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bmodiwrites · 10 months

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Give Me Your Hand (& I'll Hold it)

Hi friends! I'm back with another 5(+1) with hand holding at the helm. I'm really excited for this one because Birdy's People Help the People got to be played on repeat as I wrote. This one has some angst, some fluff, and the patented bmodi happy ending. You can read the first section below and the rest over on AO3! Like, reblog, and let me know what you think!!!

The dust of a school bus pulling out of the parking lot makes Eddie sneeze. He’s brushing the back of his hand across his nose when the reality of his situation hits him. Even at 7, Eddie understands the concept of being pawned off. Usually his parents drop him on Uncle Wayne’s doorstop, only returning to pick him up three months later. This summer, however, Eddie is stuck at sleep away camp, bound to be forgotten amongst the masses.

He put up quite the fight in order to stay home for the summer, Eddie is at least proud of that. Even if he’s just hanging out in Wayne’s trailer, Eddie is amongst the creature comforts he’s come to know. He can practice acoustic guitar and read the nickel comics Wayne has stashed away. Instead, Eddie’s fated to perish in the heat (or under the weight of someone’s fist) at some lame summer camp made for social kids interested in singing kumbaya and playing every sport known to man.

Dread settles a little further in his stomach when Eddie realizes that almost everyone else seems to know each other. There aren’t any other stragglers like himself hanging out at the back of the group. Hugs and exclamations of excitement ring in Eddie’s ears. For the first time, probably ever, he’s happy to be called to attention by someone in charge. Glorious silence radiates for a moment before a high pitched voice starts to talk all about Camp Silver Lake.

Dissatisfaction sits in the back of Eddie’s head throughout the hours that follow. First, he’s stuffed into a camp uniform that doesn’t have a single stitch of black on it. The bright sun he can see out of the corner of his eye every time he takes a step makes Eddie want to rip the stupid shirt to threads. Soon after that, Eddie finds himself in a cabin with 11 other boys who all know each other and look at him with disdain. Whatever hopes he has of making it out of the summer alive dwindle down to nothing by the time everyone is unpacked and projecting their hostile energy towards the obvious odd man out.

Things get even worse when his cabin is led down to the water. Eddie isn’t the strongest swimmer – he’s much more of an inside kid than one that spends days out by the pool. He adamantly avoided the chance to swim at Wayne’s house last summer because chlorine made him itchy. Despite the lake before him lacking in chemicals, Eddie knows he’s going to have to find a way to not make a fool out of himself. He has to swim or the summer is going to be a long one.

After a long lecture about water safety and instructions about what’s going to happen during the swim test, Eddie stands in line behind excited sheep who boast and brag about their accomplishments throughout the year. Eddie is too busy worrying about not drowning to pay attention to who won what medal or stole some stupid base. His anxiety crawls up higher around him with each person that completes the task. Eddie is getting closer to that point where there’s no turning back.

He wishes so desperately that he was brave enough to stand up for himself and run the hell away.

That’s not who Eddie is, however. Deep down, right in the bottom pit of his belly, there’s a part of Eddie that wants to fit in. No matter how hard he struggles against the norm, Eddie’s feelings hurt worse when it becomes apparent that he’s not even close to baseline and everyone around him knows it.

With only two people before him, Eddie is starting to realize that must be his lot in life – he’s bound to be the boy everyone laughs at for being a weirdo.

Seconds away from spiraling completely, Eddie startles at the feeling of a hand reaching out to grab at his own. He turns to tell whoever decided to encroach upon his personal space off but stops before words can leave his mouth.

Being so young, Eddie doesn’t understand the warm flash of heat that fills his chest upon first looking at this random little boy. He’s not sure why the kid is there but he already feels better knowing someone in this scary group of people has a heart. Instead of lashing out, Eddie squeezes the clammy hand holding his. It’s comfort enough to stop the mental breakdown Eddie seemed to be heading for.

