POV: it's the end of 2019, the pandemic hasn't happened yet, unus annus is still around and relatively new, there's not a single thought in your mind about the channel actually being deleted, you're getting ready to watch the new video because it's almost time for the daily upload. It hits 12pm PST and you're refreshing the page until finally the video has been posted. You click play and laugh for the next 10 minutes. All is peaceful.
it’s comforting knowing anything can happen in season 5 and the steddie fandom will remain the same lol like half the ship is canonically dead and we continue to vibe no matter what
i asked y'all to tell me your most re-read fics and once again got tupperware avalanche.gif-ed, so. for your viewing pleasure, please find below the cut in alphabetical order because i will apparently not being doing any actual work at work today the full rec list thus far:
a special privilege for the resurrected by theopteryx
E | 56k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Among the Wildflowers by ParadimeShifts (@paradimeshifts7)
E | 28k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
baby what's your blood type? (is it mine?) by cheatghost
T | 5k | recced by @steddie-island
bear hugs by steddieas_shegoes (@steddieas-shegoes)
E | 41k WIP | recced by @thefreakandthehair
butter, sugar, and northern mockingbirds. by througheden (@thefreakandthehair)
E | 17k | recced by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation
call me sunshine, send me to space by steddieas_shegoes (@steddieas-shegoes)
E | 90k | recced by @mugloversonly
carve your name into my chest by hexiewrites (@hexiewrites)
E | 43k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Critical Hit by AidaRonan (@aidaronan)
E | 7k | recced by @steddie-island
Cut and Changed and Rearranged by AidaRonan (@aidaronan)
T | 11k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Date me instead by Zhuletta
E | 44k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Dustin Henderson and the Lovebirds by pukner (@pukner)
G | 10k | recced by @steddie-island
i come back to the place you are by pizzabones
E | 212k | recced by @mugloversonly
i don't know, you figure it out by wynnyfryd
E | 61k WIP | recced by @steddie-island
i've been having a horrible time pulling myself together by deadratz (@munsonkitten)
E | 75k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Keep it Steady, Eddie by outofmygourd
E | 105k | recced by @mugloversonly
laughing at the broken glass by mustlovesteve (@mustlovesteve)
M | 151k | recced by @bumblebeecuttlefishes
No Fairy Tale Ever Started This Way by ElliottRook
E | 7k | recced by @steddie-island
Pas de Deux by Malikat22 (@malikat24601)
E | 90k | recced by @br0ck-eddie
relax (lay it back) by wynnyfryd and Gorgeousgreymatter (@gorgeousgreymatter-x) and podfic by flintandfuss (@flintandfuss)
E | 12k | recced by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation
Saltwater Prayer by Asgardian_Pirate
E | 54k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
Sanctuary by SpicedSage
E | 47k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) by steddieasitgoes (@steddieasitgoes)
M | 61k | recced by @thefreakandthehair
so let's sneak in from the cheap seats, honey by pricklywhicket (@messessentialist)
E | 14k | recced by @steddie-island
Someone who cares by Just_my_latest_hyperfixation (@just-my-latest-hyperfixation)
E | 84k | recced by @mugloversonly
start by pulling him out of the fire by pricklywhicket (@messessentialist)
E | 85k | recced by @steddieas-shegoes
The Shire is NOT on Fire by kissesforcas (@kissesforcas)
E | 54k | recced by @frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe
Tuesday's Gone With the Wind by thisapplepielife (@thisapplepielife)
E | 184k | recced by @wormdebut
wouldn't it be nice (if we could wake up) by kissesforcas (@kissesforcas)
E | 130k | recced by @pennyplainknits
Your Biggest Fan by LexiRoseWrites (@lexirosewrites)
E | 47k | recced by @mugloversonly
Eddie Munson grew up poor. He learned not to be wasteful. To cut the mold from the edge of the cheese. To freeze the leftovers. Habits like that stick with you, even after you become a vampire-like being. So when the fight is over and Steve is covered in blood, not a single drop will be wasted
Rating: General
CW: Brief mention of Covid-19 (as this is set in 2021)
Tags: Post-Canon, Post Vecna, Future Fic, Set in 2021, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Older Steddie, Domestic Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Teacher Steve Harrington, The Intimacy in a Bowl of Soup, Emotional Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Soft Eddie Munson, Soft Steve Harrington
Thought about finishing up the fourth chapter of my merman Steve fic. And then I got sidetracked, so here's this. Also, I don't know where they live or what Eddie does for work (maybe mechanic, if you feel so inclined to imagine him that way). Pick your flavor <3
🥣—————🥣
At the end of the day, Steve realizes it’s not the horror he’s experienced that will linger. Sure, they persist and he is frightened and he shakes sweating from it all. But when he comes home, exhausted to his core and sluggish to the soles of his feet, it’ll never be the agony he finds in his kitchen. It’s the warmth.
