#lex creates

[harmonictechnicality]

*no rest for the wicked*

my teensy contribution to @thefreakandthehair's spicy six summer collection 💖 | word count: 3k | rating: T | ao3 link | also, this wouldn't exist if @chocoarts didn't send me a sketch that immediately set off sparklers in my brain so bless youuu ✨

Twenty-six hours. That’s how long Eddie has been up. Twenty-six hours and twelve minutes. The heaviness hanging in his eyes is medieval-level torturous, and the cramp in his left calf is probably permanent by now. 

A sane person who enjoys sleeping might be asking, ‘Why? Why put yourself through this when there’s a perfectly decent bed down the hall?’ And Eddie would be forced to reply back with two, simple words:

Concert. Tickets.

That’s right, Eddie is actively murdering his own brain cells to win two vip tickets on the radio. Twenty-seven hours ago, it seemed like a grand idea. Genius, even. It’s free and minimal effort - he just has to call the station every hour on the dot. No biggie, right?

Ha, sure. Tell that to the muscles in his eyelids.

“How much longer do you have?” Chrissy asks, snagging a magazine from the stack on the couch.

Eddie checks his watch. Huffs out a laugh. “Let’s just say, I could watch the entire Star Wars trilogy including the credits for each one.”

“Translating to...?”

“Seven-ish hours.” Robin quickly chimes. She pops out of her bedroom and joins Chrissy’s side, instantly threading their hands together. They share a look, one that makes Eddie believe in nice things, even in his state of misery. It’s their superpower, injecting their optimistic outlook into the atmosphere. Infectious in the best way. 

“I always forget that you speak fluent nerd.” Chrissy snorts.

“Ouch.” Robin gasps and pulls away, stomping off to their room. Too dramatic to be believable. “Get back to bed before I actually feel offended by that.”

Normally, Eddie is charmed by how hopelessly in love his roommates are with each other. But right now, they are his mortal enemies (well, tied with The Clock), because they get to sleep and he gets to stare at the lightbulb in the ceiling fan. Every now and then, it flickers, which never fails to startle him. 

Good. He desperately needs the extra alertness. 

Another forty-five minutes go by before anything noteworthy happens. Eddie’s other roommate gets off his night shift around one in the morning. The front door squeals as it opens, crackling all the adrenaline leftover in Eddie’s body. 

“Scared the shit out of me, man.” Which could’ve been a literal statement if Eddie hadn’t just taken a bathroom break.

“Gotta get this door fixed.” Steve says. That’s what he always says when it creaks. The reaction never changes, always skating his fingers over the door hinges, mouth twisting to the side. Hands on his hips in disapproval. Eddie has to look away before Steve breaks out his insufferably cute ‘foot tap’ routine. “Hey - why are you still up?”

Ah, yes. Just what Eddie needed. A reminder that it’s fucking late. He finds the energy (or common decency, who knows) to point at the phone. Then to the radio.

“You’re still doing that, huh?”

Eddie nods twice.

“Damn, I’ve never heard you this quiet.” Steve sounds genuinely surprised. A little too smug for Eddie’s liking. “Didn’t know your mouth could stay in a straight line for this long.”

There it is. The rich boy smartassery that will never die. Always lurking in the depths of his genetic makeup.

Eddie claps, total deadpan.

The conversation lulls while Steve messes around in the kitchen for a bit. He’s noisily opening cabinets and clanking dishes around in the sink. Eventually, he walks back into the living room with two beers. 

Both for him apparently. “Well, listen,” he starts out. Kicks his feet up on the coffee table. “I’m pretty wired after work, so if you need some company-”

“Six… hours… left.” Eddie musters out.

“Okay well, I doubt I’ll last that long. But I can give it a shot.”

Eddie smirks, raises both eyebrows. “There’s a dirty joke somewhere in there. Too tired to find it though.”

“Good to know the horny part of your mind is still awake.” Steve gives Eddie a small pat on the head. 

