maybe-milo

[maybe-milo]

New Hellfire BTS Pics!!

This redditor has just released these new bts photos from their work on stranger things season 4 and I am loving themmmmm

Head of the Hellfire Table!

Some little things I noticed:

Eddie has a silver chalice that he drinks his mountain dew from (what a dweeb I love it)

Gareth's character sheet says that he plays as a character called Balthazar (meaning Gareth the Great is just a nickname Eddie calls him, not a character name)

Where Jeff sits, there appears to be a spiderman(?) comic stashed under his notebook (bottom-ish left corner, next to his red dice), so maybe he's a comic/superhero fan!

Eddie's DM book!

Some little things I noticed:

Eddie is a confirmed artist! Not only has he drawn Vecna like a badass, but underneath the page there is another doodle of what could be a lil demon or devil (I immediately thought that it could be a tiefling, but sadly they were only introduced into D&D in the 90s)

Eddie draws his own maps too! Look at that hatchwork omg

Vecna's HP seems to have been going up? One redditor posited that it might have been due to a life steal mechanic from Vecna's staff or his eye, while another redditor suggested that Eddie didn’t know how many hit points Vecna really had so he just kept changing it until he felt like he’d given them a good fight. You decide!

Bonus: According to the Og redditor, Joseph Quinn might have been the one to write Vecna's HP while shooting!

Please share if you notice anything else in these pics, if they confirm some of your headcanons or if they inspire new ones too!

[maybe-milo]

There was a fire at Starcourt Mall, and Maggie Harrington had no idea where her son was.

News from Indiana typically didn't make the morning reel in Chicago, much less news from their quaint hometown of Hawkins. Maggie had grown up there just as her parents before her had, and nothing was ever so noteworthy as to hit the national newsroom. It was all new stoplights and the upcoming games of the Hawkins Tigers. There was nothing in their small town to garner the attention of the rest of the country.

Except for a mall fire that required not just local crews, but apparently was bad enough that the United States government got involved.

A fire at the mall where Steve worked.

A fire. Steve.

The first attempt to call the house phone went unanswered. The same was true for the second and third.

It wasn't until the fifth attempt that Maggie's hands shook so badly that the phone slipped from her grip completely.

Why wasn't Steve answering?

"Honey, we have to get back to Hawkins. Steve isn't answering the phone," Maggie said when her call to Robert's office phone was picked up. Even the secretary had sounded surprised when Maggie rang—everyone was aware that Robert Harrington was not bothered during his very important work days.

But this was no ordinary day. This was a day after a mall fire, and their Steve wasn't picking up the phone. He always picked up the phone when she called.

Even in the face of losing their everything, Robert managed to sound annoyed by Maggie's interruption of his workday. "He's probably passed out drunk with that Hagan boy again. I won't miss another important meeting over a hangover."

"But what if he was in the fi—"

"That ice cream shop of his doesn't stay open that late. Nothing in the mall does. He's fine, Maggie. You're overreacting, and we'll be able to laugh at this later."

Fifty minutes. That's how long Maggie managed to listen to Robert's advice before she threw clothes in the first bag she could find and hailed a taxi to the airport. It was the most disorganized plan she'd ever come up with in her life, but all she could think about was her Steve, trapped somewhere within the rubble remains of the building, unable to let anyone know he was still there.

That was the only explanation, the only reason she wouldn't have heard anything yet.

It's not until that afternoon that Maggie arrived in Hawkins. Though closer in miles, her mind still failed to focus on anything other than her son.

What if the worst had happened?

There was so much time missing. The moment Steve had been old enough to take care of himself for a weekend, Maggie had chosen to follow Robert along on all of his business trips. It was easier that way, to pretend as though he wouldn't be betraying her if she hadn't accompanied him. Besides, Steve had always been a good kid. He was fine on his own, always. He told them he never minded it, that it meant he could have a couple of friends over without worrying about keeping too quiet. It was better this way.

Somehow, along the way, a weekend turned into a long weekend, and then eventually a week. And, as their son approached adulthood, Maggie recalled more nights spent calling him to check on him versus being able to hear it straight from him in person. Even then, those calls slowly got shorter until she barely heard more from him than a quick "I'm fine, promise."

