queenie-ofthe-void

[queenie-ofthe-void]

They’re so high and in love

[queenie-ofthe-void]

last sentence tag game

ahh thanks so much for tagging me @queenie-ofthe-void 🥰

rules: in a reblog or seperate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc) & tag as many as there are words in your sentence.

early 2000s au with no other background info but a little more context than just the last sentence:

Steve let go after realizing he’d held on for a beat too long. Biting back another smile, “What are the chances?” He asked just as amused. Eddie shuffled a bit as he looked as his feet, the man's cupids bow an endearing distraction. Fate doesn’t exist, his mind yelled at him. But the coincidence felt insurmountable.

super chill laid back tags: @wormdebut, @thefreakandthehair, @stevesbipanic, @brbsoulnomming, @fuctacles

[queenie-ofthe-void]

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Last Sentence Tag Game

tagged by @finntheehumaneater (ahhh my first ever WIP tag tysm)

rules: in a rb or separate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc), and tag as many people as there are words. (Let's pretend there's three words lol)

This is a Rockstar!Eddie Steddie AU based on the ficlet A Desperate Fool I submitted to the steddiemicrofic April prompt. Never would've guessed this is what my first multi-chapter fic would be, but here I am adding a little more hurt before the comfort.

Reeking of alcohol and a stranger's cologne, Eddie opened the front door to find a hollowed-out home, with no evidence of Steve left behind except for a single house key placed atop a note on the coffee table with the words "Don't call" scribbled in Robin's looped handwriting.

No pressure on the tags!

@paperbackribs @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @lingeringmirth @cuips-not-cute @chaosgremlinmunson @sourw0lfs

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie rockstar au #QueenieWritesStories

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Everyone in the league knows about Eddie Munson. He has the makings of a great pitcher, except for the fact that his slider has a 75% chance of sliding too high and his fastballs mostly end up in the dirt. His technique is wild, flailing, unrestrained. Which is why Steve is beside himself when he learns about the trade.

The owners, they think that Steve being the best catcher in the league means he can work with Eddie, settle him, make him a real prospect. Steve's input isn't needed with the decision already made, but Munson--with all his tattoos piercings and leather--looks like he'd rather hock a loogie at Steve than take directions from him.

And Steve is the best in the league, the glue that keeps the team together. They're a well-oiled machine, and Eddie is--Eddie is a squeaky wheel.

They meet for the first time, briefly, in the locker room. He's seen the guy before, of course, but now, like this, he can't help but be intrigued by his pale skin and long curls and brown doe-eyes, his lightly muscled frame. And they're in the locker room, Eddie with just a towel around his waist, exposing his toned chest and stomach and the black swirl of his tattoos.

"Steve Harrington!" Eddie reaches out a hand. "Great to meet you, man."

"You too. Excited to have you with us." The handshake is quick and firm and Steve is trying not to be surprised about how excited and genuine the guy sounds, keep his mind away from thinking of how Eddie is naked aside from the towel.

With only a few weeks until the start of the regular season, Eddie starts pitching to Steve. And Steve, he so expects Eddie to fight and grumble and refuse, that his head sort of spins when, on the first day, Eddie claps him on the back with his glove, says, "where do you want me, cap?" and that's that.

He wants to say that they dislike each other, that they're a bad fit, that Eddie is full himself and refuses constructive criticism.

Instead.

Instead it's easy.

Eddie doesn't complain, doesn't argue, just watches Steve, learns him, takes his advice and notes and implements them as much as he can. They like each other, have an easy rapport, get each other. He's tight with all the pitchers, but Eddie is different. They settle each other.

They're best friends. They hangout constantly. And he doesn't have a crush; he doesn't. It would be unprofessional. They're best friends.

But sometimes, sometimes he thinks he catches Eddie looking at him. It's impossible. Of course it's impossible. Eddie couldn't be into the guy Sports Illustrated called "baseball's Ralph Lauren model" in the intro to Steve's Body Issue photo spread. And it doesn't matter one way or the other because Steve won't make a move. He won't jeopardize the team like that.

They don't touch. He touches everyone on the team, often, and Eddie particularly is a physical guy, but aside from that first handshake, he keeps his distance. Steve's afraid--even though it's silly, he's afraid--that once they start touching, he won't be able to stop, and he can't let that happen.

