#demo steve

[safk-art]

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demo Steve head concepts. I thought a lot about his mouth and how it can expand, especially keeping him low profile

[xgumiho]

I am sweat, flaws I am veins, scars I am human Nothing more than human

@metaldeads' paradise by the dashboard light still lives in my head rent free and I had to do something about it again 🖤

©xgumiho | do not repost/steal/edit/crop/sell

[safk-art]

Love everything about this! I feel honored that u got inspired by my fave piece 😭 i love everything about this fic.

Billy is sure a monster fucker after all :3c

A Monstrous Nature

So excited to finally be able to post my gift fic for the @harringrove-summer-exchange, for @keaganz! She listed the following as things she'd like to see in the fic, and I think I may have got them all: Top Billy/Bottom Steve, Upside-Down shenanigans, angst with a happy ending, smut, hurt/comfort. Hope you like it!

It was absolutely inspired by @safk-art's stunning Demo Steve art, highly encourage everyone to go check that out.

Rating: Explicit Pairing: Billy Hargove/Steve Harrington WC: 6,018 Content Warnings: Blood and gore (canon-typical) Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy Hargrove Lives, Demogorgon Steve Harrington, Canon-Typical Violence, Tentacle Sex, Top Billy Hargrove, Bottom Steve Harrington, Monster Steve Harrington, Monsterfucker Billy Hargrove, Light Dom/sub, Bathing/Washing, Insecurity, Blood and Injury, Rimming, Anal Sex Summary:

Billy follows Steve into the Upside Down during one of his patrols, against Steve's wishes. He sees Steve's monstrous side, but the effect is not what Steve expected.

Full fic is on AO3, excerpt is below.

divider by @/strangergraphics

Steve was in a terrible mood as he patrolled the Upside Down looking for demo-creatures to cull. Billy had been livid when Steve left for the evening. He'd been in the trenches of another explosive argument after Billy demanded to come with Steve on his patrol. It was an argument they'd had repeatedly over the year they'd been together. Every time the group located another gate, Steve went in to clear the area in the Upside Down and ensure no demo-creatures leaked into Hawkins. And every time, Billy wanted to come help him.

Steve winced as he went back over the things they'd yelled at each other this time. He was particularly ashamed of calling Billy a "boringly human Upside Down reject". But in his defense, he'd said it after Billy had called him a "deranged flower-faced shit". Steve had slammed the door so hard on his way out of the house that he'd heard glass breaking in the living room.

He didn't understand why Billy insisted on trying to come with him. Steve was uniquely well-suited to this task after all the changes he'd undergone from the demodog bites in the tunnels. Billy, thanks to early intervention from Steve when he'd noticed the creeping presence of the Mind Flayer, was still fully human. He couldn't take on packs of demodogs in the Upside Down and come out unscathed, not the way Steve could.

Steve was pulled from his perseveration by rustling sounds in the trees around him. The gate had appeared near the Henderson house this time, bordering a patch of woods nearby. The human portion of his ears picked up only a vague rustling, and he was unable to accurately place the size and location of whatever was pursuing him.

He focused on the delicate seams along his jaws, instructing his muscles to release the tension holding them together. His head unfurled like a flower, his face opening to reveal a central gaping maw and five petal-like structures lined with razor-sharp teeth.

His senses unfolded along with his head. He could feel the vibrations of the world around him with the thin filaments that filled the spaces between all of the teeth. He could smell so much more with the olfactory organs hidden at the core of the mouth than he could with his human nose.

His brain parsed the new influx of vibrations and scents, sifting through the information to tell him that there were two demodogs in the trees to his right. They weren't even particularly big ones. This would be easy. He flexed his hands, popping his claws out of their sheaths, and waited.

The two demodogs burst from the trees, heading straight toward him. He caught a whiff of an out-of-place scent just before he heard a full-throated human scream. Someone threw themself between Steve and the demodogs.

He placed the scent a moment later - Billy. The fucker had followed Steve in.

Steve felt the vibrations in the air as Billy swung something long and wooden at the closest demodog, hitting it across the torso. He must've stolen Steve's bat. The demodog howled as the conical shape of its head unfurled. The second demodog dove at Billy while he was distracted. Steve sensed the movement in the air as the dog's mouth snapped near Billy's bare arm.

Steve threw himself at the second demodog, driving it to the ground and biting its head off before it could fight back. The first demodog had its mouth wrapped around the bat now, and was slowly pulling Billy toward it.

Steve raked his claws across its torso and it dropped the bat with a startled yelp. He grabbed its head between his two clawed hands, flexing the modified muscles there, and wrenched it sharply to the side. Its neck snapped and the head partially tore free from the body, spurting blood all over Steve.

Steve turned to Billy. He slowly furled the petals of his head, fitting them together to reform his face. Billy stared at him with wide eyes and an indecipherable expression on his face.