“Oh? That’s a good thing?”

“Depends on who you ask.”

“I’m asking you.” It’s too direct, Eddie hears it. And now it’s just Out There - his inability to flirt in a subtle way. And yeah, he could blame it on sleep deprivation, but he’s never been known for his mastery of ambiguity so…

The pause goes on long enough for the light to flicker again, the room growing darker with it. Steve takes a swig of his drink and smiles. “It’s good to know, Ed.”

The light flickers even darker.

Eddie is fully awake after that. Which could’ve been part of Steve’s plan - stimulate his brain with flirty comments and keep him up with those melty smiles. It’s no secret that Eddie turns into a hair-twirling loser around this guy. 

Even after living together for a year and seeing one another’s most disgusting habits, he still feels this way. Tight throat, stomach flips. Purely smitten in a way that would nauseate deadbeat poets.

In this moment, however, it’s a wonderful remedy to staying awake throughout the rest of the night. Much more effective than energy drinks and Tootsie Rolls.

Steve ends up on the floor, leaning against the edge of the couch. He sips another beer, recounting some bullshit that happened during his shift at the hotel. Eddie does his best impression of Listening to Steve’s stories, but the words are just buzzing around the glow of Steve’s hair and the shine on his lips. Nodding at seemingly appropriate times is all Eddie currently can offer.

“Sleeping with your eyes open, Munson?”

Eddie blinks hard. “Huh?”

“Creepy, but impressive.” Steve laughs, tapping his hand against Eddie’s leg. “You should add that to the Special Skills column on your resumé.”

“Bold of you to assume I have a resumé.”

They spend the next hour doing just that - adding useless skills to Eddie’s nonexistent resumé. It keeps them busy. Content. Steve smacks Eddie’s knee anytime he laughs, leaves his hand longer every time. Maybe that’s all in Eddie’s semi-dormant mind, especially since Steve shows casual affection to all of his friends. But the warmth of his palm is real enough to have Eddie fully committed to making Steve laugh as much as possible.

“What about… Expert Paper Clip Chain-Maker?” Steve suggests. 

Eddie stares at the chain in his hand, the one he was oblivious to creating. He whips it around like a lasso and then shrugs. “A bit wordy.”

“So you’re saying length matters?”

“Christ on toast, Harrington. You’re awfully quick to jump to that conclusion, aren’t you?”

Steve doesn’t answer, just starts laughing again. Eddie didn’t even need to tell a shitty joke this time. 

And when Steve’s hand hits his knee, sliding slightly up his thigh, Eddie laughs along with him. It’s the only way to cover up the heat rushing to his face.

Eddie enters the realm of delirium with three hours left in his challenge. He slumps onto the floor next to Steve, nudging his shoulder, staring into his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s four in the morning, inhibitions be damned.

“Do you think if you ever visit Europe, they’d call you Harring-metric-ton?” Eddie picks a piece of lint off Steve’s sleeve. Perfect excuse to reach out, move in closer.

Steve groans. “Yikes. But yes, that question keeps me up at night.”

“So that’s why you’re still awake. See, I knew it wasn’t because of my silly little concert tickets.” 

As soon as the words leave his lips, Eddie convinces himself that it’s the truth. Which is so dumb, so stupid. But this seed of insecurity keeps him going, fully projecting his assumptions onto Steve’s harmless comment. Somewhere deep down, buried underneath his exhaustion, Eddie knows it was a joke. But he can’t seem to shut up anymore.

“The riddle has been solved, folks! We finally know why Stevie here is still awake.” Eddie exclaims, flinging his arms out to the side. “Alert Scooby and the gang at once! Mystery Incorporated can finally pack up their magnifying glasses and pursue careers with better health insurance. Ones that covers vision costs this time. It’s what dear, ol' Velma deser-”

“Eddie.” Steve places a hand on Eddie’s arm, holding him still. Was he moving? Oh god, was he shaking? 

