cinematicvests

[cinematicvests]

I love reading post season 4 steddie fics where it’s never said how Eddie managed to survive other than fanfiction magic. It’s exactly the level of delusion I aspire to

[cinematicvests]

[cinematicvests]

[cinematicvests]

Here’s the thing about natural—or unnatural, as it were—disasters.

Regular social norms go right out the fucking window.

In Tommy’s case, all it took was to see one news report, highlighting the burning husk of Starcourt, for him to turn to his girlfriend and ask “Do you think…?”

He didn’t bother to finish his sentence.

Didn’t need too—Carol immediately and instantly knew what he was on about.

They were in Tommy’s house, but that didn’t matter. Carol went right for the phone like she owned it (or like she’d been practically raised in said house given she’d known Tommy since he was seven, which meant she might as well own it.)

“He’s not answering.” She reported after a tense moment,

Tommy bit his lip.

“Think he’s still messing around with Wheeler enough to be at her house right now?” He asked, but it was a hail mary and they both knew it.

Carol rewarded his stupidity with a flat stare. “He’s not dating anyone right now, he’s person non grata with that hideous uniform.”

And for other reasons, not that either of them bothered to voice it all.

Tommy opened his mouth again, no doubt to ask something else idiotic in his growing panic, but was stopped by a finger held loftily in the air.

Carol expertly dialed with her other hand, before once again returning the phone to her ear.

This time she got someone.

“Hi Miss Maple, is Mindy home?” 

A pause, and then a rapid-fire back and forth took place, in which Carol:

Assured Miss Maple she was not at the mall.

Was happy to know Mindy was also not at the mall.

Made an appropriate gasping noise upon finding out Mindy had left only an hour before the mall had caught fire and could she talk to Mindy? Pretty please? This is so scary!

--Until Carol was finally connected to Mindy herself.

“No, I'm glad you’re safe.” Carol was saying, after another exchange that to Tommy, felt like some kind of over-complicated girl language where they both made soft reassuring noises until they finally got down to business.

Which in this case, was asking if Mindy saw Steve Harrington, their wayward third, at the mall.

“He was there.” Carol confirmed a scant few minutes later, frown slashing across her face as she hung up the phone. “She said he had the closing shift.” 

Tommy panicked harder. 

“What do we do?”

Carol, bless her, gave him the easiest answer in the world. 

With steel in her eyes, she calmly determined: “We go get him.”

They did.

xXx

Steve was not at the mall. 

One of his obnoxious children was however, and insisted Steve was both fine and had gone home. 

(As if anyone was ever fine after escaping out of a burning building.) 

Lucky for Carol’s temper and Steve both, that proved to be true. 

 “Hello Steven.” Carol greeted the second one of the Harrington’s double doors swung open. “You look like shit.” 

“‘Ro?” Steve asked in blatantly disbelief, squinting at her. 

Give how fucked up one of his eyes was, Carol wouldn’t be surprised if he honestly could’t make her out. 

Steve’s messed up face moved to the left with another blatant squint before he warbled out: “‘Tommy?” 

“Yes, yes, it’s us. Move over.” She flicked her hands into a “shoo” gesture, as Steve dutifully stepped back, allowing them in. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, somehow managing to sound normal for that one singular line. 

Carol beelined right for the cabinet with the medkit, while Tommy went for the fridge. 

“Taking care of you, idiot. How the hell did you get a black eye in a mall fire?” 

Or choke marks, or any of his other wounds she’d taken in at first glance, none of which looked to be a burn. 

It took a long, long moment for her to get an answer, during which Steve had trailed them both to his kitchen, confused but not fighting their presence.  

“Part of the building collapsed. I--there was--” He struggled for a moment, looking lost in his own kitchen. “A lot happened.” 

“No shit.” Tommy snorted, wrapping a  hand towel around an ice pack before dutifully handing it to Steve. 

“Put that on your eye.” He muttered, when all he got was a blank stare back. 

“Oh.” Steve stared at him, without moving. “Thanks.” 

With another loud snort, Tommy shoved it in his hands, then forced Steve to actually put it against his eye. 

An interaction that did not bode well for the state of Steve’s head. 

“Take that disgusting shirt off.” Carol commanded a few seconds later as she finished laying out medical supplies on the counter. Lined them up like little soldiers gearing up to ship out. 

Bandages, neosporin, alcohol wipes and various other little bits and bobs weren’t going to fix whatever the hell happened to Steve, but given his aversion to hospitals, Carol knew this was as good as she was getting. 

“Buy me dinner first, jeez.” Steve grumbled, but thankfully, complied. 

Or tried too, anyway--he seemed to be reluctant to take the ice pack off his eye now that he figured out that's where it should go, and equally seemed to be having issues raising his arms above his shoulders. 

Carol sent a pointed look at her boyfriend, then jerked her eyes in Steve’s direction when the idiot just stared at her. 

“Let me help you.” Tommy said a moment later, right before Carol decided to throw something at him. 

It took them both a minute, during which Carol rolled her eyes twice at their incompetence, but eventually they managed to get Steve’s busted torso out in open air, and the ice pack firmly back on his eye. 

Carol turned to survey the damage, and nearly dropped the bandages she was holding in shock. 

Tommy too seemed at a loss for words, eyes wide at the sheer amount of bruising. 

Steve was a mess.

More than, a mess--this was the worst state Carol had ever seen anyone in, and the fact that he was on his feet still was a fucking miracle. 

‘Staring won’t fix it.’ Carol told herself harshly, and she knew damn well Steve wasn’t going to fix it either unless someone forced him. 

Hence of course, why they were there. 

“Steven Harrington, did you run from the paramedics?” She demanded, as she finally picked her first weapon (a disinfectant wipe) and strode over to begin her battle. “There is no way they let you go looking like this!”

“They had other priorities.” Steve said defensively, then hissed as Carol got to work. 

“You should have been one of said priorities, idiot!” 

Tommy thankfully, had decided to make himself useful by retreating to the other side of the kitchen and pulling various items out of the fridge and pantry. 

Inbetween her runs for more supplies and hissing insults at how fucking stupid Steve was, Carol identified the makings of grilled cheese sandwiches--their little groups go to favorite. 

Which was good, because it both got him out of the way and meant they could get something in Steve’s stomach before she forced every pain pill she had down his throat. 

