tartarusknight - Tumblr blog

tartarusknight · 1 hour

Text

When Steve gets to his last year at Hawkins High, it feels like some kind of veil has been lifted right in front him. Or maybe it’s more that the veil’s actually been slowly lifting for years, and he’s noticing it all the more because it’s no longer there.

Either way, when he receives his yearbook, it doesn’t seem like the huge deal that his younger self would’ve made it out to be; he flicks through the pictures half-heartedly, doesn’t even care when the candid ones taken at sporting events catch him in unflattering poses, lip jutting out in concentration.

If he tried to voice his disinterest, Henderson would probably spout off some precocious shit about societal expectations, and Steve would pretend to nod sagely before stealing whatever dorky hat he happened to be wearing—it’s not like he could let the little shit suspect that he occasionally had a point, Steve would never hear the end of it.

The yearbook signings are predictably inescapable: people passing their books back and forth in class or in the cafeteria—and that one’s a risky move, with the threat of drinks spilling on the pages, whether accidental or malicious.

Steve thinks the fever’s dwindled out until he spends a free period in the school library. The seniors typically all bunch together in one of the far corners, the spots with the comfiest seats—loners included, like the perks of age for once outweigh the usual ridicule.

But that silent truce is not exactly being upheld, Steve notes—Eddie Munson is sitting alone at a nearby table.

It becomes painfully obvious when the signing starts up again. There’s a cluster of girls on the yearbook committee who initiate it, and soon every senior in reach is either passing over their own book or signing one.

Almost every senior.

It’s not like Eddie’s the only person ever to be held back. He’s not even the only one to be held back for next year, either: John Nelson off the swim team is in the same position, and he’s still been asked to sign.

But Steve knows that’s not what the source of exclusion is, not really.

He’s gotten good at spotting silent cruelty—good at avoiding it too, before his popularity gave him a temporary shield.

It’s all just bullshit, he thinks. It’s been a recurring thought lately.

He brings out his own yearbook because he knows it’s expected. When it’s finally passed back round to him, he ends up right near the seat opposite Eddie’s, just by chance.

But actually sitting there is his own choice.

He can tell that Eddie has spotted him even though he’s not looked up from whatever homework he’s doing; there’s a silent tension in the way he’s holding his pen.

Steve mulls it over before he asks the question. It could blow up in his face, but what did that matter, really? In the grand scheme of things, it would hardly count as a major embarrassment; it’s not like it’d be any more mortifying than telling his dad that he didn’t get into any colleges whatsoever.

So he pushes his yearbook across the table, because what the hell.

“Wanna sign?”

Eddie glances up. There’s a guarded look in his eyes, and Steve can almost hear him mentally replaying the question.

“Pardon?” Eddie says with pointed emphasis, like he’s daring Steve, let it drop and we’ll say no more about it, Harrington.

Steve doesn’t take it back. He shrugs and flicks open the yearbook, finds a blank spot and taps it once with his finger, a silent offer.

Eddie stares like Steve’s a riddle, like he’s wondering just who the show’s for—but the other students have turned away, have gone back to their seats, yearbooks temporarily forgotten.

Eddie’s hold on his pen relaxes, ever so slightly.

“You sure, Harrington?” he says. There’s still a wary edge to his voice, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, too, like he’s secretly amused despite himself. “Haven’t you heard what folks say? I could curse you.”

Steve scoffs. “That all you’ve got? I’ve dealt with way worse, man,” he says mildly.

A corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a surprised smile. Then it’s gone almost like it had never been in the first place, his gaze turning thoughtful rather than defensive.

And obviously this isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo at the whole senior year thing. Steve wonders if there’s a veil that’s been lifted for him too, wonders if he can see straight through it right now.

The bell rings.

Eddie stands up, gathering his stuff.

Steve thinks that’s the end of it: something that’s neither a success or a failure.

But then, lightning fast, Eddie darts across the table and scribbles something on the open page. Slams the yearbook shut and pushes it back over, and it feels like a challenge, like some of his caginess is back—like he’s just daring Steve to reveal that it had been a joke all along—

“Bet you’re counting down the days till you can hold your own copy, huh?” Steve says dryly, as he stuffs the book into his bag.

