#A Corroded Coffin that is always the first band that has a cover for every new edition of the Pop Goes Punk /Metal albums

[parawhore-mp3]

Thanks to rockstar Eddie Munson, his band Corroded Coffin are known as "those guys who are always covering pop songs". He makes the band play metal versions of those catchy bubblegum popular songs because he says that his partner, Steve, likes them. And so he has the band play a different cover at every gig (despite sometimes getting shit from haters saying that he's selling out and going pop), because he knows that Steve will be losing his shit to those songs every night.

It doesnt take long until Steve and Robin start a game in which they try to guess what the boys are going to be covering at every show. They make a new version of the whiteboard they had at scoops ahoy, so they keep track of their individual scores. (Steve may or may not be trying to 'interrogate' Eddie at home when he's distracted, so that he can get some songs right and get an upper hand on Robin, cause somehow she keeps guessing the right song every time!)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiesongfics.

If He Wanted To, He Would

July Prompt: Any Song Lyrics | Word Count: 2000 | Rating: T | CW: Language | Tags: Eddie POV, Modern Setting, Sports AU, Rockstar Eddie, Baseball Player Steve, Very Public Love Affair, Corroded Coffin, Good Uncle Wayne Munson

I've used lyrics from Take Me Out to the Ball Game & Blank Space.

Even the news is covering it. 

That's fucking ridiculous. There's an animated graphic, a live tracker of where his plane is, a moving dot over the Atlantic, like it's Christmas Eve and he's Santa Claus.

Eddie's gonna make it. He was always gonna make it, even as the press ran the numbers, the miles, and milked every ounce of drama out of it.

He made game one, and game four, and now he's racing back from playing Wembley in London to make it for game seven. The media has tried to sell the idea that Steve wanted the World Series to go to seven, just so Eddie would be able to attend.

Eddie's glad he's getting to see it, of course he is, but if they could have swept it in four, or locked it down in five or six, that would have been fucking awesome. Even if that meant Eddie missed seeing it live, and had to watch on television, in the middle of the night, across the world.

There are a shitton of tiktoks every week, dissecting their every move, looking for easter eggs. Eddie is just living his life, even if a million people are always watching him like a fucking hawk.

Goodie is walking back from the beer garden in the stadium, carrying his plastic cup in his mouth as he fiddles with something in his hands. Not spilling a goddamn drop. Eddie can only see this because he's being broadcast onto the stadium jumbotron.

When he climbs the stairs into the suite, Eddie asks, "Where's Gareth?"

"Got spotted. Now he's taking pictures. I just slipped away unnoticed. Sucker," Goodie says, putting his cup down on the table.

"Unnoticed, huh?" Eddie teases. He won't tell him. He'll just wait until Goodie sees it online for himself. "There's free beer back there you know?" Eddie asks. Neither one of them needed to venture out into the crowd.

Goodie shrugs, "I wanted this kind."

He could have had that kind, could have had any kind, if he'd just asked for it. But no, he wanted to be out among the people. 

None of them are particularly fond of baseball, but they are fond of Steve, so here they are. The whole band doesn't always come, but it's the championship game, so they did.

And the score has been 1-0 forever. 

Wayne is pacing. Unlike them, he loves baseball, even if he's been a little turncoat, switching teams like a lifetime of dedication meant nothing at all. He's gotten a little shit from his friends back home, but Eddie thinks it's honestly very sweet. Eddie loves that Wayne likes Steve enough to put him and his team as his number one with a bullet, now.

It helps that Steve's part of a fucking dynasty. It's fun to win, even Eddie gets that.

Wayne doesn't always hang out in suites. More often than not, he'd rather sit in the stands. Focus on the baseball, not the celebrity that's now surrounding it. But Wayne's been dragged into their highly publicized love affair, and now he's starting to get recognized all on his own, so Eddie worries. 

Plus, he'd rather have him right here, where they can spend time together.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. 

"3-2," Wayne answers.

Eddie's distracted, filling his plate with the various appetizers that came with the steep price of the private suite. Sliders, pigs in a blanket, and all kinds of other fancified versions of comfort food. He's just scooping some mac & cheese on his plate when he hears his main guitar riff from Buckwild. He puts down his plate, making his way to the big windows just in time to see Steve step towards the batter's box. 

Steve only changes his walk-up music to Corroded Coffin when Eddie's in attendance. He currently walks-up to Milkshake, which is fucking hilarious. He's one of the first openly out players, and he really leans into it, changing up his walk-up music, usually to something a little queer. Eddie knows it's partially to poke fun at himself first, before anyone else can. 

But tonight, it's his song. Eddie's sure he's being broadcast on the jumbotron from some camera he can't even see, and may even be on live television. Eddie watches as Steve briefly points his bat, and at first Eddie thinks Steve's calling his shot, but no. Not unless he's intending to hit a foul ball.

No, he gestured at Eddie. At least where he assumed Eddie would be.

Eddie fiddles with the rings on his hand, moving from finger to finger, twisting them around and around as Steve swings and misses for the second time. Eddie can hardly watch, it makes him so nervous.

"What's the count?" Eddie asks. It's the only question he knows to ask.

"2-2," Wayne says from somewhere behind him. Wayne doesn't stand at the front when it's likely the camera is on them. Eddie gets it, he does, but he'd like him at his side. The windows are open tonight, and the fans in the seats in front of the suite have leaned up to talk to them, to get things signed, and Eddie has done it. They all have. Waving off security.

Nobody is being shitty, just excited, and Eddie's grateful he's been accepted by most of Steve's fans. There was always the fear that he'd be seen as a distraction, and sure, that's been a bit of the narrative, but Steve's in the goddamn World Series. His head is obviously still in the game.

Eddie signed a custom Corroded Coffin jersey with Steve's number on the back earlier, and if that wasn't fucking weird and delightful. And Harrington jerseys have been increasingly spotted at their gigs, from one in the crowd, to a dozen or more.

Steve takes the next ball, and Eddie was terrible at baseball as a kid. He swung at everything. He never had the self-control to wait for something good. 

He's glad he grew out of that, at least a little, because he waited, and now he has Steve. A goddamn home run in human form. 

Eddie's relieved when he hears the crack of the bat finally making contact with the ball, and he watches intently until Steve's safely on first, Eddie leaning out of the open box window, hanging onto the frame, screaming.

He rights himself, clapping hard as he spins in a circle, screaming some more.

Then, Eddie watches as Steve steals second on a wild pitch, and the stadium sound system blares to life with Gimme Three Steps.

Steve dusts himself off from his slide in, and Eddie is so fucking smitten. 

And his ass looks damn good in those pants. His milkshake did bring Eddie to the yard.

It's the seventh-inning stretch, and Eddie hears the familiar, "for it's one, two, three strikes, you're out," being sung by the entire stadium.

He's nervous now. More nervous than he ever is going on stage anymore.

They've made it this far, and he wants Steve to win the whole thing. 

They do win. Steve fielded a grounder, whipped it to first base, and with one last out, it was finally over. Gloves being thrown in the air, lots of hugs and jumping up and down.

Steve did it.

And Eddie smiles.

Steve isn't released, not yet. There'll be interviews, and a parade that Eddie unfortunately can't attend, so Eddie only gets a few minutes in the tunnel with him. Some stolen kisses and a silly groped handful, just giving Steve's cup a squeeze, to make him laugh. 

It's all too brief, but he'll see him soon. 

They go from the game straight back to the airport, Goodie and Gareth both pretty drunk after too many celebratory shots, leaving Jeff and him to babysit as they get wheels up, to head back across the pond. Their world tour, waiting.

They'll make it. 

Steve swears jet-lag is a choice, and Eddie's choosing to believe him.

Another city, and his turn on the big stage, as Eddie looks out towards the VIP tent. Steve waves with both hands over his head, making himself larger, more easily seen.

Steve attended a few Monday shows with Robin, when their schedules lined up enough to allow it. But now his season is over. He's a fucking world champion, and it's the offseason, which is Eddie's new favorite word.

If he'd known he'd fall in love with a sportsball guy, he would have made sure their tour had a lengthy break during this magical offseason.

Next year.

And Eddie is confident that next year is a given. That's how in he is with their relationship, with Steve. They both have their own lives, their own fame, their own increasingly busy schedules. But they make it work, because they want it to work.

The fans have dubbed all their crisscrossing travel as "if he wanted to, he would" and have been straight up swooning. 

Eddie likes that thought, because he does want to, and he knows Steve wants to, too.

He's committed to this thing, and so is Steve. And if that means flying for hours to be there for the important shit, even if you have to turn around and fly right back, well fuck, you do it. And you don't even think about it.

Eddie slips in a pop cover, mid-set, just being silly, because he wants to shout out Steve a little bit extra tonight. He sings and when he gets to "'cause you know I love the players, and you love the game" and the crowd gets behind it. Steve, too, if his hands in the air are any indication. 

He's a pop girlie at heart, and Eddie loves him for it.

Steve is comfortable in his own skin, and he likes what he likes. He's supportive of Eddie, of Corroded Coffin, and very demonstrative with his affection and admiration. The love is always free-flowing. But, heavy metal isn't his thing. Not really. And that's okay.

So, a little pop is injected for his benefit, Eddie saying 'I love you for who you are' right back.

Buckwild is last, is always last, and Steve's here, so that means a subtle lyric change. He only does it when Steve's in attendance, and it makes the crowd go wild. Changing one word is enough to send them into a frenzy, like they're part of something special and sacred.

They are.

When he approaches the lyric, Steve has moved closer, right at the stage, in front of the barricade, and puts his hand up to his ear, hyping the crowd, getting ready for it, and Eddie can hardly sing through his fucking smile.

When they exit the stage, the first face he sees is Steve's, and Steve opens his arms and Eddie hugs him, pulling back and kissing him, over and over.

He's the one. 

The one he loves.

The one he'll marry.

The one. Period.

Steve waves to the crowd that's gathered to watch, and then he puts his arm around Eddie's waist, ushering him away, one more show over.

In bed, Eddie rests his head against Steve's bare chest. These last few weeks have been different, brand new, and exciting. It's the first time they've really gotten to feel like they're coming home to each other. Getting to be in the same place for an extended period of time, Steve following the tour.

Steve brushes Eddie's bangs off his face, and kisses his forehead.

"You were amazing tonight," Steve whispers, and Eddie grins. 

"So were you, working the crowd," Eddie says.

Steve laughs, and Eddie loves it. Steve's not shy. He's had all the media training, probably more than Eddie, because he's got a brand, a team, to protect. Eddie just runs his mouth at-will, always has.

Steve doesn't hide backstage where Eddie can't see him, no, he always makes sure he's supporting Eddie out loud and with his whole goddamn chest.

So, because he wants to, he does.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiesongfics and follow along with the fun! 🎶

Notes: Obviously inspired by the very public relationship of Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce. Goodie carrying the beer in his teeth is straight up a shoutout to Jason Kelce doing that at the Eras tour. 🍺

This one was so hard to stop writing for at the 2k max word count, lol.

[shares-a-vest]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 8: Miscommunication

wc: 657 | Rated: T | cw: Angst with Unhappy Ending

Tags: Literal Miscommunication, Missing Someone, Angst with Unhappy/Ambiguous Ending, Rockstar Eddie Munson, Teacher Steve Harrington, Modern Universe

'Steve's Bed'

Steve stares up at the big, stupid canopy hanging over the bed and folds his arms.

What’s the point of such a luxurious, expensive bed if he has to spend so much time in it alone? If he had known that matrimony with a rockstar was going to be like this, well –

Well, maybe he wouldn’t have not not married Eddie Munson but… He would have seriously considered just staying in Hawkins. Or maybe moving to Chicago with Robin. Or Dustin’s fucking college campus where the kid teaches!

Steve frowns – maybe that last one is a little weird.

But at least he would have someone. Instead of a gigantic bed that has been his alone for so long, he can’t even detect Eddie’s cologne and (still) cheap shampoo on his side of the bed.

A side of the bed that isn’t really owned by someone else anymore.

It is just Steve’s bed.

And he hates it.

He isn’t naive. He knew Corroded Coffin would be touring for months to celebrate their most recent album.

But there were supposed to be breaks at most, phone calls at least.

Even if he doesn’t get to see Eddie in person, he should be able to talk to him or video call.

But nope.

At first, it was a few missed connections. The tour bus was out of range of service on and off, then the hotel Wi-Fi was shoddy. Then Steve discovered that someone at the label screwed up part of the itinerary, so the copies he had on the refrigerator, in his work bag and at his desk at school became all but useless.

When a call finally did come, Eddie was tired and filled with excuses. When it was Steve's turn to talk, he knew his husband was barely listening.

And then it happened again.

And again. Over and over.

Eddie was always distracted or in the middle of doing something else. Even when he said he was available to talk.

Steve used to be able to brush it all off. Have more patience.

He screws his eyes shut, begging the universe (and his brain) to let him get some shut-eye. He needs to start grading papers the moment he gets to school tomorrow.

But his mind is a race of every instance he hasn’t talked to Eddie. Every moment he was almost able to talk to Eddie. Every moment he wanted to. Needed to.

And each time it made him ache.

His heart is aching.

Perhaps more than ever before.

The thing is, he foolishly thought that the whole Rockstar Thing might be temporary. Maybe it's even selfish for Steve to have ever thought that way. He just figured that after they both hit forty, Eddie and the rest of the band might want to slow down. Even settle down.

Hell, he thought that would happen when they finally got married.