Billy hadn't been fully himself during the fight with the Mind Flayer, when the party had come together to save him from its grasp before it could get a firm hold in his mind. He didn't remember what Steve had done then to protect everyone. And since then, Steve had tried to keep this violent, monstrous side of himself from Billy as much as possible. Why had Billy followed him?

Before Steve could descend fully into his burgeoning worries, he picked up on a set of new vibrations with his lingering demo-senses. He could tell even from a distance that it was much bigger than a pair of demodogs.

"We need to go, now!" Steve snapped. He grabbed Billy by the arm and started to run back toward the gate.

Billy shook off his arm and planted his feet. "What? Why? I can help you if there's something else coming!"

Steve grabbed Billy's arm again and tugged. Billy didn't budge. "No, you can't. You're human. What if one of them bites you, and you turn into a fucked up demo-creature?"

Billy shrugged. "Then we'll match."

Steve let out a strangled cry. He gave up on trying to convince Billy. He used his preternatural strength to grab Billy around the waist and throw him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Billy yelled. He beat his fists against Steve's back hard enough to bruise. "Put me down, you sick fuck!"

Steve ignored him and bolted for the gate. He could sense multiple full-grown demogorgons approaching them, probably three, as well as a handful of demodogs. They were getting closer fast. There was no way Steve was going to beat them to the gate with Billy's added weight to carry.

He scanned his surroundings. About 100 feet ahead of them was a large clearing. If Steve could get there, he'd at least be able to fight the hoard with a clear line of sight. He sprinted toward it as he felt the pursuers approaching.

Steve dropped Billy to the ground. Billy's eyes went wide as his limited ears finally picked up on the noises of the demogorgons.

"Shit," he muttered. He stood up, gripping the nail bat.

"Stand with your back to me," Steve said. "Swing as hard as you can whenever they come at you." Dread crept through his veins. He didn't want to lose Billy.

As the first demogorgon crashed into the clearing, Steve unfurled his head and squeezed out his claws. The demogorgon darted straight for Steve. Steve dealt with it easily with a swipe from his claws, knocking it to the side with a gaping wound in its abdomen. It wasn't dead, but that would slow it down considerably.

Steve was stronger and faster than the demogorgons. Taking on three would usually be no problem for him. But adding Billy into the mix was really going to fuck with his methods.

He felt Billy swing his bat at a demodog as the second demogorgon rushed Steve. He tried the same move on this one, but it dodged and swiped at Steve with its own claws. Steve took the hit, not wanting to interfere with Billy's fight by moving back to dodge. Pain seared through his abdomen as the claws tore his skin, but he knew it would heal fast. Demo scratches and bites never stuck around for long on his body.

He feinted with his claws again then lunged for the demogorgon's neck with his mouth as it dodged his claws. He sank his teeth into the meat there and tore, pulling a large amount of circulatory system back out with him. The demogorgon fell to the ground, twitching as it bled out.

Billy grunted behind him as a demodog yelped. The final demogorgon circled around in an attempt to go for Billy instead of Steve. That wouldn't do. Steve launched himself at the demogorgon, abandoning Billy in favor of taking this monster down before it got to him.

Steve scuffled with the demogorgon, taking a few more scratches and one nasty bite before he managed to latch onto its neck. He felt several demodogs piling up on his back, biting and scratching. Good, that meant they weren't going for Billy. He ripped out the demogorgon's throat, then grabbed the two demodogs off his back and threw them into the trees. He heard them yelp, then flee into the trees.

He turned back to Billy. He could sense one final demodog circling Billy as the other man waved the bat in front of him. The demodog lunged for Billy, wrenching its jaws open just as Steve reached him.

Steve gripped the last demodog around the head just before its jaws snapped shut on Billy's neck. He shut its mouth and continued to squeeze, increasing pressure with his huge, clawed hands. He kept going until the entire conical head popped beneath his hands in a startling explosion of gore. It sprayed across Billy's face and the front of his body, coating him in blood and brain matter and bits of flesh.

Billy sputtered, spitting chunks of flesh out of his mouth. "Fucking ew," he muttered, wiping a hand across his face.

Steve surveyed the scene. Two demodogs lay dead at Billy's feet in addition to the last one that Steve had killed. The wounded demogorgon was long gone. There were no surviving demodogs in the area.

Steve drew in the petals of his head, but kept his claws unsheathed. "Did you get bit?" Steve asked, once he had a human mouth again.

Billy shook his head. He was covered in gore, but Steve hoped it was mostly demo-blood.

"Let's get out of here," Steve said. He'd done what he came here to do - cleared the area around the floating gate of creatures before they could make their way into Hawkins. They needed to get back before the gate closed. No one had been able to figure out why these floating gates kept appearing, but they never stayed open for more than a day. Steve tried to only spend two hours tops on the inside, to make sure he didn't get stuck.