“It’s okay, I was scared my first summer here, too. Once you get this over with, the rest of camp is a lot of fun. We’ll get to do whatever we want,” the boy says with a gap toothed grin. He looks like the type of person who fits in with the group, not abnormal like Eddie – yet, he’s kind enough to include Eddie in the mix, too. Whoever this person is, he’s a conundrum Eddie can’t help but be interested in.

Eddie is quick to learn that his savior is Steve Harrington, a boy who also lives in Hawkins. He chats amicably while they wait in line, all while holding Eddie’s hand. There’s never a moment where that sweaty grip loosens or comes close to leaving Eddie behind. It’s beautiful in the sense that Eddie forgets where he is and why he was nervous in the first place.

Getting to the front of the line a few minutes later, all of Eddie’s apprehension returns. He’s working on letting go of Steve so he can grow up and make something of himself when that happy voice sounds in his ears again. “I’ll go first. Watch me, Eddie – I’ll show you how.”

Without waiting an extra beat, Steve turns and runs the last couple of steps so he can catapult himself into the water cannonball style. As the water comes up around him, Eddie feels something inside him shift. The little boy afraid to be around other people is replaced by someone who’s cool enough to be that crazy kid’s friend. Knowing Steve’s got his back, Eddie feels like he can do anything.

Like, pass the swimming test with flying colors.

After he gets out of the water and dries off, Steve is right back by his side, grinning like a loon. “See? Easy-peasy.” Steve holds his hand out for a high five and keeps it there until Eddie gets with the program and finally slaps him a bit of skin.

That little handshake becomes regular for them as they spend the rest of camp revolving around each other. Eddie is attached to Steve’s hip, following him around like the lost puppy he is. When they’re approached about it, Steve happily goes on about how Eddie is his best friend.

It’s nice, having someone there for him, though not meant to last. Even Eddie at 7 knows that.

Read the rest over on AO3!

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington,

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bmodiwrites · 10 months

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I'll Dial Drunk

Hi friends! I'm back with something that's been brewing since Noah Kahan released the extended version of his newest album. Dial Drunk is the motivation for this one - I hope you like what my mind cooked up! There will be a second part, so be on the lookout for that. You can read I'll Dial Drunk below or over on AO3. Please like, reblog, and let me know what you think!

The mahogany under Steve’s arm is slippery like grease, covered in both sweat from the bar’s patrons and slick from the coating used to keep its shine. He tries not to look down at the reflective surface – his mirror image is just as bad as the one Steve projects out into the world and he’s already depressed. Seeing examples of his downfall never helps.

For the fourth night in a row, Steve sits at the far corner of The Hideout, sipping a drink. There aren’t many lights that surround him so Steve is usually unbothered and undisturbed while he drowns his sorrows in whiskey and rum. After so many years of isolation, that’s how Steve likes it. He doesn’t know how to converse with strangers anymore – his allotted charm hit it’s peak so long ago that Steve can’t even remember what normal interaction is actually like.

Tonight is somehow different. There’s a charge in the air that Steve can’t seem to push past or ignore. He takes a deep breath, testing out the oxygen level in the room. Though it supplies him with what his body needs, Steve can smell the lingering anticipation.

Or maybe, he’s just really fucking drunk.

The whiskey in his hands is warm by now, the ice he ordered in it all but melted and watering down the drink. Steve throws it back anyway, well aware of the waste it would be if he doesn’t. His money isn’t something he can just throw away now. With so much agony following him around, disappearing into his mind isn’t beneficial. These days, it’s easier to live in the back of his head than exist in the real world – working a job included. It’s lonelier there, sad in so many ways that a lack of steady income doesn’t even break into the top five.

At least in his head, Steve is surrounded by the family he once had. Dustin and the kids aren’t gone yet, the sleepy little town they all grew up in hasn’t chased them away. They’re available for him outside of the holidays that blow by in a haze of too little time and so much to do every time his surrogate kids come back to see their families. His mind perfectly preserved the happy moments where Steve is at his best and not lonelier than any man should be.