But somehow, it got worse.

More lonely.

Steve pulls back the covers, hoping that a late-night snack might lull him into some sort of food coma to get him through the next few hours. He grabs his phone and shucks on a navy-blue robe embossed with his initials, ‘SM’ now.

He clenches his phone in his hand as he walks down the long and winding main hall of the penthouse, mulling over whether he should call Robin at this hour. Steve gathers the collar of his robe tight to his chest, chilled now that he is out of bed. It might be too big and have the world’s most extravagant canopy, but at least the covers are warm.

He grinds to a halt, just shy of the cavernous living area. The whole place has become some sick and twisted version of his former family home. An empty place. Devoid of life. Where he is left cold and alone.

Steve unlocks his phone and squints against the bright screen light, searching for his lawyer’s number.

[werepuppy-steve]

strawberry wine

real life has got me feeling stressed and uncertain so, naturally, i started thinking about a previous fic, which can also be read here

The kitchen’s dark, save for the light above the sink. Steve is elbow deep in soapy dish water when the radio on the china hutch behind him clicks on, a soft country ballad trickling into the quiet space. Arms wrap around his waist and Steve huffs a laugh as he reaches for the dish rag to dry his hands.

He turns in Eddie’s arms and is met with an expression that’s so open and full of love. It still catches Steve off guard sometimes, still not used to being loved by someone who proudly shows all of his emotions on his sleeve.

Eddie takes Steve’s hand in his as they sway in the dim light. Steve buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder and closes his eyes, letting him take the lead.

I still remember

When thirty was old

My biggest fear was September

When he had to go

The lyrics are like an arrow in Steve’s stomach. He grips Eddie’s shoulder tighter and presses closer to him as they continue to sway in the slow circle. Eddie just rubs a soothing hand up and down his back.

A few cards and letters

And one long distance call

We drifted away

Like the leaves in the fall

Doesn’t mention the tears seeping through his shirt or the way Steve’s shoulders wrack with silent sobs. Eddie presses a kiss above his hair and holds him tighter while he croons softly.

Strawberry wine and seventeen

The hot July moon, saw everything

My first taste of love

Whoa, bittersweet

“I don’t want you to go,” Steve admits against his shoulder, feeling a bit like a child throwing a tantrum. He thinks he’s allowed to be a little selfish when it feels like his whole world is being ripped away from him.

Robin’s transferring her community college credits to a state school after her gap year ends and the kids are a month away from graduation and starting their own college journeys.

Corroded Coffin’s been noticed. Their gigs at The Hideout have been growing ever since Eddie’s name was cleared and the murder charges were dropped and there was an actual scout at their last one. Talked to the band and showed them a pretty picture of fame and fortune.

And a way out of this cursed town.

And Steve? Steve has no idea where he’s headed in life. He gave college a try three separate times after Vecna and dropped out each time after a semester. Too stupid to understand what his professors were talking about and unable to keep up with the workload while also working full time.

What good is he if the world isn’t ending? If he isn’t being the protector, the body they need when shit goes sideways (it always goes sideways.) His parents were at least kind enough to pay off the mortgage and cover the utilities for at least a year before they fucked off to God knows where, but once that’s up? Family Video only pays so much and he’s definitely not being paid to drive the brats around every weekend.

“I know,” Eddie says, because they’ve already talked about it. The band’s been invited up to Chicago to meet with label executives next month to let them hear some samples of their music, and that means the possibility of signing a contract and finally getting their big break.

Steve is so, so proud of him.

He’s also so, so lost.

They’ve stopped dancing. Eddie is still running his fingertips along his spine comfortingly. Steve sniffs and pulls back just enough to look at him. His boyfriend has opted for a flannel over a band t-shirt today. Steve fiddles with the collar and doesn’t meet Eddie’s concerned eyes.

“But you have to go.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “I can’t hold you back from something you’ve waited your whole life for.” He gives Eddie a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Corroded Coffin is your baby.”

Eddie cups his face and frowns. “You’ll always come first, you know that, right? Even if I’m on the other side of the world, as soon as you say the word, I’ll come right back to you.”

Steve does know that, and it scares the absolute shit out of him. Being loved so completely and unconditionally. It’s been almost three years and he’s is ashamed to admit he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to wake up and realize he could do so much better than a washed-up has-been who peaked in high school.

For him to realize that Steve Harrington isn’t actually a good dude after all.

But he wants this thing with Eddie to last longer than three years. He wants forever with him and he can only hope that Eddie wants the same. So he swallows down his insecurities and self doubt and leans into Eddie’s space, pressing their noses together and taking the lead of the dance this time.

“I promise not to call too often, then.”

taglist (mutuals lmk if you want to be added!): @yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy

@tboygareth @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual

@theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie

@corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @simplebtromance

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 30 - Fame & Fortune

Summary: Fame and fortune mean nothing when you can't do things for the people who matter the most.

Word Count: 943

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Not FOI compliant (Eddie's mom dies when he's 10 or 11), angst, hurt/comfort-ish, minor grief, fluffy, Eddie has a big heart

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! There's only one day left after today, but you can still participate.

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Eddie Munson was used to going without.

Shit, he’d gone without for most of his life.

When he was younger and his mom was still alive, he didn’t necessarily know that he was missing out on anything.

She did the best she could. Cooked hearty meals the way a real midwesterner knew how to do—the kinds that stuck to your bones on those cold winter nights—and made sure every dollar stretched as far as it could. That way they could have anything they needed.

And even some of the things they wanted.

Wayne upheld those practices once Mom had passed, and by the time Eddie was old enough to understand the things he might have missed out on, or the things his mom and uncle sacrificed, well…he did his best to make it up to Wayne on both of their behalfs.

Admittedly, he'd been a little selfish when the first real check came in, the first big one. Souped up the van, got it a new paintjob, a little airbrushed mural on the side that matched the cover of the first album. Replaced some ratty old t-shirts, bought some new expensive boots.

He wasn't sure what Italian leather was and if it was different to American leather but the price sure was higher so that had to mean it was better, right?

But the second check, the whole thing, went to Wayne. Despite many protests and complaints on the phone.

"You said you were sending me a little something. To help make ends meet," Wayne scolded him. "That's all I agreed to."

"La la la, I can't hear you." He and Wayne shared a laugh. "Do whatever you want with it. Cash it and put it in that coffee can under the sink. Get a new car. At least get the radiator fixed on that old clunker."

"Eddie--"

"Wayne, please. Let me do this."

The next few checks were for him again. The thing about growing up without everything you want is that when you got older and you had the ability to have them...well, suddenly you had all of it.

And Eddie had all of it.

Before long his apartment was full of too much shit that his inner child desired--action figures and that really nice minifig set for DnD and all the books he could ever dream of and several really nice guitars. It wasn't until he came home with some obnoxious model of the Death Star and that he realized he might have gone too far.

That's when he tried to go back to Wayne again.

"Oh no. No more. Why don't you do something nice for yourself?" his uncle suggested.

"I've already done enough nice stuff for myself."

"Put the money in the bank. Save it for a rainy day."

"I'm already doing that too!" Eddie threw a hand in the air and then mashed it on the top of his head. "You know if mom was still around, she would let me do something nice for her. A house. New clothes. Slippers! You remember how she always wanted new slippers for her birthday?"

"You'd ask for all the change from the cupholder in the car every time I picked you up from school so you could get them for her," Wayne reminisced.

Both of the Munson men sighed over the phone, thousands of miles apart but still sharing their forlorn thoughts.

Then Eddie had an idea.

He didn't even give Wayne a chance to tell him whether or not he thought it was good. To Eddie, it was brilliant.

And it was.

He said a quick goodbye and started making phone call after phone call to see if it could happen. The band's manager, Phil, might have been curious about the request, but was still happy to help.

It was not as wild as some other things he'd been asked to do for clients throughout his career. And for that he was grateful.

A few weeks later and everything was set.

Eddie got a flight home, just a quick visit. Crashed on the couch at the trailer--but not after a bickering match with Wayne about moving into a double wide at the very least--and then went about the business that he needed to.

He drove his rental car across town to the old graveyard, and then started his trek.

Elizabeth Munson was laid to rest in 1975; her funeral had been unremarkable but attended by many friends. Neighbors, the regulars at Benny's, people she'd gone to high school with.

Eddie remembered the way a few people had passed some cash off to his uncle.

"Get her a better headstone," they murmured, over and over, glancing at the roughly hewn stone marker set into the ground. "She was a real angel."

He'd asked Wayne about it years later, and Wayne just scratched his head trying to remember. Sure, some of the money had been used for the funeral, but the rest probably went to things that Eddie needed.

School shoes and a new winter jacket.

His mom had gone without once more, so that he could have things he needed.

He hadn't thought about it until the other night on the phone.

And now, instead of that headstone in his memory, there on her grave sat a monument of red granite with an angel embracing the epitaph in its arms.

It was big and maybe a little gaudy compared to some of the adjacent graves, but it was an emotional sight to see.

He ran his hand over it reverently, tracing his finger over his mother's name with a soft, "Hey ma."

And nothing less than what she deserved.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Not per se a prompt or something but I NEED more shirtless guitar Eddie pretty please <3

Say less babeyyyyy

Eddie had a bit of a thing for attention, Steve was used to it. He loved it, even when it was negative attention.

But the positive attention was even more welcome.

When he performed with Corroded Coffin at a new bar a few towns over, he decided to take off his shirt.

The crowd went wild.

And then Eddie went wild.

It became his signature move.

Every show people cheered for him to take off his shirt.

He always did.

Steve always loved seeing his boyfriend shirtless, he just didn’t like anyone else seeing him shirtless.

He was jealous and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Especially when he was crowded by hot girls (and guys) after every show, practically on their knees begging for his attention.

It’s not that he thought Eddie would do anything, he knew he wouldn’t.

He knew Eddie loved him, would come find him at the end of the night and work out his adrenaline in the best ways with Steve.

But it didn’t change the fact that Steve was jealous.

Especially when they played at the queer bar in Indy.

Every guy in the place, even the ones who came with a date, threw themselves at him.

Steve has to watch Eddie flirt just enough to keep them interested in the band, but not enough for them to actually latch onto him.

Eddie took his shirt off during the second song, sweat already beading down his chest.

His newest tattoo, a nail bat being held by a dragon, covered his side with the worst scars.

He was showing off his new nipple piercing, too.

He was possibly the hottest person in the country, and everyone knew it.

Steve watched the tendons in his arms flex as he played his guitar, his ab muscles tightening when he fell to his knees and leaned back through his longest solo.

Steve couldn’t blame everyone for losing their minds over him, not really.

But he made his way to the side of the stage during the last song so he could be the first with his hands on him.

Maybe he was claiming what was his, but it needed to be done.

It was safe to do that here.

As soon as Eddie was off the stage, Steve jumped into his arms, wrapping his legs around his waist.

He was dripping sweat, but he didn’t care.

He traced along his necklace, smiling down at the man he loved.

“Do you have to talk to everyone or can we go?”

“Sweetheart, you know I gotta hang around for a little bit at least.”

“But I want you.”

Whining always worked.

Eddie kissed his neck once, twice, then bit next to his collarbone.

“Just let me tell the guys.”

Steve smirked to himself as he got down and let Eddie tell the rest of the band he was heading out.

He knew Eddie would spend the next four hours edging him, fucking him on every surface of the hotel room, making him feel like his.

That’s all he wanted.

[scoops-stevie-archive]

strawberry wine

piggybacking off this post now on ao3

The kitchen's dark, save for the light above the sink. Steve is elbow deep in soapy dish water when the radio on the china hutch behind him clicks on, a soft country ballad trickling into the quiet space. Arms wrap around his waist and Steve huffs a laugh as he reaches for the dish rag to dry his hands.

He turns in Eddie's arms and is met with an expression that's so open and full of love. It still catches Steve off guard sometimes, still not used to being loved by someone who proudly shows all of his emotions on his sleeve.

Eddie takes Steve's hand in his as they sway in the dim light. Steve buries his face in Eddie's shoulder and closes his eyes, letting him take the lead.

I still remember When thirty was old My biggest fear was September When he had to go

The lyrics are like an arrow in Steve's stomach. He grips Eddie's shoulder tighter and presses closer to him as they continue to sway in the slow circle. Eddie just rubs a soothing hand up and down his back.

A few cards and letters And one long distance call We drifted away Like the leaves in the fall

Doesn't mention the tears seeping through his shirt or the way Steve's shoulders wrack with silent sobs. Eddie presses a kiss above his hair and holds him tighter while he croons softly.

Strawberry wine and seventeen The hot July moon, saw everything My first taste of love Whoa, bittersweet

"I don't want you to go," Steve admits against his shoulder, feeling a bit like a child throwing a tantrum. He thinks he's allowed to be a little selfish when it feels like his whole world is being ripped away from him.

Robin's transferring her community college credits to a state school after her gap year ends and the kids are a month away from graduation and starting their own college journeys.

Corroded Coffin's been noticed. Their gigs at The Hideout have been growing ever since Eddie's name was cleared and the murder charges were dropped and there was an actual scout at their last one. Talked to the band and showed them a pretty picture of fame and fortune.

And a way out of this cursed town.

And Steve? Steve has no idea where he's headed in life. He gave college a try three separate times after Vecna and dropped out each time after a semester. Too stupid to understand what his professors were talking about and unable to keep up with the workload while also working full time.

