#WHEN WAS BILLY A ROBIN??!!

[phoenixcatch7]

Casually looking through caps wiki to get a list of powers, skills, important canon events, and

HE'S THE SAME AGE AS NIGHTWING?!

THIS KID HAS EDICTIC MEMORY?!! ANCIENT SUMERIAN WAR TACTICS ON SPEED DIAL??! Billy can do maths like it's an extreme sport???

W H A T.

for context:

Pre reboot this is nowhere to be seen, he's just normal and Vibing. King??!!!! ROBIN?!!!

[unfinishedslurs]

gay bar (steddie)

“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”

Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar. 

“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.

The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“

As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”

It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!

Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.

Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”

“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”

“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”

Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”

He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos. 

Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”

What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”

“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?

Eh. Doesn’t matter. 

“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”

He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”

“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”

“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”

“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”

He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”

“Which one?”

“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”

“How do you even know about that?”

Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”

“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”

He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt. 

Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then. 

Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole. 

“That can’t be right.”

“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out. 

“You were Prom King.”

“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh. 

Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”

Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”

Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?

Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks. 

“What?”

“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.” 

Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve. 

No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time. 

He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country. 

He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here. 

“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”

What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”

Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”

Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”

“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn. 

Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears. 

“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken. 

He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening. 

“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”

“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone. 

Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”

“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”

Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”

“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”

“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”

“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”

Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish. 

“What?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Well, yeah. Duh.”

“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”

“Oh, so you’d call him because…”

“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”

“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”

“…Steve?”

“Yeah!”

“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”

“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”

“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him. 

“Are you drunk?”

“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone. 

“I just talked to you yesterday.”

Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”

“We miss you too, Steve.”

“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”

“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”

“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”

“Munson?”

“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”

“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”

“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs. 

“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”

“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”

“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone. 

“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“

“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt. 

“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”

“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”

“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters. 

“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”

“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”

“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”

“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”

“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car? 

“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho.  And that was before the melted flesh monster.”

Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”

Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”

“Didn’t he die?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”

“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”

Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”

“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”

Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute. 

“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”

“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is. 

“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“

“That was him?”

“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”

“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”

“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”

“Don’t kill me,” Steve says. 

“Oh, god, did you punch him?”

“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”

He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums. 

“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”

“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”

“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”

“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish. 

“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”

“Dude.”

Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham. 

“Well, Harrington?”

“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”

Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.

He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.

He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.

“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else. 

“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.

“Ugh. Who would want that?”

Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“

“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”

Eddie turns beet red in record time. 

“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”

“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”

“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again. 

Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles. 

“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”

Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”

“The what?”

Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”

“…oops.”

“When?” Eddie demands. 

Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”

Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”

Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest. 

Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”

Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”

“Steve!”

“You do!”

“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”

His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses. 

“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”

“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”

“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”

“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”

“I do?”

“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees. 

Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink. 

“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”

“You could leave.”

She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.

“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”

“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before. 

Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt. 

He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips. 

Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful. 

From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message. 

The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out. 

The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.

Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.

The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall. 

Robin has been similarly affected.

“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”

“We’re not that bad,” he says absently. 

“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”

“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”

She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it. 

Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them. 

“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”

Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock. 

“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex. 

Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner. 

“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity. 

“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”

Eddie shakes his head dumbly. 

“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!” 

With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd. 

“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”

“I dunno, I think it might be working.”

“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument. 

“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”

“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve. 

Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“

“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”

Steve stares. 

“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”

“I mean, not really.”

“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”

“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”

Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder. 

“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”

“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”

“Thought I was fucking you.”

“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”

“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”

“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”

“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”

“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.

[harringroveera]

Okay that one is on Robin she did ask him about it

[ihni]

Happy birthday Billy!!

(I couldn't fit more people there, but just imagine they're standing out of frame. A whole HOUSE full with people who are ready to celebrate Billy's birthday, and shower him with gifts and food and love.)

[robinfollies]

happy ace day to THEM SPECIFICALLY!!!! 🖤🩶🤍💜

[livwritesstuff]

Robbie is about four years old when middle child syndrome seems to well and truly sink in.

Look – Steve and Eddie are trying, but they also know that there’s also a certain level of inevitability to it. No matter how much attention she gets, no matter what they do to make sure they’re treating all three of their daughters equally, she was always going to be their middle kid and that was never going to change.

They aren’t totally sure what set Robbie off that particular afternoon, only that one second she and Moe were bickering over a puzzle and the next she was in tears, wailing about how Moe was the oldest and Hazel was the baby and Robbie would never get to be special.

“Hey,” Eddie stops her a minute later as Steve corrals an alarmed-looking Moe out into the backyard to play, “I know something we got to do with you that we didn’t with your sisters.”

And Robbie actually stops crying, lifting her head off his shoulder to look at him with those big blue eyes.

“What?” she asks, and she punctuates the question with a positively enormous sniffle.

“We got to drive you home from the hospital after you were born.”