It’s a risk; he knows Eddie could easily take it as pure ridicule, could misinterpret it as Steve throwing the failed school years back in his face.

Eddie just shakes his head, but he could be laughing—the moment’s gone too quickly for Steve to know for sure.

“Nah, Harrington,” Eddie says easily, thrown over his shoulder as he leaves, “those things aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

Steve doesn’t check the yearbook until he’s home. He eventually finds Eddie’s signature, simple black ink right in the upper corner of one page.

Good luck, Steve. —Eddie

Some of the letters are bunched a little too close together, drifting upwards on the blank page, as if they usually need lined paper to guide them—left-handed, Steve thinks vaguely.

Within a sea of scrawled nicknames and loudly enthusiastic messages, Steve finds that he kind of likes how mundane Eddie’s truly is. Likes the sign off with minimal fuss. Just “Eddie.” Likes how he was just “Steve”, too.

And yeah, if anyone needed to be told good luck, Steve thinks, with the kind of amusement that only comes from distance—pictures his past self, freaking out about monsters come to life.

He slots the yearbook into his bookcase. By summer he might forget about it all together, left to gather dust as he works for 3 bucks an hour, but for now he marks its significance: something real, hidden alongside the bullshit.

498 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 17 hours

Text

Did I finish my fic today? Nope! But the better question is: did I redo my quote board on my writing desk?🤠

Anyway, here’s a teeny tiny snippet of “Keep Digging (UYFMHBNTYITG)” and part of the real title since the whole thing wouldn’t fit💛

I really need to post a full updated photo of my steddie shrine soon. I think I have like 50 pieces of art, around 35 Funko pops, all sorts of keychains, plushies, 3 backpacks, numerous stickers and zines. It’s funny how deep I still am in this hyperfixation for how little I’m writing!!!

68 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 17 hours

Text

part one -> 📱💞🚙

part two -> 📱💞🚙

It only takes a week for Steve to show up at this door again. He knocks on the door late at night and he’s panting as if he’s run all the way there, “I had to see you” he says and it's overdramatic and kind of romantic, and Eddie barely resists the urge to jump in his arms and kiss him. Or check if there’s a filming crew and it’s raining because of how much this feels like a movie, but it’s a beautiful night outside.

“Come in,” he tells Steve, immediately turning and running around the living room, throwing away empty food containers and tidying up a bit.

Steve watches him amused, but stands by the door, hands in his pockets, “So…” he says, “Came home today to find Chrissy, Vicky, and Robin all sitting at my dining table with their heads buried in a phone”

Eddie looks up at that, because what the fuck? He looks at Steve confused and Steve nods, like he agrees with Eddie.

“The three of them lifted their head at the same time, it was kind of freaky honestly,” He keeps going and Eddie chuckles, curious as to where this is going, “They wanted me to see this,” Stevee finishes, lifting his phone up, the first episode of the van series playing, right at the part were Eddie first sees Steve and blushes while looking at him.

Back in reality Eddie is blushing again too, Steve saw the van series, he knows. Steve knows. “Steve…” he starts even though he has no idea what he’s gonna say.

But Steve doesn't let him try, doesn't let him think. He takes two long steps towards Eddie and kisses him, hard but short, pulls away holding Eddie’s face between his hands, and brings their forehead together,

“I didn't know,” he breathes.

Eddie shakes his head, “How could you not, I was so obvious I-”

Steve just kisses him again, once more short and sweet before pulling back, “You never said.”

Eddie wraps his hands over Steve's wrists, just holding them there, moving his thumb over Steve’s pulse slowly. He can feel how hard Steve’s heart is beating, can feel it match the rhythm of his own heart. And he wracks his brain, trying to remember if he ever did ask Steve out, or if he ever stated he liked him out loud.

He ends up laughing at the stupidity of it. Everyone knew Eddie loved Steve, except Steve, “I’m- I don't what to say. I'm sorry I-” he starts but Steve shuts him up with a kiss again, “It’s okay, I know now”

This time when they kiss, Eddie doesn't let Steve keep it short. He keeps him close, kissing him deeper, harder, longer, until he doesn't know where he begins and Steve stops.