“I’m fine guys, really.” Steve protested, as if constantly repeating it would somehow make his words true. 

Carol stared deep into his watery eyes, before jabbing a finger into the center of the largest bruise on his side. 

“Carol!” He howled, bending double and away, panting harshly. 

“That,” She informed him with a pitiless stare, “was for lying.” 

Thankfully the damage wasn’t as bad as she first thought--it seemed to be mostly just bruises. 

Possibly a cracked rib or two, at worst. 

The worst of it was Steve’s eye, and of course, his head, because there was no way he didn’t have a concussion amongst all this. 

(Only time would tell how bad it was.) 

When Steve was as doctored up as Carol could make him, she promptly turned and frog marched him to his parents' overstuffed couch.

“Sit and stay sitting, while I clean up.” She ordered, not waiting to see if Steve would obey. 

She passed Tommy on her way back to the kitchen, a plate piled high with food in his hands. 

“Make sure he takes at least a few bites.” She added, low enough so only he heard. 

He nodded, and for the first time since the three of them had fallen out, Carol felt something in her finally relax. 

Figured it was likely the same for the boys, given their dynamic had always been something one step away from a normal friendship. 

(it wasn’t the relationship her mother had once accused her of having, though granted, they had tested those waters once, but something that sat in between ‘family’ and ‘mutual ownership.’ 

Losing Steve had carved something hollow in her and Tommy both. She’d put on a good show of not caring. Pretended it hadn’t cut deep. 

Getting even a taste of it like she was? 

Carol wasn’t letting him go again.) 

Cleaning up took a minute, long enough hopefully, for the pain meds to kick in, and she didn’t feel too guilty when she came back into the living room and collapsed on the couch, next to Steve (and thus putting him in the middle, between herself and Tommy.) 

He didn’t say anything at first, just leaned into her the second she sat down, like he’d been waiting for her to return. There was a pause, like he was bracing to be pushed off, but when she scooted closer, the tension left him in a silent exhale. 

“I missed you.” He whined softly into her shoulder.

She ran her nails through his hair, silently bemoaning the state of it. “We missed you too, Stevie.”

“I want to be friends again but,” Steve sighed, and Carol watched Tommy tense, staring at Steve with such intensity one would think Steve was about to announce whether Tommy would live or die.

(Honestly, her boys were so stupid sometimes.)

“We can't be mean anymore.” Steve finished. “Not me—but also not, not you guys.”

With an (unfortunately) adorable wrinkle of his nose, he added, “We were too mean.”

Carol rolled her eyes, but only when she was certain Steve was paying more attention to her sweater than her face.

“Compromise. I’ll only be openly mean to people who deserve it.” She countered, as Tommy finally relaxed.

“I can be nicer.” He agreed, slowly sinking down into Steve’s other side.

“Way less mean. No--no more pranks or insults.” Steve continued.

Carol nodded. “Not in public.” She agreed. 

She was not giving up her own personality in private, thank you very much. If that made her an asshole that was fine--it wasn’t like she hadn't been told she was nasty before this. 

“And I’m friends with Robin now. So you hav’ to be friends with her too.” 

“Buckley?” Carol made another face, and knew she fucked up when Steve instantly tried to sit up.

“Robin Buckley. She’s really cool, and--” He started, with that kind of stubbornness Carol knew all too well meant he’d made up his mind and would refuse to change it.

“Fine, fine!” She said quickly, though not without an eye roll. “You have got to stop adopting weirdos though. The kids are enough.”

Steve slowly laid back down. 

“You know about the kids?” 

“Steve Harrington, town babysitter?” Tommy said, something teasing threading through his voice. “Everybody knows, man. You give so many rides home your beamer has gained several bus themed nicknames.” 

“Huh. I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Of course you didn’t.” Carol snorted, before laying her cheek atop Steve’s head. Tommy cuddled up close to his other side, the same way they all used to before their parents started insisting their cuddle piles were “inappropriate.”  

(That hadn’t stopped them. Nothing had stopped them, until Steve had a crisis of consciousness while dating Wheeler. 

It was only half the reason Carol wanted to put her head through a wall.) 

“That’s what you have me for.” She informed him. 

“Yeah.” Carol could feel Steve’s smile, gentle and radiant as always. “Guess I do.”

A nice, perfect moment followed, the one she knew both her and Tommy had been craving. 

Steve, of course, was a creature who required constant reassurance because his awful, neglecting parents never provided any, and she was prepared when he fought against both his pain and sleep to seek it. 

“You guys promise to be nice to Robin? And Nancy, and Jonathan?” He asked it quietly, like he wasn’t sure what they'd do if they said no. 

“Oh God,” Tommy moaned, “I have to be nice to Byers?” 

 Steve stiffened once again, snapping out; “Yes--” 

“We promise, Steve.” Carol interrupted before Tommy’s giant fat mouth could ruin things.  

She moved a hand down to rub gently at his neck, a soothing gesture. 

Tommy, of course, wasn’t done, because Tommy was a moron. “Wasn’t he the guy Wheeler cheated on you with?” 

“We said we promise.” Carol repeated, steel in her voice. 

Tommy met her eyes over Steve’s head, and was greeted with the steel core of his girlfriend’s ‘do as I say or die’ personality. 

“Fine.” Tommy conceded with a pout. “I’ll be nice to fucking Byers.”

 In a mutter he added;  

“Not happy about it though.”

“That’s okay.” Steve mumbled back, seeming to have finally tired himself out. 

“Go to sleep, Steve. We’ll be here in the morning.” Carol told him.

It was a longstanding fear of Steve’s--that people just left in the night without saying goodbye. 

(Likely because his parents kept doing it.)

It didn’t take long, Steve was the kind of guy who fell asleep quickly. 

It was a nice mend to the hole Steve’s departure in her life had made. Carol hadn’t truly been looking forward to living her life without him. 

She’d get him back however she could.

Even if it meant being nice. 

(Carol hated being nice, but she’d do it, for Steve. 

Well. Less for Steve and more to complete the Tommy-Steve-Carol super trio that Carol had lived most of her life in, at least, but she wasn’t stupid enough to say that out loud.