What’s lacking in his real life, Steve clings to in his thoughts.

Unsurprisingly, Steve also keeps a perfectly rendered picture of the one that got away tucked back there, mingling with all of his other good memories. In his head, Eddie Munson is bright eyed and 21 years old. There are scars that mark him but beauty radiates from him all the same. In the handful of years since Eddie turned him away, Steve’s mental picture and it’s clarity hasn’t changed a single bit. He can’t forget dimpled smiles and chocolate button eyes that were so easy to love – no matter what drawing up that vision costs him.

And the toll of clinging onto such memories is so very high. Steve struggles to make it from day to day after nights where Eddie and the kids live in the forefront of his mind. When they’re tucked away and out of sight, Steve can almost forget the pain that radiates from his chest and magnifies as it goes down. He can do his job and wake up in the morning without too much heartache. For some of the long days, Steve manages with barely a passing thought for those who left him behind.

Days like today are impossible, however. Hell, the last few days haven’t been all that good. After hearing about Eddie on the radio, Steve is stuck in the moments where that brilliant man was his - even if they are few and far between. The alcohol numbs the need to desperately seek Eddie out, to run across Hawkins and demand to be taken back. Yet, it enhances the want for him, for the life they should’ve had even more. The impossible conundrum is neither solved nor soothed by whiskey on the rocks, though Steve keeps drinking all the same.

How can he not when thirty came and went last fall and Steve’s not any closer to being where he wants in life or with the people he needs so very desperately? As the world turned on around him, Steve dug his heels in and tried to stop it from spinning him off his axis. This place, this town - it’s all he’s ever known. After all the trauma, Steve is certain he made the right decision to stay right where he is, consequences be damned.

A loud bang a few feet down the bar draws Steve away from his melancholy, all sad thoughts halting. A new group is starting to get passed the point of socially drunk – the ruckus they’re going to cause is a little more than Steve can take at the moment. Instead of asking for one more like most nights, Steve signals to the bar tender, requesting the check.

“All done for the night, Harrington?” Gareth asks, a worried look on his face. Steve watches him glance between the rowdy group and himself. There’s a tension there that Steve can’t quite place. Despite being one of the bars best customers, Gareth seems eager to have Steve gone.

Instead of wondering why, Steve’s drunk brain grasps onto the question the bartender asked. “Sure am. Gotta save a little of that liquor for the next time I’m here.” Steve tries to smile but it falls flat - there’s nothing nice about being a drunk and knowing it. The hilarity of the situation is long gone now that Steve is stuck in this rut and can’t seem to get out.

After making quick work of his change, Gareth nods at Steve and turns back to help the other group demanding his attention. Steve shakes his head to clear it, then starts his trek over to the main entrance. He’s wobbling and a bit tipsy on his feet but they eventually start to work and clumsily carry him across the room. Of course, they can’t whisk him away fast enough to avoid hearing something that is guaranteed to set him off.

“Did you hear the freak is back in town?”

“Yeah, man. I saw him at the coffee shop with his uncle. Still as freaky as ever.”

“I don’t know why that Munson kid ever comes back. He’s never been welcome here.”

With each new scathing remark, Steve forgets himself a little more. Despite not being Eddie’s for a long time now, Steve can’t help the way his heart lurches anytime someone speaks badly of him. There’s so much this stupid town doesn’t know; Eddie is a savior and part of the reason Hawkins is still standing. He wonders briefly if they would think differently of him if the truth were to come out. Though, that’s quickly brushed away in favor of the rising anger Steve isn’t even trying to control. Why should he when there’s nothing to lose?

Turning around, Steve makes quick work of stumbling back over to the group who’s now cackling madly. There’s a moment where Gareth looks at him, even shakes his head, but Steve ignores him. It’s already too late to turn back now. How can he, anyway? Eddie’s never deserved the hand he was dealt. After a decade, the trash talk needs to go away for good.

