#stwg

[eyesofshinigami]

3, 2, 1, Fight!

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: Meet Ugly, Steve and Dustin are brothers, pre-relationship

Written for the STWG daily drabble prompt: not a meet cute but a meet ugly

This is not at all how Steve pictured his Saturday going. He could be anywhere, instead, he’s standing in a comic book shop, fighting over a toy with another grown man who looks like he’s going to beat Steve over the head with it.

“Let go!” the guy yells, trying to tug the action figure out of Steve’s hands

“No, you let go!” Steve yells back, yanking it back. He has to give the guy props, though. He’s just as relentless as Steve is.

The guy sputters, an attractive shade of pink coloring his cheeks as his curly hair falls in his face. Wait, what? “Fuck off, why are you even here? Don’t you belong in a gym or something?”

Steve scoffs, still yanking. “Does it matter why I’m here? Just let go already!”

Dustin had been asking for this action figure for months now, talking about it and showing Steve newspaper clippings and TV commercials. Steve, being the good big brother he is, promised their mom that he would do his best to get it for him for his upcoming birthday. He’d be damned if he was going to let some punk, albeit a very attractive punk, take it away from him. Why did they only put three out on the shelf anyway?

They play tug of war for another few minutes, until the bewildered clerk, who had been watching their exchange, finally butts in and says, “Uh, I think I might have another one in the back? Can you wait here?”

They both nod, neither of them letting go of the toy. “I wish he would have said that in the first place,” Steve grouses, watching the clerk disappear behind a door. “Why they only put out a couple of copies of a toy I will never understand.”

It’s Hot Guy’s turn to sputter. “Toy? TOY? This, sir, is the limited edition statue of Kas the Betrayer that Wizard of the Coast put out to celebrate the anniversary of his DnD release! Not that you would care about any of that, you troglodyte.”

Steve has no idea what any of that means. “Oh, so that’s why Dustin wanted it. Makes sense now. He loves that guy.”

“Wait, it’s not for you?”

“Uh, no? It’s for my kid brother’s birthday. He loves that Dorks and Dragons game and he ran a Kas… uh… campaign? Last year? It was his first time. Kas is kind of a big deal to him.”

The other guy starts to look a little contemplative, but that’s when the clerk appears with another, much less rankled looking box. Steve immediately lets the one in his hands go and takes that one instead. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

The clerk shrugs and heads back behind the counter. Meanwhile, Hot Guy tugs his hair in front of his face. “Uh, look. I’m sorry I said such shitty things over a toy. It’s just, Kas is kind of a big deal to me too. You could have just said.”

Steve waves him off. “No worries, I get it. But now we both have one.” He pauses and considers a second. It’s worth a shot. “You could make it up to me over lunch in the food court.”

Hot Guy’s eyes go wide. “Are you serious?”

Okay, wow. “Well, I was, but you can just say no, you don’t have to-“

“No, no, no!” Hot Guy says, waving his arms around, nearly dropping the box he fought so hard for. “No, I’d like that. Eddie,” he says, holding out a hand. That pretty pink flush is back. Steve kind of wants to see how far it goes down.

“Steve. Now let’s go, before any more wayward nerds decide they want to fight us over these.”

Eddie, dork that he is, bows and motions towards the cash register, “By your leave, my prince.”

Steve rolls his eyes. He always did like the nerdy ones.

[penny00dreadful]

AO3

Death had visited Hawkins many times in the last few years, far too many times for their liking if they were being honest.

The twisted and unnatural things that had gone on within that small town were against Nature and Death was a part of Nature.

The cycle of the world was just one great big event of Life and Death but there had been so much here.

They remembered coming for Barbara Holland and though it might have seemed unfair, it was her time. Death didn’t take anyone before their time but at the very least they tried to bring her some peace, letting her see the stars one last time from underneath the water of the pool and letting the stars see her right back, twinkling above her as the water held her close.

Bob’s passage was less gentle. Stuck inside where nature couldn’t reach, torn and shredded and in agony, but still, Death tried to make his passing less terrifying, softly caressing his face and enveloping him in their dark wings quickly, not wanting him to be in pain any longer than he needed to be.

The others after that were more difficult.

A great big mess of people in a damp basement who did not deserve to go the way they did, disintegrating into a sludge of bodies, only to be puppeteered by a vile excuse for a human, then killed again. Nature had been forced to twist away from that one.

Death couldn’t do anything for them, no matter how they tried, there were just too many and too quickly, but still they hugged them all close and brought them to their passing.

It was times like those when Death wondered if their quiet, curious fascination with human life was something that was even worth continuing.

Humanity had such a talent for killing each other en masse and Death would be forced to observe, along with the grass and the trees and the clouds and the wind.

But humanity kept pulling their focus back. There was such a capacity for them to love each other too, even though sometimes they were hated for it. 

For the simple act of love.

Death watched as the two boys, children themselves really, though forced to become so much older, parted with a kiss at the Quarry, forced into a clandestine meeting after they had saved the world because of other people’s hate.

The wind tried to push them away, urging them to run, to move faster, to push themselves out of the series of events barrelling towards them but the boys just laughed, brushing hair from each other’s face before leaning in again.

The Quarry echoed up towards them, hoping to spook them into jumping into their own cars and peeling out of there at high speed, but the boys didn’t notice, too wrapped up in each other.

The evening sky watched on in silence, unable to do anything about the incoming storm and the small group gathering on the other side of town, ignorant and fearful and wanting to hurt in return.

Death had visited Eddie Munson before, just once. Not to take him, but to help him hold on. It wasn’t his time to die, no matter what others in the town thought. 

