing they've ever done. And yeah, in these cases, the only way to make a character go from a villain to a perfect cinnamon roll with no flaws *is* to have been planning it from the beginning and make sure they never do anything that can't be explained away later.

TLDR: real redemption arcs require a lot of self-awareness, patience, and growth, which are things that are rarely actually allocated to villains, and that's why real redemption arcs almost never get executed. The reason people think redemption arcs are overdone is because there are so many attempts to either humanize a villain that get misconstrued as redemption or attempts to blatantly erase who a character was in the name of "redemption", which is really just poor character development.

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This is disjointed as fuck but I'm PROUD. Points for the reference

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Remember, if you haven't felt the first edible in 5-10 minutes eat two or three more

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Steve walks into his house—HIS house, he would emphasize—to find his two favorite people wrestling on his couch.

For a second, the bottom drops out of his stomach. It's knee-jerk, even though he knows better. But they are very wrapped around each other, twisting and writhing, and it's pretty easy to get the wrong idea. Until he looks closer and realizes the wrestling is a lot more... violent, than sexy.

He watches, shocked into silence and stillness, as Eddie chomps down on Robin's upper arm. Robin screeches and yanks Eddie's hair. Steve feels un-easy in a different way now, like maybe this is devolving into an actual physical altercation instead of some friendly tussling. He winces when Robin gives Eddie a rather vicious purple nurple.

"FUCK, I give, I give," Eddie screams, limbs releasing her to curl protectively around himself.

Robin bounces up cackling, rumpled and sweaty. Her victory grin is vicious when she turns to Steve.

"Hear that Harrington? Your ass is mine tonight!"

Steve stares at her in fear. "What?"

"I get cuddle privileges tonight," she declares, still a little breathless. "And Eddie gets to sleep on the couch."

Behind her, Eddie looms before he jumps on her back, dragging her back down with a war cry. Steve watches them for a moment as the curse at each other for cheating, before going upstairs and locking himself in his room.

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You, a heroic paladin have successfully slain a fearsome dragon. But the dragon warns you that death is but a door, and dragons don’t die, they reincarnate. You paid it no mind….until your son was born with golden, slitted eyes.

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He is half of my soul, as the poets say✨🌿

Im sharing a few more pieces of art I haven’t shared here from earlier this year, but if you wanna see more of my stuff you can find me on

IG: @lilustrate

And twitter @lilustrate_

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love language

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Steve's love language is casual intimacy.

He presses his thigh against Eddie's when they're on the couch and watching TV, plays with Eddie's hair when he's bored, holds Eddie's hands when he has nothing to do, and rests his chin on Eddie's shoulder while they're out shopping.

Eddie's love language is sharing.

He shares everything he has with Steve. Those big and small stories that he knows, those pretty trinkets he hoarded all of his life, those morning pecks, those goodbye smooches, and those goodnight kisses.

Even his heart isn't the exception. One part he keeps for himself, his friends and family. While the other half is all for Steve.

It was a lazy evening when Eddie pillowed his head in Steve's lap and peered up at his husband who was peeling an orange.

The citrus scent was lovely. And so was Steve.

The pout on his lips every time he concentrated on doing something, the dip of his brows when he was puzzled by Eddie's teasing, the hazel in his eyes that rivaled the beauty of the sun, and the stray lock of hair that curled on his forehead.

In the background, their radio was crooning about old love, and Eddie's stomach was full and warm after the delicious dinner he had helped Steve prepare.

He was content to just lie there and gaze at Steve, in awe of how lucky he was to be here and live this wonderful life that he had built together with his best friend—his husband.

"Say ah," Steve finally looked down at him, hand holding a peeled orange.

Eddie complied and was fed with each pulp until there was nothing. He chewed slowly, savoring the sour sweetness that popped inside his mouth.

"Taste good?" Steve raised an eyebrow at him, already moving on to peel another orange.

Instead of answering that question, Eddie smiled at his husband, dopey and stupid.

"Love you, sweetheart."

Steve huffed out an amused snort. "Of course, I gave you an orange."

"And it tastes good," Eddie grinned.

"Yeah, love you, too, baby," Steve leaned down and pressed a kiss on his forehead.