“I’ve never liked that word – freak. Especially when it’s coming from boys like you,” Steve says, squaring up his shoulders to bring himself to full height. He’s surrounded on all sides by assholes but he’s not afraid. For the first time in a long time, Steve feels alive.

The leader of the group, some Jason Carver wannabe, turns to Steve, looking him up and down. There’s recognition that’s quickly diminished into a hatred only people in Hawkins can understand.

“What makes you think I give a shit what the town drunk has to say?”

There are snickers following the attempted insult; this ring leader has all of his flunkies trained well. Steve ignores them, however, setting his sights on the guy dumb enough to step up and take the bait. Despite not being athletic anymore and a little older than he was, Steve knows he can win a fight. There’s been more than a few in this very spot that ended in victory for Steve. He’s not afraid nor cowed by a jackass who talks about something he’s got no business even bringing up.

“You care enough to turn around and clap back. I’d say you’re pretty invested.” Steve smirks at that, knowing he’s got this guy right where he wants him.

As expected, the man takes a step towards Steve, his fingers clenching. “I would watch yourself if I were you. 7 to 1 isn’t much of a fight.”

Without thinking or even trying to act rationally, Steve smiles wider – his eyes darkening. “I like those odds,” he mutters a second before drawing back his right arm and swinging.

The punch lands right where he wants it. Steve is happy to see that the guy is all talk and no action. He blows back against the bar like he’s been hit by a truck, not a simple thing like Steve’s fist. His face is pinched into a grimace that gets worse when he sees the rest of the group just standing there staring.

“You’re just going to let him do that to me?” Steve’s victim roars, his hands that are covering his nose muffling the sound. A few of the guys jump into action while the rest take a step back. They’re smart not to take on a crazy person without anything to lose.

For what seems like hours, Steve fights them off. He throws punches and lets a few glance off him to get the advantage. By the time there’s blue and red flashing lights in the window, everyone is sporting at least one black eye and Steve’s knuckles are torn open, each one of them bleeding enough to leave track marks down the side of Steve’s shirt and jeans. He looks murderous and Hop says so as he’s putting him into cuffs.

“You look fucking rabid, Harrington. Ain’t nothing worth this.” Hop’s words are harsh but his hands are gentle on Steve’s wrists. They’ve been through this song and dance a few times before. All because of Eddie – always because of that damn boy.

“You don’t even know him anymore, Steve. Why do you do this to yourself?”

Steve contemplates that answer all the way to the station while he sits in the back of Hop’s squad car. The fifteen minute drive is enough to sober him somewhat, though there’s still a long way to go before clarity sets in. His mind is addled but one thing is clear, Eddie is always worth the punches Steve throws. Always.

After getting dragged into the station, Hop throws Steve into a chair in front of his desk. He sits down heavily, the tiredness of getting his ass kicked starting to set in. They both know exactly who Steve wants to call but Hop makes him wait. They toil in silence for ages, staring at each other but not seeing. Glancing but never quite making eye contact.

When this first happened, Hop tried his best to guide Steve. To this day the man feels like a father figure that Steve never had in his own daddy. Yet, Steve is and always has been too stubborn to do what’s best for himself. He’s ruled by emotion that weighs him down and forces him to remain stagnant. He’s stuck in the past where genuine happiness exists - even if it’s just for those handful of months. Steve doesn’t want to forget the way his heart pounded or the shape of Eddie’s lips against his own. Every trip to the police station is worth it. It has to be when Steve has nothing left.

It’s obvious that neither of them are going to talk so Hop huffs out an impatient breath before reaching for the phone on his desk. Steve usually dials the number but Hop doesn’t let him this time. His fingers glide over the buttons, the rhythm of it like music to Steve’s ears.

There’s a singular moment where Steve thinks Hop isn’t going to hand over the phone – a look in his eyes that Steve can’t quite decipher. Though, it’s gone as fast as it came; the receiver is in Steve’s hands before the slightest idea of what Hop is thinking comes to the surface of Steve’s drunken mind. Everyone has their problems, that much is obvious.