Not now, anyway.) 

xXx

Close to a year later, Carol stood with her arms crossed, staring coolly at one Edward Munson, drug dealer extraordinaire and former (even if he was cleared) criminal. 

He grinned at her, the jerk.

With a supernatural slowness, she turned her gaze to Steve.

“I swear to God Steve you better housebreak him before you bring him anywhere near me.” She said, loud and clear.

Hadn’t she warned him about adopting more weirdos!?

Steve winced. 

“Come on ‘Ro, you promised not to be mean.” He wheedled. 

“I promised to not be mean to people who didn’t deserve it.” She shot back, as Tommy, wisely, stayed silent behind her.

(Robin, she noted, was equally quiet on Steve’s other side.

Normally this would raise alarms—Robin was quick to defend people if she thought Carol was being shitty and as a general rule was never quiet, but it would appear in this case she’d already clocked where Carol was taking this.

Smart girl.)

“Eddie doesn’t deserve—” Steve started but she cut him off with a blue tipped nail, shoved right against his lips.

“Not yet he doesn’t. But Munson,” She leveled her glare on him now, and let him feel the weight of it. “If Steve so much as says your name in a sad tone of voice, I will make your life into the kind of hell that Jason Carver can only dream of. Understand?”  

Behind her, Tommy cracked his knuckles, which was overkill and she’d get on his ass later for being dramatic, but presently she was too busy letting Munson figure out just how serious she was. 

Eddie’s gaze traveled from Carol, to Tommy, Robin, Steve and finally back to Carol in an assessment she frankly, hadn’t thought him capable of. 

She pushed him anyway. 

“I’m waiting, Munson.” 

In a somber tone of voice, Eddie replied; “It’s gotten. Very, very gotten.” 

“Okay, I’m lost.” Steve said, because, as always, he was the last person to know he was in love.

Moron. 

“Good. As long as we understand each other. Now.” Carol tossed her hair back with a quick snap of her hand. “Milkshakes?” 

“Robin--” Steve whined, no doubt wanting her to spell things out since Carol was refusing, but thankfully Buckley also seemed to realize staying quiet was the best course of action, and instead of answering quickly got Steve off track with a jab at his milkshake order. 

Which was of course, why Carol liked her.

(She wasn’t about to share that with Robin just yet. Integrating someone into a trio like theirs was delicate business—and she had a sinking feeling Robin might be sticking around, just like Steve and Tommy had.

As for Eddie Munson? 

Only time would tell.)

[cinematicvests]

YESYESYESYESYESYESYES

Under the Spotlight [Part I]

Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson hate each other. At least that's what the press is saying. Also known as the Actor!Steve AU.

It starts like this: Steve is in Los Angeles. He’s just began shooting his new period drama show and the first round of promotion is starting as well.

Personally, Steve doesn’t like this part of his job very much. It’s tiring, and also kinda boring, talking to the press. They’re always asking the same questions, always trying to make Steve give out more information about his personal life or trying to get on his good graces by flattering him in the most obvious ways. If he could, Steve would stick to just acting, but he’s still not famous enough to skip talking to the press and going to events if he wants his shows and movies to catch the public’s attention. So, he sucks it up and tells Robin she can let the reporter in so Steve can start his sixth(?) interview of the day.

The woman is nice enough, he guesses. She asks about the show, what Steve can share with his fans, what his fans can expect of this new role. Then, of course, just like every single reporter that came before her, she asks how Steve felt about working with Nancy Wheeler for the first time since they broke up. It’s so predictable that Steve would roll his eyes if he could. Sadly, he can’t. It wouldn’t be polite of him; it wouldn’t look good. So Steve plasters one of his trademark smiles and says the same thing he did to the other reporters.

“Nancy is a great actress and one of the best friends I have. Working with her is always a joy.”

And it’s not even a lie. Nancy is great and she is one of his best friends. Their relationship ended, yes, but it was a mutual understanding, and they parted in good terms, with no bad blood between them. They broke up almost two years ago, there’s no reason for things between them to be weird anymore.

That’s not what the press wants to know, though. They just want Steve to let something slip so they can explore it, distort it and publish it as truth. Steve’s been in this industry for enough time to know how it works.

The reporter seems unimpressed by his mild answer. She insists, mentioning Jonathan Byers, Nancy’s new boyfriend (fianceé, actually, but that information is not public knowledge yet) just to see if she can get a reaction out of him. Poor woman, she’s gonna have to do better than that.

When she realizes Steve’s not going to give her anything, the woman deflates. She moves on to other topics, prods Steve a little about his personal life, but her heart is not there anymore, Steve can see it.

“Alright, Steve, we’re almost done here, I promise,” the reporter (Anna? Anne?) says. “We asked your fans to send us questions on our Twitter page and selected a few.”

“Okay.”

The woman takes a minute to go over her notes.

“Okay,” she says, straightening her posture on the armchair she’s sitting. Steve does the same, more out of respect than anything. “@lysa_07 asks: did you always want to become an actor, or did you think about following a different career?”

“When I was in school, I played basketball and wanted to go pro. I was pretty good, actually, some universities offered me a scholarship and everything, but I got injured when I was in my senior year. Had to go through knee surgery and eight months of PT just to be able to walk by myself again.”

“So acting was your second choice?”

“At first, yes. But looking back I think I’m better off where I am right now. I loved playing basketball when I was a kid, but by the time I got injured it was more about winning than anything else. The fun I used to feel when I was playing was not there anymore because I was always worried about failing and letting my team and coach down. So, I guess even if I didn’t get injured, I would eventually have given up on basketball anyway. Living under that kind of stress is not for me.”

Nodding, Anne(?) types something on her tablet. “Yeah, I get that. I was on the soccer team in high school, the pressure really is crazy,” she agrees. “Okay, second question. @harringtons_fan_5_ever: What do you like to do in your free time?”

Steve chuckles. “Call me lame, but all I want to do when I have free time is go home, see my dogs and sleep as much as I can. There’s nothing better than that.”

“They don’t travel with you? Must be hard being away from them for so long.”

“They’re old dogs, travelling is too stressful for them now. And, yes, I miss them like crazy, they’ve been with me for over ten years.”

“Oh, I see. I hope you get to see them soon, then.”