Steve couldn't decipher the look on Billy's face, but after what he had just seen Steve do, it couldn't mean anything good. He'd get Billy back to safety and make sure to take care of any of his wounds before Billy inevitably broke up with him.

Billy followed Steve silently to the gate and back into Hawkins.

Looking for the comfort? Finish the fic on AO3!

[tendafoot]

i am absolutely feral for @safk-art 's demosteve and kept thinking about how steve would first react to his new monstery looks. his VANITY!! 😭

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[formosusiniquis]

public broadcast morticia, platinum record gomez

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson wc: 3.9k | T | @stevieweek day 3: horror/princess; transfem!stevie; post-canon; getting back together AO3

Stevie shuts the prop book in her lap slowly, allowing the scene to transition out of the story animation and back to real life. For the seconds it is in frame, the red cloth-bound cover of the prop stands out in stark contrast against the gold and black of her skirt. The camera pans slowly back up to her face.

“That would be scary, wouldn’t it?” she asks her future viewing audience. “To wake up one morning and not recognize who you are.”

Wings beat, and a grey tentacle wraps around her shoulder. Robin clicks and coos, moving the demobat puppet in time with the noises. She's probably asking a real question, but Sevie hasn’t picked up much of the language she’s invented for her puppet.

It’s all scripted anyway.

“I agree, Demi. Not having an adult to go to makes it scarier. But wasn’t it brave to keep going even though he was scared?”

Robin chirps and squeaks again. Flapping the puppet’s wings with the special pull cord, she maneuvers the bat around the stage to make it look like Demi is flying.

“Of course, Demi, I’ll always be someone safe for you to go to. I love you.”

Her eyes sting as she says it. God, she cries so much more easily these days. Fucking hormones.

The puppet shivers and shakes in a full-bodied chirp. I love you too.

A howl sounds from just outside the room. Signaling the end of this segment and the start of the next one. 

“Dart must hear someone at the door! Let’s see who’s come to visit.”

The pace is her favorite part of the show. Slow, easy. All done as much as possible in one smooth take. Stevie pushes herself up from the dark-patterned wingback chair, smoothing down her skirt, she walks from one room of the set to the other. The camera trails her, giving Robin a chance to move throughout the specially designed paths that keep her out of frame while she’s holding the Demi puppet.

Unlike Demi, Dart doesn’t that closely resemble his namesake. That was for the feds more than the children. Demi had some aesthetic changes to make her look more friendly, rounded body and visible eyes. Dart was changed fundamentally. Instead of the puckered fleshy face, Stevie can run a hand through sparse fur between two pointed ears. The animatronics Dustin helped their puppet master build let them move, giving the whole face more subtle movement than the other puppet is capable of. Good for the larger, German Shepherd-sized build. Even if the focus of the camera is usually on the face, the top jaw dog, wire-haired and angular, and beneath its pink nose, a split bottom jaw that opens in two wide, distinct joints. More cute than dangerous when a long forked tongue lolls out from it.

As Stevie’s thick rubber heels thunk against the floor of the set, Dart’s pit bull stump tail wags in its excitement at her approach. Back from college, Dustin is operating it today. He maneuvers the body so it faces her now that she’s come to get the door. The charmingly dumb look on its face gets her every time — a grin she has to school back to a more appropriately sized smirk. 

From off stage, someone cues Dart’s reminding bark.

“Has our guest arrived, Dart?”

Dart can nod when Dustin operates it. Always more sure than the rest of them about the intelligence that lurked beneath those demo creatures. Still, someone once again makes the appropriate answering cue.

Robin is standing outside the set, positioning Demi in a window. She chirps and flaps, Stevie’s cue to begin introducing who is behind the door.

“Today’s scary job will have us confronting our glossophobia, that’s our fear of public performance. If your palms get sweaty when you answer a question at school or you think about throwing up when you have a piano recital, we picked this job to give you a special scare.”

Never a theater kid, Robin teases her at how quickly she’s picked this up. Her cues, like this one to open the door, are always hit. She knows exactly what her face is doing, the way her dark lips hint at a smile, and the way the dark of her makeup makes something dangerous and anticipatory flash in her eyes. She’s yet to have a guest not spook just a little when the door swings open. The danger that she used to be humming under her skin was obvious to them when the sound and light cues hit, making the stage flash and sound with lightning and thunder.

It’s one of the joys of the job.

The outside of the “house” is dark, a dual-purpose choice to hide the sound lot that pairs with how nice it looks in post to have the first glimpse of their guest be in that horror movie strobe.

“Welcome home,” she says as always to the blackness outside her door. Thunder booms first, then lightning streaks, and she’s looking at someone who shouldn’t be here. “Eddie Munson, front man of the band Corroded Coffin.”

She steps numbly out of the way, letting Eddie through her door. 

Six years.