The next day a new video gets uploaded. “Goooood morning!” Eddie says, even though it is clearly noon, from the passenger seat of his van, “Guess who is ready for their road trip!” he smiles and pulls the phone away from him, so both he and Steve are in frame. Steve is driving, eyes on the road but a huge smile on his face, Eddie’s hand is clearly visible on Steve’s thigh in the shot before Eddie moves the phone back to his face, “We’ll keep updating you guys, can’t tell you exactly where we are going cause we’d like a little privacy,” he says and wiggles his eyebrows, a soft gasp and a whispered and heated ‘Eddie!’ is heard in the background, “But we will upload videos from where we’ve been in a few weeks!” he films Steve once more, who looks at Eddie with a big sappy enamored smile on his face and then films the road for a few seconds, the world passing by the window. Finally, he twists the phone back to his face and says, “Oh! And don't worry about who’s going to drive… we’ll switch” and he winks and ends the video.

the end

☕🥐💕 coffee? by a roadhouse?

577 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 17 hours

Text

part one -> 📱💞🚙

The first video goes viral. They get a lot of new traffic on their page, and half of it gets curious about their music, and half of the curious ones even become fans. So the series is already a success with only one video out.

In the second video, Eddie, still blushing but smiling cheekily introduces Steve, who is all smiles and sunshine wrapped up in muscle and tan skin and people eat it up.

Then the actual process begins, and it's genuinely informative and quite good, Steve really knows what he's doing and he seems to have a passion for it that makes his eyes shine whenever he's explaining to Eddie what they are doing and what for.

It’s also fairly comedic, the series. Eddie keeps tripping all over his own feet making funny remarks to make Steve laugh. They both work on the van, because Eddie wants to get his hands dirty too, so Steve stays close behind, whispering instructions and murmuring praises while he works that have Eddie sweating and blushing from things that are completely unrelated to the manual labor and looking at the camera like he’s in the office.

It becomes kind of a thing because Eddie knows Steve doesn't watch the videos and everyone already knows from the first video that Eddie has a little crush on him. So he thinks it is just innocent fun that when Steve is working and Eddie has the phone in his hands instead of the tripod, he sometimes zooms on his back, his arms, the sweat on his neck, and then back to his face, sighing and shaking his head slowly.

TikTokers even start shipping them, saying Eddie has very clear cat energy and Steve is the most golden retriever boyfriend-coded man on the planet.

But something shifts as the videos go on, Eddie’s quips are less jokey and more just pure admiration for Steve’s work. When they film a time-lapse the audience can see them working together, bumping shoulders, Steve looking at Eddie and looking away when Eddie looks at him. And when Eddie is filming there are no more jokes about him pining on camera. It is just scenes of Steve laughing, or just smiling, working while he whistles. Zooms of his eyes, his nose, the highlights on his hair, the way the moles on his cheek move when he smiles crookedly at something dumb Eddie says.

The whole series becomes a documentary about how Eddie fell in love with Steve and then… it's complete. It's done. The van is finished. Eddie films one last video thanking Steve for everything, and making one last flirty joke about taking him for a ride. Steve laughs and runs a hand through his hair, telling Eddie he’s welcome. And that is it. The series is done.

It drives everyone insane because they love it of course, but also. Because it seems… unfinished. It's kind of a mess, Corroded fans are fighting the shippers and the shippers are accusing Eddie of queer bating, which he thinks it's fuckin hilarious and sad because it's his literal life they are talking about.

But the truth is, there’s nothing more to tell. They had a real conversation after Eddie stopped filming, a proper thanks and hug goodbye. And then Steve just left. He never made a move. And Eddie tried, he really tried. He insinuated, flirted, complimented. But Steve was either not interested or completely clueless (probably because of how uninterested he was).

And now Eddie has a beautiful van, completely equipped for two people to travel in style. And no one to share it with. So he stays at home, wrapped up in a blanket and watching the comments on his tiktoks, laughing and then crying with the way people describe how palpable their chemistry is. And he misses Steve. He keens, he pins, he craves.

part three ->📱💞🚙

☕🥐💕 coffee? by the side of the road?