Robbie blinks.

“Just me?”

“Just you,” Steve tells her as pulls her out of Eddie’s arms and into his own.

“And not Moe and Hazel?” she asks, eyes narrowed suspiciously as if she doesn’t believe them quite yet.

“Nope,” Eddie shook his head, “And do you remember what was special about when you were born?”

“I came early,” she tells them, because she knows.

“That’s exactly right, Bean," he nods, "You came early and you spent a whole week in the hospital until the doctors said we could take you home, and I sat in the backseat with you while Papa drove, and do you know what I remember?”

Robbie shakes her head.

“I remember Papa was driving really slow.”

“Papa always drives slow,” Robbie says, and her nose scrunches up the way it always does when she’s making fun of them (and she’s getting real good at it these days).

“Well, he was driving especially slow, and I asked him why, and you know what he said?”

“What?”

“He said precious cargo,”  he tells her, and Steve has to hide a smile in Robbie’s messy curls because he’d forgotten about that.

He’d forgotten until this moment how the early November sky had been dark and cloudy. He’d forgotten how, halfway through the drive, the sky had opened up on them, fat raindrops making loud plunks as they hit the roof of the car, and how Eddie had teased him as he eased off the highway to wait out the rainstorm, but Steve hadn’t heard a single complaint from him the whole half hour they killed sitting together in the backseat with newborn Robbie, and Steve couldn’t stop thinking about how damn happy he was.

Steve is pulled out of his thoughts as Eddie speaks again.

“You know who that precious cargo was?” he asked Robbie.

She shrugged bashfully, hiding her face in the collar of Steve’s shirt.

 “That was you, Bean,” Eddie tells her, and Robbie giggled as he poked her little belly, “That was you.”

[im-not-buying-it-ether]

Oh hey what about a groundhogs day event where the hero has to relive their traumatic “One Bad Day”-esque backstory but it’s another hero they either know really well and the only way to break the loop is letting that horrible event happen

Bc I’m basic my first thought was “Oh, this would absolutely tear up anyone having to walk down crime alley knowing way too well what’s about to happen”

But I’m also obsessed with my blorbo so my other thought was “Omg lol, imagine if one of the adult heroes ended up in Billy’s body just before his parents left to go die on their dig and think maybe they can save their co-worker the tragedy he faced so young only for every attempt they succeed at getting them to stay keep the loop going and they realize they have to let them go and doom this kid all over again. Haha, extra points if the loop actually lasts from that point to them actually dying so they wake up the next day thinking they failed again only for it to be tomorrow and suddenly Uncle E gets the call that his brother and sister in law are dead and then whoever is in Billy’s body is getting thrown out with a suitcase realizing maybe the nightmare is going to last longer.”

And I just had to laugh bc goddamn my brain cant stop with angst

[robthegoodfellow]

I'm Glad My Dad Died

mungrove | slightly expanded version of fic written for @strangerthingscharityzine | ao3

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy had a secret: he was glad his dad was dead. So glad that even when his mom sold their house in Ocean Beach and moved them to Hawkins, Indiana, uprooting him from his friends and the sea and everything Billy loved, he still wouldn’t go back to the way things were. Given the options—California, dad alive; or Indiana, dad dead—he’d pick the second every time.

He would, even though Hawkins was its own hell. Learned the hard way that among prepubescent country bumpkins, embroidered roses on your shirt and hair like Shirley Temple bought you a one-way ticket to Loserville.

It was the fall of 1979. Disco was dying and former flower children were gearing up to vote for Reagan. Kumbaya over, time to make America great again.

So, yeah—sixth grade sucked, but stuff at home was world’s better. They were living with Aunt Doris—because San Diego was too expensive, his mom said, and wouldn’t it be nice to get a fresh start?

Mom was really into the whole fresh start thing—which Billy suspected was fueled by guilt and determination to be the kind of mother she hadn’t been before. And… he appreciated that. He did.

But—he wished she would stop? Put down the pen, step away from the extracurricular sign-up sheets.

Because if the outfit put a target on his back, swim team aimed the bow, and band fired the arrow. 

You’ll miss the water, honey. And you love music! 

She wasn’t wrong. He did love those things—but not enough to willingly wear a Speedo in public or blunder through some Beethoven on the flute. Also in public.

Oh—why the flute? Because she’d fed him a steady diet of hippie tunes from the cradle and knew how much he dug Jethro Tull. Perfectly reasonable explanation—his peers would definitely understand.

Here lies Billy Hargrove, innocent victim of social homicide. 

The bullying was relentless, but Billy figured he could take it. No middle school bully could come close to the one he’d lived with all his life. 

You know, the one he was glad was dead.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Billy hadn’t wanted to attend the talent show, but Mom insisted it was important to support his friends. By which she meant her friends—women she’d been palling around with who had kids in said show.

Kids she’d been aggressively arranging playdates with like Billy was five. 