The boy was loud and brash and passionate, bursting at the seams with life and energy and light and Death didn’t want to see that pass unnecessarily. They refused to take him before they were due to.

They had leaned down, brushing a light kiss against his lips and had stepped back as his friends and one boy in particular threw themselves down next to him.

Steve Harrington had received multiple visits from Death over the years. 

Their first meeting had come on the tail end of a vicious beating and a plate over the head. The ground below him had shuddered with the impact and while the children around him screamed and he lay unconscious on the floor, Death had flapped their wings and flared that dying spark of life back up into a flame.

Barely a year later they had gone underground and brushed their fingers through his hair, while a girl spat in another man’s face. They could feel the earth around them try to reach out to support, but being held back by metal walls and a sickening aura from another world.

Then again only a day later while the sky and the sunlight and the pollen could only watch through the windows, Death took his hand, pulling life back into him from his slumped position on the couch he’d been sleeping on, still in his uniform.

The next time was more difficult. Trapped in another world that Death couldn’t reach, if Steve died there, then he’d be there forever. But the boy had just managed to make it back to the other side, cradling Eddie’s body close.

It wasn’t until he stepped back outside the hospital, all of his responsibilities temporarily being watched over by nurses and doctors and he had screamed, harsh and loud and bloody into the night. He collapsed, the dirt below trying to cushion him from hurting himself more than he already had been.

Death had stayed with him until someone found him, keeping him warm in their arms, but never closing their wings, not all the way. 

It wasn’t his time.

They watched as both boys came together, feeling young again, even though they had to hide. But they found happiness in each other, even if others could only look on in confusion or anger, threatened by what they refused to understand.

The group across town began to move, intent on driving him out of town for good this time, believing him to be a stain on their pristine lawns.

It was ridiculous and Death could do nothing to stop it.

They watched as Steve buzzed around his empty home, getting dinner prepared for himself, full of light and love.

When the group arrived, they didn’t announce their presence with a polite knock on the door but with a rock through the window, followed quickly by glass and gasoline and fire.

With the window broken, wind could now enter but it stayed away, not wanting to fan the flames as Steve gripped his bat, slowly and carefully walking back towards his patio door.

There were only six of them, but six against one were still terrible odds, no matter the creatures Steve had fought in the past.

His walkie was out of reach, sitting innocently in the kitchen along with the landline and his dinner burning on the stove, too far out of reach.

There was a scramble of movement as they broke through the windows, through the front door. 

Jason’s parents, Andy Johnson, that dog walker, Steve’s own neighbours and Chrissy Cunningham's younger brother were amongst the crowd and wasn't that the most devastating thing? 

Whipped up into a frenzy of hate and fear at barely twelve years old, by those supposed to look out for him, believing they were teaching him to take care of his town, handing the future to him.

Because of course they chose Steve to hunt.

He was one of them. He should be one of them. He was the one their daughters should be bringing home, the one they should be shaking hands with in church or sharing beers with.

Eddie was already an outsider. He wasn't a reflection of them. He didn't hold a mirror up, showing how much they could change, how far they could fall, how empty all of them were inside.

But these were the people Steve used to associate with. They saw him as more of a blight on the town than any of the other outsiders because he used to be them and if he could fall, then they must be able to too, right?

So they had to tear and scratch and burn to convince themselves that no, he was, is in fact wrong. He had always been that way. He was never right, not like them. No, they could never fall the way he did.

He was a disease and so they had to cut the disease out, had to eradicate any trace in case the infection spread.

As much as everyone pretended the religious fervour had died down, the town had only just gotten a taste.

It had whet their appetite for mob mentality and they were thirsty for more, feeling they were morally full to the brim but were in fact starved of compassion, blind to anything outside of their own comfort.

They claimed to be loving, to be healing, to be all welcoming with plastic smiles and greedy eyes but they would run anyone over who stepped a foot out of line. 

And unfortunately, Steve stepped out of line. He broke the mould and they believed they had to punish him for it.

The patio door crashed open and Steve was running out towards the woods before they could find him, his old home billowing thick black smoke at his back.

Death knew his parents wouldn't care. The insurance pay out from the fire would be more than enough to soften the blow, cosy in their new home in New York City. 

They would never publicly acknowledge what happened here but privately they would thank their neighbours for their crusade.

The grass could feel the thud, thud, thud of fearful running footsteps. Broken twigs and slippery leaves caught him unawares and were apologetic but powerless to do anything about it as shouts full of hate and the frenetic energy of bloodlust followed him into the woods.

The trees that surround them, that had shielded Steve and the chasing group alike whenever they needed it, could feel when he was disarmed and the bat was thrown to the side, the bloodsoaked nails digging into the earth as it fell.

None of them were brave enough to use such a deadly weapon against him, fearing too much the consequences of being the one to pick it up and undoubtedly have the responsibility of killing him, and Steve was not enough of a coward to use the bat against the group.

Strikes landed against the trees, from fists that missed him and from impacts travelling through Steve’s body and into the wood, cracking their bark and flaking it off. The earth soaked up the blood that was spilled heavy and hot but too metallic for nutrition. 

Adrenaline came fast and hard but left just as quickly and when the group looked at what they had done, the haze of anger and righteous indignation no longer thick enough to colour their perception of their actions, they took a step back, each of them sickened somewhere deep inside by what they had done but none of them were bold enough to admit it to the other.

Steve was still full of the need to keep living so he took an opportunity where he saw it, forcing his broken body to run again in a slightly delirious way, making it back to his car. 

The group didn’t follow immediately but it wouldn’t take long for them to realise that Steve knew each and every one of them and that maybe allowing him to get away alive might no longer have been an option.