What good is he if the world isn't ending? If he isn't being the protector, the body they need when shit goes sideways (it always goes sideways.) His parents were at least kind enough to pay off the mortgage and cover the utilities for at least a year before they fucked off to God knows where, but once that's up? Family Video only pays so much and he's definitely not being paid to drive the brats around every weekend.

"I know," Eddie says, because they've already talked about it. The band's been invited up to Chicago to meet with label executives next month to let them hear some samples of their music, and that means the possibility of signing a contract and finally getting their big break.

Steve is so, so proud of him.

He's also so, so lost.

They've stopped dancing. Eddie is still running his fingertips along his spine comfortingly. Steve sniffs and pulls back just enough to look at him. His boyfriend has opted for a flannel over a band t-shirt today. Steve fiddles with the collar and doesn't meet Eddie's concerned eyes.

"But you have to go." He sounds like he's trying to convince himself. "I can't hold you back from something you've waited your whole life for." He gives Eddie a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Corroded Coffin is your baby."

Eddie cups his face and frowns. "You'll always come first, you know that, right? Even if I'm on the other side of the world, as soon as you say the word, I'll come right back to you."

Steve does know that, and it scares the absolute shit out of him. Being loved so completely and unconditionally. It's been almost three years and he's ashamed to admit he's still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to wake up and realize he could do so much better than a washed-up has-been who peaked in high school.

For him to realize that Steve Harrington isn't actually a good dude after all.

But he wants this thing with Eddie to last longer than three years. He wants forever with him and he can only hope that Eddie wants the same. So he swallows down his insecurities and self doubt and leans into Eddie's space, pressing their noses together and taking the lead of the dance this time.

"I promise not to call too often, then."

[uglypastels]

Corroded Coffin, Alea Iacta Est (1995)

When Corroded Coffin released their fourth album, Alea Iacta Est, last November, making sure it would be on every metalhead's Wish-list for the holiday season, the last thing we would expect to come next was the heartbreaking announcement of the group's disbandment.

After 3 record-breaking albums, 4 sold out tours [the last of which covered most of the biggest stadiums in the country and a 4-night residency in Madison Square Garden], 7 accumulated Grammy nominations and over 20 other award wins, it seemed like the band was just reaching their peak, with decades of success ahead of them.

And yet, fans were met with the tragedy of a headline last week as the news of the break up broke out with a statement from the team's management at Black Widow Records:

It is with a heavy heart and great sadness that we, on behalf of Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Doug, announce the unfortunate ending to Corroded Coffin. With the utmost acknowledgement and gratitude to the fans who have supported them over the past nine years, the band leaves you all with this message-

"The last few years have been an undeniable whirlwind of emotions and excitement. One that we had hoped for since we were young rascals terrorising playgrounds but, even in our wildest dreams, never really expected to realise. These expectations, however, were also met with a harsh reality of new challenges that we, as individuals and as a group, were not prepared to face and hardly able to conquer. As hard as it was to come to terms with our decision, we realise it will be hard for some to understand, and so, we apologise to our fans who will always remain deep in our hearts."

The band and its managing team have refused to make any further comments on the situation despite having had planned [and now canceled] a hefty press tour in the upcoming days, which would lead to the release of the newest album's corresponding documentary, Corroded Coffin: Alea Iacta Est.

The film, coming out May 15th, has been advertised as an insight into the creative process of the band's latest [and what now seems to be the last] record; however, with the sombre news hovering over our heads, perhaps some other things about the band might be revealed? Fans speculate that the documentary will show the tensions that have allegedly been in the band for years and that might have triggered the sudden separation.

Perhaps it might delve into other scandals that have made Corroded Coffin the hot topic of the last few months. What about the endless feuds the band had been getting into in the industry? The infamous night at the AMAs? The alleged substance abuse?

There only seem to be more questions than answers at the moment, and in reality, it is highly unlikely that the public will be let in on the truth any time soon, as often goes in these circumstances. But rest assured that once the news drops, you can read it here first, in Dirty Linen.

- the Corroded Coffin Archive (Source: Dirty Linen)

[the-case-book-of-fanfiction]

The Case-Book {Masterlist}

Hey, I'm Case! My blog was getting a little crowded, so here's a masterlist for the stuff I write.

And here's an {Updates Page} for when I finally make myself a schedule I think I can stick to in terms of posting & to "announce" upcoming work.

Some of this will be a liiiiiittle empty until I edit my work and decide to post it.

Organized by fandom!

Your Favorite's Here {Masterlist} — Eddie Munson Eddie and his band bask in their success over a drink at a restaurant he's never been to before. But Eddie gets far more than he bargained for when he stepped through the front door.

1989 — Eddie Munson Returning to Hawkins after years of helping Eddie through English class (and specifically poetry assignments), you make Eddie watch a new film with you called Dead Poets Society.

Not Quite Dead — Eddie Munson You find yourself alone in Hawkins, a town ripped to shambles despite the sacrifices made to save it. Is it better or worse that Eddie doesn't live to see it? He'll tell you himself.

Like Another Tattoo — Eddie Munson Eddie learns to appreciate the scars he's covered in, one comment and show at a time. His friends also manage to make him cry.

A Kiss Kiss — Eddie Munson The Hellfire Club is one member short, but Eddie refuses to let the campaign slow down. That's where you come in, Eddie's "tutor" turned into his muse.

The Graduation Lineup — Steve Harrington Billy Hargrove comes between you and Steve at graduation—but only by last name. Additionally, you finally find out Steve's middle name (among other things).

Rain-Soaked Kisses — Steve Harrington Steve hates storms but loves the rain—just another oxymoron of his life, like the secret the kids are trying so very hard to dig up.

Bob Seger — Steve Harrington Is there a handbook for what to do when your crush walks into your store to buy a gift for his girlfriend? There should be!

Eddie's Girl — Steve Harrington Steve finds himself pining over the one girl he can't have, and he has no idea how to handle it. It's a good thing you notice before Eddie does, and, by God, is Steve's timing perfect.

The Only Tally Mark — Steve Harrington The 'You Suck' tallies are getting pretty high, but there's a girl in Scoops Ahoy who knows Robin in wrong. If she can just get the courage to open her mouth, Steve's luck is about to change.

steve harrington hcs (pt. 1) corroded coffin setlist detective harrington au idea

(more coming soon...)

Burns Like Rum — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) Astarion's hunger worsens every day and you don't have any blood to spare—but that doesn't stop you from inadvertently tempting him at every turn. Luckily for both of you, you've both got the same idea to cure him of his hunger.

Sweet Like Wine — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) Your monthly bleed is over—just in time for you and Astarion to find yourselves with a bit of alone time. You might not be able to feed your vampire as easily, but there's another hunger for the two of you to satiate.

Crawl Home to Her — Astarion (Baldur’s Gate 3) As awful the feeling of blood on the skin is, sometimes it can be helpful, you have to admit. At least, when it comes to Astarion, blood is always helpful. You'll have to take his word for it—and that's oh so easy bathing with him.

Love Bites {Masterlist} — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) With your memory spotty, you gravitate toward the first person you see—an old friend from a very old past. But Astarion is keeping plenty of secrets...and he's never been the best liar. How long will it take before his deceptions unravel? And what will you do when you realize just how much damage he's done?

When Gods Listen — Astarion (Baldur's Gate 3) Astarion is hit by a memory spell mid-combat. You fear what will happen to him, but Astarion only knows he woke with the answer to his prayers looking down at him.

astarion ancunin hcs (pt. 1)

(more coming soon...)

A Job Unfinished — Santiago "Pope" Garcia It's been days since you last saw Santiago, days after he promised he'd be back. One last (very illegal) mission in Colombia, and then he'd be yours forever. But Santiago is five days late.

(more coming soon...)

Hmm... It's a ghost town in here.

(there's a multi-chaptered Poe Dameron fic currently sitting in drafts)

Operatives One-O-Three — Barty Crouch Jr. Knowledge is a curse, and we know all. Lord Voldemort's regime grows stronger on the daily, and it's up to a ragtag group of teenagers and an undercover operation to stop him: Operatives 103, otherwise known as Operatives One-O-Three (one-oh-three in the official Ministry log books). But there's more trouble than Voldemort for the undercover spies, and the root of it starts in the home. (available on A03 or Wattpad)

(more coming soon...)

Looks like this part of the museum isn't open yet...

(yes that's a hint at my current marvel wips)

Well, uh, I think we'll be in purgatory for a bit, folks.

These are probably hidden in a locked desk in Ketterdam.

I, uh, hate all the old ones I wrote, so I won't be linking those, and I'm gonna sit in my mind palace for a few hours until I can come up with some better ones.

No, no, don't panic! They're in here somewhere. I just have to remember which room...

I need a section for my random stuff! This is it.

(Baldur's Gate 3 content is now under its own label, underneath Stranger Things. Go back up!)

I'm bound to write the strangest one of these at some point, so might as well be prepared.

It's a bit empty in here, isn't it?

REQUESTS ARE OPEN as of May 7!

Check out the... ☟

Have something you'd like to ask me to write? Don't hesitate! Here's what to do.

DM me to make your request and include the fandom & charcter(s) you'd like me to write for, as well as the general "premise" of the fic (such as a prompt). Answer any clarifying questions I send to you and wait for your fic to arrive! I won't be able to get to every request, of course, so please be patient with me! If I can't think of what to write or have no inspiration, I will let you know. Sometimes, the fic just doesn't come to me.

Additionally, chances are I can probably write for more fandoms than are currently on this list. There's a Miscellaneous section for a reason. If you're not sure, it doesn't hurt to ask!

If requests go over well, I'll start making some prompts to make requesting easier for you guys.

Happy reading & requesting!

[rip-quizilla]

Your Leather, My Lace ~ Part 4: My Pain, Your Thrill

*This fic was co-written by curlyfry23, whom you can find on AO3 here

Pairing: Rockstar!Eddie Munson x Rockstar!fem!Reader

Summary: The next band you show up to see calls themselves Corroded Coffin. Maybe Eddie will be there...

Word Count: 5.7k

Tags for Entire Fic (from AO3): Enemies to Lovers, Rival Bands, Tension While Singing, Leather, 80's Rock References, Song Lyrics, Slow Burn, Sexual Tension, Thinly Veiled Hex Girls Inspiration, Eddie Munson Lives, 1991, Porn with Feelings, Shameless Smut, Mutual Masturbation, Hate to Love, Oral Sex, Consensual Sex, Smut, Eddie Munson Has No Sense of Personal Space, Cunnilingus, Nipple Licking, Catholic Guilt, brat!reader, Dom/sub Undertones, light degradation, Car Sex, The Lord of the Rings References

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

You woke the next day in your hotel room, having rested better than you could remember in the recent weeks. Up until this week, every night had consisted of insomniatic episodes where you’d sleep for a few hours, wake for a few more, then catch maybe an hour or two of shuteye before the sun was up. Nerves tended to affect your sleep schedule more than you wished they would, and Battle of the Bands was the time of year that your nerves were through the roof.

Last night, however…

You had a newfound appreciation for the effect that a good sex life can have on a person’s stress levels.

Checking the time on your bedside clock- 9:45 AM- you decided to fix yourself a cup of coffee before calling Lana and Denise. You needed to coordinate a time for band practice since your first performance was tomorrow night, but you knew Lana liked to sleep as late as possible most mornings so you’d wait until 10 for that. As you measured out little granules of instant coffee into a mug you’d found in one of the kitchenette cabinets, your mind wandered back to last night, and the dark-haired devil you’d spent the evening with. 

Eddie had been uncharacteristically quiet when you parted ways last night. Before your “extracurriculars” in the back of his van, his mouth was running 60 mph, never slowing, always ready with a comeback or some quip that made you feel equal parts irritation and amusement. Afterwards, however, his only communication with you had dwindled down to short, terse responses. Head nods. Gentle forehead kisses. “Are you heading home after this?” Head nod. “Thank you for tonight, I had fun.” “Me too.” Forehead kiss. “Drive safe, okay?” Head nod. “You too.” “Good night.” “Night.”

As you watched your cup of tap water rotating in the microwave, your thoughts spiraled into a funnel of endless questions that went nowhere good- had he been putting on an act the whole time? Did he pretend to be actually interested in you just to get in your pants? Was his silence just a lack of interest now that he’d gotten what he wanted from you? What if-

The sudden beeping of the microwave interrupted your stream of consciousness, jerking you back into reality. No, you told yourself, removing the steaming cup and pouring it into the mug of dollar store instant coffee. Even if all he’d wanted was a one night stand, that’s all I wanted in the first place, right? If Eddie wanted nothing more than one night of messing around in the back of his van, all the better. No strings attached. Get it together, Pinocchio. 

You walked into the bathroom, staring yourself down as you took your first sip of the mediocre brew. Hair askew, oversized flannel (a stolen relic from one of your early boyfriends) reaching just high enough on your thighs to cover your panties- you came to the conclusion that any guy would be lucky to wake up next to you. You were hot as hell. Your skin looked  better after a good night’s sleep than any other time of the day, and you almost never went to bed with pants on- what’s not to love? 

You narrowed your eyes at your thighs, inhaling sharply when you realized that there were slight purplish bruises where Eddie had pressed his fingers into your skin hard enough to leave his mark. 

He wasn’t going to let you forget about him that easily, it seemed. 