Fucking mortifying.

Steve’s thumb swipes across Eddie’s skin, tracing diagonal lines back and forth. “You’re rambling.”

“And you’re…” Eddie loses focus. He looks down at the hypnotic patterns that Steve is making. “There. Doing that.”

Steve stops briefly to flip Eddie’s hand over, starts tracing the lines in his palm instead. The pressure makes Eddie’s heart lurch up into his throat. He can feel it thumping in his neck, faster with every stroke of Steve’s fingers. All he wants to do is close his hand around them, keep Steve there for the rest of the night. Longer if he’d let him.

“I can stop if it’s weird.” Steve’s voice is so much quieter than it was earlier. 

Don’t stop. Eddie thinks. Can’t say it like that because gross. Humiliating and gross. “It’s not weird.”

Steve keeps his focus on the motion, Eddie does the same. They stay like this for a while, just watching. Intently staring over the invisible lines like pages in a novel. Eddie is pretty sure he’s breathing too loud, can hear it above the whistle in the air conditioner. Wonders if Steve can hear it too. 

Probably.

“That’s not why I’m staying awake.” Steve says, never breaking the pattern.

“No?”

“It’s who I’m staying awake for.”

Steve finally stops, right in the center of Eddie’s hand. The air in the room goes dense, weighted with acknowledgment. Something has changed and Eddie can feel it everywhere. 

He tilts forward, pulling his gaze away from his hand and up at Steve’s lips. If he weren’t stuck between half-awake and total-delirium, Eddie would just do it. Kiss Steve the way he’s always wanted to. Syrupy slow and deep. Savoring every second.

He could do it right now, right this second. But his focus starts drifting as he closes his eyes. “Did Chrissy tell you?” Eddie grumbles, almost unintelligible. 

“Tell me what?”

Eddie’s head falls, landing somewhere on Steve’s chest. He inhales the scent of laundry detergent (because Steve and Chrissy are the only avid laundry-doers in the apartment). It’s so soothing, drawing him further into a dreamlike place.

“Tell me what, Ed?”

“That I…” Eddie is nearly asleep before he can finish the thought. The confession:

‘That I’m crazy about you.’

Sunlight hits Eddie first, startles him so much that he jolts upward. Fully awake. It takes a few seconds of furiously rubbing his eyes before the dread kicks in. 

Morning.

It’s morning.

“Shit.”

Eddie fell asleep.

Steve fell asleep.

“Shitshitshit. So many shits!” He fumbles through the labyrinth of blankets and pillows around him, snatching his watch from the coffee table:

10:24 a.m.

“Goddamnit!”

Eddie sinks back down to the floor, clutching the phone that serves him no purpose anymore. All of those hours of waiting and calling for nothing. Even if general admission wasn’t already sold out, it’s not like Eddie could afford tickets on his own. He can barely keep up with his share of the rent. Chrissy had to cover for his grocery run last week and he still hasn’t paid her back.

It’s just so expected too - for him to fuck up like this. Always letting opportunities slip through the cracks, making careless mistakes. No one will be surprised that he failed at such a simple task like calling a fucking radio station.

Eddie sets the phone back on the table and cleans up the living room in a daze. Every now and then, he mutters under his breath about being a total moron. He stays relatively quiet for the most part though. No use in throwing a bitchfest while Steve is blissfully conked out three feet away.

Of course he looks good sleeping too, even in the midst of Eddie’s breakdown. Unfair.

Just before heading back to his room, Eddie hears that familiar door creak. Same one that always sets off Steve’s inner handyman tendencies. 

He looks back to see Chrissy padding towards him with a blanket wrapped around her. For someone who hasn’t had their mood-altering cup of coffee yet, she looks extremely pleased to see him. Maybe she knows about the fate of the concert tickets. Maybe this is an early-risers pity party.

Fucking yay.