Death could see Steve peel out of his driveway, his car always at the front of the house and ready to go after years of dealing with the end of the world. 

Across town, Eddie was practising a new piece on his guitar, full of joyful energy and barely able to contain his excitement when he got it right, almost jumping for joy and eager to tell Steve the next time he saw him.

Robin was in her room, pouring over books on cryptography, a fascination for her that began in the back room of an ice-cream parlour and hasn’t left her since. She had come to terms with the fact that this might be what she wanted to do with the rest of her life, but she would have to travel far to be able to study it, unsure of how to bring it up to her soulmate because she wanted him to come with her and to bring along his new love as well.

But still it would be a big change.

A big conversation.

The kids sat in the basement of the Wheeler home, giving Will back his DM seat, just between them. It was an apology for all that they had discounted his passions before, just like Steve had advised them to do and the bond between all of them glowed ever brighter.

The blinking stars watched as the car veered, swaying dangerously at speed from one side of the road to the other.

The crunch of metal and the impact splintered some of the thinner trees, leaves and branches falling onto the scene below, one sputtering headlight pointing out into the forest, a lighthouse in the night.

Somewhere in town a walkie crackled to life.

The skies opened up and the rain did what it could to help, washing the blood away and Death descended.

Steve blinked his eyes open.

“Hello.”

Death was unable to respond for a moment, but eventually replied, “Hello.”

“I’ve seen you before.”

“Too many times.”

Death crouched low, one wing extended over them, to keep the rain off his face.

“Am I coming with you? There’s so much left I need to do.”

Death heard it all before. People begged for more time, offering a card game for their soul, but Death doesn’t trade in souls. That was not their business. 

They would always promise Death other lives, other deaths in place of their own, money, power, glory, kingdoms, countries if they would just let them live a little while longer.

It never worked and Death never bargains.

Their time was their time and nothing on earth would ever be able to change that.

Death was nothing if not fair.

But even so, Steve didn’t beg. He didn’t try to bargain or trick. He was just asking. He wanted to know what to expect.

“No.” They answered. “Not yet.”

Death got down to their knees, hovering over him, close enough to throw him into shadow.

“But eventually?”

They nodded. “Everyone comes with me eventually.”

They lowered themselves down, pressing their lips softly against Steve’s as his eyes slipped closed again. 

“But not you. Not today.”

On the road just behind them, a deer jumped out, bounding across the black expanse, spooked by a branch a nearby tree dropped, sacrificed just in time.

Tires screeched to a halt. 

The wind had been at their back the entire time. 

Birds are sent flapping frantically into the sky as the screams of Steve’s friends and love rip through the air.

Death watched from above as they did everything in their power to get him out, get him to safety.

When he was eventually taken to a larger hospital in the city Steve was watched over at every available second by a slowly revolving door of people who would not leave him, even if Death themselves asked them to.

Steve never stepped foot back in Hawkins again after he crashed just beyond the ‘Now Leaving Hawkins’ sign, but he was not without his people.

The family that Steve had built up around him were merciless in their judgement of the town. Those who were able to, leave immediately. Eddie and Wayne only enter Hawkins again to gather up their most prized of prized possessions, happy to never ever look back on it, no matter what might crawl out of the ground.

Robin and her parents, who had come to see Steve as a second son, followed not long after.

Some of the kids' parents were more ready to leave than others, but eventually they all did, all of them disturbed and terrified and angry.

Every single one of Steve’s family was happy to leave the town to rot without them, there was nothing left for them there anymore.

They all follow him. 

Every single one. 

And he is once again surrounded.

Everyone he had ever helped, ever loved, ever stood in front of them and Death for.

They all surround him and they are all there, many, many years later when Death comes for him for the last time. His family was waiting on either side of the veil for him, old and grey and wrinkled.

But they were all there for him. 

AO3

Based off of Take Me To Church

All my love to @hbyrde36, my friend and beta for screaming with me over this.

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project

Gonna tag @griefabyss69 and @starryeyedjanai who sent in asks about this fic for a previous WIP Weekend post. 🖤

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Drabble

Prompt: Creation

If the spare room was Eddie’s — filled with amps and guitars and DnD books, desk piled high with half painted miniatures, and notebook upon notebook of his scratchy handwriting — then the garage was Steve’s. One half for the beemer, still in good condition, meticulously kept. The other half for his home workshop. A large workbench, a pegboard filled with tools hung in place, cupboard upon cupboard filled with anything he might need.

When they first moved to the city — into a shitty apartment with Robin — Steve said the freedom made him feel lost. For the first time he had the time and space to do whatever he wanted. No parents telling him what to do, hanging over his shoulder. No people who knew him, no people with preconceived notions. So Steve tried things out.

Joined a casual basketball team, took some night classes at the local Y and at the high school. Said the cooking classes were fun, but he liked cooking at home better. Wasn’t a fan of the knitting, but said it was fun to give it a go. The woodworking class however? Steve took to like a duck to water.

He was fixing cupboards and the loose board on their back deck. Made a birdhouse for that large tree in their backyard. Replaced both their bedside tables with his own handmade ones. Eddie could see how happy it was making him.

And then Steve started getting weird with it. Making odd little things he thought were funny, just because he could. Because they made Eddie laugh.

“Will you and Chips be alright if I lock you in here for a second?” Steve asks, leaning on the doorway  to the spare room, gesturing to the ginger cat currently plastered to Eddie’s side. “I’ve got a surprise.”

“A surprise huh,” Eddie replies, raising an eyebrow, as he turns to face his boyfriend. He’s still wearing his workshop apron, goggles pushed up onto his head, and he looks like he’s buzzing. Steve’s made something. He’s been holing himself in his workshop all week, spending hours there in the evenings, and decidedly not telling Eddie was he was doing in there. And now, Eddie’s assuming, it’s finally done. He’s also sort of buzzing about it. “Me and Chips will be fine.”