Like every time before, Hop leaves him to his own devices. After the call went unanswered the second time and Steve flipped out, Hop’s taken to giving him some privacy. Despite his misconduct, the town’s sheriff doesn’t actually want to arrest Steve. There’s too much history to allow a small misdemeanor to truly ruin Steve’s life. This, the handcuffs, the time spent in the station – it’s all a familiar procedure now. The choreography is soothing in a world where Steve knows there aren’t guarantees. At least some things never change.

The continual ringing of the phone in his hand pulls Steve back to the present. Usually, there’s a couple of half assed rings and then a long dial tone before the operator hops on to say the number has been disconnected. After Eddie pushed him out the door a decade ago, the trailer’s number never worked again, despite the millions of times Steve dialed it time and time again. The disconnection of that bond still stings, so Steve is perplexed to hear the ringing continue. It goes and goes until there’s a click and a miracle truly happens.

“Munson residence, this is Eddie.”

Steve’s breath catches and for a second, he forgets himself. He forgets that he’s been trying to get through for years and years. Steve is suddenly back in his bedroom with that voice whispering in his ear. It’s like 10 years of hurt and pain no longer exist.

Then, reality comes crashing back.

“If you’re one of those fuckers calling to yell about damnation, you can save it!”

Gasping, Steve clings to the here and now to reply before the call is hung up.

“Wait, wait. Don’t go, Eddie!”

There’s silence.

Then –

“Steve? Is that really you?”

“Yeah, Eddie. It’s me. I can’t – I can’t believe you finally picked up. 10 years later.”

“How did you – never mind. Where are you? And why are you calling?”

Steve scoffs, his emotions all over the place. “I’ve been calling for years – just to maybe hear your voice. Of course you finally answer when I’m stuck in handcuffs at the police station. How fucked is that?”

A chuckle sounds down the line, the vibration of it genuine and true in Steve’s ears. He wants to cry from the relief of finally hearing such a happy noise again. It’s insane knowing how much better he feels just from that one second of joyful sound.

“You called me as your one phone call? What would’ve happened if I didn’t pick up?”

“Well, you never have before. Hop usually throws me in the holding cell and lets me sleep it off. I cry for a bit and then drop into an exhausted slumber where I dream about you. Pretty standard stuff.”

“Oh, Steve – “

The tone of Eddie’s voice is raw and pitying – any other time, Steve would’ve lashed out in order to protect himself and his pride. Yet, he’s too weak and relieved to hear Eddie at all that Steve let’s it slide. He clings to it, even – the dulcet tones of worry are better than the silence that usually follows him around.

“I’m okay, Eddie. Drunk and bruised up but okay. Better than ever now.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this but sit tight, okay? I’ll be there soon.”

Steve can’t process the words so he hums and holds the phone tightly to his ear, keeping it there even after Eddie hangs up and the dial tone is all that’s left. Steve clings and clings until Hop walks back into the room and takes the receiver from him.

“He picked up this time, Hop. Must be my lucky day.”

Hop looks at him for a moment, contemplating whether Steve needs to know that he dialed the right number instead of the one Steve always uses before deciding against it. He simply smiles in Steve’s direction, placating the drunken boy who still feels like a son. For so many years, Hop watched Steve drag himself down. Tonight, putting him in the car was just too much. Hop isn’t all that certain Wayne won’t hate him later but Steve’s happiness is worth whatever backlash he may get. This thing, the isolation between two kids obviously still gone for each other, has gone on long enough.

Steve and Hop wait at the desk until the station’s front door opens. For Steve, the entire world stops – there’s no spinning on an axis or time passing him by. There’s only Eddie.