Another pause as the reporter types something else on her tablet. Steve takes the water bottle on the small table beside him and takes a sip, his throat a little parched after talking for so long. He hopes the woman is being honest and they are almost done, because Steve can’t wait to get the hell out of here.

“Last question is from @justaccoffingirlie,” she says. “It’s two questions, actually. First, she asks: In terms of music, what are your favorite genres? And follows with: what do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”

“I guess pop and classic rock are my main choices when I’m making a playlist,” Steve answers, thoughtful. “Sorry, but what was that second question?”

“What do you think about Corroded Coffin’s last album?”

“Is that a band?” he asks, a small frown forming on his face as he tries to make sense of whatever the woman expects him to answer. “I’ve never heard of them before.”

“Yes, it’s a metal band. They’re very popular, their new tour has been sold out for months. They released their third album a couple of months ago.”

“Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.”

For the first time since the interview started, the reporter smiles brightly, nodding once again, this time with more enthusiasm.

“Yeah, they’re pretty big, you know!?” she says. “Their fans are very passionate.”

“Oh, good for them, I guess.”

“It sure is. Thank you very much for your time, Steve. We should publish this interview in two weeks. We’ll send all the details to your team when the article comes out.”

“Sure. It was great talking to you.”

In retrospect, Steve should have suspected something was not right. Anna had looked too satisfied by the end of their little chat. But he suspected nothing. After almost two hours, Steve just wanted to go back to his hotel room. He had a plane to catch that night and an eight-hour flight to Europe awaiting him.

-

-

Two weeks later, that interview he’s given is the last thing on Steve’s mind.

The make up team is working their magic on him whilst Steve reads for the last time his lines for the scene they’re about to start shooting that morning. Nancy is in the chair beside him, chatting with the hairdresser as the woman works on her as well. It’s all a little chaotic, but familiar enough for it to be relaxing in a way.

That is, until the door to the make-up room is slammed open and a pissed off Robin shows up on the threshold.

“Robin? What happen—” Steve begins to say but stops when Robin starts beating him with what seems to be a rolled-up magazine.

“You are a dumbass!!” she says, hitting him with no mercy. “Why do you do this? Do you fucking hate me, Harrington?!”

“What the hell, Robin!? Stop!”

The make-up artists scramble away from the woman, letting Steve all by himself to deal with her. Traitors!

“You. Are. An. Idiot!” she says, furious.

Steve grabs her wrist when she tries to hit him again and takes the fucking magazine out of her hands. That doesn’t stop her; Robin just starts slapping him with her bare hands.

“Hey, Robin, come on, stop hitting him,” Nancy, beautiful, sweet Nancy says, coming to Steve’s rescue. She grabs Robin’s arm and pulls the other woman away from Steve, forcing her to sit down on the chair she had previously been using. “Breathe, Buckley, you’re not making any sense.”

“You want me to make sense? I’ll make sense. I’m gonna kill this fucking idiot!!”

Steve gets up from the chair before Robin can reach him again. “You’re crazy!”

“Of course I am! You’re always trying to make my life difficult by opening your big, fat mouth. Why can’t you shut up, Harrington? Why?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did!”

“What did he do, Robin?” Nancy asks, just as confused as everyone else in the room.

Robin takes a deep breath, massaging her temples.

“Look at the fucking magazine, Steve,” she hisses.

Still lost, Steve unrolls the magazine and looks at its cover. It’s him. It’s a picture from a photoshoot he did a month ago, his name printed in big yellow letters announcing his interview on page 17.

“They published my interview, so what? Why are you pissed at me?” he asks, staring at the flattering picture with narrowing eyes. There’s no mention of Nancy on the cover, which is good in his humble opinion.

“I’m pissed at you because you are a dumbass who doesn’t know how or when to shut up. Why did you have to mock Corroded Coffin? Have you lost your mind?”

“I did what?”

“Oh, Steve,” Nancy says, mournful. “Tell me you didn’t do that.”

“I have no idea what she’s talking about, Nance, I didn’t mock anyone.”

Nancy grabs the magazine from his hands and opens it, flipping pages until she finds Steve’s interview. Her eyes roam over the page for a moment, then she lets out a small sigh.

“’When asked about Corroded Coffin’s new album, Steve Harrington claimed he has never heard of the band before and found funny the idea of a band with such a silly name being so famous,’” Nancy reads aloud, whilst Robin glares daggers at him. “’Seriously? People listen to a band named Corroded Coffin? Wow, I had no idea.’”

“I never said their name was silly!” Steve defends himself.

“But you implied it, that’s more than enough for these people, you know that,” Robin says. “What were you thinking, Steve?”

“Oh, come on. You’re overreacting, Robin. No one’s gonna care if I find a band name funny or not. Relax, woman.”

“Sorry, Steve, but Robin is right,” Nancy says, closing the magazine and giving it back to Robin. “Corroded Coffin’s fans are crazy loyal. They’re gonna go nuts when they read this.”

“Not you too, Nance.”

“But it’s true, Steve. Seriously. Corroded Coffin has one of the biggest fanbases I’ve ever seen. Their concerts are always packed. I went to one of their concerts with Jonathan last month and the crowd was insane; they screamed so loud my ears were ringing for hours after the show.”

“If they’re so famous, why haven’t I heard of them before?”

“Because you’ve been listening to the same ten artists since High School, that’s why,” Robin says, flicking him on the forehead. “Pray to God that their fans don’t take this shit to heart, Harrington. Because if they do, they’re gonna make your life, and by extension my life, a living hell.”

“At least he didn’t say anything about Munson,” Nancy laughs. “Now that would be a bad call.”

“Who?”

“Oh my God, you’re hopeless,” Robin groans, throwing her hands up in the air in frustration.

She throws the magazine at Steve, then storms out of the room, slamming the door shut and without looking back.

Steve frowns at the magazine in his hands, his own face looking back at him from the cover as if mocking him somehow.

Robin was just overreacting, right?

[cinematicvests]

[cinematicvests]

Spin this wheel first and then this wheel second to generate the title of a YA fantasy novel!

(If the second wheel lands on an option ending with a plus sign, spin it again)

Share what you got!

[cinematicvests]

When Steve was a kid sleeping over at Tommy’s house, he would periodically check in with Tommy’s parents to make sure they (1) still liked him, (2) didn’t want him to go home, and (3) didn’t think he was being loud and annoying.