996 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 17 hours

Text

Eddie manages the band's TikTok when they are on tour. The content is mostly behind the scenes of them on the road, news about where they will be going next, band practice, jam sessions, etc. The boys have been friends since high school and get along amazingly, like family. But also like shit, just like family. So there are also videos of Eddie laughing while Frank yells at Jeff for farting on his pillow in the tour bus or Eddie filming himself while running as Gareth chases after him for eating the last cookie. HIS last cookie.

The channel is pretty popular even though it doesn't update often. And the links to their merch store and ticket store while on tour, help a lot with the band's expenses. Music being online makes people buy fewer albums and vinyls. And Spotify paying 0,03 cents per song makes being an up-and-coming band that needs money to rent a studio for recording, bus fares, hotel accommodations and to pay the roadies and technicians… kinda hard.

But the TikTok helps! So Chrissy, Eddie's best friend, Gareth's fiance, and their manager, suggests that Eddie keeps the TikTok going while on break from tour.

It doesn't take long to come up with the perfect idea. Restoring Eddie's old van to make it a small house on wheels for road-tripping. But they’ll need a handyman, someone who knows what they are doing.

Luckily, Chrissy has a solution to that. Her cousin Vicky, just came back from traveling the coast on a huge RV with her girlfriend and her girlfriend’s best friend and, according to Vicky, the man is an expert. He built the whole thing himself, from the ground up. So Chrissy tells Vicky, who asks Robin, who talks to Steve, and the meeting is set up.

On the day of the meeting, Eddie parks the van outside his place, sits on the back, and hits record on his phone, “Morning!” he says to the camera, squinting one eye as the sun hits his face because it’s actually noon, “I’m gonna do something fun during the tour break and I wanted to take yall with me. You see, ever since I was young, I've had this dream. Well, other than becoming a musician who can live off his music, thank you for that by the way,” he smiles and tips an invisible hat towards the camera. “The second thing I've always wanted is having one of those built-in movin' houses, a little RV, a camping van, you know the ones” he wiggles his brows and moves the phone a little around him, to show where he’s sitting so people know where he’s going with this.

“Sooo I asked a friend of a friend of a friend, who is an expert on making dreams come true, to help me and we are gonna mod my van. My lovely Haley, my faithful baby, who has been with me since the beginning… I'm scared. This dude better be good.” he laughs nervously.

part two -> 📱💞🚙

And then his focus shifts to something behind his phone, “Oh, here he comes now!” he waves enthusiastically and keeps looking, either forgetting he’s still filming his reaction or too distracted to save face, he squints a little and then frowns, blushes and, chuckles nervously again, “Oh no. he’s hot.”

☕🥐💕 coffee? by the lake's shore?

801 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 18 hours

Text

Anyone have the gif’s of the Chilean goalkeeper Christiane Endler lifting two of her teammates with ease.

I need them for um reasons lol

553K notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 20 hours

Text

Foggy’s gotten pretty decent at naming which red-themed vigilante is coming through his window in the middle of the night without even opening his eyes: Matt tries to be quiet so he doesn’t wake him up, Deadpool is talking before he even gets the window open and Peter knocks like a goddamn decent human being.

“Come in!” he yells, deciding that he won’t get out of bed until he knows if there’s an emergency or Peter just wants to raid his first aid kit and fridge.

“Sorry, Mr. Nelson,” Peter says, climbing inside and dropping lightly to the floor. “I know it’s late but I had a question.”

“Shoot, Spiderboy,” Foggy says, sitting up to see Peter lingering awkwardly close by in full Spiderman gear and oversized hoodie, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“It’s just that Mr. Murdock said that you might be willing to look over one of my essays,” Peter says, “but I kind of got distracted doing, y’know--” Peter makes a vague punching motion with a soft pow sound. “--and it’s kind of due tomorrow morning.”

“Oh my god,” Foggy says, sighing and pushing aside his sheets to get out of bed. “This is actually the least stressful thing one of you weirdos has ever asked me to do. What’s your essay about?”

“Macbeth.”