God, what she wouldn't give now for all of those years back. Maggie would throw all of it away for one swim meet, for one junior prom, or even one more family dinner spent without yelling about responsibilities and high expectations of the Harrington name. What the hell did a family legacy mean anymore, if it all lead to their Steve being in the mall when it burned down?

All she needed was for Steve to be anywhere but underneath the ruins of Starcourt Mall.

Except, the more Maggie Harrington looked for answers, the more it seemed to be headed for the worst.

Steve wasn't at the house. Nor did Tommy Hagan or Carol Perkins know where he was. In fact, they were quite clear that they never knew where he was nowadays, considering how he'd cut them out of his life entirely.

And that, well, that didn't sound like the Steve that Maggie knew at all. He'd been friends with the two of them his entire life, ever since Bruce Hagan and Robert had introduced their sons to each other as toddlers.

Maggie knew that Steve had a rough go of it after that poor girl went missing at one of his parties, but did that really warrant cutting off all of his friends?

The police station wasn't any help to Maggie, either, stating that there was too much chaos right now, given the recent loss of their chief, Jim Hopper. He'd been a rather brusque man, but he certainly didn't deserve the fate he'd been given. Maggie couldn't grieve for the man yet, though—not until the weight pressing against her chest was lifted. Not until she knew Steve was okay. Oddly enough, though, they did say there had been a handful of kids and some mall workers at the fire site. They didn't know who, though, just that they'd all said Chief Hopper had saved them.

Maggie spent the rest of the day moving from place to place in town, searching for anyone who might have seen her son. There was no one, though. Nothing could help her except for the one place she'd been trying all afternoon to avoid.

By the end of the day, there was no choice but to face the truth. Maggie approached Hawkins Memorial Hospital cautiously, eyes sweeping the lobby as if she might find her son sitting there waiting for someone else.

"How can I help you, ma'am?" the woman at the front desk asked. It wasn't until the third time she asked that Maggie registered the question and was able to force the words out of her mouth.

"Do you have a patient here by the name Steve Harrington?" The words tasted like ash on her tongue and felt heavy on her lips. Even still, she couldn't tell what she wanted the answer to be. A yes, and it meant her poor boy was hurt badly enough to be admitted. Yet, a no meant she still had no idea what happened to him, or if he actually was anywhere near the mall when the fire occurred.

For all she knew, Robert could have been right, and he was simply off nursing a bad hangover with his new friends that didn't include Tommy Hagan. What Maggie wouldn't give now for that to be true. She'd never yell at him for throwing his life away like this ever again if it meant he had a life. God, they'd been too hard on him, and now that could mean that he was here. Did they put their own son here?

"Yes, ma'am, we do. It looks like he was brought in last night by EMS. Are you family?"

The woman's words were simple, matter-of-fact, but hit Maggie's chest like solid blows.

Steve. EMS. Last night.

"Was he—was he in that mall fire?" Maggie's voice had never sounded so small, so unsure. "Is he alive? I need to see him."

"Are you a family member?"

"I'm his mother." Her voice cracked around the word as the tears she'd held back all day finally slipped from her eyes. Maggie Harrington did not break under any pressure placed on her shoulders, and certainly would never do so in public, and yet now she stood in the middle of the hospital lobby with fresh tears carving tracks down her face. "Why wasn't I informed of this? I am his mother, I should know when he gets hurt. I should know when he needs an ambulance, I should know when he's in a goddamn mall fire because I'm his mother! Why didn't I know?"

"Mrs. Harrington, please," the woman at the desk spoke, stern though revealing a hint of sympathy as she watched Maggie crack. "I understand you're upset, but his medical team followed his wishes. They called his emergency contact as soon as he was stabilized."

Stabilized, implying that at one time, Maggie's son had not been in stable condition. He could have died last night, and she wouldn't have known.

At this rate, Maggie was going to pass out in this hospital lobby.

"I didn't get any calls last night," Maggie insisted.