“Chris, please don’t try to-”

His words are muffled by Chrissy throwing her arms (and blanket cape) around him. She’s so bouncy, the way she always gets with Robin whenever their favorite song comes on at the karaoke bar. He pats her on the back and clears his throat, still trying to piece together what this exchange could be about. However, Eddie is functioning on a few hours of sleep, so his cognitive skills are groggy at best.

She gives him one more squeeze and then looks up, positively gleaming. “I knew it! I knew it would finally happen!”

“That I’d screw up for the umpteenth time in my life? Gee thanks, Chris.” Eddie says.

“What are you talking about?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you and Steve!” She whisper-yells back.

Was she snooping on them last night? He wouldn’t put it past her, snoopiness is the foundation of their friendship. Well, whatever Chrissy thought she saw, she’s wrong. Sure, Steve and Eddie flirted, both letting some potentially mutual feelings slip out.

But it was all cut short by Eddie passing out mid-flirt. God knows how Steve took that reaction. Probably assumed Eddie was so bored that he would rather sleep than makeout with him. Or worse, that Eddie was pretending to sleep to let him down easy.

Christ, he doesn’t wanna think about that right now. Not while he’s still mourning the loss of his precious tickets.

“Hate to break it to you, honeyjam, but nothing happened.” Eddie shakes his head, gesturing to Steve who hasn’t budged from the recliner. “It’s just me over here and Steve over there. No conjunction connecting us together in that way.”

He can already tell Chrissy isn’t buying it. She’s getting that little forehead wrinkle right above her eyebrows, just like an angry cartoon character. Her best attempt at intimidation. “You didn’t see what I saw.” 

“Gay desperation?”

“No, you jackass. Come here!”

Chrissy yanks Eddie into his bedroom, demanding for him to lock the door. He listens, mainly because the intimidation is starting to work a little. They sit at the edge of the bed and she begins to explain everything she saw:

Steve constructing a wall of blankets and pillows around Eddie to ensure he slept comfortably. Steve waiting by the phone, tapping his foot in that insufferably cute way that Eddie loves so much. Steve scoring the tickets, celebrating quietly to himself.

“How long were you standing at the door, weirdo?” Eddie teases her to avoid the way his stomach is twisting around her words. 

Chrissy shushes him and squeals. “And he kissed your cheek!”

“Liar.”

“He did, I swear! He kissed you on the cheek or the chin or the nose. I don't know which one for sure because my view was obstructed by all of your hair.”

Eddie instinctively combs his fingers through a few strands, undoing the knotted pieces. Not all of them, but enough to keep his hands busy while he thinks through this. Processing. “And you’re sure it wasn’t a dream?”

“Positive.”

“What about a hallucination? Didn’t Byers make a batch of those infamous brownies again?”

Chrissy gives a deep sigh. “Whatever. You’re hopeless.” She shrugs the blanket back over her arms and heads toward the door. More than a fair assessment, Eddie can’t argue even if he wanted to (he always does). 

He stares at the line of posters along his wall, letting Chrissy’s words replay over and over. Imagining what it might have felt like. If Steve’s breath was warm or if his lips were soft. Eddie wonders how it looked to have Steve dipping down to his level. Staying so quiet, so careful not to disturb him. The visuals swarm his head until there’s nothing left but Steve. 

Him and Steve. Connecting them together in that way after all.

So, Eddie gets up and walks back into the living room. He takes in the view of Steve curled up in the recliner, mouth slightly parted open. Chest falling with every sniffle, not quite a snore.

There’s so many emotions while looking at him. Eddie can’t just pin one down to fully comprehend what's going on. All he can do is repeat the scene that’s occupying his mind, settling in his bones.

“Here,” he whispers, placing another blanket across Steve’s lap. It’s feathery gentle, more than he intends for it to be. So gentle that Steve doesn’t shift or stir. 

Eddie takes a deep breath and bends down, close enough to notice all the little details. The ones he’s been too sheepish to indulge in before last night. 