Despite 10 years continuing on, Eddie isn’t much different. There are a few laugh lines around his eyes and a new scar over his right eyebrow. He’s a little heavier because exercising is for the weak but that’s about it. Steve is transported back to the easy days when summer vacation and what’s for lunch were his only worries. His fingers itch to bury themselves in the thick strands of curly hair still hanging past Eddie’s shoulders, kinky and long as always. Steve wants so much that he’s overwhelmed and completely mute the entire time Eddie and Hop discuss the situation.

By the time Hop is taking him out of the cuffs, Steve’s drunkenness has reached a critical level. It’s difficult to hobble out to the car, even with the warm press of Eddie against his side. Steve is so intoxicated that he can’t even enjoy the rare gift that being next to Eddie is. He’s happy to simply be there with him, to sit in the passenger seat of a new car that smells like Eddie and the burn of Marbolo Reds. Steve can only smile and nod when Eddie asks him questions. There’s no cognition of what he’s being asked to do or say but Steve is happy all the same. For the first time in a decade, he drifts off to sleep without a semblance of tightness or misery sitting in his belly.

——

“Hey there, Stevie – “

The all too familiar voice has Steve turning over, a soft smile on his face. He can tell it’s Eddie talking to him, there’s no mistaking the affection that sounds in his ears, yet the outline of his body is hazy and unfocused. Steve reaches up to rub at his eyes but it’s no use. The achingly familiar tease of Eddie just barely out of his reach is so familiar, Steve knows he’s dreaming.

Despite that, he extends his arm in Eddie’s direction. Steve’s fingers throb with a desperate need to touch, the ache so very familiar. Like usual, Steve gets so close that the feeling of Eddie’s leather jacket under his skin is almost tangible. While the memory of that touch lingers, the real thing hovers away for no justifiable reason. Steve’s come to the conclusion that he’s not allowed happiness. After so long, he’s used to never getting what he wants.

The sound of a coffee maker beeping draws Steve out of his restless dream. He blinks awake with a heavy sigh, both frustrated and glad to be free of that glorious torture – at least until he manages to try and rest again later. Stretching in hopes of forgetting the turmoil already setting in, Steve leans into the feeling of his muscles loosening. He’s sore enough to know a fight occurred without the memories having to resurface. A quick flex of his hand drives that reality home tenfold. There are cracks and cuts across the skin, though they’re lacking the caked on dry blood that’s usually looking back at him. In fact, all of his injuries have been taken care of.

With this newfound knowledge, Steve finally takes in the rest of his surroundings. Instead of the corner of a jail cell, Steve is reclined on a decently comfortable couch. There is a pillow under his head and a handmade blanket over top of him. Everything smells familiar, like Eddie’s cologne and the natural musk of a well-loved home. He’s startled to realize that whatever happened last night isn’t a dream his hopeful heart concocted.

That’s further proven by a cup of coffee being pushed into his hands a couple of minutes later. Steve is so dumbstruck that it takes a second for his body to cooperate. Eddie patiently waits in front of him until there’s no risk of spilling hot liquid. Despite the warmth of the drink, Steve takes a handful of desperate sips before even thinking about taking on whatever’s coming next.

Surprisingly, it’s silence that follows. Steve watches Eddie drink his coffee. In return, those brown eyes stay on Steve, too. There’s some sort of stalemate happening that’s not going to be broken by Steve. He’s too busy soaking Eddie in while the caffeine of the coffee is absorbed into his blood stream. Little by little, Steve gets a better grip on himself – his heart starts beating fast, it’s normal reaction to Eddie so close. Instead of the sluggish drunk of last night, Steve becomes the person he truly is.

A lost soul with a lot of unresolved feelings.

Eddie must see that because he finally breaks the ice developing up between them.

“You look like shit, man.”

Forgetting himself for a second, Steve can’t help but laugh. His chest heaves with the unexpected intensity of such an emotion. For a minute at least, Steve chuckles until there are tears streaming down his face.

“Fuck – I forgot how much you make me feel.” Steve takes a second, let’s himself calm down. Then, he trucks on. “I am shit, Eddie. Have been for years now. I can’t believe you’re actually here. I thought I dreamed last night up.”