Very clearly things someone (his parents) had said to him so Tommy’s parents always patiently reminded him that they (1) love him, (2) love when he’s here, (3) think he’s no louder than their boys and he’s definitely not annoying.

He kinda grows out of it as he got older but it always comes back when those boys were up to no good.

Maria Hagan is in her kitchen, scrubbing mud out of one of her son’s cleats when she hears the front door open and then ease shut. Tommy calls in a very measured voice that they’re back from a school friend’s birthday party and are going to bed. This is followed by - “Steve, don’t-“

It’s really the only warning she gets before Steve is next to her, thirteen and smelling like he swam in a pool of beer. She opens her arms and he falls into a hug, asking, “Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not, sweetie,” She tells them, giving Tommy a look when he reluctantly comes into the room. “But you’re grounded. Both of you.”

Maria watches her fifteen year old and his friends act suspicious at the family reunion they’re hosting, disappear, and come back red-eyed and giggly. Ten minutes later, her husband comes up to her and informs her that the kids are high, “Steve asked if I was disappointed in him.”

“Did you say yes?” She asks and gets only silence back. She wouldn’t have been able to say yes either. It doesn’t stop her from calling her husband a, “Coward.”

There’s a fallout in Tommy’s friend group and one less mouth at her kitchen table. She tries not to let it feel like she’s lost a son.

Life goes on. A couple years go by. And then she’s walking out into the emergency room lobby to alert Eddie Munson’s family that he’s going to surgery and - “Steve?”

“Oh, uh. Hi, Mrs Hagan.”

She ignores that he hasn’t called her that since he was five years old because there are cuts on his neck, bruises. He’s dirty and bleeding. She says, “Sweetie…”

And it’s all she needs to say before she has her arms full of dirty teenager. He squeezes her tight, shoulders shaking, asking, “Do you hate me?”

She hugs him right back, “Never.”

[cinematicvests]

I’m very curious cause I know most of tumblr uses ao3

Pls pretend 3 says read/write I can’t edit it

I tend to mostly write fics but i occasionally read them

Please reblog so more ppl can answer :)

[cinematicvests]

Eddie was terrifying. 

Elliot had known the guy for a few years now, ever since Eddie had stepped into the Spellbound Bar with big eyes and a wild grin. The guy hailed from some small ass town in Indiana, but it was clear to see that he hadn’t hidden much of himself over there. 

So many kids blew into California freshly freed from their families, still dressed in clothes their old life had forced them to wear. They always had a sort of fragile, reborn look to them that made all the elder queers reach out their hands, welcome them in. 

Eddie, whose last name changed on a daily basis (his drivers license listed it as ‘Henderson’ but there were rumors that it too, was fake)  had too large of a wardrobe for all of it to be recently purchased, and moved too comfortably in clothes for them to be new to him. 

The guy wasn’t mean. His temperment wasn’t why he was terrifying, really, though the constant high energy he whirlwinded around the bar with often grew too much for some of their quieter regulars. 

No it was all the shit he casually talked about. How he took things in stride, and said he had to, given he used to be the president of a D&D club he named Hellfire. 

(Hellfire. In small town America. The sheer fucking balls on this dude.) 

He regaled them all with tales of his lost sheep and the fights he had with his high school principal long before Angel, the bar owner, agreed to take him on as a busboy--then bar back, then bartender, all in rapid succession.

Always winking as he spun a story about how he was caught flagging once from an out of towner stopping by for gas, the story somehow darkly hilarious. 

A lot of people didn’t like southern California, or rather, not the way they thought they would at least, but Eddie took to it like a duck to water. There was no denying the man belonged here, in a way he hadn’t truly belonged anywhere else. 

Elliot had been the one to help him find a local metal band. He himself was one of those quieter regulars (and not a musician let alone a metalhead) but he knew people. Could make some connections.

It helped that Elliot did play D&D, and was quick to pull Eddie into his orbit that way. Get him connected to others who loved the game like the metalhead clearly did. 

And damn, could Eddie DM.

It was here though, that Elliot first picked up that Eddie’s bluster wasn’t just that. 

Watched as his new friend's eyes went hard and flat when the Vecna campaign was mentioned, shut it down with such force that it left the table briefly stunned by the sheer venom in his voice. 

How he flinched once, hands reaching for the bat he’d hammered nails into under the bar when electricity had stuttered in a heatwave, lights flickering in the bar. 

(The bat itself, and the way Eddie had simply looked at the one Spellbound had as their only defense measure and declared it “fucking useless” had not helped the rough, survivalistic story they were all putting together.) 

Winter rolled back round to spring and then summer and whispers about his home life, about how he had to survive with all the rural cow farmers looking and acting like he did, how he obviously knew how to fight was practically old news by the time he first showed up in a cropped shirt. 

The scars that decorated his stomach still caught the attention of everyone at the bar, and more than once their little D&D group had tried to map out the shape of them, if only to figure out what the hell could cause such a dramatic injury. 

No one ever quite succeeded, but then, no one was brave enough to ask the man himself. 

What it did do, was cement the idea in everyone’s heads. 

Eddie Henderson/Buckley/Sinclair/Wheeler/and one time even Walmart--was a great guy, and one who could absolutely beat the shit out of almost everyone in the bar, hands down. 

Nothing he did over the years ever challenged that. If anything, Eddie only cemented it further, which is the only reason Elliot didn’t bolt the second the two of them came home from a shift and found a stranger in front of their door. 

Elliot, 5’4, formerly named Eleanor and still not on T despite making every clawing attempt towards it, wasn’t much of a match for an enraged, pissed off jock. 

But Eddie was. 

xXx 

The jock was the straightest looking man Elliot had ever laid eyes on. 

Bruises covered half his face and one eye, and he sported a nose that had clearly been recently bloodied. Judging from the scrapes on the back of his hands he hadn’t gotten them willingly--or maybe was just giving as good as he got. 

He was walking wildly back and forth in front of their garage, hands opening and closing, a look in his eyes that spoke of someone not entirely in control as he muttered audibly to himself. 

Given the preppy polo shirt, expensive looking shorts and shoes that practically shined, they were so new, he was comically out of place, even with the entire homicidal aura he had going on. 