“Y’know, Matt was an English major,” Foggy says, huffing out a laugh and finding a sweatshirt to pull on before he turns on the lights. “You should probably be offended that he passed you off on me.”

“What was your major?” Peter asks.

“Business,” Foggy says. “Did I ever tell you about how my mom wanted me to be a butcher?”

“You have,” Peter says, dutifully, sitting his backpack on the floor and digging through it, “but you can tell me again, if you want.”

“You’re a good kid,” Foggy says, taking the essay when Peter finds it and hands it to him. “There’s leftovers in the fridge. Go eat while I check this bad boy out.”

"You're my hero," Peter says, fervently.

Foggy's never been called that before.

He doesn't hate it.

4K notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 20 hours

Text

i want 60 thousand votes by next thursday

29K notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 21 hours

Text

Eddie, shoving his phone in Steve’s face: Stevie, baby. Would you still love me if I shaved my head?

Steve:

Eddie:

Steve:

Eddie: Steve?

Steve: I’m thinking about it

Eddie:

Steve: Okay

Steve: I would still love you but I would not be happy with your decisions.

#the last time Eddie considered shaving his head Steve threatened to shave his too #They’re veterans of the Great Hair Cold War of 2002 #eddie munson tiktok saga #<<< op tags

473 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 21 hours

Text

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)

675 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 21 hours

Text

mombin pt 7 <33

(1)(2)(3)(4)(5)(6)

#stranger things #mombin #i love them

1K notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 21 hours

Text

Steve who became Eddie's sugar baby mostly for fun because the older man always knew how to treat him right.

And Eddie who would do anything for Steve because his baby only the deserved the best.

140 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 22 hours

Text

Steve had died in that interrogation room under Starcourt and now, he was stuck haunting Robin Buckley who might as well be his shortest heartbreak and long-lost twin.

The problem was she couldn't see or touch him.

No, she could hear him just fine, but physical contact was just impossible.

Steve, however, didn't care much so long as he had someone there to listen to his daily monologues. It was fun.

They bickered most of the time and while Robin always seemed sad that she couldn't hug him whenever he told her about his parents or how lonely he used to be before her, Steve was just happy with what he got.

Because even in death, he wasn't alone, and that was enough of a gift to him.

Then, the day his funeral was held, Steve was thankful that he had convinced Robin to attend considering it was how he reunited with the kids.

They all saw him.

A thing that Steve would never take for granted.

Robin didn't know what to do when they flocked around her and bombarded her with question after question, demanding to know why she was the one who got the privilege of being haunted by Steve.

"A privilege?" Robin burst into a laugh, giving them a ridiculous look.

"Of course, to think you've been haunted and actually having real conversations with a ghost every day is a revolutionary step into the spiritual science field," Dustin narrowed his eyes. "And I am very disappointed in you, Ms. Robin Buckley, for not telling me right away!"

"Just say you're jealous that Steve doesn't haunt you." Max rolled her eyes.

"You say it as if you're not jealous yourself!" Mike scowled at her.

"No, I'm not, you delusional nerd!" Max scowled back.

"Hey!"

"C'mon guys, don't fight," Lucas frowned and sighed in exasperation.

Noticing the odd looks from other people at the cemetery, Robin herded the kids into Steve's car that he had given her as a keepsake.

Once they were safely away from prying eyes, Robin clapped her hands to gather everyone's attention.

"Children!" She then continued under their curious gazes. "Steve-o here said he really appreciates that you munchkins care so much about him. But sadly, he can't leave my side. Like literally can't so if any of you want to see him, you can always seek me out whenever you see fit."

"Why are you saying all of this?" Mike squinted at her.

"Because Steve can't talk to us, obviously." Dustin responded haughtily, earning an eye roll from the other boy.

"Bingo!" Robin did a fist bump with Dustin.

Then, she held up a finger at them. "And before you ask, I can't see him. Or touch him."

She watched the kids look at the passenger seat before nodding at her.

It must be Steve who confirmed the truth, she thought.

As they went back to discussing Steve's incorporeal state, Robin had a feeling that she had unknowingly adopted a gaggle of troublesome ducklings who were going to give her grey hair very very soon.

