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steviewashere · 1 day ago

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I Don't Wanna Leave Him Now

Rating: General CW: None Tags: Post-Canon, Future Fic, Set in the '90s, Fluff, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Marriage Proposal, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson Loves Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Eddie Munson is a Sap, This is Really Sweet, Romantic Eddie Munson, Engagement, Nervous Eddie Munson, Happy Ending Guaranteed, Listened to The Beatles While Writing This Title from "Something" by The Beatles, but make it gay.

💍—————💍 Eddie's nervous. The most nervous he believes he's ever been in his entire life—which is saying something, a lot of somethings. He's put himself in front of crowds, of classmates who have never wanted to hear a single vocal from his lips, walked on tables and shouted profanities, placed himself in the dungeon master chair, and screeched with laughter as he deemed fit. But here, in an apartment he's made with love—with Steve by his side, unexpected and bright like sun on a gloomy, fall day—he's the most nervous he's ever felt.

When he first realized he liked men, could even view men as a possibility, he never thought of a future in it all. Never thought much of what comes after the dating phase. Of sharing a bed with a man, let alone a life. He didn't put himself in the shoes of somebody a partner is excited to come home to. A life of warm stew in the kitchen and low lights and mosaics of lives coming together like stained glass in the Catholic church he and Wayne used to frequent. Of a whole within a heart so beaten and battered, he never thought to consider it beating alongside another's.

Steve started his heart with the tenacity and urgency crackling in his palms. With parted lips and swimmer's lungs. Pleads and cries under a desolate sky, in a darkness burdened upon their shoulders, blood soaked fingers skittering over his pale cheeks. Tears that he could never piece being poured for him like the tap leaking from a broken pipe—one more incident and it may just burst, explode and flood and damage. And yet he lived, woke up in a hospital bruised and stitched to all hell, fluorescents beating down on him in nauseous buzzes, sweaty hands still crackling around one of his own. "Steve?" he had croaked and those tears arose once more, this time coming down like God's flood.

And now he paces the carpet of their apartment's living room. Up and down as if marching through pews, brightened by the mosaic that is their lives—crisp magazines and peeling books and a couch ready to collapse from how worn it's become through their midday cuddles. There's a candle dancing and flickering before him on the coffee table, some linen scent that Steve has sworn by his entire growing up. Its off-white wax and orange on the wick, ablaze and coating the room. He inhales and places Steve ahead of him in his brain, smiling gooey before he left for the day, hair swooped away from his forehead still eternally seventeen, and an ochre polo ironed over his shoulders because it's his favorite color—so, of course, it's Eddie's favorite, too.

He's warm under his layers. A sweater Steve knitted him, this deep pink thing that scrunches at his hips and gently lays over the base of his neck—because screw the sweater curse, he'll cherish this falling apart masterpiece until it's nothing but spooled yarn once more. And a t-shirt to prevent the sweater from rubbing his healed scars raw, it's a plan shirt, black and fitting. Grey sweatpants because he wasn't sure what kind of pants to wear for what he's going to do. At least his hair is tied back with a tired elastic band, he isn't sweating there.

But he holds his breath and waits. Waits for Steve to come through their front door. With his overflowing college bag because he's a determined college boy now. For his shoes to be set aligned with the other sneakers they bunny ear tie for one another. Keys to be hung up with a soft click. His drooping dog eyes, heavy with the day, but alight with love anyway.

There'll be snow on Steve's shoulders. White and melting and sticky for a few seconds before the radiator catches up. He'll smile with all his teeth in that gentle, kind way he does. Where his whole face radiates and his eyebrows shoot up in excitement and his eyes pool with reverence. Eddie will kiss him, despite his nerves. Trembling and soft, almost as if they were new, but he'll kiss him.

Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him.

There are tires against pavement and he shakes his already shaking hands out at his sides. Jumps up and down like he's seen Steve do a million times before, right before the big playoffs, right before the World Series airs, before he's determined to win. He leaves the living room and stands in the entryway, merely two feet from the door, and waits. Patiently impatient, he waits.