The team is good, competing for first place in the National League. Eddie's success has made everyone else better.

It's late July, they're in first place in the league, and Eddie's pitching a perfect game. There's only been 24 perfect games thrown in the history of Major League Baseball, but it's the eighth inning and Eddie's doing it.

A pitch goes wild, veers high over the umpire's head. Eddie's shaken, Steve can tell with how his fist tightens compulsively around the ball. The next pitch swings wide, towards the batter's knees.

The count is at 2 balls, no strikes, and he can see, even from behind home plate Steve can see, that Eddie's losing it. He heads for the mound, refuses to let it end like this. He closes the distance between them, has a quick internal debate before he puts his hand on Eddie's lower back. They've never touched, this is it, this is--warmth bleeds from Eddie's skin, through the fabric of his jersey, goes straight to Steve's head.

Eddie frowns. "I don't think I--"

"You're going to do it, Ed. I know. I can feel it." He pats his chest, over his heart. "It's gonna happen."

Eddie's breathing settles and it's only then that Steve realizes he's rubbing circles into Eddie's back with his thumb. He's not sure when he started, doesn't want to stop, loves being able to feel.

"Okay," Eddie says.

"Okay."

Steve removes his hand, heads back to home, still tingling with the warmth of Eddie's body even as he crouches behind the plate.

He closes out the inning with three definitive strike outs. The crowd goes wild.

They take the field for the top of the 9th, the crowd is screaming, ready for this, the energy zipping through every player on the field.

It goes by in a blur. Nine pitches. Eddie's perfect game is wrapped up in nine phenomenal pitches.

As the ump calls the last out, there's a moment of complete and utter quiet in the stadium, Steve's heart a pounding hum in his ears, before pandemonium breaks loose. There's screaming, fireworks, someone is crying--

All he can see is Eddie. Eddie's who's thrown his glove to the dirt, is barreling towards him with a triumphant smile bright on his face. Steve stands, runs to close the distance. He sees the moment that Eddie decides to jump into his arms, catches him easily--will always catch him--but his legs are tired and the momentum gets him, sends them tumbling back into the grass.

They're both yelling, laughing, smiling hard enough to hurt. Eddie's hair has fallen out if its tie, tumbling around his shoulders, and Steve gazes at him, can't help it, in this moment can admit that he's so, so astronomically in love.

It's only then Steve realizes that the laughter's stopped, that Eddie's gazing back. Brown eyes shining bright with happiness, cheeks flushed pink, lips parted. Thoughtless, he reaches up to caress Eddie's cheek.

The team reaches them, streaming around them, yanking Eddie and Steve to their feet. The celebration stretches around them, the moment slipping away. He wants to finish what they started but there are interviews, champagne showers, congratulations, that keep them apart. Sometimes, from across the room, their eyes meet, and there's heat there that's new, that sparks something low in Steve's gut.

Hours pass, and finally he finds himself alone in the locker room. He's just pulled on his t-shirt when the door shuts behind him. He spins, finds Eddie, waiting, watching.

He crosses the room without a word, can't not, not now, not after everything. They grapple for a second, the wanting so strong that it takes a second to settle, to find each other. They kiss hard, desperate, seething with desire.

Steve hopes it never ends and it doesn't, just tapers into soft kisses, gentle nips. He can't bring himself to step away.

"Is this for real ?" Eddie whispers.

"I've been insane about you since the trade."

Eddie's smile is blinding. "I used to have those pictures of you--the ones with the little red shorts?--in my locker in the minors. Feel like I'm living in a dream right now."

It lights him up inside, knowing that Eddie wants him, has wanted him. "Let me take you home and show you just how real it is?"

He snorts, but his dimples deepen, eyes shining. "What a line, sweetheart."

"Yeah well, the baseball field isn't the only place where I hit home runs."

#so cute! #steddie ficlet

[queenie-ofthe-void]

congrats on 1k!!! can i have Q and 🥵?

Thank you so much! 🥰

This was ... less angsty and more smutty in my head. 😅

Guiding light

Rated: E

Words: 997

Tags: Post-Vecna; Kas!Eddie Munson; monster!Eddie Munson; rough sex; monsterfucking; angst; hopeful ending

He doesn't know what pulls him in.