Eddie felt like the sun was inside his chest, so bright and so lovely.

And he knew it was happiness.

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Steve’s not paying attention. He’s in his head thinking about who knows what, when he hands Eddie a can of Coke.

“Thanks,” Eddie hums while Steve plops down beside him on the couch.

And then it happens.

Steve, without a thought in his head, leans over and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple.

Before he’s completely pulled back he realizes his mistake.

“Uh, thanks?” Eddie’s lips are pursed like he’s fighting back saying a whole lot more.

“Shit,” Steve’s still positioned halfway between sitting down and leaning in.

“It’s ok, dude.” Eddie tries to hold his soda casually. “We’ve all done it.” But Eddie scrunches his face like he doesn’t even believe his lie.

“No, uh, I don’t-I don’t know why I did that.” Except he does.

He’s been thinking about kissing Eddie for months. He’s been wondering how soft the man’s lips are, or if he’d be gentle or rough when kissing Steve back.

The lie feels like a lead balloon in his gut.

“No big deal, Harrington. In fact, I’ll kiss you. Even the score.”

“Wha-?” Eddie’s lips cut Steve off with the most awkward kiss Steve’s ever experienced.

But.

It’s Eddie’s lips pressing against Steve’s and Steve doesn’t want to waste this insane opportunity so he kisses back. The action must surprise Eddie because he stalls his lips for a brief second before he’s surging forward like a man starved for more.

They’re interrupted by a clearing of a throat.

“Wha-what is happening here?” Robin stands at the end of the couch, returning from the bathroom with her arms crossed.

Eddie’s eyes widen and he pulls away from Steve’s lips slowly.

“Uh, well? I owed Steve for…” he looks around for any kind of answer, then notices the can in his hand. “My soda!”

Robin stares at him incredulously. “I’ll get my own drinks from now on.”

[sp0o0kylights]

Eddie doesn’t like spending time away from Steve. 

He’s fine during the day. He can do his job and chat with his coworkers and do what he needs to do without thinking too much on it, but there is nothing in the world that he looks forward to more than being able to come home every evening to the love of his life. Nothing more gratifying than being the person that makes Steve smile when he walks through their front door. No better feeling than Steve welcoming him home.

So call it unhealthy, call him whipped or codependent or whatever else, but Eddie doesn’t like spending extended time away from his boyfriend. Maybe it was the more-than-one near death experience, the nights they spent in hospital waiting rooms, not allowed to be at each other’s bedside, but being away from Steve, especially at night, makes him anxious. Makes his heart rate pick up and his palms sweat, makes him ruminate on whether or not Steve is okay.

So Eddie hasn’t exactly been sleeping. Or eating all that well. Not for the past three days, at least. Because Steve is at a teacher’s conference in Chicago for the week, only leaving under Eddie’s profuse and continued promises that he’d be fine. That Eddie can survive a week without him. 

Which he can. It just doesn’t mean it’s exactly pleasant. Especially today. Because Eddie has the day off, and there’s not much to distract him from the gaping, Steve-sized hole in it. 

He starts by doing the laundry. Washes their sheets. Washes every throw blankets and every towel, moves onto the kitchen while the washer rumbles and does all the dishes. He goes on the truly spiritual experience of cleaning their dishwasher. Which, why must things that do the cleaning need to be cleaned? He scrubs the grime from the shower and wipes the spit from the sink, vacuums the rugs and wipes down the windows, organizes their pantry and cleans out the fridge. 

By the time he’s done his fingers ache. His back smarts from where he spent too long hunched over their tub, and still he misses Steve. 

Who is coming back tomorrow. Late in the evening, sure, but realistically Eddie only needs to survive another 30 hours. 

Which is far too long. 

He considers baking something. Like those those blueberry muffins Steve likes so much, but Eddie just knows by the end he’d have shitty muffins and a dirty kitchen.

So he tries to read. Tries to play guitar and write some songs, tries watching TV and listening to music, even tries going on a walk to pick up some dinner he knows he won’t eat, finally taking Steve’s advice on fresh air to heart. But as the clock ticks on, the itch under his skin only gets worse.

Not even their nightly phone call helps. 