(Given the descriptions of the assholes who had attacked Angel only four nights ago on their walk home, Elliot could only see the man as a monster preparing to attack.) 

He slammed to a stop, breath in his throat, entirely unsure of what to do.

Thankfully, Eddie was right behind him. 

Eddie, who could probably beat this guy and six others bloody. Eddie who carried a knife. Eddie who terrified Elliot sometimes, but not the same way the idea of getting hate crimed did, Eddie who--

Who was coming up besides Elliot, looking both alarmed and confused and not at all challenging the homicidal rich boy. 

“Steve!?” Eddie said, voice high and surprised.

They both watched as the figure spun to face them, crazed look crumbling down to something Elliot couldn’t read. 

“Hey.” The supposed Steve said, rather miserably, shoulders hunched right before Eddie shot forward, hands hovering in the air like he wanted to touch but didn’t know where to start. 

“What the hell Harrington--did you lose another fight!?”

“I don’t lose every fight you know.” Steve snarked back, sounding exactly like every rich snob Elliot’s ever encountered. 

It’d get his back up, except Steve’s entire body was curving towards Eddie in obvious relief. “Henderson exaggerates.” 

Which was doubly confusing, given Eddie was supposedly a Henderson.

“Sorry for dropping by like this. Wasn’t close to anyone else, so I didn't know where else to go.” Steve continued, as Eddie finally stopped waving his hands around and instead began herding Steve through the door and to the kitchen. 

Confused, Elliot followed.

(What the fuck else was he supposed to do?) 

“I thought you were on a cruise?”  Eddie challenged, sounding more and more normal as he and Steve traded banter. 

“I was. Clearly, I’m not anymore.” 

“Steve.” Eddie said, voice almost pleading as he patted the only empty spot on their counter, before turning to fish a bag of peas out of the fridge. 

(Had Elliot ever heard him plead like that? Had he thought Eddie even capable?) 

Steve jumped up on it like a dog that had been asked to perform a trick, while Elliot hovered in the living room, watching it all go down across the little half wall that separated the two spaces. 

“Did I just see pop tarts in your freezer?” Steve asked instead of answering. 

“Don’t distract me, you dick. Put this on your face.” 

And so they went, instantly and immediately comfortable, two people who clearly had known each other for a long time trading insults and catching up while Eddie tried unsuccessfully to pull what happened out of Steve via an increasing number of ridiculous nicknames. 

He’d worked his way past ‘Stevie’ and was well on his way to calling the stranger things like ‘big boy’ by the time Anders came home from her shift at the record store. 

Swaned through various other, mildly incriminating nicknames until he saw something that made him start cursing, at which point he rapidly fell down the nickname rabbit hole, landing at a final; 

“Come on Sweetheart, you look like someone tried to kill you! Just tell me what happened!”

Jake, who had just waltzed in the front door, blinked wildly. 

“Eddie has a guest.” Anders informed him, handing their roommate an open beer from the pile she’d put on the floor as he slammed to a halt. 

Took in their intruder so starkly out of place on the kitchen counter, nestled between twin pride flags and a poster for Eddie’s band like a misplaced catalog model.

“I don’t understand what’s happening.” Jake said flatly, as Steve grumbled something lowly at their fearless DM, and Eddie flicked his nose in retaliation. 

"He's from Indiana," Elliot offered, the closest thing to an explanation he had. "Same town as Eddie."

He hesitated, then added, "I think."

It was all he’d managed to piece together, the conversation had been all over the place.

“Steven Madonna Harrington,” Eddie snapped finally, spinning to pin his guest with a glare, “you either tell me what happened or I’m calling Robin.” 

‘Madonna?’ Anders mouthed at Elliot, as if that was the weirdest part of this entire situation. 

Steve kicked at Eddie lightly. “She has finals this week you jerk.”

Eddie slammed both his hands down on the counter, one on either side of Steve’s hips, staring up challengingly. 

It put him almost directly in between Steve’s legs, bringing their faces intimately close together. 

“And she’s gonna lose her shit when she finds out her platonic with a capital P soulmate ditched off that family cruise he’s been dreading for months, looking like he decided to take up backyard boxing, and then came to my place instead of calling her first--” 

“Fine! Fine, you underhanded asshole. Tommy was on that stupid Alaska cruise. Decided he wanted to reconnect.” 

“Hagan did all this!?” 

“Oh no, this is from my dad.” Steve motioned to himself, a grim sort of amusement curling around the words. “He caught me and Tommy making out. Decided to have a little chat about how he disapproved.” 

“That is awful and we are returning to it immediately but first--Steve. Babe.” Eddie stared at him in clear dismay. “Tommy Hagan?”

Another eye roll, this one earning a wince from Steve as it agitated his bruises. “Not the time Mun--” 

Eddie coughed loudly right over the rest of whatever Steve was about to say, getting a weird look from everyone around him. 

“Henderson.” Eddie corrected softly. “They changed it to Henderson after all the uh.” He paused, as though trying to recall the word he wanted. Went with; “Earthquake.” 

That got some glee out of Steve. 

“You picked Dustin’s last name? Does he know?” 

“Fuck no dude, he’d never shut up about it.” Eddie put a hand on Steve’s thigh, jostling it lightly. “We’re not talking about me right now though. Your dad disowned you?”

“Supposedly.” Steve shrugged, like this was normal and not a huge ordeal. “I’ll check on my credit cards tomorrow, see if he’s serious.” 

Eddie’s stare was growing flat, fast. “Even if he isn’t, he beat the shit out of you.” 

“Yeah, well, everyone kinda does, I guess it was just his turn.” 

“Steve.”

“I’m kidding!” Then, in a far more serious tone; ‘I am sorry about crashing in like this. I can get out of your hair.” 

Eddie was already waiving a hand dismissively, head shaking, but Steve plowed forward anyway. 

“I mean it. The cruise stopped at a port near here and I needed to get off it before my dad decided disowning me and throwing all my shit over the rails weren’t enough.” 

Steve finally looked up, taking in all the people who were watching this play out like a TV sitcom. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your game night.” 

“There’s no game, they all live here.” He turned and glared, and got one embarrassed face and two entirely unapologetic ones in return. “They’re just enjoying the show.