He doesn’t know a lot of things, these days.

The portals have closed. Master is dead. So are his siblings. The comforting buzz of their claws and wings and voices in his head, the cold, familiar slither of their minds against his, it's all gone.

It’s dreadfully empty, all alone in his head. His mind flails like a bird the dark, released from the confines of its … house? prison? A thing with bars, he doesn’t know the word. It’s lost somewhere in the void and he can’t grasp it, doesn’t know how to reach for it. Doesn’t remember.

That’s how the golden glow flickering beyond the trees finds him - naked in the night, stumbling around without aim. He doesn’t know why he follows it.

The house is dark, half-destroyed from the ground tremors. The light pulses from a window above him. A … a tiny fire thing. A candle.

A candle to light his way, like something from a … another thing he doesn’t remember the word for, a thing with words on pages that takes you to far-off worlds, a thing that smells of ink, paper, dust. A thing he used to … love.

The distant echo of the feeling makes his head erupt in pain, makes something horribly warm bubble in his chest. He scales the wall, using his tail and wings for support, ready to snuff out the tiny light.

“There you are.”

A whisper, barely more than a breath floating on air. He whips around as if yanked by a leash, fangs bared.

There’s a … sleep thing in the corner of the room. Blankets and pillows that smell of comfort, warmth, rest - but that isn’t what makes his mouth water and his stomach churn with a terrible, primal feeling. A feeling that’s close to hunger but not quite.

It's the figure sitting on top of the thing. A boy with eyes that are bright in the flickering candlelight, eyes brimming with emotions he doesn’t know.

But he knows those eyes.

The warm thing in his chest explodes, like boiling liquid eating at his insides. He roars in pain and confusion and fear and launches himself at the boy. He wants to shred, he wants to maim, he wants the burning to stop, he wants the emptiness to go away, he wants, he wants, he wants-

Something touches his face, something soft and light. A hand. He has the boy pinned, claws digging into his shoulders, ripping through the fabric of his shirt. Fangs inches from his throat, breath hot against his pulse.

There's no fear in those eyes. Instead, those lips - soft and inviting and familiar - curl into a smile.

“I thought I'd never see you again,” says the boy, fingers slipping up to his temples, gently combing aside the tangled curtain of his hair.

He doesn’t know gentle.

Then why does he remember it?

He peels back his lips and hisses, wings flaring out, tail slicing the air like a whip.

“It’s okay,” says the boy. His hand tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, slowly, tenderly and the warm thing coils in his chest, in his abdomen. “I know you're in there, Eddie.”

The pain in his skull turns blinding white. The word … the name ricochets in the empty cavern of his mind and his chest pulls with want, so hard he thinks it might crack open.

The boy's eyes are bright like the candle. Pulling him in. His claws shred through fabric, exposing soft skin, patterns of moles like … sky things. Stars.

“Go ahead,” says the boy. “I'm here. Take what you need.”

He doesn’t know what he needs.

But he thinks he remembers.

*

He doesn't know gentle, but the boy does.

His claws can only leave gashes and cuts, but those hands can tease and caress. His fangs can only bite and tear, but those lips leave kisses and whispered words of endearment. He's death and destruction and cold, but the boy is warmth and kindness and life.

He shouldn’t want that warmth, but he does. And he takes it. Takes it in all the ways he knows and all the ways he remembers.

The boy doesn't stop him once. Not when he pushes inside of him with a brutality that punches the breath from his chest in a hoarse whimper. Not when the force of his thrusts makes the sleep thing … the bed … groan and creak. Not when his claws leave bruises and draw blood, not when his tail wraps around the boy's throat, leaving him gasping for breath underneath him.

By the time he spills inside of that warmth and collapses on top of the boy, spent and exhausted and finally sated, the candle has burnt to a small stub and the sky beyond the window is turning brighter. Birdsong reaches his ears and he snarls reluctantly.

“You need to go?”

The boy's smile is tired and slow, and a little sad. He's beautiful in the waxing light, skin littered in marks. Marks he left there. The warm feeling blooms in his chest again. He thinks he could get used to the pain if means seeing that smile again.

“That’s alright.” Fingers combing through his hair, lips tracing the ruined remains of pictures etched into his skin. “I'll leave the candle burning so you can find me again, now that you know the way.”