The front desk woman hesitated before clarifying, "We didn't call you last night, Mrs. Harrington. Steve Harrington's emergency contact is a Mrs. Sue Sinclair."

Sue Sinclair? Maggie ran through the other people in Hawkins, thinking through each of the parents she knew who had kids Steve's age. No one by the name of Sue Sinclair came to mind, so what the hell was this woman doing as Maggie's son's emergency contact?

"No, this must be a mistake. I've always been his emergency contact. I'm his mother."

Steve had gotten hurt, and it hadn't been her that he wanted to call. Maggie's stomach turned over and over in her abdomen, and though she hadn't eaten anything since seeing the news on her TV, she could feel the sick growing. What if something worse had happened? Would they have even thought to call her?

Would she have ever known if the Chicago news station hadn't thought to air the news?

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Harrington, it's all right here on file. But I can take you to see him if you'd like. You just have to promise me to be quiet; visiting hours are technically over already." The front desk woman was a saint. Maggie would never be able to thank her enough for this, didn't really have the words to anyway. So she nodded and followed silently through the halls of the hospital.

The entire walk was spent trying to prepare for the state of her son she was about to see. They hadn't told her much, only that he'd needed an ambulance ride and that he had in fact been in the fire. Maggie was expecting large swaths of painful burns to cover her son, or for him to be hooked up to countless machines doing the work of living for him.

Maggie Harrington's first thought when she saw him was that there had to be a mistake, because it didn't look like Steve was in a fire. It looked more like he'd been beaten, considering all the wrapped-up cuts and swollen bruises covering him. Steve was asleep, it looked like, though only IVs of what looked like fluids were connected to his arm and the monitor that emitted a gentle beep with every beat of his heart.

Steve was okay. He was hurt, but he wasn't burned beyond recognition. He was okay.

He also wasn't alone.

There was a little girl asleep on the little couch in the room, head in the lap of the woman who had to be her mother. Both she and the man next to her looked like they'd been woken up to be here, dressed in rumpled clothes and looking downright exhausted.

Maggie didn't recognize them, but they were here for her Steve, and that was good enough for her.

"Are you Steve's mom?" the woman asked after a few moments of Maggie standing in the hospital room without saying anything.

She longed to hold her boy, to wipe away the pain he must be feeling now, even as he slept. She couldn't move, though, couldn't do anything but stand in the doorway feeling more helpless than she ever had before.

"I'm sorry, yes, I am. Maggie," she introduced to the woman, glancing away from Steve for only a moment, to glance back at the woman. "Pardon me, but how do you know Steve?"

There wasn't anyone his age in sight, though she supposed one of his friends could have been hurt too. Wouldn't this family want to be with their own kid, though, if he were hurt too?

"We don't, not really but..." The woman sighed and picked the little girl's head up so she could stand. She walked closer enough to Maggie to hug her, gentle at first but tighter when Maggie leaned into it.

God, she'd been alone all day. No one had cared enough to hug her, but this woman had. Not even Maggie's husband could be here.

"Steve saved our little girl's life tonight," the woman said after pulling back enough to grip onto Maggie's elbows, as if to keep her standing. Only another mother who'd been here before would know she needed that strength right now. "Erica told us everything, how he'd sacrificed himself to get her out of that building safely."

Sacrificed. The word sent bile into Maggie's throat, but one look at her son safe in his hospital bed was enough to settle her fear.

"We've been wanting to speak to his parents, after last year," the man spoke, standing up and moving over to her too. "To thank you, for raising such a fine boy."

What? Maggie thought back to last year, trying to recall anything that had been out of the ordinary. They'd been traveling more, but Steve hadn't told them about anything happening.

"What happened last year?"

"He didn't tell you?" the woman seemed confused, and as surprised as she was.

"Steve was babysitting our son, Lucas, and all of his friends," the man explained. "Lucas told us about how he defended him against another boy, one who was...," the man paused, clearly too overcome with anger at the situation to say it aloud, "who was the exact sort of person we warn our kids about."

"We brought him here, too, back then," the woman was quick to reassure, but the words did nothing but settle something icy and cold in Maggie's chest. "We made sure he got the attention he needed. Steve told us he would call you to let you know he was okay, I assumed..."