Patrick’s talent was making twenty free-throw shots in a row. Robin’s was singing “This Land is Your Land” in four different languages. His mom and Mrs. Buckley had laughed about keeping the less than patriotic lyrics, assuming the Spanish rendition would fly over people’s heads.

Billy felt bad even thinking it, but he did wonder if his mom pushing these particular friends at him was part of her fresh start campaign.

Pat was black. Robin was a girl. And his dad had a habit of muttering snide remarks about anyone who wasn’t a WASP packing a sizable stinger—who wasn’t a clone of Neil Hargrove, basically.

And look, Pat and Robin were—fine. But he knew and they knew that they were only hanging out because their moms wanted them to, which was awkward as hell. Made his palms sweat whenever they were together or whenever they said hi at school despite him being a fairy freak according to kids whose opinions mattered. 

They were nice, but it felt like pity. Embarrassing in a way that made him shrivel up inside.

So he wasn’t in the best mood, slumped in the auditorium between his mother and Doris, praying no one pelted him with shit from behind. Mom felt crappy enough about all those years with Neil—Billy didn’t need her kicking herself for scooping him out of the fire and into a frying pan.

Pat set a record—28 in a row—and Billy clapped. Robin sang her song wearing a daisy crown, and Billy clapped. Dully, he watched as stagehands set up the next act, hauling out a drum kit.

Gareth, this shrimpy sixth grader, sat at the drums. Then an eighth grader came out, followed by a couple kids in seventh, the former bearing an electric guitar, one of the latter a bass. The guitarist waved, leaned into the mic—skinny guy with a buzzcut, eyes big and dark as an alien. 

We are Corroded Coffin—paused as a contingent of the audience went nuts—and this song is called Paranoid.

In the next row, a kid whispered, excited: Think they’ll make Coleman pull the plug again?

Gareth banged his drumsticks, counting them off. 

The opening riffs were like nothing Billy had heard before—this grind of chords that rattled teeth, thrummed in the chest. He straightened, compelled forward, a fishing line hooked deep.

Buzzcut was bent over the strings so low that all you could see was the top of his head, a fuzzy cue ball. Then Gareth kicked in, and the front man wailed the first verse, this nasal staccato, sort of speak-singing.

Billy scrambled to decipher the rapidfire—caught bits of the first verses. Then the bridge begged for help, and the rest landed loud and clear.

I need someone to show me The things in life that I can't find I can't see the things that make       true happiness I must be blind

The words were meant for him—just for Billy. It’s me. The guitarist leapt, plunged into a driving solo. The song’s about me.

Make a joke and I will sigh And you will laugh and I will cry Happiness I cannot feel And love to me is so unreal

Helpless, Billy turned to his mom, who grinned, whispering they’re great, aren’t they? He could only nod, swinging back to the guitarist, riveted until the final blaring note.

For Christmas, Billy unwrapped the smallest package under the tree—a cassette. It was all he’d asked for: Black Sabbath’s greatest hits album.

Because that night of the talent show, he sold his soul for rock n’ roll.

More specifically, for heavy metal.

More secretly, for the boy with the big brown eyes.

Eddie, he’d found out at school the next day, gossip overheard at lunch. The boy was Eddie.

Eddie Munson.

And whenever Billy caught a glimpse of him, the rest of that year, he thrummed like an electric guitar.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Unfortunately, his passion for headbanging and powerchords did not meaningfully improve the remainder of middle school, and by the time he walked the stage at eighth grade graduation, Billy resolved to make a change—give himself a fresh start on his terms.

First, he mowed endless lawns and bought a new wardrobe: bootcut jeans with matching boots, which lent him some height and a certain swagger; button downs in dark colors worn open to his sternum and white tees like the crew from Outsiders; a bitchin’ leather jacket.

His hair had progressed from Shirley Temple to Farrah Fawcett, so he trotted to the barber for a Bon Jovi bi-level. Almost chickened out at the mall when he got his ear pierced, but loved the way the earring swung from his left lobe… though the right would’ve been more accurate. 

He quit band and swim. Thought maybe he’d try basketball instead, and enlisted Pat to help him practice.

They were actual buddies by then.

Lastly, he took up smoking. Marlboro Reds, because they were badass. Soldiered through the pack all summer, suppressing a gag on every pull till he was puffing like a chimney.

August before ninth grade, Pat’s brother let them tag along to a party at the quarry; if Billy got in good with upperclassmen, it could pave the way to social acceptance—maybe even… popularity?

Total pipe dream, but then… it worked.

That night was one for the record books: first time smoking dope, shot-gunning a beer… first time a girl went down on him.

First time he’d seen Eddie in two years. Wouldn’t even have recognized him, except the eyes hadn’t changed. Eddie was a junior and looked it: taller, wild dark hair to his shoulders, tattoos peeking from his sleeves. He made a brief appearance and vanished—there to sell some supply, not socialize.