"C'mon Robbie, it's a Halloween party," Steve begged. "Let's go have some fun! Don't your heart ache to watch your bestest friend rotting in sorrow while eating pumpkins?"

"First of all, I've never ever met anyone who uses 'heart' and 'ache' like that," Robin blew at her freshly painted nails.

"Well, now I'm your first. Didn't people always say special always come late?"

"I don't even want to correct you on all of that," Robin huffed quietly at Steve's goofy chuckle. "And no, Dingus, you don't eat pumpkins. Or if you do, I don't care."

"Please, Robbie, I just wanna have fun," Steve sighed dolefully. "It's been a long time ago since I went to a party." He sighed again and even sniffled a little.

When Robin groaned, a big grin stretched on his lips.

"Just this time." She narrowed her eyes at him, or precisely speaking, at the spot where she assumed he was sitting.

Sometimes, when she made a wrong guess, Steve would just move over to where her gaze stopped and continue talking her ears off.

"I promise you're gonna have so much fun, Robbie." Steve ruffled her hair even if his hand always passed right through her. It was still one of his hard-to-get-rid-of habits anyway.

By the time they arrived, the party was already full-blown and swarmed with people.

As Robin struggled her way through the crowd, Steve just walked beside her with barely any difficulties.

He bet she would curse him so much if she saw how comfortable he looked right now.

But then, his little moment of joy was cut short when he bumped into someone whose lips literally knocked against his.

As cliché as it might sound, he certainly felt the electricity running through his body from that single accidental kiss.

And belatedly, a realization dawned on him.

He had bumped right into someone.

He, a ghost, had bodily collided with a living human.

Shocked, Steve stepped back and was at a loss for what to do next.

Then, a shaky voice shook him out of his trance.

"Harrington?"

Staring into those scared Bambi's eyes, Steve clenched his jaw and forced himself to not panic.

"Munson."

153 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 2 days

Text

Eddie, reading a question in the chat of his live-stream: Which member of the party was the mom friend? Oh, easy. It was Steve.

Steve: …uh, no. Wrong. I was not friends with any of you dorks.

Eddie: Then why were you always around?

Steve: I was a hostage.

Steve: If anyone was the mom friend, it was Nancy.

Eddie: No, Nancy is the friend you take with you if you’re trying to uncover a government conspiracy

Steve: Yeah, just like a mom. If the mom you’re talking about is Joyce Byers.

#Steve: They kidnapped me once #Eddie: I know baby #Steve: I woke up in a car driven by children and then they forced me into a hole in the ground #eddie munson tiktok saga #<<< op tags

599 notes · View notes

tartarusknight · 2 days

Text

Steve arriving at a hotel for a work conference for his dad’s company. He hates it there, he’s miserable, he’s constantly trying to figure out what he actually wants to do with his life.

It’s late when he gets there and the hotel is fully booked because of a concert happening.

He gets his key card after waiting for 30 minutes to check in.

He opens the hotel room door to find it is already occupied by a guy with a whole lot of tattoos all over his very naked and still dripping from a shower body.

Obviously he panics a bit and wonders how the hell this could’ve happened and Eddie panics a little because of safety (turns out he’s the singer of the band performing the following night!)

They try to call the front desk but the line is busy and Steve already dreads having to go back and wait in the line downstairs.

Eddie offers to let him just stay and they’ll fix it in the morning.

“Plenty of room in a king for both of us.”

Which may be true, but Steve is an octopus when he shares a bed and he knows he will end up in Eddie’s space. Should he warn him? Probably. Does he? Absolutely not.

Steve rushes through a shower and hops into bed, making small talk with Eddie about his life in a band, ignores questions about what he does as much as he can because he doesn’t feel like explaining he’s just a puppet for his dad’s never ending business career.

He falls asleep listening to Eddie’s soft, deep tone.

And of course when he wakes up, he’s got his legs and arms wrapped around Eddie anywhere he can reach. His drool is drying on Eddie’s chest and he’s coming to terms with the fact that his dick was definitely pressed against Eddie’s thigh.

Eddie’s kind enough not to say anything about it, just squeezes Steve’s arm and continues petting his hair.