The sweet musk of vanilla bourbon candles bought from the home aisle of the neighborhood Walmart. A singular orange bulb in a second-hand floor lamp, tucked cozy by the couch, in the corner between the back door and the right armrest. Bookshelves of knick knacks and framed photos from 2003—when he finally tried the college route and graduated. The sprawl of mini-figure painting equipment on the coffee table: half-open paint jars that he closes up tight, still drying clean paint brushes, paper towels and yellowed newspaper, and magnifying goggles.
It’s to music. Soft crooning through the—now considered ancient—record player from 1988. Sometimes Jim Croce. Sometimes John Prine. Sometimes the goddess, Dolly Parton. Something familiar and nearly worn out from playing the records over and over and over. Tonight, it’s Jim. It’s coming back to the floating husking rasp of Eddie Munson’s fifty-five year old voice, not all that great but always sweet from by the stovetop.
To where Steve migrates, shoeless and briefcase free and his teacher’s badge hung up. Where soup simmers on the low heat—smelling of paprika and roasted carrots and chicken bouillon. The oven heating up a loaf of French bread, basted in garlic butter, sprinkled with shredded mozzarella cheese. Where Eddie stands, stirring and singing—his now silver hair pulled up into a bun, dressed down in a plain white t-shirt and black sweatpants, and his scruff not shaved—he must’ve had a lazy day. Steve wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist, his body warm and his tummy a little pudgier. Eddie hums, reaching down with a free hand to cover the back of Steve’s, squeezing. And Steve’ll never be used to their wedding rings clinking together.
“Long day?” Eddie murmurs low.
Steve grunts. Digs his chin into Eddie’s left shoulder. His glasses going crooked from the angle. Peers down at the bubbling pot of dinner. “Kids kept threatening to take their masks off. Nearly started a coughing fight,” he answers at the same volume. He sighs, long and genuine. “They’ve officially turned Covid-19 into classroom warfare. Whatever happened to spitballs and globs of food?”
Eddie chuckles deep in his chest. “Don’t give ‘em ideas, Stevie.” He smiles softly down at his cooking, dimples deep and smile lines deeper. Steve kisses under his left ear just because. Because he can. Because this is what the world is when it doesn’t end, thank god. The soup is stirred slowly for a few more beats. He scoops up a spoonful in their beat up ladle. It’s got a few char scars from when they first learned to cook meals for one another—Steve believes it’s from the time he forgot to turn off the stovetop when making macaroni and cheese. Lesson learned.
“Here, taste this for me, baby?” Eddie gently requests, holding the ladle to Steve’s face over his shoulder. Hand cupping the underside. Face turned slightly to try and make eye contact, he’ll give himself a knot if he does it too long. Steve knows, having given many massages over the last decade.
He leans forward slightly, accepting the soup as Eddie tilts the ladle. Makes an obnoxious slurp that Eddie snorts at. Smacks his lips and hums. “Ooo, that’s good,” Steve mutters close to Eddie’s ear. “Got a little kick to it. You put a little bit of that new chili oil?”
“Mm and chili flakes,” Eddie hums. “Thought it would pair nicely. Remember that chicken I began marinating last night?”
“The chicken you told me I couldn’t make for my lunch today?”
Eddie rolls his eyes, turning back to the soup pot, shutting the burner off. “I told you not to take it all,” he points out with pleasant tease. “Because you’ll do that if I don’t stop you. And then you come home and complain that your stomach hurts because you ate too much. And then I have to put you on bed rest for the night.”
“I’m not that bad—“
“Anyway,” Eddie cuts in. “I marinated it in this ginger, coconut sauce that I saw a few nights ago on uh…What’s that app that Robin’s always sending videos from?”
“The…The TickTick app?” Steve guesses.
Eddie snaps his fingers together. “Yeah! That app!” He exclaims softly. (They’ll learn later it’s definitely not that, but it doesn’t matter.) He shrugs Steve off to grab the bread from the oven. Steve just moves around to their bar countertop, not a complaint on his tongue. Eddie continues, “I also added a little bit of coconut milk to the base broth. So, hopefully, this’ll be good. With the leftovers, I was thinking you could make your cauliflower rice for lunch and put the soup on top? Only if it’s good, though. If this sucks, I’ll pay for pizza tonight.”
Steve laughs from his belly. “If you do, make sure to get the gluten free crust. Stupid stomach has been acting up again,” he says softly.