Billy wished he’d stayed. Admitted then what he was most excited about for high school: the chance to see Eddie Munson again.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Ironically, the object of Billy’s obsession had suffered a fall from grace in the transition to the big leagues: swirling rumors swore he was a Satan-worshiping anarchist and a burnout to boot. A weirdo who played geeky games with his loser friends.

Except—unlike Billy, Eddie didn’t give a fuck. While Billy strutted around vaguely unsettled, ill at ease with his costume, this immersive performance for the foreseeable future, Eddie had unveiled his freak flag—reveled in it, let it fly.

Regret gnawed at him, grew in Billy’s gut—knew if he were a little braver, he could trash this cool kid stuff and… 

End of Eddie’s senior year, Billy was sick at heart. Knew he’d missed his shot.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

So imagine his confusion, surprise—his hidden euphoric delight—when Billy spotted that dark mop atop a wiry frame loping across the parking lot on the first day of eleventh grade.

Eddie should have graduated, but for whatever reason… hadn’t.

Thus, a new resolution: seize this chance. Be Eddie’s friend.

By second semester, Billy had worked his way up to casual chit chat and also, incidentally, was a raging pothead—so much so that his mother was worried, and she had spent the 60s stoned out of her gourd.

Let him experiment, Doris advised, winking at Billy over dinner. His grades are fine. What’s the harm?

The following evening, Doris showed him her special cookies stashed in the freezer, cautioning him to only ever take one bite and be patient. Billy asked if he could give one to his friend.

Top tier moment, right up there with Dad dying. Eddie’s eyes lit up all starry, demanded Billy come hang so they could make like Keebler—try the old elfin magic—and Billy was blessed to learn that Loaded Eddie = Handsy Eddie.

Blessed and cursed, because Eddie learned that Blazed Billy = Honest Billy. Tell me a secret, Eddie said, tickling. Tell me a secret.

Nothing happened. Eddie was just… affectionate. Bit of a snuggler. Who now knew he was the reason Billy was such a metalhead. 

And that Billy was glad—about his dad.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Eddie was held back again, and suddenly math and history were Billy’s favorite classes because Eddie sat next to him in the back row. Seemed to do decently with Billy there egging him on.

Thus, his final resolution: graduate with Eddie. Drag him across the finish line if necessary. Billy held study sessions he didn’t need at the library after school, invited Eddie to join—and Eddie did.

Eddie invited Billy to come see his band play at a local bar on Tuesdays—and Billy did.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said one weekend, when they were sharing a bowl, and Billy snorted, gazed into bloodshot eyes. Glad you got held back. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be doing this. Eddie smirked, soft. Getting high? Billy laughed. Hanging out.

Billy turned eighteen that March, and the Buckleys and McKinneys came over to celebrate, as usual. Unusual was the doorbell as they were about to eat, Eddie and Wayne trooping in, sorry for being late.

Robin picked up on something that night—cornered him in the bathroom. Are you and Eddie…? Billy went tight, and she rushed to reassure. It’s okay if you are. I am, too. So Billy breathed, calmed. I am. I dunno if he is. Robin arched her brow. From where I’m sitting, odds are good.

Billy spent weeks yanking hope by the roots.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

Come May, they walked in green cap and gown—hugged in the milling crowd, Eddie cackling wet in his ear, a clinging koala. Didn’t think I could do it.

Billy brought him along to Robin’s graduation party. In the backyard, her old childhood treehouse beckoned, and they heeded the call.

Tell me a secret, Eddie said, sitting back against mossy boards. They weren’t even high. He flicked Billy’s earring—set his heart swinging. That should be on the other side, Billy said, and stared until Eddie flushed red, understood. I got a secret, he said, and Billy didn’t dare to know but did. 

Eddie said it: I’ve wanted to kiss you all year.

A click as Billy swallowed, bone dry. Then do it.

And Eddie did.

.🌱.💀.🌱.

[midsummer-semantics]

wiggly wednesday 🪱

Okay sure, this sounds fun. I was tagged by @medusapelagia to share a brainworm/headcanon, and I've been trying to get one to develop more fully so here we go.

Today, I'm thinking about...

Steve and Eddie going through some of Eddie's old things as they pack up to move into their own place. Nancy and Robin are there to help even though that mostly consists of Robin picking through already-packed boxes because she keeps getting distracted by all of the things she finds.

Steve finds what looks to be a really old photo album, the sticky pages holding the photos down yellow with age.

"Oh, shit," Eddie says, taking it from him to flip through. "I haven't seen this in ages. I was sure it was lost when all the shit went down."

"Oh my god, please tell me there's embarrassing baby pictures of you in there," Robin grins, trying to snatch it away.

Eddie holds it out of reach, nearly throwing it as Robin tries to tackle him for it.

"Jesus Christ! I'll show you, just keep your insane paws to yourself!" Eddie gripes.

Steve scoots in closer while Robin and Nancy crowd in on his other side, all wanting a closer look.