He whines, even as he disentangles himself from the boy's embrace. He doesn’t know gentle, but he still presses his lips to the long stretch of that throat one last time, fangs scraping over bruised and bitten skin.

The boy sighs and melts into the touch.

“I'll get you back, Eddie. No matter how long it takes.”

He doesn't know gentle, and he doesn’t know the person that name belongs to.

But the darkness is a little bit thinner now. And he thinks that some day, he might remember.

Steve guiding Eddie back to himself through unhinged monsterfucking? Why not?

More celebration ficlets

[queenie-ofthe-void]

happy 10 year anniversary to the movie that made tumblr lose its mind

[queenie-ofthe-void]

truth, dare, spin bottles you know how to ball, i know aristotle

[queenie-ofthe-void]

okay well if Eddie is a fictional character then . How come I miss him like for real

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“what’s the song of the summer” ?? it’s DANCING IN THE DARK by bruce springsteen for the 40th year in a row

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Realizing my Kas Steddie obsession is an just updated version of my Winter Solider Stucky obsession.

#steddie #steddie headcanon #kas eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stucky #steve rogers #winter soldier #bucky barnes

[queenie-ofthe-void]

💫 NEW SOFT STEDDIE for your Sunday pleasure. You’re Light Years Away. Fiction inspired by art - this by the ever wonderful LogieDraws.

“What’s on your mind man?” Eddie takes a slow drag from his cigarette. Steve notices the angle of his jawline and the way his cheeks pull in as his plush lips purse around the thin paper as he inhales. He looks down at Steve, who’s got his head in Eddie’s lap.

You. Always. You. Steve thinks. “Hmmm?” He hums instead.

Eddie softly snorts. “You’ve got that far away look again Harrington.” His eyes are tender. They linger on Steve’s long enough to make his heart palpitate.

“Do I?” Steve asks playfully and Eddie turns his head. Steve doesn’t know if it’s because he’s shy or indifferent. With Eddie it’s always hard to tell. One thing he knows is that he always felt aimless once Eddie’s eyes stopped holding him.

Steve shifts his head a bit in Eddie’s lap, playing it cool. Like being around Eddie didn’t always make him question his whole life. He takes a slow drag from his own cigarette and lets the smoke drift from his lips.

And then Eddie is gently combing his fingers through Steve’s hair and the earth stills if only for a moment. His mind quiets. He leans his head into Eddie’s touch and closes his eyes.

Eddie looks down again, his eyes shining warmly against the soft evening light. Steve’s eyes flutter open just in time to catch the gentle pull of Eddie’s dimples.

“You know, you can tell me anything. You know that right?” Eddie’s voice is smoke rough, and Steve can’t ignore the way it vibrates down his chest and into his hips.

“Yeah, I – I know.” Steve fumbles.

“Okay.” Eddie smiles. “So what’s on your mind Steve?”

Steve goes quiet, his words caught in his throat, unable to catch up with his feelings. So he points up at the sky.

“Hey, is that the little dipper?” He asks in a futile way to change the subject.

Eddie squints back up at the sky and chuckles. “Actually that’s the big dipper. See over there?” He points his finger further north, and Steve’s eyes follow Eddie’s hand and all his chunky rings. “That’s the little dipper.”

“Oh yeah.” Steve sighs. “I see it now.” He smiles.

Eddie hums. “Yeah. Just a couple hundred light years away,” he says, smiling softly at the sky.

He returns his hand back to Steve’s hair and turns to look at him.

They watch each other in silence and it’s not awkward. It’s almost understanding. Eddie shifts his hand and gently runs his thumb down Steve’s cheek. His breath studders.

“Shit man, I might be way off base here.” Eddie says. His voice a little shaky. “Fuck, I really hope I’m not.”

Eddie caresses his cheek once more and bends low, moving carefully, watching Steve with lustrous eyes. He trails his finger along Steve’s jawline and ever so softly drags his thumb down his lower lip and to his chin, like Steve was the most delicate thing he’s ever touched.

Maybe he was.

Steve’s breath catches. He tilts his chin up, his lips part. Eddie’s curls tickle across his face, shrouding his dark features in shadow but Steve still catches the moment of hesitation in his eyes.