Dart rubs its head against her skirt, a move that would be accompanied by a whimper if it were able to make its own sound effects. As it is, she takes the comfort she can get from Dustin. Robin makes a trill; she's not a good enough actor to disguise the nerves in it.

It’s too much to deal with, so as with all things, she decides it’s better not to. There’s a procedure here, a routine. Stevie turns on her heel and starts walking to the set they’re supposed to be on. Eddie can fall into step behind her or, hell, maybe she’ll get lucky and he’ll run away. He’s always been good at that.

Stalking is what she’s doing; it might be what Eddie did too, to find his way over here. Hers means she’s moving too fast through the set for the pace they’re setting, the emotions she’s feeling moving her body like a rocket through the familiar frame of her pretend house. Eddie’s means he’s ruined her fragile peace.

It’s a real multifaceted word. Maybe they should use it for a show. Maybe they could get a zookeeper to bring a big cat on, too.

Eddie finds the guest’s seat at the table, sitting down across from her at the kitchen island, ruining the slight lift of her mood at the plans for a new episode with his continued presence.

He’s already got his hands in the spread on the table. Fingers smudged with the dyed red frosting, pinching a brownie carved into a coffin shape. It looks garish in the bright light of this set. The kitchen, the only set she refused to bow to the other aesthetics of the house. It unnerves instead in its rich, pastel, Stepford glory. Eddie looks just as out of place here -- even with the spiderweb detailing on the cabinets -- as he did in her kitchen in Hawkins.

“Good evening, Eddie,” she says what she’s supposed to say.

His mouth is full, his answer muffled in rich chocolate she baked herself before shooting.

“Why don’t you tell us about your band? I’m a big fan of your guitarist, Jeff Best.”

Jeff, the person who was supposed to be on the sound stage when she opened the door. The band member she had approved of, after being told by producers how enthusiastically the band had been supporting the show. How they wanted on, desperately.

She asks, “What’s the scariest part of your job?”

And asks, “Isn’t it frightening performing in front of thousands and thousands of people?”

And asks, “Are you ever afraid the stage will collapse?”

And asks, “Pyrotechnics are fires and fireworks that can be done inside, but aren’t you worried that something might go wrong?”

This segment has always been less of an interview and more of an exploration of worst-case scenarios. The things that frighten, the accidents that end up on the news, but rarely ever happen. A way to show the kids who tune in that the world can be scary, but it’s usually not. That fear of the coulds shouldn’t be the thing that keeps them from trying.

But she flings these worst cases at Eddie like knives, like saying they might manifest into coming true.

But each interview always ends the same way.

“What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever overcome?”

Eddie spins a chocolate eyeball around on the white china plate. It blurs with the movement until it’s just a white sphere moving around and around the border of fine, red blood splatter. Is he trying to figure out how to skirt his NDA? Is he inventing some stage diving accident or bar fight? Some story that will make him sound like the worldly rockstar the world knows him as?

Sure, he’s softened his aesthetic for this appearance. The only leather is his jacket. His wide-legged black pants, with the red and black brocade vest, straddle the line between professional and showman.

But he’s still Eddie, dungeon master drama queen to the last.

“The scariest thing I’ve ever done?” he repeats. Incorrectly to that point, done implies it’s scary because of his fuck up, overcome implies it’s the world. They’d workshopped the wording of that final question for days before her first interview.

Eddie continues, because if there’s one thing he’s going to do it’s continue whether she wants it or not. “The scariest thing I’ve ever done is go attempt to make amends with someone that I hurt very badly and hope that she’s good enough to forgive me.”

She’s supposed to ask a follow-up here, but she really doesn’t want to.

“Some of those were in the present tense, Mr. Munson.” She’s borrowing words from Robin now, stealing them from somewhere in her soulmate's brain because all Stevie knows is a blank rage that she hopes isn’t in her eyes.

That’s bad television.

“You’re right. The going has happened, the attempt is ongoing, and the fear is in both.”

A clock’s chime fills the room. Loud, sourceless, she’s taken to thinking of it like a school bell, and that’s better than remembering a grandfather clock and Max’s broken legs. Eddie flinches back, not that big a fan of the show apparently. Midnight ends every episode.

“Time sure flies, doesn’t it, Eddie?” A thump comes from behind them, a spot on the third wall out of the sight of the framing of their primary camera. Robin in position for her favorite job.

Stevie gives her her cue, “Gordon?” Robin, on her mark and her applebox, brings down the thick, fleshy, grey hand with the too-long fingers and the blackened nails onto Eddie’s shoulder. It’s weighted at the front, dislodges Eddie from his seat, and jostles him backward. “Introduce Eddie to the others? I know he’s just dying to stay for a while.”

Hand in place on Eddie’s shoulder, all Robin has to do is pull and he’s stumbling off stage like he’s on a vaudeville hook.