"He didn't. He never told me," Maggie practically gasped, watching these two parents look upon her son so fondly. Steve hadn't even told her that he'd been in the hospital last year. These two people had been there when she wasn't.

She wasn't there.

Where had she and Robert gone so wrong that when their boy was in the hospital, it was this woman that he wanted to call first instead of them?

"You're Mrs. Sinclair, aren't you? The nurse outside told me you were called for him first."

"Please, it's Sue," the woman said. "This is my husband, Charles. Steve told us you have to travel for work a lot. When he asked us if we would be his emergency contact, he said it was because we were in town and could be here quicker. I assumed he was telling you all of this. I never wanted to impose..."

"Thank you," Maggie breathed out quickly, though the sharp pain in her chest never eased. "Thank you for being there for him. I'm glad Steve's had someone looking after him."

Even when she'd disappointed him, Steve had always defended her. Traveling for work, he'd told the Sinclairs, as if he didn't figure out the truth of why she always went on his father's business trips years ago.

A small noise from Steve halted the conversation. It was high-pitched and whining as he began to move about in the bed. He was in pain, Maggie realized with a startled gasp. Her son didn't wake up fully, though the noises only continued every once in a while.

"Aren't they giving him anything to help?" Maggie asked, sure she was looking a little wild-eyed at the Sinclairs when no one on staff came into the room to check on him. "He's in pain."

"I—" Sue began, though she cut herself off and looked to her husband as if for help.

The way the man's expression darkened considerably did nothing to ease Maggie's nerves.

"They won't tell us much about what happened," Charles started, voice low as though sharing a secret. "But we all know injuries like that don't happen from a fire."

Exactly like Maggie had thought when she'd first seen Steve.

"It's all strange. There was a man here, a Dr. Owens. He said he's from the federal government. He said—"

"What? What did he say?" Maggie pressed when Charles paused, looking at her with clear hesitation.

"He said they can't give Steve any pain medications right now. He was, Steve was drugged with something, some kind of experimental drug, and they don't know how anything will interact with it. There's nothing they can do to help him right now."

The only comfort Maggie had was that Charles and Sue Sinclair appeared as livid about the situation as she felt.

"Drugged?" Maggie gasped, looking between Charles and her son's unconscious form as if waiting for the admission that this was all some cruel joke.

It never came.

"So this Dr. Owens's story is that my son was drugged with some unknown drug and somehow ended up looking like he was beaten in a mall fire? That the federal government is interested in a simple mall fire? That's his story?"

Even as she spoke, Maggie could feel the rage building up in her, warming all of her limbs that she'd previously lost feeling to in the wake of seeing her son like this. How dare this man, this Dr. Owens, try to tell them such blatant lies? Did he think that they wouldn't care enough to search for the answers? Did he think that Maggie wouldn't go to the ends of the Earth to protect her son?

Dr. Owens had another thing coming if he did.

"Something strange is going on in this town," Sue agreed, looking back to where her little girl, Erica, slept soundly on the couch. "Erica wouldn't tell us anything, but obviously she knows what happened."

"You said you have a son, Lucas. Does he know what happened?"

"I think so," Sue said. "He and his friends were there. So were Nancy Wheeler and Jonathan Byers. They said the fire killed Chief Hopper too. I tried asking Joyce Byers what happened but she was acting strange too, just kept saying it was a fire. I don't even understand what they were all doing there at the mall after close anyway."

Joyce Byers. Maggie went to school with Joyce, and had felt terribly when she heard that her youngest had gone missing a couple of years ago. But if this woman knew what Maggie's son was involved in and wasn't saying anything?

"We deserve answers," Maggie stated then. "We need to know what happened to our kids."

"How do you suppose we do that?" Sue asked, looking back at first Erica and then Steve.

"We have to find this Dr. Owens, and we won't take no for an answer this time."

Maggie Harrington may not have done right by her son before. There may have been so much done wrong, so much that she missed, but she would not let this slide anymore. Not when the Sinclairs had done so much, and even still, they were given the same lies. Not when Steve had been drugged and beaten, and all he had to show for it was lying in a bed in pain because the only people who knew what happened refused to help.