“Cool,” Steve says, already starting to close the door. He’s biting back a smile. “I’ll be back.”

“We’ll be here,” Eddie calls, shouting so Steve can hear him. He swears he can hear his boyfriend laugh, ever so faintly.

It doesn’t take long for Steve to come back — without his apron and goggles this time, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

“Get up and close your eyes,” he says. Holding out his hand for Eddie to take. “Come on.”

“Okay, okay,” Eddie laughs, easing Chips off of his lap and getting up from his spot at the desk. He takes Steve’s hand, calloused and warm. It’s comforting as he closes his eyes, and trusts Steve to lead him to wherever this surprise is without running him into walls. Chips meows at them as they walk, the bell on his collar jingling as he trots along side them.

Steve lets go of his hand, leaving Eddie in the dark, but he can hear his socked feet pad on the floor.

“Open your eyes, Baby,” Steve says, joy leaking through into his voice. He sounds like he’s bouncing in place. So Eddie does, blinking against the light, and sees Steve standing next to one of the most cursed things he’s ever seen.

“Ta da!” Steve exclaims, holding his hands out to show off his newest work. “My creation!”

His creation is a long wooden pole, square and sleek, with a round base painted black. The part Eddie can’t stop looking at, however. Are the hands. Wooden hands with adjustable fingers, affixed to all sides, littering the top half of the pole. Some have the fingers laying flat, one or two are flipping him off, one in the standard ‘rock on’ symbol.

“Oh my god,” Eddie exclaims, understanding exactly why Steve was sounding so giddy. This is hilarious. It’s everything. He wants it in their house forever. “What is it.”

“A coat rack made of hands.” Steve says simply, shrugging casually, as if that was a normal thing to say.

Inspired by this video by Evan and Katelyn on Youtube

[steddieasitgoes]

Friday Night Lights

written partly for the STWG discord prompt: "Starry Night" and partly to celebrate the wonderful @thefreakandthehair birthday. I tried to bring some sports into for you Lex! wc: 1312 | rated: T Read on ao3

Eddie’s been standing outside the locker room for forty-five minutes when he starts to get worried. He’s no stranger to waiting, knows Steve likes to take his time after a big game showering, celebrating, and decompressing. It’s why he sent Robin and Chrissy on ahead of them. But Tommy left fifteen minutes ago, Coach a few minutes after and there’s still no sign of his boyfriend in all his winning glory.

Stubbing out his cigarette under the toe of his boot, he pushes off from the cement wall and begins his search. The locker room doors are already locked. He saw Coach Hopper lock them himself so there’s no point in looking there. Instead, he follows the pathway Steve’s been taking for four years nearly every Friday night, chasing the bright lights until he turns onto Hawkins High’s Football Field.

The scoreboard has been turned off, but the bright lights are still on illuminating the field. There in the middle, on the fifty-yard line is Steve. He’s still in his pads and jersey, knees drawn up to his chest as he clings to the helmet in his hands. His trademark Harrington Hair is flat, sticking to his forehead with a mix of sweat and the Gatorade the team spilled over him when he threw the final pass winning them the championship.

Eddie doesn’t have to get closer to know Steve’s deep in thought. Knows his brows are knitted together, his bottom lip trapped under his teeth as he irritates that one piece of skin he never lets heal.

“Hey sweetheart,” he whispers, slowly lowering himself down onto the field beside Steve. “Been waiting for you.”

“Sorry,” Steve says, slowly turning to face Eddie. He gives him a soft, shy smile before tipping his head back as his gaze locks on the bright lights above.

“S’okay. Everything okay?”

“We just won the championship, of course, everything is okay,” Steve mumbles.

Eddie doesn’t press. He’s been with Steve long enough to know that he’ll tell him what’s really bothering him when he’s ready. So he sits in silence instead. Lets the bright lights coat him in warmth, digs his hands into the torn-up grass of the field and rips a few pieces free. He’s seconds away from reaching into his pocket to light his second smoke of the night when Steve sighs beside him.

“It feels weird, knowing this is it, I mean. I just played my last game ever on this field, under these lights and…”

Eddie scoots closer and slowly gets his arm around Steve’s middle before tugging him closer. It’s not as smooth as he’d like, especially not with all the padding Steve’s still wearing, but he still gets the job done. He feels the deep sigh Steve exhales before his head comes to rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

“There’s just something magical about being here every Friday. Looking up and being blinded by the lights that are only on to help you play a game. They always kept me focused. Remind me that I’m not alone in the world,” Steve pauses before shaking his head. “It sounds stupid, I know.”

“It doesn’t sound stupid,” Eddie says, voice firm so Steve knows he’s not just saying that. Sure, Eddie might not get the whole sports thing, but he gets that feeling. The adrenaline rush of being in the spotlight, all eyes and attention on you. It’s why he loves theater so much. “I get it.”

“I guess I just wanted to soak it up one last time.”

Eddie hums, titling his own head so his cheek grazes the still-damp hair on Steve’s head. “The lights were always going to go out on this field. I mean, you can’t stay in high school forever, and who the hell wants that anyway.” Steve laughs and Eddie feels his entire body turn molten at the sound. “But, the good news is, I know a place that can give you that same feeling. Somewhere that no one will ever be able to take from you.”

“If you say your bedroom or some shit like that I’m never blowing you again.”

“You can't deny the magic that happens in that room” Eddie laughs, earning a harsh shove from Steve in return. “But no, I’m being serious this time. Why don’t you go change and meet me by the car?”