Steve bounds in after his key clicks the lock loose. Tosses his book-bag to the ground with little care, arms stretched and plucked from the snowed-on jacket sleeves, shoes stepped out of after the laces are undone, and the key goes on the hook. He turns and finds Eddie with those puppy back soft eyes of his, hazel and bright and fresh even after all this time, and he smiles. God he smiles.

It's a gentle peck. A reminder of lips against lips.

"Hey, baby," Eddie purrs.

Crinkling eyes. Mm. "Hey, Eds." And the way he says those words, all sweet and dripping, affected by the push of his smile, of his lips pulled wide and pink and just crackling from the cold air, cheeks flushed and bulbous. He sways further into Eddie's space, love colored across him in pinks and reds and gentle peaches. His hands are cold in Eddie's palms, warming slowly from the radiator, from the body heat they exchange, from words and gooeyness and stew in the kitchen and linen candles and mosaics. "You look comfy," Steve says, murmured hot and cold over Eddie's own grinning mouth.

"I look like a million bucks, thanks to you," he whispers.

"Mm. Mhm. You look so good in pink."

He smiles bigger, his own teeth showing, Steve's eyes dropping down to where he's missing one on the left side—still droopy and in love, caught up. "Why don't you go in and get comfy? I made us some dinner, I'll dish you up."

"Yeah?" Steve's eyes are still on his mouth. Voice still low and stirring. "It smells good."

"It'll be even better on your tongue, sweetheart. Go get changed, m'kay?"

Another peck. And then Steve disappears into their bedroom with a gentle click behind him.

Eddie's hands shake, but he jumps further into action. Diving behind their sofa for a bouquet of roses he hopes he hid well enough. Places them on the coffee table so that they're right in the open. He does as he intended, pours them two bowls of steaming stew—turkey stew he made with leftovers at Thanksgiving, using the scraps just as he's been taught by Wayne's guiding hands. Puts those on the coffee table, too, the candlelight dancing off the porcelain bowl edges. The last piece of his not-so-over-the-top puzzle is his acoustic, banged up and still shiny, resting in his lap.

His breath comes fuzzy and his heart jumps and spins behind his ribcage like ribbon dancing in the wind. Sanity spilling out his ears, but he holds on. Listening in as Steve shuffles back down their hallway, poising himself at the ready with his fingers angled on the gently taut strings, watching Steve come around the corner in his own sweatpants and another sweater he made—this one a light cherry red, slightly messier with its strings, but put together and comfy.

The surprise on Steve's face makes Eddie giddy.

Eyes wide and eyebrows scrunching, mouth gaping, but still at ease and pleasant. He breathes out some half-humorous, half-shocked sound—a chuckle or something like. But he sits down next to Eddie on the sofa, sinking into the middle cushion with practiced ease, right where he usually leans himself into Eddie's side to watch reruns and talk gossip.

Tonight, Steve smiles at him all the same, but scrunches his fingers into his own knees. Just as a kid does when they're getting the thing they wanted the most for Christmas, trying not to wiggle too much out of their seat.

He strums down with his thumb, plucking out the notes as he places the tips of his fingers over the frets. Sings, in his husky rasp:

"Something in the way he moves, Attracts me like no other lover"—

The shock doesn't really leave Steve's face, but there's this calm that settles over his features. Leaves his eyes shiny and curious and warm. His mouth settled in this soft, all lips, shy smile. And a light pink flush to his wonderful, full, mole-dotted cheeks.

—"Something in the way he woos me I don't wanna leave him now You know I believe and how"—

Steve begins to wriggle more in his seat, swaying gently back and forth to the music. Just as he does when he's standing in the kitchen, focused on the dinner he makes or the dishes he may do. The way he does when he's nose deep in his homework and Eddie comes up behind him to soothe his tense shoulders. And just as he does with ear protection deep in his ears, at the front of their local bar, weeping beer in his hand, watching on as Eddie performs for him and only him—despite the crowd, despite the nerves set deep in his bones.