She blinks slowly, wills her blood pressure down. Her heart has been thumping in her ears since she laid eyes on Eddie, and even now that he’s technically off camera, she still can’t let go of her rage.

But there’s a show to finish, and she’s going to do her job. She can ignore Eddie’s big, brown eyes that somehow manage to haunt her even in the dark beyond the camera. She can turn down the camera, face it head-on.

She can. She does. “And don't forget: you're smarter than you think, braver than you feel, and you always have a friend right here. Until next time.”

She’s moving even before she can hear the director call, “Cut.”

“Whose fucking idea was this?”

“Not me,” Robin answers, gleeful at Stevie’s rage. She’s got Eddie still pinned in place with her long arm.

“Listen, Stevie, baby.”

“Nope,” Robin says, popping that P and giving Eddie a shake.

Not that anyone but Stevie would have heard that over the way she yells, “You don’t get to call me that.”

“Eddie, dude, not that it’s not good to see you, but I talked to Jeff,” Dustin comes out from the set with his hands already raised.

“And I saw that, Henderson, but don't fret, I wasn't offended. I figured you wouldn't mind if I remedied the situation myself.”

“Never let it be said you've ever learned a single lesson the easy way, Munson,” Robin says.

“Yes, and I'll be glad to catch up with you about that, Buckley. And with you, Henderson. But right now, I would love a moment with the talent. Stevie?”

It's on her tongue to say no again. To send him packing, the quest failed. Let him turn it into some ballad of spurned love and wretched harpies; she doesn't care.

But she doesn’t. She doesn’t. She says, “Five minutes.” And stalks off toward her dressing room.

He doesn't jingle anymore. That strikes her somewhere in the chest. The sound of his trailing behind her, the same melody as hers, told in a round: thick rubber heels on a concrete floor.

She sits down at her vanity and starts stripping off the thick paint of her on-camera makeup. As she slathers on cold cream, she can see Eddie find a seat on the coffee table. It throws her back to that last summer together, getting caught in her mother’s bathroom by a boy she liked in ways she didn’t know how to say yet.

The more things change.

“Listen, Stevie.” It’s funny how she can still tell when he’s started a sentence, not knowing how he plans to end it.

“You came all this way and you didn’t think about how you wanted to actually apologize? Did you get so lost in the drama of crashing my set that you didn’t think of what would happen when it was over?” She keeps her eyes on him in the mirror as she says it, moving through her routine like usual. With each condemnation, she takes her hand towel and wipes a little bit more of Stevie, Princess of the Dark, away until she’s bare-faced, annoyed, and just Stevie Henderson again.

“No,” he lies. “I mean, maybe. Look, Steph, for what it’s worth.”

She grabs her normal makeup, the lightweight stuff that doesn’t have to look good to the limited eye of the camera or sell a character that she’s only sometimes.

“It’s not worth a lot, Eddie. Let me try to save you some time. We finally gave in and gave the band the time of day, you leapt in ass first without a plan, because I’m Princess of the Dark, Princess Stevie, Lady Stevie of the Night, whatever the fucking branding has decided this week so I’ve got the image now. I’m not some baby freak borrowing wardrobe pieces from her socialite mom and her dyke best friend, I’m the right kind of metal that perpetual bachelor, frontman Eddie Munson can be seen with now. Does that about cover it?”

“No, no, Stevie, I swear.”

She can’t even slam down what’s in her hands. The stupid spongy applicator from her eyeshadow would get lost, and if she breaks another one of the eyeshadow colors, she’ll lose her mind. Setting it down gently does nothing to temper the absolute, white out emotion she’s feeling.

“You swear? You swear. The way you swore nothing would change. The way you swore you’d leave on tour and come back with nothing but stories and homesickness. That was the tour that you called me from Wichita to tell me you weren’t coming home, and you didn’t think it would work out if we tried to stay together. In case you forgot.”

“It’s not-”

“This was after you told me you didn’t want me to come when I offered. That it would be stupid of me to leave my -- easily abandoned -- job at the record store. But why would you want the idiot you’re about to leave playing merch girl as you wandered through the Midwest.”

“Are you finished?”

She’s got brown eyeshadow on one eye, her cheeks are pinked, and it’s not from blush. She’s pretty far from done. “That foot-in-mouth condition ended up being terminal, I guess.”

“Stevie.”

She can’t storm out if her eyes aren’t done. A half-done face is one thing, but it’s at least got to be even.

“Stevie, you’re getting mentioned in the same sentences as Elvira, R.L. Stine. You’re Sesame Street if the face was the Count and not Elmo. That’s you, that’s all you. It’s something you created from the ground up with nothing but your charm and vision, and yeah, stunning good looks and a little bit of black mailing the United States government.

“If you had come with us back then, you know what you’d be? My muse, sure. You’d be the merch girl that people whisper about, and wonder how many of the band members she’s sleeping with to get to play groupie. They’d find out things about you, and if you were lucky, they’d just make your life miserable.”