‘It’s getting a five star rating so far.” Anders snarked at him. “Might lose a star, if one of the main actors keeps breaking the fourth wall, though.” 

Eddie flipped her off. 

“You’re not going anywhere looking like this. You are at minimum, staying here for the rest of the weekend.” 

“If you’re sure.” Steve said hesitantly. To the group at large, he added; “And no one minds me taking the couch.” 

“The couch is a shared communal space.” Eddie shot back instantly, before anyone else could protest. “You’re staying in my room.” 

“Oh.” Steve said, like he’d half expected, wanted even, Eddie to make that offer. “Okay.” 

“I am so confused right now.” Anders muttered, and Elliot could only nod along because, well. 

Yeah. 

Him too. 

“Come on, let’s get your stuff, I’ll show you around. Keep the peas on your face.”

“Eds, man, I don’t have any stuff. I was lucky to escape with my wallet.” Steve vollied, but hopped off the counter anyway, following Eddie as he was led up the stairs, towards the metalheads room. 

“This is the weirdest day of my life.” Jake announced when they’d disappeared. 

“It’s not over yet.” Anders said, cracking open another beer.  “Give it a bit.” 

“How on earth could this get any weirder?” Elliot muttered. 

“Well thanks Elliot.” Anders told him flatly. ‘If it wasn’t guaranteed before, it is now.” 

“How!?”

“She’s right bud, you challenged the fates.” Jake responded. “We’re in for it now.” 

(Given Steve never moved back out, they absolutely were.) 

Bonus

“You know.” Eddie said, and his voice was quiet but the house was fucking ancient and not in the best of shape, and thus Elliot heard him loud and clear through their shared wall. “I kiss a lot better than Tommy Hagan.”

“Not letting that one go anytime soon, huh?” Steve rumbled back. 

“I’m just saying! If you’re going to get disowned for a kiss, it should be a damn good one and not whatever limp noodle bullshit Hagan does. I saw him with Carol, he kisses like a puffer fish.” 

A low snicker, followed by; “He did kinda kiss like a fish.”

“See!?” Vindicated, Eddie grew louder in volume. “I could give you a kiss that would actually be worth all this shit! A proper kiss!” 

“You offering, Munson?”

“Well if the good knight Sir Harrington doth allow it--”

An ‘mmph!’ noise that took a moment for Elliot to translate as Steve kissing Eddie, which made this entire fucking day suddenly make a whole lot more sense. 

“If you stop all the nerd talk we can take it beyond a kiss.” 

“I can do that.” Eddie said, voice breathless. “I can definitely do that.” 

“Good.” 

Elliot snorted in amusement, before reality of their paper thin shared wall and the fact he was going to hear fucking everything asserted itself. 

He decided to go sleep on the couch.

[cinematicvests]

every time after this that the press tries to ask them about each other, they continue to go “who? don’t know him” and move on without answering any further

Actor!Steve and Singer!Eddie AU where they have some sort of rivalry going on. But, here’s the thing, the whole thing is made up by the press.

It starts when a reporter, during an interview, asks Steve what kind of music he listens to in his free time. Steve names a few artists, mostly pop with a few classic rock bands in between, which leads the reporter to ask if he’s a Corroded Coffin fan. They’re not classic rock, but they sure as hell are popular, but Steve just looks at the reporter and says, “never heard of them in my life.”

And he honestly hasn’t! But the press gets this out of context and of course Corroded Coffin fans are pretty pissed off, offended that someone as famous as actor Steve Harrington, king of period drama shows and romcom movies, is belittling their beloved band like that.

Another reporter, then, after a concert, asks Eddie what he thinks about Steve Harrington’s last interview, where he basically says Corroded Coffin’s music is shit, and Eddie just says, “I have no idea who you’re talking about.”

And he also hasn’t! Because they have been on tour for months, then they were working on new songs, and it’s been at least five fucking years since Eddie had enough spare time to watch a show. He’s also no fan of romcoms or period dramas, so even if he had had the time, there was no way he’d have watched anything Steve was in.

That’s enough for the press to go wild with stories about disagreements that never really happened and thousands, maybe millions, of people on the internet discussing Steve and Eddie’s rivalry and distaste for each other.

Neither Steve nor Eddie tries to explain the whole misunderstanding because, really, they both think it’s so funny how so many people are buying all this crap. Tabloids talk so often about their ‘rivalry’ that Steve does end up listening to Corroded Coffin and enjoys them a lot; he adds lots of their songs to his playlists. And Eddie finally caves and starts watching one of Steve’s period drama shows; he gets pretty addicted to them, and Steve is hot as hell, so that’s kind of a bonus.

One day, a couple of months after this started, Steve is scrolling his feed and sees a post on a gossip page about someone who said they heard someone telling some other person that they heard Eddie Munson threatening to beat Steve Harrington up if the actor didn’t stop saying shit about his music. The post is so obviously lying that Steve spends a good five minutes laughing. Then, on a whim, he DMs it to Eddie’s official page, with a message attached saying “Just please don’t beat up my face, I need it for work”.

Ten minutes later Eddie replies by sending a second post, this one also from a gossip page that claims their sources might have overheard Steve Harrington saying to his friends that Eddie Munson’s hair is the worst thing he’s ever laid eyes on, followed by a message saying “Sorry, but nobody says shit about my hair. It's hard work making these curls look so good.”

That’s how Eddie and Steve start talking, first just sending each other posts and articles they find funny about their made up rivalry. Somehow, this evolves into an actual conversation about other stuff, like their works, their lives, themselves.

They never really stop messaging each other, their weird work hours and busy schedules preventing them from actually meeting, even though they are dying to.

Then, four months into their unexpected friendship, Steve is in New York shooting a new romcom and Corroded Coffin is expected to play on a charity event there as well. And that’s how Steve and Eddie finally meet; at 1 a.m., on a Thursday, just after Steve wraps up shooting his new movie and Eddie finishes rehearsing for the concert he’s playing the next day. They go out for pizza, even though is freezing outside and they’re both tired as fuck.

The press and their fans are in shock when, a couple of months later, their official accounts announce, on a joint post, that Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson are happily dating and planning on going on an extended vacation together as soon as Corroded Coffin wraps up their tour. The couple also asks for people to respect their privacy and states that they don’t intend to give any interviews to discuss their relationship.