Standing up, Eddie hisses. “You’re lucky that the bakery section at the grocery store only had gluten free baguettes then,” he teases gently once more. He sets the finished bread on the countertop, grabs the bottle of chili oil from by the pot of soup, and drizzles it lightly overtop the cheesy, garlic goodness. When he finally dishes up their dinner, he settles next to Steve at the counter. Bowls and small plates of bread in front of them. Glasses of crappy Barefoot red wine, because this is what they can afford—and it doesn't really suck, not when it's served thoughtfully like it is tonight.
“Thank you, baby,” Steve murmurs. He leans in close to Eddie’s side, presses a chaste kiss to his cheek, and then promptly digs in.
And it’s good. Everything’s so good. Jim Croce is singing about time in a bottle. The soup is warm and fresh and homemade. Every light is a careful amber. He’s tired and happy and…complete.
Eddie’s got soup in the scruff under his lip. But Steve doesn’t say anything. Just admires the fine wrinkles and lines to his face, where they’ve begun to really deepen. Admires how his eyes are just as big and soft and expressive as they were thirty-five years ago after Vecna. Where his body is soft. His endearingly white hair.
How he’s alive.
“Hey, Eds?”
Immediately, Eddie looks onto him. Eyes wide with trepidation. The corners of his mouth pinched downward. “Is it not good? I can go get my wallet if it’s—“
Steve lays his hand on the back of Eddie’s forearm. The right one, closest to him, where scars swamp the bats. And that says something, too, he’s sure. About how Eddie fought the bats and came out victorious anyway. His thumb runs soothingly over Eddie’s malleable, aged, warm skin. And his eyes prickle with tears—it would’ve been embarrassing if he were nineteen still, but what a wonderful thing to be alive and cry at all.
“I’m so fucking happy you’re here with me,” Steve breathes out all at once. He sighs through his mouth, a gentle sob escaping.
Eddie drops his spoon into his bowl of slowly cooling soup. And he reaches up, dislodging Steve’s hand on his arm completely, cupping his face between his hands instead. “Oh, baby,” he coos. “Baby, are you alright? Where’s this coming from?”
Steve shrugs because he doesn’t know. Not really. But it’s here. And he’s got a therapist in the aftermath of everything, and feelings deserved to be felt—so they’ve said. “I just—“ He wetly exhales, leaning into Eddie’s soft hands. “—I don’t know. It’s so fucking…I’m so happy to just be boring. To do the same mundane things every single day. To just come home.”
“Oh,” Eddie coos again. He tugs Steve closer, burying his face into his shoulder. Pets a hand through Steve’s own white hair. A hand between his shoulders. Letting him dissolve safely. “I am, too, Steve,” he states like a promise. “You have no idea how my heart just soars in the morning when I look over and you’re…God, you’re drooling all over your own forearm and snuffling deep into the pillow and your hair is all spiky and you’ve got creases all over your face from going to war with the top sheet.” Steve chuckles just as Eddie pulls him back. Hands back on his cheeks, thumbs soothing tear tracks. “You have no idea how relieved I am to look over and see you at peace, sweetheart. Every day—I don’t know how you do it—but every day you let me discover a new part of you to love.”
They smile at one another, softly, eyes shiny with tears. Their soup is going cold, but it doesn’t matter. They’ve got all the time in the world to reheat it.
“I love you,” Steve breathes, states. Just because he can.
“I love you, too,” Eddie says immediately. Because it’s that easy.
been seeing a bunch of posts about people going back to their steddie roots bc of s5 but i’ve never fucking left. those fuckers invaded my mind two years ago and now they’re the freezer burn in the back of my mind. yeah all those half finished steddie fics that everyone forgot about? sitting in my bookmarks like the cobwebs on my ceiling. every so often i’ll scroll through them looking like a forlorn wife in the 1940s after my husband went away to war.
Steve and Eddie get a little studio apartment in the queer section of the city, by virtue of Steve getting hired as the building’s handyman. Half the residents are drag queens and there are RULES.
They can flirt with Steve all day long. Eddie (literally) will hiss and spit like a jealous cat, all red faced and pouting, which is INCREDIBLY entertaining. While the flirting is harmless, Steve’s pleased smile about how possessive Eddie is over him can melt the most cynical old queen’s heart. (They all think a lil “you’re welcome, Steve” for getting Eddie all riled up ever night.)
However, anyone who flirts with Eddie better be prepared. Steve’s glare is cold and cutting, and the silence after is worse. And if you piss him off enough, Steve is all for revenge. Better hope your toilet does clog or your sink keeps draining. Worst case is he’ll MAKE issues for you, until you make it up to him. And the only way to do that is to go support Eddie’s underground metal band and spend your hard earned money on his merch. (Eddie thinks Steve being a stone cold jealous bitch is hot.)
titsay
baratheonpilled
izzy806
discoholicmusic
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