—"Somewhere in his smile, he knows That I don't need no other lover Something in his style that shows me I don't wanna leave him now You know I believe and how"—

He finishes out the song, his eyes down at his own fingers, but he knows Steve is still looking on directly at him. At his thumb plucking dutifully over the strings, the scrunch he slowly produces between his eyebrows as he focuses more and more, and every single time he licks his lips before singing the next line. But his gaze remains the same, gooey as the brownies he bakes around Christmas, as passionate as he ever is.

And by the end, Eddie is no longer trembling, putting aside the guitar. Steve gives him easy, soft applause. "That was so beautiful, Eds," he compliments.

Eddie, no longer nervous, but still shy, rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Thanks," he says quietly, "I learned it just for you, sweetheart." He takes a deep breath, and before he lets Steve respond, he's digging deep into the left pocket of his sweatpants. "I have...I have a question to ask you, though."

"Sounds serious," Steve comments. "Whatcha need to know, babe?"

Of course he's nonchalant after something like that. It makes some of the nerves come back, timid and tepid. Eddie's way of wooing probably isn't all that original, he's aware of that at least, but Steve doesn't seem bothered by it. If anything, his face is open and expectant, soft and still curious.

He takes a deep breath, lunges his shaking hands forward, and props the lid of the little box he's holding.

Inside is a shiny gold band. It's not the best of the best, that's for another time. But it's a hefty ring, fit for Steve's left ring finger, and engraved with their initials on the inside of the band. When he received the finished ring to place inside the yellow velvet box he found, a part of him flourished and bloomed like newborn roses. He wept that night, staring down at it. Something was finally settling into place.

He was one step closer to getting a future he never expected.

One step closer to a happy ending he never thought he'd get.

Steve gasps quietly between his parted lips, eyes darting down to the ring, up to Eddie's, and back down. He's still gently swaying in his seat, happy and vibrant and beautiful. Absolutely gorgeous, it makes Eddie blaze like the candle, warm and dancing.

"Eds..." Steve breathes. "Oh my gosh, Eds."

"Steve," he speaks softly, "I know we can't do anything legal about this yet, but I guess my heart's too eager for a lifetime with you. You started that heart, kept it cherished and going, wrapped up and safe in your hands, and now I'm here, offering it to you all over again. Offering to you a life we already share, with your excitement over sports games that I may never understand, our music tastes both daunting and similar, and all these soft moments we have.

"I know that how we started isn't the most wonderful of stories, but I wake up everyday to make it better and better—you somehow outdo yourself day in and day out. And I'm ready, if you are, to take the next step. No matter how long it takes until we can get the gaudy, giant wedding of our dreams. I still want this with you, all of you—as you are, as you will be.

"So...

"Steve Harrington, the love of my life I never expected, but cherish anyway, will you marry me?"

"Eds," Steve breathes again.

Instead of saying anything more, Eddie swallows down his words with a gentle gulp. Grips the box tighter, trying to keep his shaking at bay. The bundle, of every emotion he's ever felt, pulsing and tight deep in his stomach. But he's patient. And he's sure.

"Of course, oh my god," Steve answers, "of course I'll marry you. This is...this is...wow."

Eddie pries the ring free of its little white cushion. He takes Steve's left hand in his own, fingers gripping to soft skin. And he smooths the ring down Steve's ring finger. It sits bright and pretty on him. Just as Eddie imagined it to be. He tightens his hold on Steve's hand, wrangling them so they're fully holding onto each other.

When he looks back up from their tangled fingers, Steve kisses him. All encompassing, devouring, with fervor. He kisses with words, all the words Eddie's read, with every what-if and eventually, and every soft memory they'll make in the near future. A love that coats and soothes and flames; a love that's kept Eddie's heart beating after all these years.

He gasps for breath when they pull apart. And is reminded, endearingly, of all their breathless make-out sessions years ago—when they were in their early twenties, tentative, and nervous.

When Eddie asked Robin for permission to date Steve.

And now, in their early thirties, the permission to marry Steve sitting heavy in him—welcomed fully and tight by Robin's squeezing arms. That's a story for another time, though.

"I love you, Eddie. I love you so much," Steve whispers, "you beat me to it."

"You might'a been the jock, but I had to make sure I was faster than you on this. I like to jump the gun when I know what I want."