Something sinister was happening in Hawkins.

The Sinclairs and Maggie Harrington would find out what.

To be continued (if yall want)

[maybe-milo]

It infuriates me so bad when people view a character like Eddie who lives in a trailer park with traits such as: unclean, rowdy, creepy, aggressive, etc.

Not everybody from a trailer park is like that. Yes, I can tell you with certainty, these people know how to fend for themselves. Yes, these people know how to cook. Yes, these people know how to take care of their hair and their bodies.

There's this, like, perpetual idea that Eddie uses only 3-in-1 because it's all that he can possibly afford. No, guys, I can tell you right now as somebody who came from an impoverished family, we could definitely afford shampoo, conditioner, and body soap all separately—these things are just not going to be top quality brands. I fucking hate the way people write Steve approaching him about it like all high and mighty about knowing how to properly take care of Eddie's hair, being thoroughly disgusted with the products Eddie uses, showing off that his products are 100% better than whatever Eddie's got in his shower. Like. Okay....if the 3-in-1 is really what Eddie is putting in his hair, then so be it? That's what works for him, that's what he can afford, that's all he has.

Or, like, when Eddie can't cook? That because he didn't have access to all these nice foods that Steve has: fresh fruits and vegetables, bigger containers of milk, non-canned goods, products in the freezer that aren't frozen meals; just based off of what he has, he seemingly can't cook. That he's not making real food just because it comes from a container and it's processed.

But like...my mom was on the WIC program when I was growing up. My favorite meals, which we called our struggle meals, were things like chili dogs on plain white bread because regular hot dog buns were too expensive. Or when packs of chicken were too expensive and pushed us over our limit, my mom would just pick up a pack of lil' smokies and fry them up and toss them in a box of generic store brand macaroni—just to make sure we had our protein. No, I'll tell you right now, we didn't get a ton of fresh produce; namely because that fresh produce was expensive by the pound. But I'd take home apples from the school cafeteria and use them for an after school snack with a bit of store brand peanut butter. And, like, sometimes the frozen meals were all we could get and so that's what we had—and we made fun with it, too, where we'd all pile up in the living room and we'd watch a movie from our local Blockbuster or Redbox machine and my mom would braid my hair while I had my Banquet's brownie. Kix was my favorite cereal growing up because it was, like, the only name brand cereal we could get with WIC.

Just because a food isn't fresh or name brand doesn't mean that it's not food. It's edible. And it tasted good. No, it wasn't always healthy, but we were trying our best. We were getting by. I loved when we'd go to the local food bank and find little containers of frozen peaches—or even better, when we'd find the holy grail within the last can of name brand Spaghetti-O's on the food bank's shelf. And we also had Meals on Wheels delivered to us, which cost us the tiniest bit, but we'd end up with house made salisbury steak with mashed potatoes or turkey with mashed potatoes and carrots—those were so easy to make after long days with extracurricular activities, or when we didn't have any other meal options.

Eddie can be appreciative of Steve's food, y'know. But having this constant idea that only Steve will know how to cook because he can use fresh ingredients or because the food Eddie had was gross and canned—I don't know, it rubs me the wrong way, I guess.

But like saying that Eddie smells just because he lives in a trailer is nuts. It's plainly crazy. If he doesn't have a washer/dryer unit, then maybe he knows how to do them manually or maybe he goes to a laundromat when he and Wayne find enough quarters in the couch. Or that he can't afford name brand hygiene products, so he just must stink. Or shaming him for using a cheap Axe cologne (because compared to something like Calvin Kleine, that's inexpensive) all because it's cheap.

I love a version of Eddie that knows how to fix things around the house because they couldn't afford plumbers or repairmen—my family was like that, too. You know how many times I've been able to fix something like a garbage disposal out of self-winging and spite? Or how many times I've unclogged a drain by using a handyman's guide or some YouTube tutorial? Yeah, Eddie probably does have these skills, and these skills are really useful.