They spend the whole vacation laughing over the hundreds of posts and reaction videos their friends send them daily.

[cinematicvests]

I think as a culture we have all forgotten that fandom is supposed to be fun.

It’s not that serious.

It was never supposed to be that serious.

Especially since most of the drama and hurt revolves around shipping.

All of the ships are fictional. Being canon doesn’t actually negate the fact that the ship isn’t real. 

No ship, or any aspect of a fictional universe, is important enough to treat another real life human being badly. 

It’s not that serious.

[cinematicvests]

ahem.

oh damn, guess dropout lost their advertising deal with chompsky's

slay’s and not chomsky’s???

[cinematicvests]

okay wait. it occurs to me i could’ve made a funny haha joke. give me a minute.

slay’s and not chomsky’s???

[cinematicvests]

Steve’s not that much of a fan of coffee but he frequents the local coffee shop because Robin is and she also has a crush on the blonde barista, Chrissy. Steve doesn’t mind tagging along at all because he is a) an excellent wingman and b) ever so slightly enamoured with Eddie, Chrissy’s attractive, metalhead coworker, who always grumbles about the corporate machine making him tie his hair back and take off his rings for work.

Steve thinks the ponytail is cute, but the one time he said that, Eddie got all quiet on him and wouldn’t stop shooting Steve these looks he couldn’t quite get a read on. So naturally Steve assumes it’s a touchy subject and doesn’t bring it up again. Apart from that though, he feels like he gets on really well with Eddie and alway enjoys his company. He’s managed to make him laugh at least eight times since he and robin started going there. Robin’s been keeping count for him.

The issue is, lately Steve gets the feeling Chrissy is trying to hit on him, and it’s making him feel super guilty because she’s Robin’s crush and seems to be really close with Eddie too. Also, he’s not into her, but he doesn’t want to upset her because she seems like a genuine and sweet person.

It started when Chrissy handed over his usual to go cup and instead of his name, it had ‘handsome’ written on the side in marker with a cute little heart drawn under it. He had panicked so hard about Robin potentially seeing it that he downed the coffee when it was still hot, scolded the fuck out of his tongue and shoved the empty cup in the nearest trash can. He thought that his reaction would be enough to deter Chrissy, but they kept coming thick and fast, each one making Steve blush to the tips of his ears and feel a wave of guilt crash over him.

The messages kept getting more flirty each time too, some stand outs being:

‘Enjoy, sweetheart xx’

‘Hey there, pretty boy :) x’

‘Nice jeans, sweet cheeks ;)’

‘Hot tea for a hottie x’

‘The only thing sweeter than this drink is you, darling x’

And the final straw:

‘Call me, big boy xx’

The last one had a phone number underneath, and Steve felt his heart sink when he saw it. He’d thought eventually with him throwing away the cups so quickly - before he and robin even left the place most of the time- Chrissy would surely catch onto his lack of interest and stop at some point. However, it had only seemed to spur her on. This last one took it a step further, invited him to do something about all the others that came before it. Robin isn’t there with him today, so he assumes that’s what gave Chrissy the confidence boost to take a shot and he feels like such a shitty friend for not telling Chrissy to stop this earlier.

Now for several reasons, Steve would have the unfortunate task of letting her down gently. He decides it’s best to tear of the bandaid and just do it right away so there’s no room for miscommunication. She’s gone back to the till to take someone else’s order, so Steve joins the back of the line, the offending cup of coffee in hand.

As he approaches the front she catches sight of him and frowns for a second, but then plasters on her usual bubbly, customer service smile. “Is there something wrong with your order, Steve?” she asks, sounding upset at the idea and twisting the knife in Steve’s chest a little further.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs heavilly, he glances around to see if anyone is listening in before speaking because he doesn’t want to cause her any embarrassment. “Look, I’m really flattered, honestly,” Steve says, placing his cup down on the surface and turning it so the message faces Chrissy, “but I have a friend who thinks you’re really cute and I’m kind of interested in your coworker.” He lowers his voice for the second part. “So I’m really sorry, but I can’t call you.”

He’s bracing himself for a negative reaction, but then he’s bewildered when a bright giggle bursts out of Chrissy’s glossy pink lips instead. She continues to let out little peels of laughter, only stopping when she registers his look of utter confusion.

“Steve, I’m not the one who’s been making your drinks all this time, I’ve just been handing them to you.”

“Then who-“

“You better hang on to this one, beautiful. I’ve seen too many of my previous masterpieces go unappreciated.” Eddie interrupts, leaning on Chrissy’s shoulder with a devlish grin. “I’ll be expecting that call later, big boy,” he says before winking at Steve playfully and going straight back to fulfilling orders.

Steve’s jaw drops and his face burns, and all of a sudden that little paper cup is the most precious item he’s ever recieved. Part of him wants to go back and locate all the previous ones he threw away, but he knows that they’re long gone by now and that Eddie would probably lose interest in him quickly if he saw him trying to climb in the bin for a better look.

Stece settles on guarding the cup he has, the most important one, with his life instead. And he does so up until the end of the day, when his shift finishes and he’s back to the safety of his house. Before doing anything, he makes a beeline straight for the phone and presses in the number he now knows off by heart after hours of reading it off the side of the cup.

The call is picked up after the second ring.

“Eddie?” Steve asks.

“Hey, Stevie.” Steve tries to ignore the way his chest flutters at the nickname. “So, I was thinking… how would you like to see me with my hair down?”

Steve beams brightly. “I’d love that.”

Coffee could possibly become one of Steve’s favourite things.

[cinematicvests]

as ever op hid gold in the tags:

eventually everyone but Steve is like let’s go slash Mr harrington’s tires. there ends up being at least 3 holes per tire because everyone wanted to get a slash in

Steve’s like, “Why is everyone saying I had a weird childhood. I had a normal childhood.”

Dustin: Because your childhood was weird. Hope this helps.

Erica: Didn’t your dad hit you with a car?

Steve: That was one time

Robin, while Steve is making the stop talking gesture: You told me it happened twice

Hopper: Twice?

Steve:

Hopper: Twice?!

[cinematicvests]

Sam Reich: I'm tired of Game Changer being considered psychological torture

Also Sam Reich: in lieu of a timer I'm going to have Tao Yang run at you while screaming