Steve nods and gets to his feet effortlessly despite playing one of the most grueling football games of his life. He waits to help Eddie up to his feet before he’s hustling off toward the locker room.

As they reunite at the van ten minutes later, the field lights flick off sending them into darkness. Eddie can feel Steve’s mood deflate, making out the way his shoulders sag in the pitch black as the light he’s come to expect goes out for the final time.

“Come on,” Eddie says, nudging him with his hip. “You’re going to love this place. I promise.”

⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐   🏈   ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐

Ten minutes later, Eddie steers the van off the road and into the forest surrounding Hawkins. The engine rattles and the tires rumble as they drive over the rough terrain of the ground but it’s all worth it when they reach the clearing half a mile in. Eddie cuts off the engine and hops out and Steve follows without being told.

Wasting no time, Eddie hops on the hood of the van and knocks his head against it urging Steve to follow. When they’re both situated, he folds his hands behind his head and leans back, letting his eyes gaze up at the starry night sky as he instructs Steve to follow his lead.

“Don’t forget to look up,” he reminds him after the sound of his ruffling to get comfortable stops.

Eddie doesn’t have to turn his head to know when Steve does. The soft gasp that passes his lips is all the proof he needs.

“I know the stars aren’t the same thing as the bright lights of the field and the roaring cheers of the crowd, but they’re also not that different. I used to drive out here after closing nights of shows. Clear my head, let the adrenaline burn off a bit before heading to the diner with the cast and crew.

“It’s quieter out here, but I got the same chills I did when I stepped on stage in that stupid lion costume, the first time I looked up and saw the stars shining like that. It was like a weird reminder that I wasn’t alone. That someone or something, I guess, was still looking out for me.”

There’s a beat of silence that follows, but Eddie doesn’t let it rile him up like the silence between them used to. He knows now that Steve’s not going anywhere. Especially not when he’s just bared a part of his soul in a way that he never has before.

Sure enough, the moment passes as Steve hums. “It’s like a whole crowd up there, shining over us.”

“Yeah!” Eddie says, quiet but still enthusiastic that Steve gets it. Carefully, he rolls onto his side and props his head up with one hand as he gazes at Steve. “Exactly.”

“Thank you for bringing me out here,” Steve says, rolling over to mirror Eddie again. He doesn’t stop when he’s on his side though and keeps scooting across the hood until he’s centimeters from Eddie.

The kiss is soft and delicate. Almost as if Steve is too shy to kiss him under the stars, but Eddie doesn’t mind. He’ll take whatever kiss Steve has to offer anytime, anywhere.

“Anytime, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, leaning in to give Steve a chaste kiss of his own.  “Now come on, you have a championship to celebrate and if you don’t show up at Hagan’s soon, Robbie is definitely going to be filing a missing persons report.”

[hbyrde36]

STWG Daily Drabble 2/1/24

ALSO HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO @hitlikehammers who chose today's prompt. This one is for YOU!

Prompt: “I Couldn’t Lose You”

Set in post season 4, angst w/ a happy ending

featuring S3/4 Secret Situationship Steddie - post breakup

Rating: G | WC: 1407 | Ao3 link

“I Couldn’t Lose You”

Eddie opened the door. 

It was a reflex, really. 

Someone rings the bell, you answer the door. It’s an ingrained behavior, unconsciously done. 

He didn’t think about the fact that he wasn’t expecting anyone, or that it was past midnight and a decidedly odd time for unexpected visitors. In his defense, he didn’t know the simple act of opening his door would mean stepping into the past, and facing down the worst heartbreak of his life head-on after running away to another State to avoid it. 

“Oh.” Eddie gasped, the sound seeming to echo as the man on the other side of the doorway sucked in his own sharp breath. 

Pain lanced through his chest as he set eyes on Steve Harrington. The man he loved, who he hadn’t seen in over two years.

“It’s really you.” Steve said, blinking hard as if he couldn't believe his eyes. “I didn’t… I knocked on so many doors. I didn’t know your apartment number and–”

“What are you doing here?” Eddie interrupted, aiming for a bored disinterested tone, but the words came out a little too breathless to pull it off. 

He couldn’t help it. The only thing keeping him upright just then was the death grip he had on the doorframe.

What was Steve doing here? Eddie figured he and Nancy would have been halfway to the altar by now, if not already there.

“I…” Steve trailed off, dropping his gaze to the floor. He gave a wry huff of laughter and shook his head before looking back up with guarded eyes. “Just answer me one question, and I'll never bother you again.” 

“Fine.”

Eddie’s heart was pounding so loudly in his chest he was sure the other man could hear it. He didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to stand here and look at Steve’s unfairly pretty face and remember. It’d taken him so long to forget, to be okay after… after. 

“Why did you run?” Steve asked.

“I didn’t run. I moved.”

Steve scoffed. “Eddie, you snuck out in the middle of the night. We were both barely healed and I- I woke up and you were just gone. I went to your place and Wayne told me you’d packed your shit up in the van and left. No explanation, no note, nothing!”

Eddie shrugged. “I needed a change of scenery.”

“You could have told me!” 

“I couldn’t.”

“Bullshit.” Steve spat, his eyes beginning to shimmer with anger. “It was like you died, Eddie! One day you were there and the next you were gone without a trace. No number to call, no forwarding address.”

“Wayne knew where I was.”

Steve shook his head, expression hardening. “It was like you fucking died! And I don’t… I just need to know why.”

Eddie deflated. Any chance of keeping his aloof demeanor intact was gone under the weight of Steve’s gaze. What was the point anyway? He might as well tell him the truth. Maybe then he would leave Eddie alone to begin the process of picking up the pieces of his shattered heart all over again. 