She can’t believe this. “Are you really trying to pull some ‘I left you to keep you safe,’ that is the biggest crock of shit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

Her face is done, she could leave. She’s given him more than the five minutes she promised. 

But then Eddie’s standing. No, he’s collapsing, off the table to her feet. Hands clutched in her skirt, looking up at her from the floor. “You’re right, it wasn’t about you. It was about me being the same coward I‘ve always been. You know what I’m most afraid of, Steph? That one day you would wake up in our rank ass tour bus and you would resent me for trapping you and all of your potential.”

The vanity counter bites into the meat of her hands. “It took you six years to come here and say that.” 

“Yeah, yeah, it did. And it was too long and it wasn't long enough. I would wait forever, Steph. It’s about who you are, not what you’ve become.”

“You’re contradicting yourself, Teddy.” He’s trapped her here, kneeling on her skirt the way he is. “Either you left so I could fill my full potential, which is pretty fucking bold to assume that everyone had that itch to leave Hawkins the way you did and that I wouldn’t have been just fine waiting tables or rewinding video tapes for the rest of my life. But it’s that or you love me no matter what, and it wouldn’t matter if I hung up the witch's broom.”

She’s feeling generous, and she likes how big and wide his cow eyes get when he’s desperate. It reminds her of different times. Eddie’s hand pulls hers off the vanity, and she lets him keep it. Let him pull it close to his chest. He’s probably imagining he’s some knight pledging some oath, and fuck even imaginging what he’s thinking endears her just a little bit more to him.

Letting him in was always going to be a mistake.

She’s never held a grudge as well as Robin.

“There isn’t anything you could do that would make me want you less.”

Still, in the last six years, she’s learned that even though she loves too hard and too long, sometimes it’s more important that she protect her heart. Like her head, it can’t take too many more beatings.

“You want a burger. You want a new record. You want a quick fuck with someone who knows what they’re doing. Wants are quick and fleeting, and sometimes they aren’t even that good. I can’t be a want, Eddie.”

He clutches her hand tighter. He drops his hold on her skirt so his other hand can grab her at the elbow instead. “Stevie, I need you. And if you send me packing, I’m still gonna need you. You’re it. You’re just- you’re it.”

“And if I didn’t follow you on tour, like some love-sick groupie? If I stayed here with the show, you couldn’t see me for weeks and months. You’d still need me?”

“Like air. I’ll call, I’ll write, I’ll come in and compose. I can be your first recurring guest or handle a puppet. Anything at your order.”

She can feel herself caving. Like a sink hole in her chest, the ground giving way to nothing but a yawning starvation. It’s been years, and she’s sunk all of her love and her care and the desperate need she has always had to be seen into this show. It was good, but there has always been so much of her to give.

So she spits back the worst thing he ever said to her.

“And I’m not just some stand-in for Chrissy Cunningham.”

She expects him to drop her arm. To scurry away like some frightened mouse now that the claws of the cat have dropped in front of it. To remember that before the tits and the smirky face she patterned off of Elvira, she was still always a mean girl.

The quiet collapse of Eddie’s face is less satisfying than the rage, the sadness in his eyes more like a kicked dog than an international rockstar.

“I shouldn’t have said that.” He says.

She could echo it, but hers needed to be said.

“If I thought you hated me, it was easier to leave. I could make you just one more thing I fucked up. I don’t see her when I look at you.”

She scoffs, and he pulls her closer.

“I don’t, Steph, I don’t. You’re not some damsel I couldn’t save. You’re the knight who rescued me. Let me make my oath, let me prove myself.”

“I want a new theme song. Something catchy, not metal. And you’re going to come on and do a special segment on the show about dealing with scary things, in terrible corpse makeup. Stop smiling, it’s not going to be fun.”

“I’m sure you’ll make it wretched.”

“I’m going to make you confront all the stupid shit you’re scared of and if you don’t act scared enough I’m going to bring in the rest of the band and tell them you’re the reason this is happening to them.”

“Gareth hates spiders, and Freak is scared of clowns.”

“And I want Jeff on the show. I had to cut out half of our interview questions about the things he’s had to face being black in the scene because you think you’re charming.”

He has the nerve to stand up, stepping on her skirt before he’s shoving his way into her space on the bench seat of her vanity. His hands are warm, fingers long and familiar as they curl around the curves she’s developed since they last saw each other.

“Whatever you want forever, Steph.” He whispers it into the side of her neck like he thinks he’s Gomez Addams, and she’s too weak to not be delighted.

“In that case, you can also explain all of this to Robin.”

“And when she kills me for wronging you?”

She grabs his chin between her fingers, lets her coffin-shaped nails dig into the stubbly skin until she can see the bite of pink crescent moons. “Don’t worry, I’ll bring you back. Everyone knows Miss Stevie is a witch.”