You sighed heavily, ignoring the way your stomach seemed to tie itself into a knot when you thought about the way he’d gripped your thighs like he could find salvation itself between them. How his tongue had lapped at your pussy and savored your taste like fine wine. The way he’d made the most beautiful sounds when you tugged on those dark chocolate curls…

Stop! Jesus, you were pathetic. He wasn’t thinking about you this way right now. At most, you might cross his mind the next time he decides to have a wank. You’d become a figment of his sexual fantasies, fuel to help him reach his climax, that girl who reminded him of Galadriel and knew enough to quote her while she straddled him in the back of his van.

Shit. Now I’m imagining him jacking off to me. Great. Awesome. Good job forgetting about him, me. 

***

That evening, you once again found yourself at a venue downtown scoping out the competition. You’d been to this bar before- you remembered playing it last year, though it’d had a different name then. Name changes weren’t uncommon for the bars around here. Some were old as dirt, owned by the same grumpy old dude who’d opened the place in the ‘70’s, others changed management every five or so years. Either way, every halfway-decent place with a stage and a liquor license always cashed in on the tourism money brought in by Indie Battle each year. 

You’d arrived later in the evening, having spent the whole day practicing your set with the girls until your fingers were just about ready to fall off. You were confident that your song choices for your first performance were going to kill tomorrow night; more confident than you remembered being either of the past two years that Next Hex had competed. 

This was going to be the year- you could feel it in your bones. 

Since you’d arrived late, the first band playing was already halfway through their set. Predictably, the bar was full so you would have to stand while the bands were playing. You made sure to bend your ear to the way each instrument and voice sounded while you ordered your drink at the bar. Making mental notes about everything from the moments where the singing was flat to any imbalances between instruments, you found a steel column to lean against as you began sipping from your drink. You were 100% focused on the band in front of you.

Definitely NOT looking around in hopes that a familiar face might waltz up to you and strike up a conversation. 

Definitely NOT hoping that familiar face be accompanied by curly brown hair and a silver ring on each finger. 

Definitely NOT disappointed that said face was nowhere to be found.

Once the band onstage took their final bow, you were halfway through your drink and feeling thoroughly alone in the crowd… which was fine, since watching live music was totally not required to be a social activity. You could enjoy it on your own, just like you always had before this week. No banter or flirtations necessary.

You force yourself to take a calming breath while the band scurried offstage. Head in the game, dude, you reminded yourself, remember why you’re here. You’re not here to make friends, you’re here to win. You’re here to be a rockstar. You’re here to prove wrong every asshole who ever doubted how bad you fucking want this. 

Downing the rest of your drink with newfound resolve, you discarded your empty glass on a nearby table and pulled your moleskin out of your bag. You turned to a blank page, clicked your ballpoint pen, and prepared to jot down notes on the next band taking the stage. 

“Hello Indianapolis!”

Your heart leaped into your throat. That voice-

“It’s our first Battle of the Bands here, sooo… go easy on us. If we suck, at least wait until the third song to boo us off the stage.”

It can’t be.

“We’re Corroded Coffin, and we’re about to make sure you never forget that name.”

It was like time stood still, the whole bar frozen around you as you slowly looked up at the stage. You were hoping you were wrong, that the person that voice belonged to was a stranger whom you’d never seen nor spoken to, and this was all your imagination. 

But you should’ve known better. Your luck had never been good enough for that to be the case. 

Standing up on that stage, red Warlock guitar in hand, staring directly at you, was Eddie Munson. 

Everything was dead-silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, as Eddie held your gaze with an emotion behind his eyes that you couldn’t place if you tried. He held your eye contact until his lips hit the microphone, and you heard him inhale before letting out at the top of his lungs-

“All abooooaaaaard!”

The opening notes of Crazy Train rang out into the bar, causing patrons to start nodding their heads to the familiar beat. You weren’t listening, though. You were going numb.

You were so stupid. So incredibly stupid.

You’d told him the first time you met that you were competing. He continued to pursue you regardless, even though you’d told him- you’d told him- that you were trying to avoid distractions. Every time you’d run into him had been a performance for Indie Battle- you hadn’t been observant enough to see that as anything other than a coincidence. You hadn’t ever asked him why he kept showing up at Battle gigs, hadn’t ever considered that he could’ve been there for the same reasons you were- to scope out the competition. And oh, he’d scoped it out alright. For pete’s sake, you’d even had a conversation where he admitted he played guitar, and you hadn’t thought to ask him if he was even in a band, much less competing with one!

You were fuming. He’d played you. He kept this information to himself on purpose, and now he was in your head. You’d let the competition- a potential rival- get into your head, and now here he was, belting out Ozzy lyrics while he stared you dead in the eye.

“I’ve watched all the dropouts who make their own rules,”

You were listening now. You’d be damned if you let this guy use you, lie to you, then have the audacity to actually be a competitor in this competition. So you channeled your rage into something that felt familiar.

You started a pro/con list. 

***

Okay. He did have the audacity.

Corroded Coffin was new to the competition, but these guys knew their sound. Your pro/con list was very pro-heavy, which was troublesome for you. 

Pros: impressive wide vocal range, original songs are full of catchy chord progressions, talented drummer, charisma onstage, logo would look good on a t-shirt, experienced stage presence.

Cons: Band doesn’t have a clear brand- outfits don’t match, look still belongs in a garage, lyrics in originals are good but basic.

The fact that they had original songs to show at all was something that already set them ahead of Next Hex- none of you wanted to be a cover band for the rest of your careers, but nothing you’d been able to write was good enough to compete with. Denise had written a few catchy songs, but her style was more poppy than what would fit the vibe that you had so carefully curated for Next Hex. Sure, you were open to covering some pop songs, but only after you’d gone in and totally re-arranged them to be undoubtedly metal. You were already one of the only all-female groups that was competing; if the three of you stood on that stage and started churning out nothing but spunky girl-group songs, they’d never see you as equals. You’d have lost the competition the moment you finalized your setlist.

So, until one of you wrote an original song that could hold its own among the Metal hits that inspired you, Next Hex was stuck doing covers. Granted, they were badass covers, but they were still borrowed material.

You were disappointed that this guy had not only managed to pull one over on you, but his band was also the most impressive one you’d seen by far since arriving. For their first year here, you could already tell they were going to be a fan favorite by the looks of this crowd.

Shit. 

You’d been doing a very good job of avoiding eye contact with Eddie for the past four songs, but now that they were a ways into the finale of the five-song set allotted to them, you chanced a look in his direction. You regretted it instantly.

His eyes had obviously been waiting for you to look at him. Those smoldering, dark brown eyes looked black in the red stage lights, framed by sweat-drenched curly rockstar hair. You hated how at home he looked on the stage- he was captivating, in his element as he growled sultry lyrics into the microphone. The way his eyes bore directly into yours, you felt certain he was singing to you specifically.

“I hear you calling and it's needles and pins,

I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name-”

Your eyebrows shot up involuntarily; the lyrics were already pretty risque on their own, but coupled with the intensity with which he was staring you down… it gave you a jolt to say the least. When Eddie saw that reaction, he somehow found a way to make you even angrier than you’d already been-

He winked. 

That was it. You were finding him after this show. You were going to make him explain himself, and you were going to give him a piece of your mind.

***

You’d played this bar before, so you knew exactly which door to wait outside of after Corroded Coffin had finished their set. 

When the cold metal door slammed open, the first to exit was a curly haired guy hauling two guitar cases as he held the door open with one foot. When he saw you leaning leisurely against the brick wall, arms and ankles crossed and exuding nonchalance, he shot you a pained smile. 

He nodded to the door that threatened to close on him and the guitars. “Help me out and grab the door, would you?”

You stared at him, deadpan with a bored expression on your face. Once it became obvious that you weren’t moving a goddamn inch, the guy averted his eyes and squeezed through the door, leaving one guitar case on the ground to keep the door propped open. “Sheesh,” he muttered, “suit yourself, bitch.” 

You waited, watching as he opened the back of Eddie’s van parked on the curb and placed the one guitar case in the trunk. A moment passed before the door swung open once again, this time revealing a blur of wild dark hair that shone amber under the lamplight- it was like a knife to the gut how much you’d loved that same lamplight twenty-four hours ago. 

“Gareth, my baby is not a fucking doorstop, man-” 

Eddie’s tirade was cut short when he saw you waiting by the door. His eyes didn’t seem surprised to see you, but they did widen a bit when they landed on your face. Maybe it had something to do with the waves of pure, undiluted rage that were emulating off of you. 

Whatever seeing you like this made him think, he got over it quickly. Instantly, his normal bravado was back, smirk painted across his face and a leather-jacketed arm rising to lean over you against the wall. He cocked his head flirtatiously, and you were one misstep away from breaking his nose.

“Hey, Galadriel.”

SLAP.

You smacked him across the face without hesitation.

You saw the other guy- Gareth, apparently- stop in his tracks, eyes widening at your sudden outburst, before making a beeline for the door. You overheard his voice say to someone, “Do NOT go out there.” before the door clicked shut. 

Eddie’s hand cradled the sensitive skin of his cheek, narrowing his eyes at you incredulously. “What the fuck?!” 

“‘What the fuck’ me? I should be asking you that, what the fuck are you playing at, Munson?” You practically screamed at him. “You had every opportunity to tell me that you were competing against me in the Battle and you fucking lied to me!” 

Eddie shoved his hands in his pockets, donning a bored expression to mask the pain while he glanced around at everything but you. “I never lied, princess, you just never asked.”

You huffed out a laugh. He was infuriating. “So how should I have worded our first conversation then, huh? ‘Hi, I’m here for Battle of the Bands! Are you here for Battle of the Bands? Wow, you are? Golly gee, ain’t that swell!’”

“Not my fault you never asked the right questions!” Eddie was smiling now, shaking his head at you and obviously furious that you had actually hit him. He’d had a feeling you’d be angry, but never thought you’d resort to fisticuffs. “What’s it matter, anyway? It was just a fling, right? You didn’t want more after that, did you? What about your blood pact with your Hex Sisters, or whatever the fuck- ‘no distractions,’ wasn’t it?”

Fuck this guy. 

“It’s Next Hex,” you growled, giving him a shove backward to give yourself room to take a step. He backed up, struggling to stand his ground when up against a force like yourself. “Remember our fucking band name, Munson, because it’s our songs you’ll be playing on a shitty old guitar twenty years from now when you’re a washed-up has-been who gives guitar lessons to little shit kids who want to be me when they grow up!”

Eddie was silent, stunned by your long- and thorough- tirade. After a moment, the corner of his mouth curled back up into its default position, and god, you wanted to smack him again.

“Did you practice that in the mirror this morning?” 

“Fuck you!” You marched past him, arms crossed defensively over your chest, which was burning with a rage that you knew wasn’t going away until you saw Eddie Munson booted from the competition, dejectedly loading his shit up in his van and driving back home, ruing the day he made an enemy out of you, and thinking Maybe I’ll try again next year. 

You were barely out of his eyesight before he called out, “Until tomorrow night, princess!”

You threw up a middle finger before turning the corner, officially out of his line of vision.

Oh, you’d see him tomorrow night alright. You wanted him to see you on that stage, putting all of your practice to the test and doing exactly what you came here to do.

You wanted him to see you in your prime tomorrow night, and you wanted it to scare him so shitless it sent him running for the hills. 

***

The following morning, Eddie awoke feeling the opposite of well-rested, and the first thing he wanted after his night of tossing, turning, and sporadic sleeping was a cigarette.

He rolled out of the scratchy motel sheets as quietly as he could, taking care not to make too much noise so he didn’t wake Gareth, currently drooling all over his pillow. Eddie tugged on a pair of jeans, strewn on the edge of his bed last night, along with his lighter and box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket before he slipped out the door onto the sidewalk out front. 

The pull-out couch had been empty, so as expected, Eddie was greeted by the sight of a pajamaed Jeff seated in a plastic patio chair, mass-market paperback in his hand. Eddie pulled out a cigarette and his lighter, settling into the other chair once he inhaled his first dose of nicotine for the day. 

The two remained comfortably silent sitting there, Eddie enjoying his smoke and Jeff reading his book. He loved this about their relationship- Eddie never felt the need to fill the silence with anything, because he knew Jeff was more than happy to simply occupy his time with a book. He never expected more of Eddie than his company, and that was one of the things Eddie liked most about-

“So who was that girl last night?”

Damn. Well, so much for comfortable silence.

Eddie sighed, blowing smoke out with a little more exasperation than one might hear in a normal exhale. He looked over at Jeff, expecting to see some sort of smirk, maybe smugness- the sort of shitty grin that guys gave each other when the topic of girls came up. But instead, Jeff was still engrossed in his book, as if he hadn’t asked the question at all.

Eying the bassist warily, Eddie conceded. “I’d been running into her at a couple of shows since we got here… we messed around in the back of my van.” 

A pause. Jeff kept his eyes on his paperback.

“And she slapped you in the face because…?”

Eddie hung his head in defeat. “Because she’s in one of the bands competing and I didn’t tell her I was too.” 

Jeff nodded, that final piece of the puzzle clicking into place. Eddie waited for a reply- some sort of judgment, some reprimand for his mistake- but none came. 

Eddie rubbed his cheek, frustrated and still feeling the ghost of the sting from her slap and guilty enough that he still needed to explain himself. “It’s not like she asked me if I was competing, it didn’t come up!”

Jeff looked up at Eddie poignantly, eyebrows raised and lips stretched into a disapproving line. 

“Whatever, man.” Eddie said, taking a long drag from his cigarette and shaking his head as if his lingering guilt could be flung away if he shook hard enough. 