There's not many pictures in it and most are grainy and out of focus, black and white and hard to distinguish. But there's a few of a baby with an unmistakeable crop of riotous curls.

"Holy shit, you were so cute," Steve coos, running a finger along the 2D cheek of one photo.

"Excuse you, Harrington, but I'm still cute," Eddie snarks, flipping to the next page.

There's one photo of a young man holding baby Eddie, dark curls so similar to his own atop his head. The photo looks to have been torn down the middle, the right side pressed right against baby Eddie's back, like whoever was on the other side was better left out of the picture long term.

"Huh," Steve hums. "It never occurred to me that I had no idea what your dad looks like."

"And for good reason, babe," Eddie says, fighting not to rip the photo out and burn it. "Thankfully all I got from him was his hair and penchant for hot wiring. Everything else I got from my mom I guess."

"You guess?" Nancy asks.

Eddie nods. "She died when I was a baby and the old man kind of went off the rails after. I suspect this—" he runs a finger along the jagged edge of the photo in the book, "is his handy work."

"That's a shame," Steve says softly. He lifts the plastic covering the photo and peels it off the sticky backing, holding it up to his face to get a closer look — his eye sight is pretty back after so many concussions after all.

"Ya know, if his hair was a little longer, like mullet style, he'd almost look like a dark-haired Billy Hargrove," Steve points out.

Robin snatches the photo out of his hand, holding it out stretched like she can see it better that way instead. "Oh, shit. You're right. That's so weird."

Eddie snatches it back, top lip curled in disgust. "I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but how fucking dare you in any way compare my gorgeous existence to that guy."

Steve snickers and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek. "I'm sorry, babe. You're right."

The photo gets tucked back into its place and they keep flipping through the book. There's more of Eddie as an infant, a few more of his dad, even a couple of a young Wayne in his military uniform holding a toddler Eddie by his arms as he jumps up, legs gangly and wild. Any photo that might have contained Eddie's mom is ripped, none of them cleanly, and there's only the occasional hand or blur of dark hair. Even still, it does stop happening once Eddie's about six months old.

"Wow. So you really don't know what your mom looks like?" Nancy asks finally as they're setting the photo album in a box.

"Oh no I do," Eddie says. "I have one singular picture of her from right after I was born. Wayne saved it for me."

"Oooooo can we see?" Robin pipes in. Eddie shrugs, getting up to dig through a shoebox that Steve's seen before but somehow managed to avoid snooping through — not that he didn't think about it all the time for the last year they've been together.

He comes back with a photo, plopping back into his spot while his friends and boyfriend crowd around him once more.

It's dead silent for several minutes, all of them staring at the picture. Eddie always figured his uncle was on to something when he said Eddie looked more like his mom, but now that he's about her age when this photo was taken, he thinks he can really see it.

On his left, Steve is trying to process exactly what he's looking at. Sure, the woman in the photo looks like she has the same dark hair that Eddie does, though it's a lot less curly, but aside from the hair and the tired look on her face, she could be a dead ringer for —

"Either Mrs. Wheeler has a doppleganger, or a secret twin we don't know about," he says.

He glances at Robin for a second before looking at Eddie and Nancy. They're heads are bowed over the photo, wearing matching expressions of wide-eyed shock.

Wait.

Matching.

Oh shit.

"Eddie," Robin says carefully. "What's your mom's name?"

His jaw opens and closes a few times before he croaks out, "Elizabeth, but Wayne said she only ever went by—"

"Her middle name?" Nancy asks, the fear of knowing the answer obvious in the wobble of her voice.

Eddie flips the photo over to look at the names and date written on the back. He's looked at it a million times, tracing her loopy handwriting so much over the years that it's slightly smudged, but still legible.

Karen Elizabeth Harvey + Edward Wayne Munson, November 1965

"Oh shit."

——————————————

no-pressure tags if anyone also wants to share a brainworm: @tedewitt @hornedqueenofhell @malikat24601 @spectrum-spectre

[kookidough]

analysing vance hopper because he lives in my head 24/7 !

tw for like. literally everything the black phone covers!!!!!!

also there's some special effects gore rather far down in the post idk just i feel like i should warn you just in case

okay so before anyones like "but bee!!!! he only had 6 minutes of screen time in a 102 minute long movie!!!!! he was only on screen for 5.8% of the movie!!!!!" and to that i say i Know it was a real tragedy so a lot of this will be built on personal interpretation and subtext and stuff said behind the scenes and whatnot

so firstly i wanna rot about what his childhood/upbringing might've been like..... i havent quite decided on something definitive but i think we can take one look at his character and realise that is glaringly obvious he had a bad childhood, in one interview the actor that plays him (brady hepner) says "the background i had set up for vance is that the reason he was the way he was is his home life was fairly difficult, you know maybe his dad was either not there for him or he wasn't supportive, maybe he was fairly abusive, and so that creates a hair trigger sense of rage in vance" hair trigger meaning his patience is literally as thin as a strand of hair it does Not take a lot for him to snap