The tiny hairs on Steve’s forearm. The creases in his t-shirt. The bit of dried toothpaste on his chin. None of it should make his cheeks feel this flushed, but they do.

He lets the rush of bravery wash through him as he kisses Steve on the tip of his nose. Just the way Steve must’ve done to him. It’s swift, lighter than he means for it to be. Barely touching. But it’s enough to switch his heart rate up a few notches, pulsing jumping in his wrist.

Eddie steps away, waiting to see if Steve wakes up. Not entirely sure if he wants that or if he’d rather keep this memory to himself. 

“Thanks… by the way.” Eddie adds, brushing the tips of his fingers over Steve’s hand. Wishing he could trace the lines in his palm. Rewind back to last night and pause it there indefinitely. “I’ll tell you again when you’re up, but yeah.”

“Thank you, Steve Harrington.”

[inators]

Coughs.

If your fav isn't on here I'm sorry as you can see I only had a limited amount of space. But I feel like I got most of the important people dejfiaooijwag.

Enjoy.

@owca-agent-doe & @chio-chan2 since you two were involved in the discussion. Sort of. xD

[bisexualmultifandommess]

Every episode where Jonathan criticised Lex sounded like this tbh

[batcavescolony]

I think it's funny that people describe Kon as 'a clone of Superman and Lex Luthor'......Because that's impossible. The definition of a clone is:

"an organism or cell, or group of organisms or cells, produced asexually from one ancestor or stock, to which they are genetically identical."

Organism=Kon

Kon≠produced asexually from one ancestor or stock, to which they are genetically identical.

By the biological definition Kon isn't a clone, everyone is just too scared to say that he's the child of Lex Luthor and Superman.

[freakywizard]

ed stede and izzy all on the same ship i KNOW its going to go nuclear. 'i hope they work it out :)' i hope they all get 10x worse

[ladyintree]

can someone remind me to talk about jackie/tai beef sometime

[swugflower]

These lasts days I’ve been thinking about Kon-El non stop.

How fucking funny is his character. A mixture of both Lex Luthor, aka Evil McVillain, and Superman, THE goody two shoes. Neither of them actually likes him.

He kinda looks like Superman… but like if he fucked. Like if he listened to Green Day and went wild at a hot topic. Never showers, only uses copious amounts of Axe Body Spray.

His whole existence is hilarious and I want a WFA style comic about him and his two dads.

[princesssarcastia]

over the last few years i've increasingly come around on the superman-superboy conundrum, i.e. "how clark kent responds to the creation and discovery of Kon, his clone." and by that I mean I increasingly refuse to view clark's refusal to engage as inappropriate or wrong.

obviously, any scenario where clark thinks kon is inherently evil and should be spied on/locked up/etc., he's in the wrong. but just not wanting kon in his life? that, i don't disagree with.

like. there's a pretty clear irl parallel to this situation, from clark's perspective. gee, how do people normally end up with children they didn't ask for, against their will? maybe they shouldn't be forced to change their minds vis a vis how they respond to that scenario. maybe characters shouldn't be shaming clark for not wanting to engage with a child that was created without his knowledge or consent—a child that, if his knowledge or consent had been sought, would never have existed.

it's his right to refuse to integrate kon into his life, actually.

[hawkinslibrary]

Steve Harrington and Dustin Henderson 2.06 | The Spy and 4.06 | The Dive

[dykekakashi]

tbh more people should have friends 10+yrs older than them like this weirdass culture of some 21yr old being like "I WON'T TALK TO ANYONE 4YRS MY ELDER🤢" is literally. just. weirdass behaviour. we're going through another moral panic and nobody will call it out for what it is. not everyone is a fucking p*dophile also people your age can hurt you just as badly too? what is happening?