“Trust me, I’m very real.” Eddie stops for a second, inelegantly staring Steve down. “It’s crazy to think my first adventure back home is with you. After all this time, it’s like nothing’s changed.”

“You’re shitting me, right? Nothing’s changed? I called you from jail last night, Eddie. Like I’ve done at least a dozen times before. Everything has changed.”

Eddie has the decency to look embarrassed, his big brown eyes watering up before he blinks the moisture away. Steve can’t help but want those tears to fall, to see some sort of emotion that comes close to Steve’s own. After a decade of thinking about this moment, Steve is lost in a sea of overwhelm, unable to doggy paddle effectively. He wants so much, it’s hard to process what’s actually happening.

Though, he eventually gets himself together enough to ask the question burning up his mind. “Why did you pick up now? I’ve called plenty of times when you were in town before. The phone just rang and rang until the operator popped on to tell me I’m an idiot for calling a disconnected number. I’ve been listening to that recorded message so long it’s a comfort to hear.”

Steve isn’t ready for the sudden infiltration of his space but deals with it when Eddie takes up the couch cushion next to him. Their thighs are inches from touching, the heat between them tangible. Steve so desperately wants to lash out and push Eddie away, to return the treatment he himself received. Yet, the comfort of a familiar body next to him is too much to handle. The fight leaves Steve within seconds.

“Hop dialed for you last night. He put in Wayne’s new number and you finally got through. I don’t know why he waited so long to share it with you, Steve. I’m suddenly aware of a lot of things I didn’t know.”

The bubbling pit of sadness Steve deals with on a daily basis drops a little further into his stomach. The realization that Hop could have helped him long ago settles in, making Steve feel heavy. It takes a second or two to come to the understanding that though it hurt him, Hop was trying to protect Steve, too.

“He was trying to save me, I’m sure. From this,” Steve says, waving his hands back and forth between them. “I’m a very weak man but that’s nothing compared to the fall out that’s about to come. Now that you’re here, I see very clearly that I’m going to have to give you up again.”

Tears are falling down Steve’s cheeks long before he realizes it. His shirt, or maybe Eddie’s because it’s a touch too tight across the chest, is getting wet, the collar collecting his sadness by the second. Steve is too tired and wrung out to reach up and swipe at each traitorous one. Instead, he lets them flow.

A soft hand on his chin stops Steve’s spiral. Guitar calloused fingers are so recognizable it’s like they’re 20 again, touching for the first time. Though, that thought jolts Steve back to reality and he shifts away. Little tastes of things he’s never going to be able to keep aren’t good for him. He’s an addict that isn’t anywhere near following the path to recovery. This bump, this small little hit, it’s going to put him back years.

“Don’t do that, Eddie. Don’t touch me like it’s not going to kill me. Don’t pretend that you care.”

“I do care. I’ve cared since before Vecna came in and destroyed our lives. I left because I care, Steve. Why can’t you see that?”

A red flash of rage swims in Steve’s vision. He’s much to hungover to be having this conversation but it’s happening, nonetheless. Steeling himself, Steve says the things he’s wanted to since the separation occurred.

“That’s bull shit. If you cared, you never would have left. You never would have turned your back on me.”

“Steve, you shut me out. I told you I needed to leave for your safety and mine. I said I had to go because this town doesn’t forgive or forget. We were getting death threats every day. You, me, my uncle – even the kids. I couldn’t put you guys through that anymore.” Eddie’s voice rises, his anger peaking. “You decided you weren’t going to talk to me anymore. That the distance between us was too big to handle.”

“Because I needed you! I needed you to be there for me. You left right after my parents did, abandoning me like them. You took off without asking me how I felt about it. I would’ve braved every single person in town who thought they had the right to say something to or about you. Hell, I punched that guy last night in the face because he let your name fall from his lips. You’re worth the fight, Eddie. Even now.”