there more to it after that which i'll get into soon but yea thats the gist of it it's clear he had absent/neglectful/abusive parents and that would certainly contribute to why he's so angry all the time, maybe acting so explosive was the only way to get his parents' attention, either good or bad, so he just internalised that. obviously rage and anger issues like vance's lead to violence (not in all cases but in his case it does) and i think a neglectful and abusive upbringing would obviously expose him to more violence than a normal childhood would, therefore normalising it and desensitising him to it, whether he's seeing it play out in his own home and/or on television or something like that (because i doubt his parents would be the kind to monitor what content he's viewing)

i feel like he has little control over his life and that only adds to his anger, which in his case leads to a fight when his buttons are pushed too many times. i think he probably takes great pride in being the toughest in town and whatnot and winning fights and being perceived as strong and scary is good to him and helps him regain control/power, something he doesnt have at home. the rest of the quote from the interview i mentioned earlier states "this pinball machine could have been the only thing that he has in his heart that's like, good, like 'holy cow i did this, i set the score,' so when someone comes along and messes it up for him, it takes away the only thing that he has. i think that that's when he switches to a 'now you're gonna pay for that'"

similar to what i said about fighting, the pinball machine and his high score is something he has control over and its an important part of his reputation/image like. hes literally pinball vance ! and the whole thing about that high score being the "only thing he has in his heart that's good" implies that hes. well. pretty shit at everything else, which is pretty much canon if you remember that gwen said vance was held back twice in school. makes me think that while he's not the brightest in school he's certainly street smart

moving onto ermmmmm him getting kidnapped era because im sure youre wondering "well bee if he's so street smart then why did he get kidnapped" so may i raise two theories (this is. literally all i got and its not even concrete, me and my friend gray (@staggersz) tried to figure out how this could even happen and this is the most plausible thing we've got. so shoutout to him real quick he has had to deal with me being unnormal about vance for like a year and a half thanks king couldnt have done all this without my rotting buddy)

so either he got taken by surprise (most likely option) or vance's trust was gained first via getting given quarters at the pinball machine and small talk and shit like that but this is unlikely because i feel like it'd take a loooooong time for someone like vance to trust a some random stranger adult man when he clearly has issues with trusting and respecting people older than him and people with authority (e.g. cops, his parents, or school officials) so yea being taken by surprise would probably be the most realistic option, i always see people on tiktok being like "how did the grabber kidnap vance hes so strong!!!!" dude its a 15 year old boy against like. a 45 year old man who's already claimed two lives its really not gonna be a fair fight here

before i get into the next part i wanna quickly address a theory i absolutely Hate and it is so easily disproven and that is the theory that vance is the grabber's son or is related to him in some other way and i see it Far too often on tiktok and i HATE it. from what ive seen this all stems from his dream sequence where he kicks open the fence to albert's house and, presumably, goes inside after being dropped off by the police after the grab n go fight. idk if some people just straight up didnt realise this but clearly in real life he is going to his Own House??? in the dream it's only albert's house because this is how he chooses to show gwen the house she's trying to find her brother in, the house that he himself was killed in??? i hate the theory i hate it sm

the dream sequence itself is interesting though as the ghosts seem to only be able to conjure up what theyve seen in real life (like how bruce can picture the outside of the house and show that to gwen but the house number is all flipped and not right beause he doesnt know it) so vance being able to picture the house and the number and the gate and every detail would imply that hes seen it before, but im going to explain that away as either he got out once before like with finney's failed escape attempt, or the house is most likely on the route he walks to school or the grab n go or something and he hasnt actually been there prior to being kidnapped

mini rant over now onto being kidnapped i guess, so i used the missing posters to try and estimate a timeline of how long each ghost boy would've been in the basement for (although the missing posters are notoriously unreliable for details such as looks/height/age/etc, the dates seem to all line up). so we know the order is griffin, billy, vance, bruce, robin, finney, right?? if we use the poster date then billy was taken on may 4th, 1976, a month and two days after griffin was taken (april 2nd 1976). vance was taken on september 23rd 1977, almost a full year later (stay with me im going somewhere with this), and after that bruce was taken on july 18th 1978, again almost a full year later

its established in the movie that the grabber stalks his victims before he takes them (canon because we literally see the van watching finney and gwen as they walk home from school early on in the movie) but we dont know how long he does this for since griffin/billy and robin/finney were taken such short distances apart and then the others were taken such long distances apart, also it's possible he could stalk his next victim while the previous one is still alive, etc etc lots of confusing factors, but if i've done the maths right then the absolute maximum time vance could've spent down there is 9 months and 25 days, or 298 days, so erm . let that sink in !