He can tell Steve knows something’s up, keeps reminding him he’ll be back tomorrow, that it’s just one more night, because despite Eddie’s best attempt at deflection Steve knows him far too well.

“Tomorrow.” Steve reminds him, again, at the end of their call.

“Tomorrow.” Eddie repeats. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Eddie misses his boyfriend. 

He tries to sleep. Can’t, of course. He tosses and turns in his bed and then tosses and turns on the couch with the TV humming staticky with whatever late-night garbage he has it on. 

And he just—has to do something. Keep occupied until the sun comes up and he can go to work and lose himself in whatever car some idiot brought in because he didn’t change the oil. Keep his hands busy enough to keep his mind busy, too.

He sits bolt upright. Remembers, suddenly, the bleach and hair dye he’s almost positive Robin left here. 

It doesn’t take him long to find. He’d organized them, without even realizing, nestled them between all of Steve’s bottles and jars and potions. 

Never one for instructions, Eddie remembers Steve mixing the bleach with something else before he smeared it over Robin’s hair. 

It was white. He remembers that much. Thick and gloopy. Like… conditioner?

He mixes the two together in an old Tupperware with a toothbrush, the smell sort of making his eyes water. 

He can’t see much of the back of his head, but he’s just getting the ends, anyways. 

Eventually the toothbrush becomes cumbersome, and he massages the last of it in with his fingers. 

He’s pretty glad that part goes quick because after a minute he can feel his cuticles begin to burn. 

He remembers Steve wrapping Robin’s hair in a plastic bag, and he finds one, eventually, has to fish out a crumpled receipt but sticks that over his head. And waits.

He forgot about the waiting part. That he’d have to sit here while the bleach did its thing and then again when he puts on the red. 

He sits on the toilet with the lid down, picking at his firey cuticles. The clock in the hallway reads nearly 5 a.m., which means Eddie has at least four more hours to kill. 

He goes through their drawers again, wondering if Steve maybe has a different color hiding around. He thinks green would be cool. Maybe pink.

But Eddie doesn’t find another color. He finds, instead, his sewing kit. And he thinks of all the goofy tattoos his has. The goofy tattoos he gave himself. His dice. His Tree of Gondor. His triceratops. And, really, how it’s a shame he hasn’t gotten one for Steve. 

He knows what he’s doing and where before he even has all the supplies, snapping a ballpoint into a small dish and sterilizing the needle with his lighter. He shaves his inner thigh and washes out the bleach from his hair, which is a little underwhelming, honestly, having done little to lighten his dark locks. 

He puts the red in regardless, puts his plastic bag hat back on and gets to work on his thigh. 

And that’s how Jeff finds him. Appearing, in Eddie’s bathroom doorway, two coffee cups in hand. He takes in the plastic bag, smeared with red, on his head, Eddie’s bald and inky leg.

Eddie has no idea what time it is.

He looks down at himself. “I think Steve is… 86% of my impulse control.” 

Jeff doesn’t say anything. Just rests the coffees on the sink and crouches to look at Eddie’s fresh ink. 

“Is that… hairspray?”

“Three puffs!” Eddie answers, a little deliriously, and dips the needle back into the ink to start the third said puff. “How’d you get in here?” He asks, not taking his eyes off the needle. 

“How do you always forget you gave me a key?” Jeff snorts, and then, a little softer, adds, “Steve asked me to swing by before your shift today, you know. Bring you some food.”

Eddie’s gaze flicks to the coffee as he dips his needle in again. “I only see caffeine, here, Williams.”

Jeff’s quiet for a moment before, “how about you finish that up, wash that dye from your hair, and then I’ll give you the food?” Jeff’s voice is still all gentle and obnoxious, and Eddie resists the urge of poking him with the needle.

But Eddie’s almost done with the last puff, anyways, and… breakfast does sound nice. 

“‘M almost done.” He mumbles. 

Jeff sits on the bathroom floor, sipping his coffee and watching Eddie finishes. Then he helps him untangle the plastic bag from his hair. Then makes sure whatever soap they have is unscented, makes sure whatever Eddie’s about to slather all over his thigh won’t turn it septic. 

Damn paramedics. 