“I couldn’t lose you.” Eddie began with a sigh. “I couldn’t stand the idea of losing you, so I left.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“I know. Trust me, I know. But after all that shit in the Winnebago with you and Nancy, I couldn’t just sit around and watch her take you from me. I thought If I left first, it wouldn’t hurt so much. I know that’s fucked up of me to say, as if you were ever mine to begin with, but–”

“I was.”

Eddie gulped, shaking his head reflexively. “No.” He breathed. 

Steve's face softened and he reached out, cupping Eddie's cheek with an almost painful tenderness. “I was yours, Eddie, and I thought you were mine– or at least I wanted you to be. Looks like maybe I should have been more clear about that.”

“Then why did you say those things to her, about an R.V. and wanting six kids, and–”

“Jesus, is that what this has all been about?” Steve asked, dropping his hand from Eddie’s face and crossing his arms over his chest. 

“There was also the eye-fucking.”

“Eddie.”

Eddie threw his hands up. “What was I supposed to think?! Here I was, falling head over heels in love with you, and the whole time you were dreaming about fucking off to Yellowstone or whatever with some picture perfect wife and your brood of equally picture-perfect children, like some non-musical version of the fucking Partridge family. Admit it, I was a detour. A glorified speed bump on your way to the life you actually wanted.”

“Baby-”

Eddie flinched hard at the use of the nickname, stumbling backwards out of Steve's reach. Horrifyingly he could feel tears stinging at the corner of his eyes. Even more horrifying was the fact that Steve was following him into the apartment and shutting the door. Hadn’t he done enough, now he had to literally invade Eddie’s home?

“Baby, please-”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Fine. I-”

“Why are you still here? You got your answer. I don’t know what you needed it for but you can go back to your life with little miss perfect now.”

Eddie staggered to the couch, knowing if he didn’t sit soon his shaking legs would betray him. He pulled a throw pillow to his chest, hugging it tightly as he rested his chin on it. 

Steve crouched down in front of him, but Eddie studiously ignored his gaze. 

“What are you talking about? Nancy?”

“Or whoever the current little miss perfect is. I know you’re not picky.”

“Ouch.” Steve said, though not like the barb had actually stung. He reached out towards Eddie’s knee, moving slowly to give him every opportunity to protest.

He didn’t.

”There is no little miss perfect.” Steve said softly.

Eddie whined involuntarily. Squeezing the pillow tighter and tighter to his chest. 

“It was true, what I said to Nancy in the RV. I did always have that dream. The part I didn’t get to say, because we were a little busy at the time, the part I would have told you if you’d asked me about it, is how the dream had changed. When you and I became, whatever we were back then, the dream became less about having 6 little Harringtons, and more about the person in the passenger seat. The one I really wanted to share my life with, the family we might build together by adopting our own kids some day, or the family we found with the little brats I can't seem to get rid of even though they’re about to graduate high school.”

Steve knelt down in front of Eddie more solidly, gently prying the pillow out of his iron grip. Eddie let it go. His eyes were locked on Steve’s as he let everything that was just said to him sink in.

“Say something, please.” Steve begged, taking both of Eddie’s hands in his. 

“Is it still me?” Eddie croaked out, his throat tight as he fought not to cry. “In the passenger seat– is it still me, or did I fuck everything up?”

Steve smiled broadly, a few tears of his own escaping his eyes to roll down his cheeks. “I’ve been looking for you, all this time. I love you. Of course it’s still you, baby.”

Eddie surged forward, crashing his mouth into Steve’s. Their lips slotted together perfectly, just as they always had, as if no time had passed at all. Eddie threw his arms over Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close, as Steve wound his hands up into Eddie's hair, gently tugging. 

They parted only when they had to, or else risk passing out from lack of oxygen. Eddie rested his forehead against Steve’s while they both caught their breath.

“I love you too… still… always. In case that wasn’t clear.” 

Steve snorted the most unattractive laugh imaginable, but it was music to Eddie’s ears. He hadn’t heard that sound in far too long, and it warmed his heart almost as much as the kiss to know he’d caused it.

“I don’t know, Eds. I think you might have to show me again.”

Eddie was happy to comply.

He grinned, leaning in for another deep lingering kiss. 

Thank you @penny00dreadful beloved friend and beta!

[imfinereallyy]

for stwg daily prompt: “goodnight love”

Steve brushed back the hair on Eddie’s forehead. Gone were the days when Steve had to pick off the stray hairs that stuck to Eddie’s sweaty skin. Back then, when they still spent their nights sneaking into the trailer, the hot Indiana summers always made themselves known in the metal box.

Now, though, Steve found himself wishing for the sweat-slicked skin. Found himself yearning for Eddie’s embarrassed laugh as Steve slicked back his bangs. His soft sigh as Steve pulled back Eddie’s hair for him.

Eddie was freezing now; the only heat was coming from his short, shallow breaths and the palm of Steve’s hand.

It would be any minute now.

Steve wished that Robin hadn’t left to get coffee, wished she was here to fill up the room with sound. The room was silent except for the soft, slow beat of the monitor. Its neon glow lit up Eddie’s pale face.

Steve knew it was useless to wish for her return; he knew neither of them had drunk coffee in decades. Not since Steve’s first seizure, and both Eddie and Robin stop drinking it in solidarity.

Steve had never experienced love quite like theirs before they came along.

Steve was sure that Robin knew, even after all this time, what he needed. That Steve needed to calm his nerves to the beautiful sound of Eddie’s heartbeat one last time.

“You look pretty when you smile like that, you know?” Eddie’s voice croaked from the bed.