So Steve reaches up and pulls Eddie’s face closer. Their mouths whisper against each other. Their breaths meld together. Eddie lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes. Steve pulls him in closer and their mouths meet for the first time.

It feels like home.

It feels infinite.

Like two stars side-by-side.

Just a hundred light years away.

- END -

#I'm crying i love it #so soft #so fluffy #steddie #steddie fanart

[queenie-ofthe-void]

In The Dead Of Night

I wrote a fic inspired by my art that I drew earlier this month! I usually don’t ever write smut but I wanted to give it a try—

Steddie (Vampire Eddie AU) | 3k | Rated Explicit

[queenie-ofthe-void]

bro u knocked over his drink

read this fic that goes with this art!!

[queenie-ofthe-void]

i'm sorry but this is the only submission to this trend that i'll consider giving any thought to

[queenie-ofthe-void]

dance with the devil - part fifteen

Words: 488 | Rating: E | CW: mentions of blood | AO3

one || fourteen

The peace doesn’t last long, and just as Eddie finally feels himself relaxing, there’s a high pitched shriek sound from across the hall. Jolting upright fast enough to make his head spin, Eddie stares at the door. Nearby Robin is already on her feet and crossing the room is a flurry of movement that makes Eddie’s head spin even more. “Keep an eye on Steve,” she instructs over her shoulder as she hurries out the broken front door.

It hasn’t fully closed behind her when Eddie hears her yelling, “Max?” in the same direction the scream came from.

Bewildered by Robin’s actions, Eddie turns his attention to Steve’s unconscious form. He doesn’t seem any closer to waking back up now than he did five minutes ago, which is honestly fine by Eddie. He flops back down on the floor.

For a moment, everything is quiet.

Eddie closes his eyes.

The squeak of hinges and quiet sobs fill his ears, and Eddie groans. Opening one eye just enough to glance at the door again, he sees that Robin’s returned and she’s not alone. Tucked into Robin’s side is a young girl, her shaking hands covered in the bright red of blood as she stares at them through tears. She can’t be older than seventeen or eighteen.

It’s more than enough to get Eddie sitting up again, this time slowly, as Robin guides the girl to a part of the couch Steve isn’t sprawled over. Once the girl is settled, Robin looks at Eddie, forehead creased with deep lines of worry. “Can I talk to you in the kitchen?” she says quietly, as if anything above a whisper might disrupt the balance of the universe around them.

Nodding, Eddie hauls himself up, swaying only a little and follows Robin out of the room. They stop near the doorway, couch still visible, but presumably out of earshot. Robin’s teeth chew away at her bottom lip as she looks between Eddie and the living room. “Her apartment is covered in blood,” she says finally, body gesturing jerkily towards the girl. “I think… I think Steve…”

She doesn’t have to finish the sentence for Eddie to know how it ends. Between the blood covering the alleyway and now the apartment across the way, it’s not hard to guess that Steve’s murdered his neighbor this time. What the fuck is going on?

“I’ll handle it,” Eddie promises her, even if he still isn’t sure his angelic miracles are back yet. He doesn’t really have a choice now, not with this new development.

He claps Robin on the shoulder before stepping past her, mustering up every bit of strength he has left to propel himself to the door of Steve’s apartment and back outside. If he can just get the alley cleaned up, the apartment across the way, which he can see now also has a broken door, can wait.

One thing at a time.

Tag list below the cut as always, let me know if you want added!

@chaosgremlinmunson @soaringornithopter @hbyrde36 @shares-a-vest @dreamwatch

@quevadilla @puppy-steve @penny00dreadful @momotonescreaming @stevesbipanic

@dawners @little-birch-boy @steddiejudas @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @estrellami-1

@vthx @lolawonsstuff @gleek4twd @littlebluejane @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lawrencebshaggoth

@sadisticaltarts @queenie-ofthe-void @r0binscript @anaibis @hairdressersdoitwithstyle

@goodolefashionedloverboi @spookednsaucy @anne-bennett-cosplayer @flustratedcas @mugloversonly

@ellietheasexylibrarian @damnpotatoe @awkwardgravity1

[queenie-ofthe-void]

#Dustin told Steve to spend less time trying to find a girlfriend and more time trying to find Eddie, after all… (insp)