Maybe he can't make top of the line meals, but he can make things. He can make hot food. That's important to him, hot food, I feel like. Programs like EBT/Food Stamps/TANF/WIC don't cover hot food items like the rotisserie chickens you may see at places like Costco—even though those would be so damn helpful for meal prep.

I think it's also just wrong and rude to make a pessimistic narrative about his clothing being older and used. Or hand me downs, god forbid. Those are well loved, well cherished things. He probably knows how to make a patch, how to stitch, he knows the best way to remove a stain from a beloved shirt. He probably is shopping at thrift stores for clothing pieces instead of constantly going to the mall for new things, and that's okay! You just have to get by like that sometimes! It's okay, too, if he has the same clothes as he did the year before in school—it's unreasonable to ask of a low poverty person to buy a whole new wardrobe just for the new year.

Parts of this fandom just completely dehumanize Eddie when it comes to him and Wayne being lower class people. They're trying their damn best to get by, that shouldn't be shameful. It shouldn't be shameful to live certain ways just because you can't afford the luxury of new and fresh and popular things. I think overconsumption in the modern age is bleeding into this fandom space and decimating the image of Eddie—this very real version of a person living in rural 1980s America—all because he isn't keeping up with things like Steve probably is; I often see the lifestyle Steve flaunts as praised and likable, while Eddie's lifestyle is mucky and disturbing and grotesque just because he's poor.

It's weird.

[maybe-milo]

Original post date: September 5 2022

Original caption: after a quick stop at Steve’s house, they make an important visit. Yes those are Steve’s clothes

[maybe-milo]

Original post date: September 4 2022

Original caption: the second drawing is the closest I’m gonna get to drawing byler do Not @ me

[maybe-milo]

wip Wednesday but it’s Thursday oops

[maybe-milo]

oooh. fic requests! how about 6 - fight or 19 - allergies for steddie?

Hello! I'm sorry it took so long to get to this one, but I hope it's alright! I went with:

6. Fight - Steddie

cw: implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced domestic violence, unhealthy relationship dynamics (not between Eddie and Steve)

-

The most frustrating thing about fighting with Steve is that he doesn’t fight. Not really.

Sure, he’ll poke and he’ll prod and he’ll snip and he’ll snap; he’ll dole out bitchy, passive aggressive comments and roll his eyes and sigh pointedly, but the moment things get heated, the moment an argument gets real, it’s just–

“Fine. Fine,” Steve snaps, tossing his hands up with an exasperated huff. “You’re right, okay? I’m– I’m sorry.”

And at first, Eddie had always felt so vindicated, so flush with the triumph of winning an argument, that it had taken him a while to realize that it felt– wrong. That Steve—so confident, so sure in his opinions, so willing to stand up to people when he has something to defend—would just give in without a fight– it feels wrong.

So Eddie had tried to pay attention – really pay attention. They don’t fight often, but when an argument inevitably does crop up, Eddie always wins. Rather, Steve always lets him. He never raises his voice, never gets in Eddie’s face, never really even makes counterarguments. He cedes to Eddie’s points and then subsides and it’s– it’s infuriating, because Eddie doesn’t understand.

“Don’t do that,” Eddie growls, tugging a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Don’t– what? Don’t apologize?” Steve asks incredulously.

“No!” Eddie bursts out. “Not if you don’t mean it!”

“Excuse me?” Steve draws back, offended. “What the hell do you want me to do to prove I’m sincere? Get on my knees and fucking grovel?”

“That’s not–” Eddie leaves off with a frustrated noise, trying hard to keep his tone level. “I don’t want to win an argument just because you let me. I don’t want you to apologize just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“I’m not letting you win,” Steve says quickly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You are, though. You do. Every time. You won’t actually engage, you just say I’m right and then clam up and that’s it,” Eddie says.

Steve levels him with a look of disbelief. “So– what, you want me to yell at you? You want me to tell you that you’re wrong?”

“I want–” Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose, taking a second to gather his thoughts. “I want you to feel like you’re allowed to argue with me. I don’t want you to just give in and then resent me or something.”

“I don’t resent you, Eddie,” Steve says with a roll of his eyes.