Steve’s so lost in his anger and resentment that it’s impossible to continue. If he says another word or thinks another thought, Steve’s positive he’s going to explode. There’s so much he wants to scream in Eddie’s face but none of it matters. Eddie is crying and Steve, despite the time and baggage between them, can’t stand to see the sight. No matter how often he wished to cause Eddie the same pain Steve deals with daily, he can’t deal with the reality of it. Without thought, both of his arms wrap around Eddie’s shoulders and pull until they’re chest to chest, hugging each other tightly.

For now, it’s the only thing they can give to each other, unresolved issues be damned. Steve knows that by the way all the fight leaves Eddie’s body. He feels it in the squeeze Eddie gives him back. There is no resolution or simple answers in sight. After so long, there might never be.

Leaning into Eddie’s touch, Steve comes to the conclusion that this right here, coming back together after years of miscommunication and anger, is everything and nothing, the perfectly imperfect way things work out following desperate hurt and sadness that separated entities meant to exist as one. There’s no way of knowing what happens next but Steve is content to rest in Eddie’s arms.

There, he is safe.

There, Steve can feel whole again.

In the moment, that’s all Steve really needs.

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington,

#sr for the evening crowd

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bmodiwrites · 10 months

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Give Me Your Hand (& I'll Hold it)

He wishes so desperately that he was brave enough to stand up for himself and run the hell away.

With only two people before him, Eddie is starting to realize that must be his lot in life – he’s bound to be the boy everyone laughs at for being a weirdo.

Like, pass the swimming test with flying colors.

It’s nice, having someone there for him, though not meant to last. Even Eddie at 7 knows that.

Read the rest over on AO3!

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington,

#sr for the evening crowd #do the thing friends - I’m proud of this one 🙌🏻

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bmodiwrites · 10 months

Text

Give Me Your Hand (& I'll Hold it)

He wishes so desperately that he was brave enough to stand up for himself and run the hell away.

With only two people before him, Eddie is starting to realize that must be his lot in life – he’s bound to be the boy everyone laughs at for being a weirdo.

Like, pass the swimming test with flying colors.

It’s nice, having someone there for him, though not meant to last. Even Eddie at 7 knows that.

Read the rest over on AO3!

tag list (message if you’d like to be added): @infinite-orangepeel, @thefreakandthehair, @corrodedcoughin, @prettyboisteveharrington,

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fic #steddie fic #bobbie writes #give me your hand (& i'll hold it)#5 + 1 things #5 + 1 fic

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bmodiwrites · 10 months

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Weird Questions for Writers (because writers are weird)

1. What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

2. If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

3. What is your writing ritual and why is it cursed?

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

5. Do you have any writing superstitions? What are they and why are they 100% true?

6. What is your darkest fear about writing?

7. What is your deepest joy about writing?

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

11. Do you believe in the old advice to “kill your darlings?” Are you a ruthless darling assassin? What happens to the darlings you murder? Do you have a darling graveyard? Do you grieve?

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

14. Do you lend your books to people? Are people scared to borrow books from you? Do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? Will you ever get them back?

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends?

16. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

20. If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story?

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

29. Where do you draw your inspiration? What do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

30. Talk to me about the role dreams play in your writing life. Have you ever used material from your dreams in your writing? Have you ever written in a dream? Did you remember it when you woke up?

31. Write a short love letter to your readers.

32. What is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? How did you find it? What does it mean to you?

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go:

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens?

36. They say to Write What You Know. Setting aside for a moment the fact that this is terrible advice...what do you Know?

37. If you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us?

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

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bmodiwrites · 10 months

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100 ways to say i love you (prompt challenge)—masterlist

a/n: i decided to start completing this abandoned challenge again, this time opening myself to other fandoms instead of restricting myself to dbh. no guarantee when i’ll finish this, but i’ll be referring to these prompts once in a while.

if you have a request for a specific prompt, feel free to send me an ask and i’ll see what i can do ^^

Keep reading

#do the thinggggg

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