Jeff chuckled, laying his book face-down on his thigh to keep the place. “Don’t take it out on me,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest as he raised his eyebrows up at Eddie. “You’re the one who decided to take a shit where he eats.”

Eddie grimaced. “That phrase is fucking gross.”

“Well, it’s what you did, what did you think would happen?” Jeff shrugged, eyes back on his paperback.

Eddie was silent. The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking. He’d been feeling. He’d been making decisions with his dick ever since he saw the vampire-queen earlier in the week, and she’d been standing there looking the way she did and flirting the way she had and god… damn, he hadn’t been thinking at all, had he? 

And then to top it all off- it turned out she was witty. She had the same taste in music. She’d quoted Tolkein with her tits out. By all means, she was the kind of girl that he should have been asking out to dinner, not eating out in the back of his van.

Not that Eddie was complaining.

But he’d blown it big time, and for what reason? Eddie was a liar. And now he had no chance with her in Hell. 

He stared out at the busy street beyond the motel parking lot, vacant eyes cataloging his mistakes with all the others he had filed away over the course of his life, and took a long drag from his cigarette. After a moment, he flicked the smoldering stub to the sidewalk and put it out under the sole of his sneaker. 

“Enjoy your book, Jeff.” Eddie muttered, followed by the sound of the door closing as he returned to their stuffy motel room. 

Jeff looked at the closed door, smiling to himself. Eddie had always been dramatic, ever since middle school. It was one of his most dependable traits, made him a charismatic frontman in the band as well as an amazing Dungeon Master (though it had been a while since they’d played). Jeff knew the drama was masking the guilt that Eddie’s heart of gold was feeling for messing with that poor girl. Eddie wasn’t a player, never had been- he wasn’t the type to manipulate a lady without feeling remorse for it. 

Leaning back leisurely to resume his reading, Jeff wondered in the back of his mind what might happen the next time Eddie and the angry girl crossed paths. How would Eddie handle himself?

***

Eddie had no clue what to do with himself.

On the outside, he was sure he looked aloof, calm, suave, collected- an arm draped over the bar sticky with spilled shots and multi-purpose cleaner. But on the inside? He knew that any minute you would be walking out on that stage and the anticipation was killing him. 

Walking into this venue, he’d been wondering how he would feel when he saw you up there, and a part of him had wondered if he’d be nervous. What if your band sucked? What if you were better than him? 

Eddie shook his head, clearing that last thought from his brain. What was the matter with him? He hadn’t felt this way when he went to see any of the other bands. 

You never slept with the other bands, dickhead. He thought to himself. 

It took him a second, alongside half a glass of the cheapest beer on tap, but Eddie came to the conclusion that he was actually quite excited to see you perform. 

Your interests collided in so many ways that he could see from just a handful of conversations, but it was enough that he was eager to know what sort of music you would make. What would you sound like? It hadn’t occurred to Eddie that you might sing lead in your band like he did- what if you had a horrible voice? What if it was good? Was any one woman allowed to look like you and sound like an angel? She’d be a fucking siren, that wasn’t fair. What if-

Eddie’s train of thought was cut short when the lights dimmed to red onstage. He silenced his thoughts as his raging heartbeat took over, watching three figures walk onstage. One walked over to a drum set while the other two made their way to stand at the front of the stage, each in front of their own mic stand. Eddie wasn’t close to the stage by any means, but even he could see from where he stood that the girl holding a blood-red guitar was you. 

The crowd around him began to cheer, eager for the show they’d been promised. Eddie’s eyes drank in the sight of you, committing to memory every curve hugged by your wine-red dress. Bathed in crimson light, he was reminded of how ethereal you had looked that night in his van just a couple of days ago- only now, the angel had fallen. You’d gone from sorceress to temptress, lips painted red as the blood of innocents with platform boots formidable enough to seriously injure with a well-aimed kick. 

You looked like the queen of the damned, and Eddie couldn’t look away. 

There was a lull in the applause as the anticipation came to its climax. The mic kicked on, sensitive enough for everyone to hear a single, controlled breath escape your lips before the sound of your guitar ripped through the silence. 

Eddie, along with the rest of the room, recognized the familiar opening of Heart’s Barracuda immediately. They all watched with rapt attention, seemingly waiting to catch some mistake in a song everyone knew so well. To everyone’s pleasant surprise, however, every note was spot-on. Eddie’s excitement wavered the longer he listened, and upon hearing your lead vocals- his motivations for listening changed from anticipation to competition.

Of course you were lead guitar and lead vocals, same as he was- the irony wasn’t lost on him. Sure, he had been a little bit enraptured at first- you had star quality, all of you; even he could see that. Each of you looked like some sort of rock and roll witch, and your looks were carefully curated to create those personas. Your band wasn’t just doing this for fun- it was obvious that you had put a great deal of thought into your look and sound. Now, all of the notetaking you’d been doing made sense. You were taking this competition very seriously, so when Eddie had with held the truth from you… it must have hurt you a lot more than he’d thought it would.

Eddie watched and listened intently as the first song drew to a close. The applause was thunderous, eager for more. You leaned into the mic, red lips parting around a laughing smile and waited for the cheering to recede enough for you to be heard. In a soft, low voice you asked, “Oh, you liked that one, huh?” 

The crowd erupted, feeding your fire as a deep giggle bubbled up into your mic- Eddie felt his heart involuntarily backflip at the sound of your voice. 

“Soooo…” you began again, this time sounding a bit more coy than before. “...we’ve been here a couple times before, so a few of you might know us, but either way, we’re Next Hex-” again, the crowd responded with claps, whoops and whistles. From the sound of it, there were certainly people here who remembered you from years past. Eddie listened on.

“Tonight you’ll hear some songs you love, some songs you haven’t heard in a while, and one that you probably never expected to hear at Indie Battle-” You giggled a bit through that last part, but you didn’t seem nervous from what Eddie could tell. If anything, it made him look forward to knowing which song you were referring to. He- and the rest of the audience- was playing right into your hands. It was obvious to him that you knew how to work a crowd this size, and that was an advantage that came with experience Eddie didn’t have.

“-so stick around…and let’s have a little fun.”

With that, you threw the drummer a little nod, to which she smiled- a little deviously- before counting you out into the second song of your set.

Eddie was a statue propped up against the bar for the next three songs. Arms crossed, face unreadable, and beer slowly disappearing from his glass, his brain moved a mile a minute while he watched and listened.

From what he could tell, you really only had one weakness- none of your songs were originals. For a band with such a specific look and sound that had been tailored to your specific brand, he was surprised that the only songs you chose to play belonged to other bands. However, that didn’t seem to detract from your individuality, at least for now. Even though you were covering other bands’ songs, you made them sound like they’d been written for your instruments, for your voice. You felt every lyric as if you’d written it yourself, and he could see that plain as day from where he stood in the audience. 

Your song choices were interesting. Starting with Barracuda, followed by I Hate Myself for Loving You by Joan Jett. They seemed like easy choices since your band was a girl group, but there was an edge to your covers that Eddie couldn’t put his finger on- they felt sharper, more moody. He wished he could press rewind and listen again and again to dissect exactly what you did to change up the well-known anthems. 

Then you’d surprised Eddie by pulling a KISS song out of your back pocket- adding a clever twist on Let’s Put the X in Sex  by changing the “X” to “Hex”. It was sexy and fun and all-around entertaining- the crowd ate it up . 

Your fourth song was unexpected- a mysterious, dramatic cover of The Rolling Stones’ Paint It, Black. The seamless transition from sexy to angsty was impressive- it showed range and creativity. 

Eddie was starting to see you as a real threat in this competition.

Your voice, a little breathy at this point, practically whispered into the mic as you introduced the fifth and final song of your set. 

“It’s been real fun tonight, guys,” you began, “this is our last song for tonight, so we’ve saved the best for last.”

The crowd cheered, and Eddie watched with curiosity as the bass player moved a keyboard down to her mic stand. Great, there’s another advantage they’ve got on us, Eddie thought. None of the members of Corroded Coffin played keys.

A beat of silence passed before she began to play- it was surprisingly upbeat, and Eddie struggled to place the song. It wasn't until you chimed in with your guitar that it dawned on him.

You were playing Holding Out for a Hero… Eddie only knew it from how many times he’d heard it beaten to death on the radio after Footloose had come out when he was in high school. 

It didn’t take long for Eddie to catch onto how you’d arranged the cover- all of the parts that were originally sung by a choir, you’d converted into guitar parts. It actually worked- it worked really well. 

When you started to sing the opening lines, Eddie let his eyes drift from your fingers on the frets of your instrument up to your arms, your chest, your lips- but his heart almost leapt out of his sternum when he saw your eyes staring dead at him. 

Eddie felt a wave of deja vu; he’d done the same to you when he’d spotted you in the audience the night before, stared you down so that… well, he wasn’t sure why he’d done it. Maybe he’d liked how you looked so caught off-guard when he’d stared at you? Was he an ass for liking the way that felt? 

Either way, the roles were officially reversed now. Your eyes held Eddie’s in a chokehold, and even though you were singing lyrics written to convey longing and hope, the only messages your eyes held for Eddie were rage and determination. It felt as though there wasn’t a single person in that bar besides the two of you. 

Your black nails moved expertly across the strings of your guitar, and sweat trickled down your collarbone in the red stage lights. Eddie took it all in, feeling a million things at once. Jealousy of his past self, yearning to go back to two nights ago when you’d followed him out to his van. The rush of a real competition, a rival to test his strengths against. Fear of losing, the very real possibility that Corroded Coffin would be sent packing as early as next week’s round of the competition. Regret that he’d blown his chances with you before he’d realized who you actually were. 

You were a goddamn siren, and Eddie wasn’t sure how long he���d be able to stay away from you. 

Part 5

(click here to listen to the electric guitar cover of Holding Out for a Hero that I vaguely based Next Hex's cover off of in my head while I wrote this!)

[carolmunson]

Omg! Mini background for gareth and tatianna(I think that’s her name?) his gf? She’s such a standout character in my mind and I love her not only individually but also her + Eddie’s platonic soulmate connection

(sorry if this is all over the place, i can barely breathe and the brain fog is brain fogging)

Tatianna my OC princess. She's loosely based off of one of my close friends. Tatianna is a kindergarten teacher who met Gareth on Tinder one bored night swiping at a bar. The bar Tati is a regular at just so happens to be the bar Robin is the main bartender for, so it felt very kismet to her that in some way, she was already connected to him.

He messaged first, not expecting a response considering Tatianna is decently out of his league and offered to take her to the bar she was already at because 'he knew the bartender'. They met the same night and ended up talking until close -- the chemistry was off the charts. Tati was smitten and sick over it -- this stupid drummer boy with a corporate job that he has to cover his tattoos for. But his eyes sparkled when he looked at her and he really thought she walked on water.

Gift giving is his love language so he'd get flowers sent to her classroom and take her out to dinner, he studied her. He had a folder in his phone listed with all the things she likes and checked in every few months to see if she still liked them -- because there was no way he was going to lose this hottie with senegalese twists (at the time) who has every reason to not be with him. Some drummer in a band that doesn't even have an EP out that makes his main incone as a cubicle drone. But what really is the glue for them is Eddie. Tatianna met Eddie a few months into dating Gareth and at first they were both very skeptical of each other until one night they decided to bite the bullet and hang out. They shared a blunt and talked -- Tatianna is one who doesn't like to sit in discomfort, she wants to know why it's weird between them. And what a better way to do that than share a blunt and hash it out. In my brain, they met near the end of Eddie and Chrissy's relationship and she could understand that Eddie was just protective of Gareth. Especially since Tatianna seemed too good to be true. Literally beautiful, kind, a teacher like him, runs a side business (I feel like she has a side business like jewelry or accessories. Whenever I picture Tatianna she always has gold dainty accessories on or like, big hoops in the summer. Loves a head scarf or wrap. She's so hot in my brain and deeply fashion forward), knows what she wants out of life, and just all around is good. Like, what would she want with a guy like Gareth who he's known since he was 10 and watched eat a bug off the ground in middle school?

But the couple is not without it's faults. They still get into arguments and fights like every other couple -- finding that every 'big fight' was a hurdle that helped them get closer together and move forward in their journey. Having Eddie be close with both of them was helpful because Eddie has always been a listening ear for Gareth (as well as a 'why are you being an idiot?' voice in his head) and because he's close with Tatianna he's not afraid to tell her about herself (and vice versa. Also in my brain, they both have Taurus placements). Eddie is so often the mediator in any argument because he knows them both so well, especially with where we're at in their story when LGDW starts (they've already been together for a few years). I don't know where to end this but I love them as a couple because they are so different but so the same. Tatianna loves watching Gareth perform and Gareth loves going to her kindergarten class's mini performances for holidays. He likes helping her make work sheets and coming up with ideas for crafts. She likes surprising him with jewelery and new sticks, with matchboxes from old restaurants (that he likes to collect). She also designed Corroded Coffin t-shirts with Robin to make for a concert they had that was at a bigger venue than normal.

Idk, I feel like there is so much more to them. But this is what I have so far.

[harringtonhurst]

hey, rockstar / steve harrington

your band practice in gareth's basement gets an unexpected visitor as corroded coffin admirer/observer dustin henderson gets picked up by none other than steve harrington.

pairing steve harrington x fem!reader

a/n hi! first post here, and this turned out longer than i planned oops. anyhow, hello, i'm sha! hope you like hey, rockstar, twas pretty fun to write!

"I'm just not getting the feel, you know?"