“When I smile like what?” Steve raised a brow.

“Like you’re thinking about something really good.”

Steve felt his heart flutter. This game was as old as time between them. Eddie would always say this; then Steve would follow up with a ‘Maybe I am.’ And Eddie would ask him to tell him what was so good to deserve a smile like that. And Steve would tell him, to bring a little light to his day.

Sometimes it was about the kids. Sometimes, it was something a student did. Sometimes, it was just how blue the sky was that day. But most of the time, it was Eddie. And when it was Eddie, Steve would always say…

“It’s always good, thinking about you.” Steve grabbed Eddie’s hand, and laced their fingers together.

Eddie squeezed as hard as he could, which wasn’t very much. “I wanna fight you on that one, but I don’t want to see that pretty smile go away just yet.”

Steve’s smile deepened. “It’s yours whenever you want it.”

“Good.” Eddie smiled back. His eyes fluttered with exhaustion. “I’m getting a little sleepy; that smile better be there when I wake up.” Eddie’s voice choked, but his smile never wavered.

Steve didn’t fight him, not this time. “You deserve some rest.”

Eddie snuggled into the bed while the heart monitor slowed down slightly. Steve watched as the man he loved for long, and the man he would continue to love beyond the after, sought comfort in the love they shared.

Eddie tilted his head towards Steve as he eyelids slowly drifted shut. “Goodnight, love you.”

Steve stayed silent as Eddie had already drifted off into sleep. Steve didn’t bother to keep his eyes on the heart monitor this time. He could hear it, and that was good enough. Steve kept his gaze on his light, his life, his Eddie.

Steve made sure to watch the way his face drifted off, as it had done time and time again in every bed they had ever shared. How his nose scrunched up before his body relaxed into slumber. How his hands twitched endlessly before slipping into his dreams. Steve resisted tracing the wrinkles on his face, reminiscing about the tales they each told.

Steve wasn’t sure how long he sat, watching each breath become slower and slower. It didn’t matter, though; no amount of time would ever be enough.

Eventually, Eddie’s face stilled and distantly Steve heard the monitor flatline.

Steve stared for an extra moment, before leaning over and kissing Eddie’s forehead.

“Goodnight. Love.”

****

hi, yes im back. sorry this is bittersweet. sorry if it makes zero sense haha. you can thank the guild for me being back but also blame them for encouraging me to write this. love yal.

[acasualcrossfade]

toes in, ankles deep

Written for STWG daily prompt: new beginnings

(happy belated birthday to @pearynice and @stevesbipanic since this prompt fell on their birthdays!)

Rating: T | CW: mentions of past drowning, mild cursing | Words: 1078

Steve is determined to swim with Eddie in Lake Michigan.

--

Steve looked out on the serene waves of Lake Michigan, the familiar panic curling around his lungs at the thought of the open water. The sun was overhead and shining bright, and yet he shivered. Steve still had nightmares about the way that thing gripped his leg, dragging him down, down, down under the water and far from the surface.

The memory always brought a roll of shame in its wake, whispering that he should be over this, that it’d been years since nearly drowning in Lover’s Lake, and that there were no monsters hiding in the depths of Lake Michigan. 

“Are you sure about this?” Eddie asked, stepping over their picnic to stand beside Steve. “We can walk the beach for a bit before heading back to the car.”

Steve gave Eddie an assured look. “I want to do this. I miss swimming with you.”

Moving to Chicago was their new beginning, and for Steve, this lake was part of their effort forward together. 

Their first time to the lake, Steve only made it toes in and ankles deep before retreating to shore. The third time he made it to his shins, and by the fifth, he made it to his chest and dove under the water.

Eddie always wrapped Steve in a soft beach towel afterwards. He pressed kisses and love into Steve’s goosebumpy skin, making sure Steve knew how brave he was, and how proud he felt. 

But even though Steve swam many times before, the fear still bubbled up in his chest. 

“I’m right here, okay? Won’t let anything happen,” Eddie reminded him.

Steve swallowed and adjusted his grip on Eddie’s hand.

Lake Michigan was rippling glass against the midday sun and Steve shivered as he stepped into the cold water. He watched the water rush over his bare feet before retreating, pulling pebbles of sand from in between his toes. Steve sucked in a breath, remembering how tightly that thing wrapped around his ankle, and how powerless he felt as the surface disappeared above him. 

Steve pushed away the thought of how easily he could be pulled in again, even in shallow water. He turned his gaze to watch a group of teens take a running start into the water, stepping and splashing loudly before they dove under and resurfaced with splashes and laughter.

Jealousy made Steve’s shame return; he wished it was that easy for him each time.

“Shh, hey,” Eddie crooned, his voice closer. “It’s okay. We’ve got time. There’s no rush.”

Steve felt the way Eddie’s words softened the harder edges of his panic. It was true, he could take his time. And he knew that Eddie would stand in shallow water as long as he needed.  

Steve let out a groan of annoyance. “It just…shouldn’t feel this hard. It’s been like, four years, Eds. Now it’s just getting pathetic.”

“Stevie, you’re so far from pathetic. And the fact you’re determined to swim again despite being afraid is impressive as fuck.” Eddie nodded over to the group of teens who’d now moved on to a handstand contest. “They have no idea there could be monsters in this world. What I wouldn’t give for that ignorant bliss sometimes.” 

He gave Steve’s hand a squeeze as he stood on his tippy toes to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “I’m right here,” Eddie softly reminded him. “We only go as far as you want to.”

“Maybe you could, um, go first?” 

“That can be arranged,” Eddie guided, taking Steve’s other hand with ease and turned so he faced Steve instead of the lake.