[knifewieldingenby]

Me: *finally finds a word to describe the struggles I’ve had with my gender expression/the way I perceive myself/how I interact with the world*

Under 25 yo’s on tumblr: lol you know futch is a meme right? Like it started as a meme. It’s just a joke. No one should identify with this ~~brand new meme joke made up word~~

Me, who knows people have been identifying as futch since at least the 90’s and the earliest online record of its use is from 2002:

(anyway I’ve blocked like 30 people from this tag and the ones who actually identify with the term hardly use it because of the hate yayyyyy)

[dykeredhood]

Where is the dyke version of grindr

[donnatroyyyy]

Every time I see anyone who like or doesn’t absolutely hate Lex Luthor it makes my blood boil. Like do y’all know that this man is supposed to be an analogy for literal racism and prejudice?? And y’all are out here making him play happy family with Kon

[pinkopalina]

as a huge batjokes shipper i want batman and joker to hate each other in the sense they dont really hate each other, they just have really different goals and see their own version of potential in the other and right now hate is the best word for their situationship. they both love the other for what they could be but neither of them wants to be what the other one wants, and that's equally as frustrating as it is necessary for them to keep existing in their current roles. they're deadlocked and that fate surrounding each other is kind of the point -- we both have to be like this, the opposite of what the other wants, for us to keep existing at all, and for giving me that gift i both love and hate you. it's an agreement. i think the hate that's there now is born from an intense underlying love.

i think batman "hates" joker for being so amazing and smart and cunning, for being able to create grand gestures and schemes, to pull people together under his charisma and make them all believe in something, for being as extraordinary as he is but batman hates that he uses it to hurt people. he hates that joker can't channel his energy into doing something good for the world, that he hurts himself and others just because he wants to be batman's greatest enemy. i think batman wants to help joker but also hates him at this point for joker exhausting him, constantly getting hurt both emotionally and physically by him, joker never trying to improve his situation, throwing away other people's lives, showing batman he loves him by lashing out and hurting him. batman hates joker because he loves his rogues, he wants to help them, and he knows they can do better. he wants to live in a gotham that doesn't need batman but he still needs to be needed, because when there's no batman, what is bruce going to be? without joker, he will continue being batman, but it's an empty crusade. some of my favorite interactions between harvey and bruce are the ones where harvey thanks bruce for "always being there for me, never giving up on me, my very best friend." even with someone like harvey, bruce can still hold onto that hope for his rogues, never give up on them, keep going for them, even if it puts them through the cycle one more time.

i think joker hates batman in the most toxic way possible, but it's still love. i just think he's selfish and doesn't want batman to think about anyone else but him, the same way he operates for batman, but if he must think about other people then joker will make it as amazing as possible! i think he hates batman for wasting his time on ordinary people, people who are so boring that batman claims he has to protect and serve and love them but joker thinks it's all surface-level. batman won't kill joker but he'll leave room for people dying in his crusade. it's a choice he allows, and even if joker knows that's a morally fucked up way to put someone in a box, he doesn't care. batman is the type of person to train himself mentally and physically for decades and dress up in a half-silly-half-menacing costume so that everyone can have an idea about him. batman himself is not normal, and joker knows that and loves that! why is he wasting his time trying to save people that use him, abuse him, don't want him to be the best he can be? i think joker's motivations for loving batman and lashing out as if he hates him lie somewhere in between extreme admiration -- like i truly believe in your cause and that you're the right person to do it, but i'm so angry at you for wasting your time on other people and i'm so hurt and jealous that you choose them over me, just so you can be a hypocrite and let them die if i want them to anyways -- and anger at his hypocrisy -- like it's easy for joker to dedicate himself to chaos and just being in batman's life by putting batman in situations that force him to be a better and better hero, but how can batman sit there and choose and pick what morals he'll uphold and who gets to live and who gets to die?

i want to be your greatest enemy because you are the greatest hero ever, and the only way you and i can keep being the best at what we do is if we do it together, because of what we both believe in.

[lionelluthorsource]

[jamescarstairs]

the fact that i'm scrolling through the aromantic tag without fear of coming across an arophobic post, something me a few years ago wouldn't even dream of doing 🥹