In the shower, though, Eddie’s exhaustion starts to creep up on him. Four days with little sleep makes his eyelids droop in the warmth. Makes his shoulders sag as he washes the dye out of his hair. Makes his limbs heavy as he cleans his new tattoo, which, looks pretty damn good, if he does say so himself.

A can of hairspray. Three puffs. 

Eddie towels off, only a little disappointed that the dye didn’t do much. He can see it, a little, but only if the light hits it just right.

Jeff’s waiting for him with a greasy breakfast sandwich and coffee, and Eddie bites into it before he’s even seated, moaning at the taste. 

“Jesus.” Jeff mutters, “let’s wait until Steve gets back for that, okay?”

Eddie doesn’t have the energy to bite back, just takes another bite before he swallows the first. “Fank ‘oo,” Eddie grunts, word garbled around egg and sausage and cheese. He swallows. Looks down at his hands. “For.” The skin of his inner thigh is pink. “Everything.” He takes another bite. 

Jeff smiles. “And miss whatever disaster just happened in your bathroom? Not a chance, Munson.” He puts down his coffee cup. “I did call you in sick from work today, though. Just so you know.”

Eddie drops his sandwich. “Jeff!” Egg flies across the table. “What the fuck!”

Jeff raises his eyebrows and dusts Eddie’s food from his shirt. “You can barely keep your eyes open. I’m protecting you from dropping a car on yourself during a tire rotation.”

Eddie swallows, hands already twitching, “dude. I’m gonna go insane here by myself.”

Jeff raises his other eyebrow.

“More insane.” Eddie corrects. His leg starts to bounce.

“Good thing I’m gonna be keeping you company, then.” Jeff leans back in his chair, picking up his coffee and tilting the styrofoam at Eddie. “Movie marathon?”

Between he and Steve they only have about three decent movies, but Eddie finishes his sandwich on the couch as Jeff fiddles with the VCR. 

The movie begins, and that wave of exhaustion returns. Floods him. It’s hard to keep his eyes open. He leans into Jeff’s side. Who isn’t Steve, but who smells nice. Like linen.

Jeff rests his cheek on Eddie’s head. “Sleep, man.” He mumbles.

So Eddie does.

He doesn’t know how long he was asleep. But he wakes to a hand in his hair. To fingers massaging his scalp, and he knows before he even asks. “‘Teve?”

“Hi, baby.” Steve whispers, his hand stills, and he pulls Eddie closer. 

Steve feels so good. Warm and strong and here and here. 

Eddie opens his eyes only to bury himself in Steve’s chest, his boyfriend falling back onto the couch to accommodate, his arms winding around Eddie’s middle. 

“I missed you.” Eddie murmurs, and breathes Steve in, presses his nose into his sweatshirt and curls closer, fists his hands into Steve’s clothes and holds on tight.

“I missed you, too.” Steve sighs. He sounds tired. “Let’s… not do that again.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Never again.” He agrees. 

Steve shifts, opens his legs so Eddie falls between them. “I played hooky on the all-hands luncheon today.” Steve admits, quiet. “Didn’t feel like sitting around with them all day when I could be here with you.” Steve’s hand returns to his hair, twirling the strands between his fingers. “Did you… dye your hair?”

“N’ got a tattoo.” Eddie hums.

Steve giggles, and kisses the top of Eddie’s head. “I like it.” Steve’s fingers dance across his scalp, and Eddie never wants to go another night without this. 

“I like you.” Eddie volleys back, and he feels Steve laugh, feels it rumble through his chest because Steve is here and he’s laughing and then there’s another kiss placed on Eddie’s head before Steve murmurs, “I like you too, baby.”

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

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

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

(Sorry taglist that you’re getting tagged late I’m still getting used to tumblrs new STUPID TAGGING SYSTEM)

[sp0o0kylights]

Based on this TikTok

Steve’s always said Eddie’s fingers are magic. Guitarists fingers. Strong and deft, he’s always been better than Steve at anything more precise than getting a basketball through a hoop.

Eddie’s the one who mends their clothes. The one who took apart their stereo and got it working again.

Who, now, has to squint hard when he does any of it.