Gareth let out an exparated sigh, along with a failing attempt to throw his sticks in the air. You rolled your eyes playfully, your grip loose on the mic. In the heat of Hawkins despite its spring somehow you found yourself slowly sweating in Gareth's open garage. "I think I get what you're talking about, I mean, you need to feel it." Dustin interjected, leaning back on his chair. He laughed as Eddie ruffled his hair. "You're thinking about this way too much. Look, i'm almost late for my shift. Can we play it all one more time, no interruptions." You paused, glaring back to Gareth. "And pick it back up tomorrow? Our gig is not until Tuesday anyway." You rolled up your sleeves to your elbows. "I hear you boss lady, one more time." Eddie nodded.

"One, two."

The familiar beginning riff of a song you can recite far too well now came to be, Eddie's fingers naturally guiding him with each chord. It being about the tenth time he'd have to play it with every little mishap that somehow disrupts one song. Could be heard Dustin's soft cheers as the notes step closer and closer to your part. You close your eyes. Though the discomfort has gotten most of you and your bandmates, the sun slowly settling in slumber and a strained need for perfection has caused much nuisance, that never stopped the thrill that came to be when your voice carried the melody that is singing.

Despite your previous opinions, it seems now, as the drums hit every little beat better than it did before, as the guitar lulled your voice like a perfect symphony, the cymbals accentuating the rhythm altogether, the bass' low hum bringing it altogether, your voice carrying the song how you've always wanted it to, you finally get what Gareth went on and on about. You, and you're quite sure the others did as well, got the feel. Your eyes fluttered open, the joy of it all clearly dancing throughout everyone else.

A shine clear in Eddie's eyes, an excitement in every beat Gareth hit, a grin fresh plastered on Jeff's face, and Dustin's laughter of cheers being a perfect touch. In the silent streets within the noise could be heard a car screeching to a stop, but you paid barely any attention to it and sung with your heart. Your back bumped against Eddie's, you both poured your passion as the song was close to its end.

Steve turned to the final way to where Dustin had told him to pick him up, stopping absentmindedly as he spotted the young boy, his demeanor of pure joy. The song unfamiliar to his ears, yet he of course recognized the raspy, yet sweet voice that carried this stranger melody. But he bared no expectation that it would've been who he suspected. Not a far distance, he rolled down the window of the passenger's seat and his gaze landed on your face. Carved to perfection in his eyes, utter mesmerization brought goosebumps as he witnessed you.

You.

Passionate as ever, singing your heart out in euphoria in the presence of people he would give anything to trade places with. A sly grin he recognized ever so dearly as your back was against Eddie's, a sting clearing its way into his heart. All he could do was stare, as the beat carried your body. You. Who was once his everything. Who was he kidding, you still are. The one true bestfriend he had throughout his life, and he somehow lost. He somehow let slip through his fingers.

He found such a love in the way you dressed, though aged still carried a piece of you he always knew. You wore a faded shirt, wrote an album’s name on the bottom under the cover, a song he remembered you gushed over so excitedly the first time you had heard it, and of all people, you rushed to him to share what brought you joy. Your head tipped back, the final ring of the song coming to an end. Laughter broke within you all, granting Dustin a high five as he waved his hand high for one, and you had turned your back to him when Dustin finally noticed Steve's presence.

"Steve!"

Your eyes widened as Dustin shouted that name. That very name, familiar, comforting. Painful. You felt a tremble in your hands, as your bandmates continued their much deserved happiness. Funny, how a single name, a few letters strung together could've easily brought you to your knees. How just a few minutes ago you were in utter joy and now it was like you were the same stupid kid letting tears decorate your cheeks over someone who saw no value in you the way you saw him. A haze found its way to your sight, but you did not want to break down over someone who wouldn't do the same. Not anymore, anyway. There was a time, an era of memories you remember, where he would've. Before the way he looked at you changed, into looking at a cherished a friend, into something else.

Something you could never put together. You felt a hand on your shoulder, a jolt coursing through your body but to your comfort just stood Eddie, his previous grin turned to concern. And in a matter of seconds, realization. You were well aware of the sudden friendship he had made with Steve. You had absolutely no complaints nor objections against it, but you held no expectations of ever seeing him again.

"Right, I'm sorry. I, I forgot to tell you. Henderson told me Steve was going to pick him up, I'm sorry—“ You stopped him, a frail attempt of a brave face. "It's fine, Eddie. Seriously.” You cleared your throat, turning to face the music. Abrupt, instant, your eyes met his. He had gotten out of the car, just in front of the garage with Dustin by his side. Figures, of course he'd want to make an introduction. He stood a few inches taller than you, he's grown. His hair a little longer but still with its popular character. His face a daze, a clear discomfort, and something else you couldn't quite pick up on.

"Steve, meet Corroded Coffin. You know Eddie. This is Gareth, Jeff, and—“

"You."

He breathed out, a shiver down his spine as he spoke of someone he held a worlds worth of affection for. It hurt, of course it did, going from daily visits and hangouts, laughter until your stomach hurt, to being introduced as if strangers.

As if he didn't hold your secrets as much as you did his. As if at one point, he wasn't a piece of the past barely within your grasp but Steve, Steve Harrington, your very bestfriend. Though some parts of you ached for it to be more, a bestfriend was what he was that mattered the most. "Steve." You managed to let out just above a whisper. "Oh? You two know each other?" Dustin questioned innocently. "We've met. Briefly." You quickly turned away from his eyes, despite your will your every urge to fall into the eyes you had spent ages studying every little speck of hues there was. You adjusted your mic and turning it off. Haphazardly you reached for your bag sitting on the back, moving past Steve, mouth agape clearly looking for a word to say, grabbing your leather jacket.

"'I’ll see you guys tomorrow,"

You looked back briefly, before rushing off to your motorcycle and leaving before anyone could come to question you. "What's gotten into her?" Jeff questioned, turning left and right for an answer but all that came was silence. Eddie heaved a sigh, turning to face Dustin. "Safe trip, Dustin Henderson." He said playfully, before looking up to Steve. Eddie held not much of a resentment, but he couldn't help the hostility even a little with how much he had heard from you. Yet, all the same he met Steve at a place where he seemed to have changed from the guy who broke your heart. So he was torn. Steve's expression changed knowingly, upon realizing Eddie was aware of how exactly they had met, briefly. "Try not to crash the car, Steve." Eddie lightly punched him, earnest smile, a genuine laugh this time. "Screw off, man. Let's go, Henderson. Nice meeting you guys." Chuckled Steve, Dustin following.

A moment of peace you associated with the wind in your hair as the only tune that kept you company was the revving of your motorcycle engine was disrupted by the very interaction you had with, you didn't know what to call him anymore. A friend? Barely. A stranger? With everything that came between the two of you, you almost did not want to resort to it, though it was true. Steve Harrington. You knew, from the many talks from especially Dustin, that he was some what of a good guy now. But as foolish as it was, those days roaming the halls of Hawkins High aware of King Steve's reputation, you still believed the guy you knew was in there.

Somewhere, and even though he avoided eye contact with you each time you but barely grazed his presence, your stupidity led you to think this would all be over soon. Cut to sophomore year in a blink turned to graduation, and you saw he was willing to do so for other people. And never so much for you. So you gave up. Clearly, he had moved on from a friendship he abandoned for a reason he refused to give. What were you expecting? Even back then, before it all changed, you always had clawing fear that one day, he'd realize he was better off without you. And turns out, he did.

"Since when were you into rock music?" Steve asked, turning down the radio playing whatever was on, he couldn't really take focus to much, let alone this week's up and coming pop sensation. "Is she an ex or something? Besides Nance I don't think I've seen you like. That. With anyone." Steve stared ahead on the road, taking Dustin to snap his fingers to get his attention. "What? No. Of course not. She's just. Ah, I don't know. He ran his fingers through his hair. "Look, forget about it. I just, knew her at some point. No big deal." He stopped the car in front of Dustin's house. He shrugged, nodding slowly, lips slightly pursed, but Steve knew he was not going to let go of this anytime soon. He got out, shutting the door behind him and approached the driver's seat window. "They play at The Hideout every Tuesday." Dustin remarked, before rushing inside.

"Why would I care!"

Steve shouted to no avail as Dustin's door shut. "Tsk. Kids. I didn't even ask." He started the car, driving off. In the low vibrations of the radio, he heard a beat he wasn't unfamiliar with. He turned it up, to the voice of Freddie Mercury.

"Stop disrupting the music with your awfully deaf tone voice for crying out loud." Steve said in between laughter, but of course, he loved how your voice clashed with the beat, sometimes singing too fast or too slow, but he loved it. Every second of it. "How dare you, after all we've been through. Watch, I'll be a fucking legend and you'll regret ever disrespecting my instrument." You continued to sing along, his attempt of closing your mouth failing miserably.

"You know what they say, dream big, or in your case, dream impossible." Steve threw an arm around your shoulder. "We'll just have to see, won't we, Harrington? I'll be selling out stadiums and you'll be begging on my mansion doorstep for a dollar." You lightly nudged him with your elbow.

"Not a chance."

You stopped your motorcycle at your house, completely forgetting about your shift. You knew your boss was going to give you an earful, but you couldn't care much of it now and called in sick anyway, thankfully the machine was very understanding. You shut the door, taking off your jacket and throwing it with your bag, and yourself on the couch. "Of all places. Of all times. You're such a jerk, Steve." You mumbled to yourself, facing the dimly lit ceiling of your house. You wonder of what did he think, after seeing you now? You thought you had moved on. And truly enough, apart of you did, but there was that kid in your veins that had the childish need for your friend back.

Even if your depths of falling in love could never be reciprocated, you had made your peace with that because you valued him as a friend much more than a lover. Perhaps it'd have pained you less if you blamed it on how people naturally, drifted apart. But that you knew for a fact that would have been a lie. There was a time, where he went to your house on the brink of morning impulsively, where he called you, just as much, even more so than you called him. But towards the end the shift was noticable.

And all it took for you and Steve to fall apart was for you to stop reaching out first. For you to give up on him after he gave up on you. You despised that you held little to no anger for him, perhaps for old times sake, you always saw his good years before his bad ones. All you felt was devastation, betrayal. And you wanted to leave it at that. "Why, ever. Why'd you have to show up." You placed the back of your palm against your shut eyes, a sigh of desperation falling from your lips.

/

Hazy mornings and dreadful nights soon passed by, and you were determined to down your worries with the antipication of performance. Well that, and a hell of a lot of shots. Both usually effective. Besides, it isn't as if he was gonna show up at a sleazy, middle-aged frequented bar, like The Hideout right? "Ready?" You felt an arm flung on your shoulder, Eddie peeking through the curtains, the same four or five regulars throughout the bar. "As I'll ever be." You heaved a sigh. "Let's do this."

"Remember, it's just another Tuesday."

Eddie looks to you.

"It's just another Tuesday"

The five of you step to the stage, the usual greeting of scattered applause came to be. "Hey folks, we're Corroded Coffin, here to—" In that moment your eyes locked with none other than Steve Harrington. Farrah Fawcet Spray Harrington. BMW 733i Harrington. Your Harrington. What the hell was he doing here? How did he even know to be here?

Henderson.

Your grip on the on the standing mic tightening, you didn't realize you were spacing out until Jeff lightly elbowed you. "Here to serenade your evening! Try not to boo us yeah?" You earned a few chuckles, as well as a smile from him. It shouldn't matter. It shouldn't disrupt your breath and pace your heart. Especially not now. Not after all this time. You needed to focus. A few dollars now, maybe a record deal later. Dream impossible right?

"One, two, three, four,"

Gareth started off, hours of interrupted commentary practice seeming to pay off. As you began to let yourself pretend he wasn't peeling his eyes away from you, all he could do was stare. Admire. Regret. Envy. Every sort of emotion he had buried far too deep were clawing back.

Despite the occasional accidental eye contact, you'd count this set as a top five. The final strum rang through the bar and the loudest cheer was by none other than Steve Harrington. Your eyebrows furrowed, as his hand raised as his eyes met yours but you looked away, forcing a smile and a bow.

"Uh—thanks everybody! We're here every Tuesday."

He felt his heart sink as you scurried off to the back. "What the fuck was that Harrington." He cursed at himself, inhaling a sharp breath. Just as he was aggressively downing cheap beer he heard a familiar voice just not so far where he sat.

"The usual, Byers?" The bartender nodded, wiping down a glass. You hadn't realized a Hawkin's heartthrob had made his way to you, jittery and unsure but all he did was sit one chair away from you. Where's the others when you need them? Attempting the same cheesy lines on the only girl your age across the bar. Perfect. "Three shots of Silver Bullets for talent." Jonathan placed the two shots on the table. You shook your head. "Thanks. I didn't order a sweet little lie, but I'll take it." You seethed your teeth, the wanted sting lathering your throat. Never gets old. "Wasn't a lie, pretty lady." Jonathan walked off, serving another customer. There was slight irritation that Steve felt, really? Jonathan Byers? Of all people?

"Hey, rockstar."

You felt a shiver trickle down your spine, turning to an all too familiar. An all too familiar everything. And rockstar? Really? "Harrington." You pursed your lips, a thumb playing with your rings. "That was uh, real metal, you know." He almost immediately felt the shudder coursing through his body. He'd never used that word before Eddie said it. Once. Certainly didn't seem natural coming from him. If he was here, he'd never let Steve live that down. You stifled a chuckle, tinges of awkwardness for a moment washing away. "Never thought I'd live to see the day you use the word metal to describe something other than a skid plate." A curve tugged your lips.