It’s nice, too nice.

Steve has to get up. He’s got things to do today and if he’s late, his dad will hear about it and berate him for hours.

Shit, even if he’s on time he’ll probably find some other reason to berate him for hours.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked.

“Hm? Oh. Just don’t really wanna get up.”

“Then don’t. I don’t have anywhere to be until soundcheck after lunch.”

And now Steve has no choice but to explain his job and why he’s here, how his dad is relying on him to network and find potential mergers. How he hates putting on the Harrington face to please everyone.

It’s easy to admit it to Eddie, especially with Eddie’s arms wrapped around him, holding him like he could actually protect him from anything his father tries to say to hurt him.

“You don’t like your job.”

It’s not a question.

“Does anyone really like their job?”

“I do.”

“Well, you’re a rockstar. Of course you do. But I can’t be a rockstar.”

“Maybe not. But what is your rockstar?”

Steve had never been asked that, not even by guidance counselors in high school. They all knew he’d work for his father. He got a business degree for his father. He owned more suits than sweatpants for his father.

“I…don’t know.”

“Maybe you could try figuring it out.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“No, it’s not. But you could still try.”

So Steve sent a message to his dad’s partner, let him know he was fighting food poisoning from the in-flight meal and couldn’t make it to the conference today. He watched as Eddie threw on some clothes, mussed up his hair instead of brushed it, and quickly shoved his things into his bag.

“I should get out of your hair, try to get the room thing fixed.”

Eddie looked at him, looked at the alarm clock by the bed, down at Steve’s bag.

“How many days are you packed for?”

“Uh, four, technically. Trip was supposed to be three, but I always have an extra in case there’s flight delays or-“

“Come with me.”

“To…soundcheck?”

“On tour.”

Steve was an idiot, his father made sure he knew it as often as possible. But he couldn’t just go on tour with a stranger.

Could he?

What was he really doing here?

He hated his job, hated his dad, hated not having a clear path in front of him.

And this certainly wasn’t a clear path; He barely knew this guy, and hadn’t even heard his band. But it was a trail, the start of a path that could lead him somewhere he’d actually like to be.

Maybe he could take this chance.

Robin would tell him to do it, if she weren’t in Antarctica studying penguins for three months, only able to call once a week to check in.

What would she say if she called him and he was backstage at a heavy metal concert?

She’d probably say he’s lost his damn mind, but she’d be glad he did.

“Well, I am a rockstar. I could afford to have you around.”

“I’m not sure I could really afford to when my dad fires me,” Steve sighed, reality hitting him a little too quickly.

“I’m not really willing to be, like, your kept boy or anything,” Steve felt himself flush.

“I’m not really willing to have a kept boy,” Eddie smirked, joining him on the bed again, legs crossed in front of him. “But I’d definitely be happy to have someone who can help our tour manager out. You’d be working, though the jobs kind of boring.”

“More boring than sitting in an office five days a week and meeting with old white dudes who haven’t done anything but work their lives away for 40+ years?”

“Nah, way better than that. Sometimes you’ll have to deal with Gareth’s moods, but I promise to make it worth your while.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll leave that up to you,” Eddie very obviously checked him, eyes trailing over Steve’s bare chest. “I’m open to negotiating.”

“And if I want a kiss?”

“Then a kiss you’ll have.”

“And if I want you to fuck me?”

“Then you’ll have to sign some paperwork,” Eddie laughed. “But that can be arranged too.”

So Steve left with Eddie, four days of clothes in his bag, no idea what he’d even tell his dad or anyone else, and no clue exactly what his new job would entail.

All he knew was Eddie seemed to be made just for him, chaos and hyperactivity included, and Steve wasn’t gonna give that up now. Even if it made no sense, even if it was ridiculous to gain a new job and new rockstar boyfriend in less than 24 hours, even if his next call with Robin was a combination of her yelling about his impulsive behaviors and congratulations for finally doing something for him.

Even if he was more of a VIP groupie for the band than an employee of the tour manager.

Steve finally found something he wanted.

If he sent his dad’s calls to voicemail, that was because he was too busy walking his new path.

1K notes · View notes