But those skillful fingers are in Steve’s hair, now. Scratching against his scalp. Massaging the tightness in his neck. And every time Eddie does this it makes Steve drool. Makes his jaw unlock and dribble spit out of the corner of his mouth, makes his eyes close and his spine tingle because this truly has to be recognized as an eighth wonder of the world.

“Fallin’ asleep on me?” Eddie murmurs, above him, and it’s all Steve can do to crack an eye open.

“Feel s’good.” He slurs, and Eddie’s hand shakes as he laughs, adjusting, slightly, to comb a new pattern through his hair.

Steve closes his eyes again. Snuggles deeper into the pillow he’d laid on Eddie’s lap.

Their pillow smells like nothing, because their home—their home—is so familiar to him he can’t smell it, anymore.

His childhood home always smelled like linen.

Eddie’s hand adjusts again, gently twisting hair between his fingers. “You’ve got some grays back here, sweetheart.” He murmurs, not judgmentally, never judgmentally, he says it as fact. One that’s clear to anyone who looks.

Steve mumbles his affirmation, well aware of the cluster of grays sprouting in full force at the crown of his head. “Y’ve seen ‘em before.” He mumbles, and Eddie hums, continuing to twist the strands between his fingers.

“Just,” Eddie starts, voice just above a whisper, “did you ever think it was gonna happen? For us?”

Steve blinks his eyes back open. Comes to a little more at Eddie’s tone and wipes his chin off with his wrist, turning in his love’s lap. The fingers retreat from his scalp and Steve finds Eddie’s hand in the dim glow of their living room, squeezing tight, letting them rest on his chest. It’s a comment on their relationship, forged and cultivated through nearly two decades of friendship, of bone-deep trust and more love than Steve ever saw himself worthy of that not a single part of him is anxious when he asks, “what d’you mean?”

Eddie’s free hand comes to Steve’s temple. Strokes along the grays he is well aware rest there, too, hidden, at the right angle, by his glasses that now lay discarded on the coffee table.

“That we would get to grow old together.” Eddie whispers. And he keeps stroking that cluster of gray, looking as reverently down at Steve now, at forty, as he did at thirty. At twenty. Touches him with all the love he’s always had. Always held. All of the love Steve never thought he would find returned to him in kind, never thinking that his love for someone could be matched, could be held for him in return, but here they are. Eddie loving him with his glasses, his hearing aids, the wrinkles that have begun to creep onto his face and the grays sprouting through the hair he still can’t leave the house without styling, marveling at being able to see it at all.

And as much as Eddie loathes to admit it, being the one who always calls Steve the vain one, he can see the beginnings of Eddie’s own hairline beginning to recede. The start of wrinkles on his forehead. How his curls have grown wispier. But Steve doesn’t think there’s anything more beautiful than the visible reminder of their years shared.

And yeah. Steve gets it, now. They weren’t exactly counting on a tomorrow for a couple of years, there.

Steve kisses the back of Eddie’s hand, the scar tissue that’s still raised and puckered, even after all these years. “I’m glad it’s with you.” Steve murmurs back.

Eddie’s hand moves again. Begins scratching at the top of his head. “Wouldn’t want it with anyone else.” Eddie finishes.

They don’t say what they both know to be true. That neither of them would have made it here without the other. That without Eddie Steve may never have left Hawkins. That without Steve Eddie would never have made it out of the Upside Down. That either of those fates would have killed them, in the end. That without each other their lives would have followed paths so very different than the one they’re on. A path that still prickles the back of Steve’s neck to think about.

A path that will, thankfully, never happen.

Steve closes his eyes again. Turns into the pillow that smells like nothing while Eddie’s fingers resume tracing patterns through his silvering hair.

Tomorrow they’ll both be a day older. They will both have more grays. Steve’s back is going to hurt because he spent too long lying on this couch and Eddie’s bad knee is going to ache because he scratched the headache from Steve’s scalp instead of doing his exercises.

But they’ll always do it together.

✨Tag List✨

@hotluncheddie @hitlikehammers @hbyrde36 @littlewildflowerkitten @chaotic-waffle @westifer-dead @perseus-notjackson @theheadlessphilosopher @spectrum-spectre @itsall-taken @marvel-ous-m @bookworm0690 @acasualcrossfade