"And you want me forever," he says in awe.

Eddie nods once, a sure thing. "I want you forever, Steve Harrington. Just as I promised in the beginning, sweetheart."

"You're such a sap, Eds."

"For you, sweetheart. Just for you."

Their stew needs to be reheated. And they'll cuddle into each other to watch their reruns. Maybe do some other exciting things tonight.

For now, though, Eddie holds onto Steve's engaged hand. Gazes at him. And continues to promise forever.

A forever after that he's always dreamed about—made real in those honey drenched eyes.

💍—————💍

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #tooth rotting fluff #comfort no hurt #established steddie

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danaescave · 10 months ago

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Mosaic is a literary print and virtual magazine that showcases the work of writers of African and Latinx descent. Each issue is curated by a respected guest editor, who selects a variety of works that represent the diversity of the African diaspora and themes featured during the Mosaic Literary Conference. The result is a collection of literature that is both captivating and thought-provoking.

#resource #mosaic magazine

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artifacts-and-arthropods · 27 days ago

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"Ram in the Thicket" Statuette from Ur (Iraq), c.2600-2400 BCE: this statuette is made of lapis lazuli, shells, gold, silver, limestone, copper, and wood

This sculpture is about 4,500 years old. It was unearthed back in 1929, during the excavation of the "Great Death Pit" at the Royal Cemetery of Ur, located in what was once the heart of Mesopotamia (and is now part of southern Iraq).

Sir Leonard Woolley, who led the excavations at the site, nicknamed the statuette "ram caught in a thicket" as a reference to the Biblical story in which Abraham sacrifices a ram that he finds caught in a thicket. The statuette is still commonly known by that name, even though it actually depicts a markhor goat feeding on the leaves of a flowering tree/shrub. Some scholars refer to it as a "rampant he-goat" or "rearing goat," instead.

It was carved from a wooden core; gold foil was then carefully hammered onto the surface of the goat's face and legs, and its belly was coated in silver paint. Intricately carved pieces of shell and lapis lazuli were layered onto the goat's body in order to form the fleece. Lapis lazuli was also used to create the goat's eyes, horns, and beard, while its ears were crafted out of copper.

The tree (along with its delicate branches and eight-petaled flowers) was also carved from a wooden base, before being wrapped in gold foil.

The goat and the tree are both attached to a small pedestal, which is decorated with silver paint and tiny mosaic tiles made of shell, lapis lazuli, and red limestone.

This artifact measures 42.5cm (roughly 16 inches) tall.

A second, nearly-identical statuette was also found nearby. That second sculpture (which is also known as the "ram in the thicket") is pictured below:

There are a few minor differences between the two sculptures. The second "ram" is equipped with gold-covered genitals, for example, while the first one has no genitals at all; researchers believe that the other sculpture originally had genitals that were made out of silver, but that they eventually corroded away, just like the rest of the silver on its body.

The second "ram" is also slightly larger than the first, measuring 45.7cm (18 in) tall.

Both statuettes have a cylindrical socket rising from the goats' shoulders, suggesting that these sculptures were originally used as supports for another object (possibly a bowl or tray).

The depiction of a goat rearing up against a tree/shrub is a common motif in ancient Near Eastern art, but few examples are as stunning (or as elaborate) as these two statuettes.

Sources & More Info:

Penn Museum: Collections Highlight

Penn Museum: Ram in the Thicket

Expedition Magazine: Rescue and Restoration: a History of the Philadelphia "Ram Caught in a Thicket" (PDF version)

The British Museum: Ram in the Thicket

A Companion to Ancient Near Eastern Art: Statuary and Reliefs

World Archaeology: Ram in the Thicket

Cambridge Scholars Publishing: Colour in Sculpture: a Survey from Ancient Mesopotamia to the Present (PDF excerpt)

Goats (Capra) from Ancient to Modern: Goats in the Ancient Near East and their Relationship with the Mythology, Fairytale, and Folklore of these Cultures

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noodlesarecheese · 6 months ago

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#dimension 20 #fantasy high junior year #magazine mosaic #cut paper art #my art