[safk-art]

This is amazing OMG THANK YOU FOR THIS, i think blue suits him with those demo patches on his hand ;D

Have a picture of Eddie been strangled

For @safk-art - we were talking about their demo!Steve, and I noticed his claws and made a note that someone would probably try to paint those nails at some point, and well. We all know who that one would be, and who would be the voice of reason in this instance ...

Spoiler: He doesn't like blue THAT MUCH, Eddie.

[rooksunday]

in a no66 world where the clones get their own planet or what have you, there is a series of educational videos released on health in the wider galaxy. a great way to disseminate important information!

the videos are not watched.

an idea is had. it’s not a good idea. several parties kind of wish the idea-haver had kept their mouth shut. however, it’s their only idea.

gods they hope he’s too busy to respond.

THE FREE CLONES OF REDACTIA PRESENT

an important health announcement

*click* *throat clearing* all right you bunch of sloppy tube kriffers, apparently none of you know how to maintain your deece—

and that’s how alpha-17 begins his new career as the voice of the clone department of health

[green-fifteen]

Boomerang

tags: platonic stobin, stobin child, OC, teenager problems idk, not!fic

word count: 795

@stobinmonth prompt: school

I'm thinking about Steve as a middle school teacher only because it's my favorite level to teach. How innocent they are! How evil they can be! And what a nightmare when his own kid shows up in class.

And, okay, Jules would want me to tell you that Steve is NOT her father, he just raised her with her mom and has been there every single day since she was born. It's an IMPORTANT distinction when the man in question is contractually obligated to teach her peers about condoms.

Right after the D.A.R.E. convocation the first week of school (a totally sexless function!), Kelly Nesbit made a button in Home Ec. that read, "JUST SAY YES TO MR. HARRINGTON" with wobbly little hearts in the O's. So you can imagine the kind of thing she is dealing with, here.

She sat her parents down the weekend before 6th grade to let them know the situation.

"Dad, you're not my father."

"I'm not?"

"You're very important to me, but we both agree that I am not related to you."

Robin cut in. "Okay so who am I? By your logic."

"You can be my mother, it's fine. It's on all the paperwork, you enrolled me."

"You do know my signature is on your birth certificate, right?" Steve reminds her.

"Unimportant. I won't be bringing my birth certificate to school and showing it off to my friends. If we're careful, we should be able to pull this off."

Robin and Steve shared a wary glance.

"And what are we pulling off, exactly?"

"Convincing the school that I am not related to a teacher." She gestured at Steve with a offensive amount of dismay. Robin made a mental note to have that 'terrible role model' talk with Erica that she'd been putting off.

Steve was eventually manipulated into agreeing when Jules said something like, "Aunt Nancy was right. She said you'd never agree because you're overly attached to me."

(Which I'm sure you can guess Nancy did not say. Her actual words were like, "If you ask him to pretend he doesn't love you at school, he might actually start crying in the hallways.")

So they don't speak to each other at school outside of 4th period, when Steve is careful to only call on her as much as he would any other student. No one suspects a thing for just over a month, at which point Jules manages to step all over her own careful plan.

It's something like this: it's 4th period. The bell is about to ring and Steve is handing back module one tests from the week before. Jules gets hers and just stares at it for a solid minute. He took off two points for that? FOUR points for THAT? And you see, Julia Buckley is something of a whiz and a perfectionist. A sense of indignation begins to build as she looks over the rest of the marks Steve left on her paper. And sure, she did get some things wrong. But what's the point of your dad being your teacher if he doesn't even let the small stuff slide? It's outrageous.

When she sees the little note at the bottom of the paper, a scribbled nonsensical little Good work, Bluejay! her frustration boils over.

"Dad!"

She yells into the quiet classroom. Everyone turns to look at her and then at Mr. Harrington, who is frozen with his handmade "BEST DAD" mug an inch from his lips. He looks like a raccoon caught in a floodlight.

"Do you think I don't know what peer pressure is? I wrote you a very clear definition. Do you even have a rubric? I want to see it."

Someone laughs or she notices the looks on their faces and realizes she's really done it now. She only has two choices. She can either insist she called the teacher Dad by mistake in the most humiliating way possible and endure the shame of hearing her classmates giggle and spread it all over the school for the rest of the week. Or, she can own up and buy herself a much longer, slower mortification. One that doesn't let up until graduation.

Steve eventually clears his throat. "No rubric-- just the answer sheet, Miss Buckley. If you have a problem with your grade, please see me after class."

And she decides right there, 'Bluejay' in his messy scrawl and 'Miss Buckley' in that strained tone of voice.

"Why bother?" She rolls her eyes and tries to sound casual. "I'll just see you at home."

She doesn't stay to appreciate the wide, surprised look he gives her or the astonished little whispers of her peers. The bell rings like a sign from God and she high-tails it right out of there.