"I tried, cut me some slack, alright?" He raised his hands, soft snickering inbetween. For a moment, the two of you shared a fit of laughter, and for a moment, it felt as if weights and hours and months didn't happen. As if it was Monday third period, and you two were failing to sneak away but running like hell anyway even as Principal Higgin’s voice threatened suspension echoed loud. But then again, it was just for a moment. You weren't gonna forgive and forget over some dumb joke.

Chugging down the last two shots, you slipped a twenty on the table and signaled to Jonathan. You called out to the others, "Hey! I'm heading out!" Eddie simply gave you a thumbs up as you walked off. Steve stood for a while, utter confusion sinking in. But he wasn't gonna let you go, not again. "Byers, how much?" He puts down a twenty-five and rushes out the door. He frantically runs to you as your engine was already turning on, helmet in hand.

"Wait!"

"No.”

You immediately say. His mouth agape,

"What? What do you mea—"

"You don't just ditch me and come back after I don't fucking know how long and act like nothing happened. You don't get to do that, Steve." Your breath hitched, about to put your helmet on, but your wrist was gently stopped. "Wait. Shit, look. Just, let me talk. Please? And I'll leave you alone, honest." He pleaded. You fell silent, biting the inside of your lip, looking to him again. But you nodded anyway. He breathed out of relief, running his fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry." He finally said. The two words you had yearned for him to speak, you actually hear. It's almost unreal. "For leaving. For ditching all of the sudden. Leaving you in the dark. It's," He paused. "It's all my fault. I'm honestly, so sorry." He whispered, looking you in your eyes. You gulped, placing the helmet down. "I just wanna know why." You croaked. This time, he didn't say a word; he didn't speak he didn't move, and honestly, you should've expected this.

"You know, Steve, somehow it stings more that all it took for us to drift apart was that I stopped calling you first. I stopped asking to hang out first. You had no courtesy to want to spend time with me. Did you just pity me all this time til I stopped asking for you to be my friend?"

"No! Never, of course it wasn't! Why would you—No!"

"Then what, Steve?"

You heard the desperation in vour voice and you pitied yourself. And again, he didn't speak. He didn't move, he didn't say anything. Instead he gazed afar, clear fickleness in his every move but you couldn't take it anymore.

"‘Course, I shouldn't expect anything from you."

You put on your helmet.

"See you around, Harrington."

And he only watch, regret, as the only thing that accompanied him now was residue smoke, dust and lulling crickets. He shut his eyes, head tipping back. Just as he walked to turn back, a certain guitarist stood, seemingly hearing the whole interaction. Steve halfed a smile, approaching him. "So you saw that?" Eddie clicked his tongue. "Just a bit, but, enough." Steve nodded, sitting on the concrete, Eddie following beside him. "You know, right? She told you?" He inhaled a sharp breath, looking to Eddie. "Yeah, she did." He paused. " know you saved the world and everything, but you were kind of a jerk, Steve." Eddie raised a brow as Steve laughed. "Yeah. More than kind of." He shook his head.

"I dont know what's stopping you," Eddie looked to him. "Do you want her back?" Steve could feel the tears sting as his eyes began to well up, but he'd sooner let Max drive his car again then cry in front of anybody. He gazed down his wrist, the black string you tied on him while the two of you were making fun of friendship bracelets still holding on. The answer was more than obvious, but he needed to voice it. Speak it. Do something about it. "More than anything." He gulped. "Then talk. Explain. Do something. That's all she wants. You know, the way she talks about you, despite everything, is as unambiguous sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen." Eddie placed a hand on his shoulder, grunting as he stood up. Dusting off his pants, he shot one last look at the most desperate he's ever seen Steve Harrington. "Best of luck, loverboy." Eddie chuckled, walking off. He tugged the string yet again, looser now then it was before, and he looked back to as you gracefully sung what he had no clue of, that the red string he had tied on your wrist as well, was still intact.

/

He silently cursed himself as he accidentally slammed the cardoor too hard, he didn't want to alarm you. As if his presence wasn't going to be an unwanted surprise itself, but he was already walking to your doorstep. Judging by the lack of your parent's cars and only your bike on the driveway, he concluded your folks were probably out of town again. And so, he rung the doorbell.

Your eyebrows furrowed as the faint ding echoed, pulling the damp towel off from around your neck. You threw on the shirt hung on your chair, hurriedly put on pants and headed downstairs. Mindlessly unlocking the door without so much as a peek through the peephole, the same asshole you blew off was now at your doorstep. Slightly out of breath and flushed. Not the point. "Wait, don't slam the door." Read your mind. "What's stopping me?" You kept your hand firm on the handle. “You don’t owe me anything, but if you’re willing to listen. I do owe you a proper explanation.” He managed to say. Seems rehearsed, almost. Which was true. He kept mumbling that on the ride here. Your eyes met his, guilt and anguish seeping through, and so go figure. “Fine, go.” You say. Though caught off guard, he took the chance.

"I'm sorry. For everything, honestly, it's the shittiest and dumbest thing I've ever done. My biggest regret. And you might hate me even more after this which I'd get." He ran his fingers through his hair, unable to look at you. He leaned one hand on the doorframe, jaw clenching. "I was just, so caught up in," He fidgeted, eyes fixated everywhere but you. And he fell to the silence again you hated more than anything. The apologies without so much as a reason. You bit the inside of your cheek, growing tired. "It's late, I'm tired, I don't have time for this, Harringt—" As you were about to slam, he held the door. After it all, after the mulling, the breathing, the tinged air, he looked to you, a poor excuse to hide his woe.

"Look, I was so used to flirting that didn't mean jackshit, hookups and all that, so, well,"

He exhaled a breathe.

"When your obnoxious singing didn't annoy me, and when your hand accidentally touched mine I didn't want you to let it go, or when you went on and on about a band I never heard of it just made my stomach all weird, like, good weird, and when you're just sitting next to me telling me the dumbest puns known to man it took everything in me not to fucking kiss you it,"

His breath quivered, with every word he strung together you felt as if reality was farther and farther within your grasp, and as if this was a spiel in your slumber you'd wake up to crave, but he was there, standing on your doorstep, and saying things you'd never knew he would ever think of. That Steve Harrington, your mystery, all this time, had all of this neatly tied in his harebrain mind and it was all too much for him that he disappeared.

"It scared me. Terrified me, so, so much. I didn't know what it was and I blamed you. I ran away from you. I hurt you. And that's the worst thing l've ever done in my life, and l'll never forgive myself for doing that to you." He cursed himself in his mind as he felt the salt stain his cheeks, quickly wiping them off, playing it off as if he had a nose itch. Your hand slipped off the handle, clenching your fist. This was only the second time you'd ever seen Steve Harrington how we was now, and you could feel your heart sink.

"I'm sorry."

He managed to whisper.

Your fingers itched, hesitant, but your thumb found it's way to wipe his cheek. His eyes widened, how he'd miss every bit of your warmth. He stepped closer, biting his lower lip slightly. "You're an idiot." You sighed, earning a smile. "I know." He breathed. "I never wanted to let go, you know." Your hand fell back to your side, his eyes widening slightly. “And whenever you yapped about your dumb car, my stomach was, weird, good weird, too." You shrugged, stepping back. His mind, his heart, his limbs, all of him grew weak, of all the things he had anticipated from his blurt of thoughts, from slammed doors and fits of screaming, it wasn't this. Definitely wasn't this. He stepped closer.

"Hey, rockstar."

His thumb trailed to your chin, frail, gentle. His heart racing too far he feared you could hear it.

“Yeah?”

You returned, placing a hand on his.

"Can I?"

You nodded, and surely after it all, the cries, the unspoken, his lips finally met yours, softly dancing and he breathed, held you, stood before you, touched you as if he'd break you if he did any other way. He smiled against your lips, as the door shut behind the two of you. Your lips soon parted, and you still could not believe what had just took place. You felt a smile, small, overcome you.

"So it really took you this long to finally kiss me, you, Hawkins High's womanizer?"

You raised a brow, and soon the glim of your living room erupted with his laughter, soft, shaking his head. "That title's long gone, thanks to you." He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. You tilted your head, shrugging. "Let's see where this goes first, why don't we, your big feelings are sorta scarin' me." You raised your hands as his laugh grew louder.

[streamafterlaughter]

Fundamental Differing

gif credit

Chapter I: Everybody Get Together

masterlist | playlist

summary: You meet with your record label, where they drop the news of a cross country tour in your lap. Your big break, finally, but with a huge catch.

tags: rockstar!eddie x rockstar!reader, gn!reader, estranged lovers, angst

a/n: i got so excited i wrote this in a little over two hours. don’t get used to the consistent updates just yet, but i’m so excited about this story! Please reblog to support the author!

Spring 1992 (present day)

Seattle

Your POV

The Sub Pop office is a small one, the walls covered floor to ceiling in magazine clippings, polaroids, and scribbled signatures of the label’s crowning achievements. When Death Dance Approximately was signed, you’d never freaked out so hard in your life. To be on the same label as Nirvana was something you never would have imagined, but now you’re here, with four of your closest friends, waiting for the executives to tell you the news.

“I told you, all I know is that they have a tour scheduled for us.” Steve looks at his planner as he leads you, Robin, Sylvie, and Lilith into the cozy board room. The four of you had harassed him all morning, begging to know what the meeting was for. “I have no idea who we’re going with, or when, and it’s starting to piss me off.” You’d hired Steve as your manager the second you were able to pay him. Selfishly, you’d missed having him around, and he was good at the job. He took care of you all, and loved you just as much.

“But why wouldn’t they tell you who we’re touring with? That doesn’t make sense. It makes me nervous.” You bite at one painted fingernail, an anxious habit you’ve been trying to break. You enter the meeting room early, the speakers playing Territorial Pissings at an insanely high volume. You huff as you plop yourself into an office chair, bouncing your leg as your band mates surround you.

“Welcome, Death Dance Approximately!” The double glass doors open, making way for label head Bruce Pavitt, a bald man in a flannel shirt and ripped jeans. He’s always been very hands on with his bands, making sure they have whatever they need before any performance. Part of you suspects it’s to keep his own reputation, but you appreciate it regardless. “I’m sure Steve’s told you why you’re all here today. We have set up your first ever cross country tour! You’ll be supporting Corroded Coffin on their Freak Show album tour. You’re not necessarily openers, but because they’re so big, you’ll be the second band on the bill …” Bruce’s words are lost on you after that, your vision blurring as every sound in the room becomes a jumble of noises and voices. Your mouth is dry, and you can’t breathe. Is this why you weren’t told? They knew of your history with Corroded Coffin, or worse, with Eddie? You haven’t seen him in years, and the thought of touring together makes your stomach flip.

“How long has this been planned?” You interrupt finally, attempting to keep your voice level. You feel everyone’s eyes on you, and chance a look at Steve, whose face has fallen with pity for you, and to Robin, who’s chewing her bottom lip feverishly as Lilith grips her hand. Sylvie drops their head in their hands, a sigh escaping their lips.

“We finalized with CC last week.” Bruce answers flatly, attempting to gauge your reaction to the news.

You nod curtly, and heave yourself out of your seat. The second you’re out of the office, you have a cigarette between your lips, and you’re struggling to light it with shaky hands. It isn’t long before Steve is beside you, offering his own lighter to the end of your cigarette.

“What the fuck?!” You look up at your best friend, and all he can do is shake his head. “Did you know about this? Tell me the truth.” Your voice is panicked, paranoid. Why wouldn’t they tell you sooner?

“No, I had no idea. I promise. I don’t think Eddie knows either.” You roll your eyes at his words. You don’t like remembering Steve and Eddie still talk, but it comforts you knowing he’ll be blindsided too.

“When do we leave?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks?!”

“The Freak Show tour tickets have been on sale for months. They didn’t invite us on officially until today, but it’s been a plan for awhile. But I didn’t know. Eddie never mentioned waiting for another band. I don’t get it.” Steve is defeated, knowing how pissed off this news has made you, how stressed out you’ll be for the next three months. “I’m so sorry, Y/n, if I had known-“

“You would’ve told me, yeah yeah, I know. But you didn’t know, so you couldn’t tell me. There’s no use beating yourself up over it. This will be good for us. CC is huge, and to be invited to tour with them is gonna launch us to another level. If I survive it.”

Steve wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a comforting hug which you return, sobbing freely into his chest. What the fuck are you gonna do?

-

Los Angeles

Eddie’s POV

Eddie kicks his feet up on the table of the Elektra Records meeting room, lighting his second cigarette in twenty minutes. He’s barely listening to the suits talk, discussing the details of the Freak Show tour. But something catches his attention when his manager mentions “that femme grunge band.”

“Death Dance?” Eddie looks up, the cig dangling from his lips. Jeff and Gareth send each other a look of worry that Eddie clocks, and he looks back to the executive at the head of the table.

The bald man nods. “They just signed on as your featured band. They’ll go on before you, after the openers. That okay with you, Mr. Munson?”

Eddie runs a hand through his curls, staring at the table like it’s the most fascinating piece of furniture in the world. Eddie’s not a drama queen. But he’s so close to losing his shit right now, trying to let the news sink in.

“Yeah, yeah. That’s fine. Sounds good.” He inhales again, trying to soothe the anxiety that’s gathering in his chest. It’s been years since he’s seen you. He can’t imagine what this context will do to him. He drank himself silly when he saw you on MTV for the first time, your music video for Pretty Boy in regular rotation, causing him to fall into a months long depression he only clawed himself out of recently.