howeverrrr in the movie gwen states that vance went missing "last spring" and september is definitely not in spring, meaning he could've been down there for a year or even longer. an explanation or excuse i could think of for the movie and the missing poster saying different things (other than the missing posters being known for some areas being wildly inaccurate) is that maybe he was taken in spring but wasnt labelled as officially missing until september, when he was properly linked to griffin and billy's similar disappearances and the mysterious grabber? i can imagine it'd be very easy for law enforcement, especially in the 70s, to dismiss someone like vance as a runaway until they get solid evidence that he was taken. idk though thats just my personal excuse / angsty headcanon for the difference in information

not sure what exactly killed him but we do hear from vance himself that "he took his time with me" so it was probably blood loss from a variety of injuries, if we look at him in his ghost scenes we can see his hair is absolutely covered in blood which indicates head injury, he clearly has a broken nose and bruising around his eyes as a result of it, he has these deep cuts on his abdomen area (apologies for the image quality but i believe they're like. sfx pieces you would wear under clothing)

and he also has just like. minor bruising (like the fingerprints on his arm) and other random blood splatters on his face and neck (assuming the blood down his neck comes from wherever he was bleeding on his head) so Yeah overall very unpleasant way to die obviously

okay now the part thats actually in the movie and it only took me 13 paragraphs to get here: vance as a ghost!! first thing i wanna point out is appearance wise i just want to say that when he's a ghost he's missing his choker and that fact Pains me. anyway personality-wise i feel like being violently murdered has, understandably, kicked his rage up to like. the highest level it could possibly go. he's insanely snarky and downright rude to finney on the phone, showing no empathy to the fact that finney is literally in the exact situation he was in

i feel like the whole "this is the nightmare end of your pathetic little life" and "if you knew what you had coming, you'd be fucking terrified" thing is definitely to scare finney on purpose and to get him to do something, vance might as well have just told him he's never going home cuz thats how it came across LMAOO, it is startling though because vance is clearly speaking from experience, that he was literally fucking terrified, and he is warning finney in his own weird way

the thing i think sets vance apart from the other ghosts is that while he does help finney, he does it for a different reason than they do. the other ghosts want finney to escape, to get out, to be free, to live, but personally i dont think vance cares about that. the only thing he wants is for albert shaw to be dead, for someone to seek vengeance, to do what vance couldn't. vance doesn't care if it's bruce or robin or finney or whatever boy could've come after that, he doesnt care as long as that man gets what he deserves after what he put vance through, and i see this through the scene at the end of vance's call where finney thanks him for his help and vance says, and i quote, "helping you? this isn't about you, fuck him! and apologies for being repetitive but to me it just literally proves that to vance, this isnt about finney or his escape, its just about revenge

we dont get to find out what happens to the ghosts once the credits have rolled, and i dont think we quite know enough about tbp's version of ghosts to guess what theyre up to, but i have a few theories :3 maybe theyre no longer bound to those two houses and they can now go anywhere they want in town? or maybe since their shared goal of stopping albert has been achieved, the ghosts can finally pass on to whatever is waiting for them next. i dont think vance would be content to pass on that quickly or easily as anger lingers, but i hope he'd be able to let go of it eventually, and hey we might find out in the sequel. i pray it mentions him cuz i will just die if it doesnt

sometimes, ok thats a lie, frequently i think about an au where he survived or escaped or whatever but ohhhh boy this post is already a train wreck so that au would deserve its own essay of a post :3 if u actually genuinely read this far then Wtf thanks for reading the ramblings of an absolute madman, only pure delusion could get like 20 paragraphs about a guy with 6 minutes screentime but hey thats how i roll, thanks again to my pal gray for letting me rot and thank u to my other pal ana for also enduring all this rot

hope u enjoyed my interpretation of vance hopper im going to crawl in a hole now and probably brainrot some more, thanks again for ur time :3

[enchanted-day-dreams]

Harringrove AU where Billy is fully aware/accepting of the fact that he's not straight, and only goes after girls/women to keep suspicions from reaching Neil's ears (because in Neil's eyes, a son who whores around is far preferable than one who fucks men). Meanwhile Steve struggles with the idea that he's bi, because any potential interest in guys he's had in the past was easy to ignore, because he's always liked girls/women so he's fully convinced he can't be gay.

[ickypuppi3]

the breakfast club au steve and billy as claire and bender my beloved

[unfinishedslurs]

RIP Mike Wheeler’s heterosexuality

“Is being gay contagious?”

Steve stares at his phone groggily before putting it back against his ear. “…Mike?”

“Is it?”

“It’s three in the fuckin’ morning is what it is.” He rubs his nose, Mike’s words finally catching up to his brain. “Seriously, Mike? No it’s not fucking contagious, you’re not gonna get the gay disease or whatever from me. I promise you’ll keep liking girls.”

He’s a little hurt, even though he knows the question is innocent. They’ve been asking a lot of questions, like the inquisitive little assholes they are, but none of them had seemed like they weren’t okay with it. Until now.

“…that’s not what I meant,” Mike says. Steve realizes that his voice sounds shaky, even over the phone.