[safk-art]

Pinned

[P4tre0n] [Linktr.ee]

[medusapelagia]

Other events: General, Rare Pairs, Character Centered Events - October Update

Stevie-ween Three dialogue prompts and the a month to post them. All Stevies are welcome! Event Info

Eddie Munson Big Bang ( @eddiemunsonbigbang) Sign ups are close but you can still join as a pinch hitter! Event info

Metal Sandwich Bingo ( @metalsandwichbingo) Bingo card have been sent and the bingo will take place 1 Oct - 31 Dec, 2024 Event Info

13 Days of Hellcheer (@hellcheerweek) A mix of romantic, spooky and one word prompts for each one of the 13 days of Hellcheer! It starts on October 19th! Event info

Strangetober 2024 (@strangetober) 31 Halloween prompts! Event info

Corroded Coffin Fest (@corrodedcoffinfest) Corroded Coffin fest will host a pop-up event from October 25th-31st based around the 7 Deadly Sins! Mandatory Word Count: 331, 666, 1031 or 1313. Event Info

Billy Hargrove Big Bang ( @billybigbang2024) Teams were made and posting season will start in November! Event info

Spicy Six -ber month challenge 🍂❄️ (hosted by @thefreakandthehair) Lex is hosting another event soon! And the prompts were finally revealed! Find them here. Event Info

Metalsandwich Movie Mania ( @now-showing-at-the-hawk-events ) Pre-2000s Metalsandwich Movie Mania will take place November 10th-23rd!  Event Info and prompts

Demo Week December (on Twitter @/TwistedTwink69) A monsterfucking week from the 2nd to the 7th of December (event +18) Event info

Steve Harrington Big Bang ( @steveharringtonbigbang) Finally we have some info about this Big Bang that was postponed to 2025! Sign Ups Open -- January 01, 2025 Sign Ups Close -- March 21, 2025 Event info

The Monster Hunting Mini Bang (@stoncybangs) Opening in 2025 if you ship Stoncy, Stonathan, Jancy or Stancy this is your moment! More info coming soon Event Info

Stommy Minibang (@stommybang) Teams were made! Get ready for posting season in February 2025! Event info

StrangerThings Reverse Big Bang ( @strangerthingsreversebigbang) This year Big Bang was such a huge success that I can't wait for the next one! Sign-ups opening September 2025!

As always feel free to reblog and add other events!

Under the cut the past events masterlist or AO3 collection if you want something to read!

Stranger Things Sapphic Mini Bang ( @sapphicstevents) Here the AO3 Collection!

September Stobin Extravaganza (@sept-stobin-extravaganza) Find the AO3 Collection HERE

Corroded Coffin - Get a Job Masterlist (@corrodedcoffinfest)

Hellcheer Anniversary week (@hellcheeranniversaryweek) find the entries on their blog!

Stevie week ( @stevieweek), here the AO3 Collection

Stranger Things Big Bang ( @strangerthingsbigbang), AO3 Collection

Corroded Coffin Fest ( @corrodedcoffinfest), AO3 Collection

Summer Things Fest ( @summerthingsfest) Event info on AO3

Sapphic Summer- August Prompts (@sapphicstevents) Here the AO3 Collection

A Stranger Summer ( @astrangersummer) Here the AO3 Collection

[rottenaero]

Getting trapped in the Upside Down with some beasties while injured is surely a good time, right?

[piggybacktail]

Tommy Guerrero and Steve Saiz Skate Demo 1990

[platearmourpiglet]

It just occured to me that while probably everyone in the tumblr Tanz fandom has at least heard of the infamous Broadway version of the musical, maybe not all of you know the English demos sung by Steve Barton?? Or maybe you do and this isn’t new to anyone, but just in case:

Gott ist tot - Original Sin

Totale Finsternis - Total Eclipse of the Heart

Die unstillbare Gier - Endless Appetite

This musical could have been SO GOOD in English and thus much easier to share it with all the vampire fans in the world, but alas...

[andvys]

Reader whispering to demo!Steve's ear something like: "let's put this long ass tongue of yours in a good use... How about that, demo-boy?"

I mean demo!Steve is hot. But sub!demo!Steve... Who whimpers while you ride his face (his tongue, more exactly). And who softly nibbles you a little (almost like a real bat, but much softer).

oH MY GOD!?? YES.

and the whole time you're riding his face/tongue, he's just desperately trying to find release, pushing his hips up, squirming around beneath you, a wet patch already forming on his jeans, he's so hard from tasting you, from hearing your soft moans, from getting to pleasure you, his whimpers get louder, his hands dig deeper into your hips, making you grind against him harder and faster, the thought of you bouncing on his cock exciting him in ways he can't even describe, he starts losing patience and whines louder, even more so when you tell him to be a good boy and behave.

just imagine the sounds he will make when you sink down on his dick ;)