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aardvaark · 9 months ago

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one thing i wish the sharp objects miniseries had kept from the book is how the teeth looked in amma's dollhouse. in the show, we only see adora's room with its tooth floor for a second, but the teeth are quite even and they're all whole, not broken. in the book, every other room in the dollhouse is absolutely perfectly like the real house, except adora's room. its famous ivory floor is, according to camille, a "mosaic of jagged, broken teeth, some mere splinters". i think that detail is important, because of that setting's importance... the perfect room, the room that is in magazines because of how beautiful it looks, the room made of a material that is too unethical to ever legally source again, the room that belongs to adora, the room where everything wrong and ugly in that house radiates from, even if under a facade of politeness and elegance and perfection. and amma makes it look mostly accurate and clean, yes, but still full of ugly, broken, sharp things.

#sharp objects #amma crellin #sharp objects miniseries #gillian flynn #wren speaks

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thewallofnarcolepsy · 2 years ago

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my wall at one point, i saved the canvases tho. idk where to put them now tho.

#metallica #collage #mosaic #magazines #james hetfield #lars ulrich #kirk hammett #jason newsted #black album era

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 5 months ago

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by Barry Shaw

This brainwashing is being introduced into high schools and even into the elementary educational system in America.

One example, quoted in a Jerusalem Post article on June 7, 2024, titled ‘Portland’s teacher union creates anti-Israel program,” reported that the Portland Association of Teachers are promoting an indoctrination program for children as early as pre-kindergarten to high school in which the next generation of Americans will be brainwashed to delegitimize Israel, describing it as an “illegitimate settler-colonial state.”

American children are being taught to participate in Palestinian protests turning them into anti-Israel activists.

Together with a group known as Oregon Educators for Palestine (OGP) they have created a curriculum that includes courses such as “Know your Rights in Teaching,” “Organizing for Palestine within Portland Public Schools,” and “Teach Palestine! Resources for Portland Public Schools” lesson guide.

Their document provides counter definitions to reduce the legitimacy of Israel by using key terms. For example, they deduce Anti-Semitism as being a “European Christian phenomenon” and Zionism as “a settler colonial political ideology and movement.”

Their guide recommends teachers to have the academic freedom (restriction) to select (reduce) writings on Palestine only to that written by Palestinian authors, as they put it, “to offer content and context based on the authors backgrounds and opinions.”

Part of their indoctrination removes words such as “terrorism” particularly when applied to acts of Palestinian terrorism. Instead, they replace it with the word “resist.”

Everything is wrapped around concepts such as “Occupation” even if that applies to areas from which Israel withdrew its citizens in the search for peace.

Based on that novel concept, the barbarous attacks of Oct. 7, or mass killing by Palestinian suicide bombers and gunmen, can be translated into acts of “resistance to the occupation,” even when committed by Palestinians emerging out of their self-governing territories to kill thousands of Israelis in their hometowns inside Israel.

I know. I became one of the members of the Netanya Terror Victims Association after a procession of suicide bombers and gunman targeted my hometown that hugs the clifftops of the Mediterranean, the sea defined by their slogan of a Palestine “from the River to the Sea.”

In the quest for this homeland, they murdered dozens of Netanya folk, some of whom I knew.

Now social studies lessons for grades 3-5 in America will include a week-long curriculum on “settler colonization and Palestine.”

The Portland Association of Teachers represents over 4,500 educators. In their description of the events of Oct. 7, we can clearly define what they consider progressive to be utterly regressive.

PAT educators handed out documents claiming that the horrendous massacres, tortures, rapes, and hostage-taking were, in the words of PAT, justified “resistance.”

In May, Mosaic magazine featured an article entitled “Anti-Israel Indoctrination Starts in Elementary Schools.”

This is the opening phase of a Jihadi education in America. One that accurately copies Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad brainwashing.

There is a battle going on in the California school system. Last September, a law suit claimed that a California school district tried to impose an anti-Israel curricula.

#jihadi education #brainwashing #portland teachers union #anti-israel education #portland association of teachers #from the river to the sea

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