He picks at the skin around his fingers, peeling the calluses formed over years of performing. He can feel the nervous sweat on his brow, the chills on his arms. The conversation dies then, the room visibly more tense as people shuffle out, leaving their frontman to deal with the anvil that’s been dropped on his chest.

-

It’s nighttime when Eddie finally gets home. His house in LA isn’t special, a two story home with a big yard and a basement studio, but nothing extravagant. He practically punches the phone as he dials, not able to calm his nerves all day. The buzzing in his head has gotten louder, more persistent.

“Hello?” Steve picks up on the third ring, sounding exhausted.

“Hey, man.”

“Eddie, shit, man. I meant to call you. You hear already?”

“Oh, I heard. You know about this?” He accuses, bitter venom leaking from his tone.

“Why does everyone think I knew about this? Of course not, dude. I would have warned you. Both of you!”

Eddie sighs. “How’re they doing? How is—“

“Y/n? They’re freaked, Eddie.”

“You think I'm not? You think I’m super jazzed about this?”

Steve groans, and Eddie can practically hear him rubbing his face in frustration. “No, obviously not.”

“There’s nothing we can do about it now. Tour starts in two weeks. It’s not like we have any say over the labels.”

“You’ll be alright. It’s been, what? three years?”

“Two.”

“I thought you broke up in ‘89?”

Eddie bites his lip. “Yeah, officially. We stopped seeing each other in 90, though.” It was the worst six months of the relationship, sleeping together without any of the love, any of the passion you once harbored for each other. It broke Eddie’s heart more than he ever had thought possible. He’s still recovering from the final time you left him.

“Regardless,” Steve’s voice snaps him back to the present, “You’ll be alright. I got you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I can’t believe, after all we’ve been through, you still feel comfortable saying those words. It’s like you want to get your shit rocked.” Eddie chuckles, and Steve laughs with him. “Thanks, man. Really. And check on Y/n for me, yeah? I still worry about them.”

“Of course. They’ll never admit it, but I know you’re on their mind too. Goodnight, dude. See you soon.”

“See ya, Harrington.”

-

Your POV

“Who was that?” You plop down on Steve’s couch, a joint between your lips. Robin makes grabby hands at you, and you pass the toke to her before reaching for the chips in Sylvie’s lap.

“Uh, Eddie, actually. He got told today, too.” Steve takes his spot next to you as Robin passes him the joint. “How’re you doing?”

You read the earnestness in Steve’s eyes, and you can’t bring yourself to lie. “I’m scared. Our album releases the first day of tour, I never would have thought he’d be around for it. What’s he gonna think? When he sees that cover, if he listens to it? I’m screwed!”

Steve shakes his head. “I don’t believe that. Eddie’s never had a bad thing to say about you, all this time. Sure he’s hurt, you both are, but there’s no chance you’ll make him mad. I don’t think it’s possible.”

You roll your eyes. It’s almost a challenge. Maybe you want to piss him off, at least then you’ll know he’s hurting. Corroded Coffin has plenty of angry songs, but none of them sound like they’re about you. Maybe you’re clueless, though, missing what’s right in front of you.

“Hey,” Robin chimes in, scooting closer to you on the floor. “You have us, okay? You’re not going into this alone. We love you, we’ll make sure you’re okay the whole time.” Sylvie nods at her words, and Lilith reaches for your hand. You entwine your fingers with hers.

“I love you guys.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but it draws your friends into you, surrounding you in a group hug.

-

chapter II

taglist: @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @wiildflower-xxx @beebeerockknot @champagne-glamour @xxgothwhorexx @therensistance @chonkzombie @brxkenartt | send a message to be added🫶

[wroteclassicaly]

Kristen. Older!Eddie x reader. It is imperative that you share all sinful thoughts on this topic to us. Him with scruff? Voice a bit more gravely because of all the smoking and singing in Corroded Coffin? Covered in tattoos? I need him desperately.

Oooooh gawd! This is gonna take some thought, but I have ALOT of thots, luckily… :P

First off, Older!Eddie could range from his late twenties (Joe’s real age) to the age Eddie would be in 2023. Which is, what 56 almost 57, or something? (Drooling, because I imagine aged Eddie is as hot as Jeffrey Dean Morgan is right now)

Anyways…

• Voice definitely gravely. Speaks with a deliciously low rasp, sometimes coughs a little. The action always makes him stick out that tongue to wet his lips. They can get chapped a lot. He sings with a more lower tone than he did in his youth.

• Eddie’s body is littered with various ink. Some new, a lot of it old and fading, but he’s managed to try and get some filled in and freshened up.

• He has a Spotify, but he rarely uses it. He prefers his vinyl records. Netflix and streaming services are cool, but he can do without.

• Still has his van, even though it’s underneath a tarp in his garage. It makes for a hell of a good place to let loose and have a smoking session when he doesn’t want to sit in his home.

• Works on a lot of different cars out of his own garage, the walls littered with various band posters, his own faded logo he made back in the 80’s of his own band. His framed diploma sits in the house. 86’.

• Has a junked mustang from 1969 that he’s try to restore as his own personal vehicle. Cherry red (he’s a fucking sucker for cherries). For now, he drives his baby — a midnight, glossy black 1980 Pontiac Turbo Trans am.

• His fingers, creased with a few aged spots, the veins remain prominent, as he has never stopped playing acoustic and electric guitar. He’s also managed to work himself into playing the drums and self-taught a little piano. If you were to venture over and take some lessons, you’d get very distracted by those hands.

• His hair was short for a while, but he’s let it grow out again. An array of curls with streaks of silver. He shaves his beard a lot, but he’s usually marked with a stubble or a salt and pepper beard.

• He’s got scars from various piercings. One in each ear, but he only wears the left on occasion. He’s had his nose done, got his lip done on a dare. He once had nipple rings, but took those out and recently for them redone.

• The newer tattoos are 86’, his band’s name, and cluster of red bats on his right side, a peace sign (he was drunk, okay?) on the top of his thigh, vines that are woven around his lower back, connecting to a red ball of small flames. It means something to him, but you’re unsure of just what.

• He stills wears most of his rings, having thrifted new ones along the way.

• He teaches younger kids at the local gaming center how to play D&D. Will play it every other Saturday with his old friend group. Tradition is important to him.

• Gardening and sowing relaxes him, so yeah, he does both.

• He’s only been married once. They’ve been divorced for years.

• Has a personal library in his house (his affection for books only increased).

• His band did record a demo that the local radio station plays on Sunday’s.

• Handyman type, but he doesn’t do a lot of that work unless it’s for friends or family.

• Rents Wayne’s old trailer to help out those in need.

• Loves his flannel (wears a lot of Wayne’s old shirts), and still wears his chain and band shirts.

• He’s filled out now, works out on occasion.

If I think of more, I’ll add to this! ;)

[cheerscoops]

Make me write!

I was tagged by the always wonderful @spicysix <3 thanks for the tag!!

THE RULES

Make a 24hr poll listing the titles of every WIP you want to work on. (It's fine if you only have one, still make a poll for the vote count)

Tag anyone you think might also enjoy this game (No pressure of course)

Whichever WIP title gets the most votes, write 1 sentence for every vote received.

If somehow that completes the fic or reaches the end of a chapter, move to the WIP with the second highest votes and continue where you left off on your sentence/word count. Repeat until you reach your goal.

(Optional) Share what you wrote in a new Tumblr post with a link to the poll or in a reblog!

More about each fic can be found under the cut at the bottom just in case you want to know what each one is before you vote.

No pressure tags: @quinnkeerys @heroeddiemunson @roykentt @sloelimbs @lokinightfury

Wherever You Point To I'll Find - my current series; a modern au in which Chrissy, Steve, Eddie, and Nancy are all on a road trip together. Steve and Chrissy are slowly falling for each other and Eddie and Nancy are an established couple. If you need more info on this one, just check out the wyptif tag on my blog

Feels Like This - basically a fic version of this moodboard that I made for cheerscoopscentral; Chrissy is the singer/songwriter to watch and Steve is the front man for a band called The Babysitters. Corroded Coffin is also famous, and Chrissy is friends with benefits with Eddie. Chrissy is hired to help Steve write his band's next album, and if she does a good job, she gets to be the opening act on their tour. Sparks fly between Steve and Chrissy. There's also a bunch of stuff with Steve's on again off again girlfriend travel writer Nancy as well as Chrissy's ex-boyfriend aspiring musician Jason.

Not Part of the Plan - the accidental pregnancy au! Nancy ends a girl's night of celebration for graduating college and landing her dream job by sleeping with the hot bartender. When she finds out she's pregnant a month later, she tracks down Eddie Munson to let him know that he's going to be a dad. From there, it's a friendship and co-parenting and trying not to fall in love.

untitled fake dating au - Nancy Wheeler is back in Hawkins after leaving her New York job with an online media company (think buzzfeed). Her new job with the Hawkins Post has her working as an entertainment writer, and her first big assignment is covering a Battle of the Bands competition in Indianapolis because a local band is competing. When a creep won't stop hitting on her at the competition, she does the only thing she can think of. She sees Eddie Munson and convinces him to pretend he's her boyfriend to get this guy off his back. They keep fake dating for the rest of the competition with plans to have a "mutual breakup" once they're back in Hawkins. That's thrown out the window when Eddie decides to fake propose to Nancy at a party, and Steve Harrington posts the proposal on instagram. Now, Nancy's family thinks she's really engaged, and she has to bring her fiance on their beach vacation. And it just goes from there.

Cupid's Trap: An Enemies to Lovers Tale of Shakespearean Proportions - Mrs. O'Donnell is in charge of the school's drama club, and she's found the perfect leading lady for her production of Much Ado About Nothing in Chrissy Cunningham. Her choices for a male lead are dismal though. Then, she sees Eddie putting on a performance in Hellfire Club, and she hatches a plan. If Eddie will take on the lead role in her production, she'll give him enough extra credit that he'll finally pass her class and be able to graduate and get the hell out of Hawkins. The only problem? Chrissy and Eddie can't stand each other and can barely be in the same room together. Slowly, they put their opinions of each other aside and start to form a real friendship that's maybe something a little bit more than that. Jason is also there being the absolute worst.

[corrodedcoughin]

Hi! It’s me the steddie kid and Corroded Coffin anon! I love argyle as their manager! I also think that one day Erica becomes their lawyer cause I just know she’d kill in entertainment law. As she grows up and matures she gets better at holding her tongue and reigning it in, but can still be all business with the band and shut off friend mode. Max takes a job because she has no idea what she wants to do and always says “this is just temporary as soon as I get a better offer I’m leaving” but she starts training under their tour manager and takes over when he retires. She still tells Eddie that “the finishing touches are almost done on my two weeks” but then she launches into their next tour schedule. Robin is featured on some songs because she can play like the most obscure instruments and Eddie loves incorporating them in his songs. Dustin, mike, and Lucas all help with AV equipment while in college for experience.

Steve, however, has never “officially” worked with the band. He and Eddie discussed it early on and Steve really wanted Eddie to have something for himself, and he knew he wanted to do something with kids. He becomes a guidance counselor and loves getting to help more kids discover who they are and get them out of the existential crisis he faced when he graduated. Corroded Coffin mainly tours in summer whenever possible so Steve can travel around, not because he doesn’t trust Eddie to be faithful but because they’re so codependent and his family is all there so that’s the only place he’d want to be. When they have a baby he brings them too when they’re little before they start having more summer activities. Steve plays the piano around the house all the time when he’s bored and Eddie will hear a melody he comes up with and they write something together so in a way Steve is involved with the band. Also Eddie absolutely dedicates the songs they write together to his baby and love of his life. He also throws in covers of the cheesiest love songs for Steve.

Anon you are back!!! THANK YOU for gracing me with your thoughts 🙏🙏🙏

LOVE the Erika thing because she is an absolute powerhouse and takes no shit. Corroded coffin are out here getting all their riders, rights to all their own songs, copyright claims from others thrown out of court before they even start, and she LOVES it and the whole band and team love her. They know it’s going to be a fun time if Erika shows up to any meetings with execs. Side note but if you’ve ever seen school of rock Erika would be the evolution of summer. There would be no holding her back and eventually people would be trying to poach her from the band and the exact same for Max!

Max actually has a big part to play in making sure none of the band get too wasted or high. She keeps an eye on all of them and knows when enough is enough. She’s firm and they respect her. She’s saved certain band members from going down a slippery slope countless times. They adore her and would be lost without her.

STEVE AND THE BABY WEARING THOSE EAR PROTECTOR HEADPHONES. STEVE GRABBING THE BABYS ARM AND WAVING IT AT EDDIE. Eddie fumbling the next note because he’s too busy smiling :(((( counsellor Steve always wears corroded coffin merch on Fridays as his ‘dress down Friday’ look. The first time students see it they are utterly shocked, Steve explains that he’s just a really big fan. When he appears in a music video for the band made of tour diary footage every single one of his pupils are clamouring to call him out. Steve??? And the guy from the metal band with a bunch of piercings, spikes, crop tops and tattoos??? He tells them they live together but otherwise keeps his cards close to his chest. It’s in these small actions that he can keep Eddie to himself when he has to share him in so many ways. He loves what Eddie does, loves seeing him and his friends, THEIR friends in their element. But sometimes it’s nice to keep some things just for him and Eddie