“Then what—“ he cuts himself off, realizing halfway through his bitching that there was only one reason Mike would call about this. “Oh.”

“Can you pick me up?”

“It’s three in the morning,” he repeats, even as he starts wondering where he left his keys. “Your mom…”

“Steve,” Mike pleads. “Please?”

He sighs. “I’m on my way.”

Mike is sitting on his doorstep when he pulls up, head in his hands. Steve doesn’t have to get out of the car, he stalks to the passenger door with all the vitriol of a boy with too many emotions to hold in, and wrenches the door open hard enough that Steve worries he’s going to break it.

“Watch it, noodle arms,” he says, trying to pretend this is normal. Maybe if he acts like it’s not well past midnight, Mike will relax.

It doesn’t work. Mike slumps in his seat, not bothering with the seatbelt. “Can you just drive?”

Steve drives. Doesn’t really know where they’re going, but it doesn’t matter. Just away seems to suffice.

He eventually pulls into a side road

“I’m scared to even touch another guy now! Because apparently hugging is gay when you’re older, and so is sleeping in the same bed, and telling your friends you love them, and…and I’m fucking scared all the time, ‘cause what if they’re right? How do they know? How can they tell by just fucking looking at me? It’s bullshit!”

“Shit, kid,” Steve says, heartbroken. “Shit. C’mere.”

He pulls him close, and Mike turns his face into the crook of his neck, shaking. His shirt collar starts to get damp.

“I don’t know what to do,” he cries. “I thought it was normal, I thought everyone was just…so scared all the time, and we just didn’t talk about it. But then you said that thing about being afraid and pushing it down, and I didn’t— I tried to ignore it. I tried so hard not to think about it, Steve, I swear I tried.”

“I know you did,” he says quietly. It hits him that he might be the only one who really gets it. Eddie gave up denying it long ago, deciding to evolve into something else for them to focus on. Robin’s a girl. Which doesn’t mean jack shit in most cases, because being a lesbian fucking sucks in a town like Hawkins, but girls aren’t as obsessive about it. Sometimes when they compare notes, Robin will just stare at him.

Mike shakes his head. “I don’t know what I did wrong,” he mumbles tearfully into his shoulder.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Steve says with a surprising amount of vehemence. He grabs Mike by his scrawny little shoulders, pulls him away so he can look directly into his bloodshot eyes. “Not a damn thing, do you hear me? There is nothing wrong with you, and anyone who tells you otherwise deserves a swift kick in the balls. Got it?”

Mike responds by bursting into loud, messy sobs.

Steve just keeps holding him, running a hand through his hair and soothing him gently, like he wishes someone had done for him or Robin or Eddie when they were young. Finally Mike pulls away, embarrassment starting to set in.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve asks instead of a meaningless platitude he knows Mike wouldn’t accept.

Mike gives him a suspicious look. “I guess.”

“I’m scared too. All the time.”

“No you’re not,” Mike snorts. “You don’t need to make me feel better just because I’m a pussy.”

“I’m not joking,” he says. “Why do you think I dated girls? Why do you think I went through so many lengths to hide it? It’s fucking terrifying, man. But you know what makes it less scary?”

“Dating girls? Marrying a woman?”

“No.” He pokes Mike’s chest, right over his heart. “People. Friends who love and accept you. Friends who know what you’re going through, even.”

“Do you…” Mike chews his lip. “Do you think Nancy would be okay with it? With me?”

“Absolutely I do. She was okay with me, wasn’t she? And I was her boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but it’s different when it’s your family, right? Sometimes people don’t care if someone is… people don’t care until it affects them. Do you think Nancy is like that?”

He knows Nancy isn’t like that, but that's a talk they’re going to have to have themselves. “I really don’t,” he encourages. “I think she’d be really glad to know this part of you, actually. She loves you.”

“…I know,” he says, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t… we made this dumb no secrets pact the first time the Upside-Down happened, I don’t know why. It’s stupid. But…I don’t want to keep secrets from her anymore.”

[harringroveera]

Billy: Thanks, everybody, for coming out to Stevie’s breakup party, again, now that he’s broken up with Nancy, again

Heather: Why did you guys get the cake with two men getting married?

Billy: That’s me and Bambi. The boys are back together!

Robin: This cake is for a gay wedding. The inside is a rainbow

Steve: Nuh-uh. It’s my favorite flavor, all the flavors!

[ihni]

Can u draw Billy being jealous and then kiss Steve, please?

Sure can! (Sorry this is four years late, I haven't gone through my inbox in a while.)

[robinfollies]

I literally have No idea how to go about making a post for this but I have a teepublic now!! And I’ve put a BUNCH of bbu pride designs on it that you can check out now if you’d like!!!

Here’s just a few of the designs I have available right now!!! You can get them as stickers, on shirts, and many more things!!! Happy Pride Month!!!

❤️🧡💛💚💙💜