“No?” Eddie pushes. “How many times have we gone to bed after an argument with me perfectly satisfied, thinking I’ve won, while you’re actually still mad at me?”

“That’s– I don’t…” Steve shifts uncomfortably. “If I’m still mad, that’s my problem. I can just get over it.”

“But that’s exactly what I mean!” Eddie insists. “That shit builds up! And besides, what if you’re the one who’s really right? I might actually be wrong, and you should tell me. Or maybe there’s some kind of, like, compromise we can reach, I don’t know! I don’t want you to be afraid to push back – I don’t want you to be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Steve says, jaw jutting out stubbornly when Eddie fixes him with a considering look. “I’m not. I’m just– how long before yelling turns into a screaming match? How long before it turns into throwing shit around, or– or shoving each other, or worse?”

“Steve…” Eddie murmurs, the last of his heated frustration draining away, leaving a clammy kind of dismay in its place. “Steve, I would never do any of those things to you.”

“I know,” Steve says, and it sounds like he means it. “I know that. But what if I–”

“No,” Eddie says firmly, because he thinks he understands now – Steve isn’t afraid of him, he’s afraid of himself. Afraid of turning into everything he’d been raised around: the blowout arguments between his parents, his mom’s petty destruction of his dad’s things, his dad’s frustration turned back on Steve, a cycle of violent familial bullshit that Steve is determined to break free from, even if it means saying that he’s wrong every time. Eddie comes forward, grabbing Steve’s hands; he can’t even remember what they’d been arguing about moments before, but he knows he doesn’t care anymore. “You would never do that. I know you, Steve, you are nothing like that.”

Steve looks down at their joined hands, blinking rapidly. “This– you… You’re more important than winning. Than any stupid argument,” he says.

“That’s exactly why we should have stupid arguments,” Eddie says, grinning a little when that gets a choked laugh out of Steve. “I’m serious. Let’s have stupid, petty arguments so they don’t turn into big ones. I swear I’m not going to stay mad if you get on my ass about not doing the dishes.”

Slowly, Steve nods. He doesn’t entirely look like he believes Eddie, but that’s fine. It’s always been like this – Steve unwilling (or unable) to believe that someone will love him if he doesn’t make it easy for them. Eddie’s been breaking that down, bit by bit, and this is no different. This is no chore.

“I’ll still love you even when I’m angry. Even when you’re angry,” Eddie promises. “I just love you, full stop.”

Steve nods again, more certain this time as he looks up to meet Eddie’s eyes. “I love you, too,” he says, because he always, always says it back, which suits Eddie just fine.

He figures if they can agree on that much, every other disagreement will be a breeze.

[maybe-milo]

eddie drawings

[maybe-milo]

I forgot this existed, so here um yeah…

[maybe-milo]

lil drawing

[maybe-milo]

Of course bear would win, like bears are good swimmers and on top of teeth have those deadly fucking paws, one hit and you’re dead, they’re double armed, while shark would just flail when beached. No contest, dude

[maybe-milo]

steddie sketch dump 2

part 1 here

[maybe-milo]

I already jumped into it, so i hope someone still here)))

[maybe-milo]

gonna post more on tumblr!

[maybe-milo]

They're in love

[maybe-milo]

(ignore the off-center graphic please, i was trying to do it quickly)

A new spin on the classic here!! Help me find a wip please

it's my biggest downfall as a writer. I need to talk to other people. I'm social in a very solitary world. So instead of sending me titles of wips I don't have so I can write sentences in them, send an ask so I can ramble on in hopes I'll stumble into a wip.

Head canons, half baked ideas, what ifs, would you ever, how would they...

Send it in and I'll do what I do and type up way too many words about the subject. Hopefully it'll spark something for me so I can get back on this horse.

steddie, clarkson, stargyle, stonathan, buckingham, rockie, or just single characters free of ships.

[maybe-milo]

steve teaching robin his evil white boy ways is very important to me. he's boosting her up into a girl's window. she's wearing backwards baseball caps and popped collars and sunglasses inside. sitting on the roof in lawn chairs. throwing random stuff off high places.

the first time she does a keg stand, he cries.