Steve looked down at both their feet, seeing that Eddie already stood in ankle-deep water. Determination bit at his fear. He wanted to swim, and he wanted to swim with Eddie.

Eddie took a step backward and Steve took one forward, holding both of Eddie’s hands tightly. He concentrated on their intertwined hands and the sturdiness of Eddie’s steps. Steve’s feet stepped an inch forward and his feet sunk into the sand below. 

Toes in, then, ankle-deep. 

Another step and Steve was up to his calves. 

Then, knees.

Steve never let go of Eddie’s hands and Eddie encouraged him with every step. And when Steve was chest-deep, he tensed. Going under was the second-hardest part, but he’d made it this far. His feet still touched the sandy bottom, and he let out a breath.

Just as something brushed his arm. 

He splashed it away with a gasp and Eddie was right there, just in time to see the tangle of seaweed bobbing away in the water. 

“Just seaweed,” Steve gasped breathlessly, taking a minute to rest his forehead on Eddie’s shoulder. He let out a shaky laugh. Then, he looked ahead to the open water, feeling braver.

“Wanna dive in? Together?” 

“On three,” Eddie nodded. 

Steve squeezed Eddie’s hand as they counted down, and on three, Steve pushed off the sandy bottom and took his last breath before diving under the water.

The cold hit full force and he resurfaced quickly with a gasp. A surprised smile split across his face as water poured from his soaked hair. He pushed it off his forehead and couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of him as Eddie resurfaced next to him. Eddie’s dark eyes looked bigger with his hair plastered to his forehead and cheeks.

“We’re swimming,” Steve laughed. 

“We’re swimming,” Eddie echoed. “You did it.”

Steve’s chest expanded as his fear dissipated, letting Eddie pull him closer. 

“And do you have any idea how amazing you are?”

“At this?” He shook his head. “Took me a good ten minutes to make it in.”

“But you made it in.” He nudged Steve. “Look at you, conquering fears and making it look easy.” Eddie’s own smile curled into something more, and he leaned into Steve in search of his lips. 

“You always make it easier,” Steve confessed before Eddie’s lips, kissing away the chill of the lake water. Eddie tasted like everything safe, everything encouraging, and Steve couldn't help himself as his hands found their way into Eddie’s curls.

Eddie pulled him closer and Steve’s legs wrapped around Eddie’s waist, smiling at the way the man could easily hold him up underwater. He tightened his legs around Eddie’s waist as he returned his lips to Eddie’s mouth.

And wrapped in Eddie with the heat of the sun on his back, in the open water of Lake Michigan, Steve was at peace. 

[withacapitalp]

STWG Zine Interest

Hi folks!!

So the STWG is putting together a zine this year! Just a general stranger things zine, no specific ship or theme, but we would love to know what people think and who would want to be a part of it!!

YOU ARE REQUIRED TO BE IN GUILD TO PARTICIPATE IN THE ZINE. If you want to join guild and you haven't, DM me to chat!

Till then fill out the form and let us know!

[shares-a-vest]

He's Gonna Save Me, Call Me 'Baby'

wc: 1.1k | Rated: T for alcohol consumption (not excessive) | cw: post-breakup, angst with a hopeful ending

Tags: Future Fic (mid-90s), Post Stancy Breakup, Steve Harrington Angst, Angst with a Hopeful Ending, Platonic Stobin, Jeff (Stranger Things), Eddie Munson, Corroded Coffin, Implied Future Steddie (only bc the end is a little vague)

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project. I chose the song, 'Jackie and Wilson'. Thank you soooo much to @subbaculture for setting up this event and making the banner!

(Read on ao3)

“Look alive, Dingus.”

Robin turns around to Steve and pats him square in the chest. He perks up, even though his best friend turns straight back to the entryway of The Hideout to wave at Jeff. He thinks it would be easier if Robin’s head were on a literal swivel with the way she has been whipping back and forth for the past hour.

Steve grumbles into his beer, pushing through the burn in his throat that still lingers years later as he laments the lack of Eddie following behind his bandmate.

He knows they had arrived too early for Corroded Coffin’s show, but Robin’s summer break from teaching came just in time – sue him for needing to spend every possible moment with his best friend.

Though he’d decided as soon as Robin announced her return to Hawkins that he wouldn’t mention the flowers he ripped up in haste in the back garden last week.

He’d done so straight after arriving home from the real estate agent, head hung in shame as he fully accepted yet another hard thunk on the head courtesy of Nancy Wheeler.

Well, it wasn’t so much a thunk this time as it was what Steve might consider, ‘divine intervention’.

He was in the backyard, tending to his small and still very much intact flower garden when a piece of guttering fell clean from the house, smashing through the window of the spare bedroom Nancy was using as her office – a room they’d falsely promised each other would be used for an entirely different reason.

But, much like his childhood home (which endured a mighty crack right through that cursed goddamn pool during Spring Break of ‘86), Steve found himself existing in a not-so-perfect house. One that grew increasingly cold as years of Upside Down dust and fog and smoke cooled Hawkins’s atmosphere.

A house that, with a broken and rusted gutter pipe, decided to remind them that shouldn’t – couldn’t – be playing house.

That’s all it really was: a pretend white picket fence dream that isn’t what Steve had meant by his vision of vacationing with a brood of Harringtons, Nancy by his side.

A dream that Nancy never wanted and got dragged into until her office window smashed in.

A dream that Steve thought was dead and buried the day Nancy rightfully picked through shards of glass for her things and left.

Buried until Eddie called him, saying that he had been talking to Robin (because of course, they kept tabs on him). He said the band would be back in town and that Steve and Robin should meet them.

And so, with a few beers warming his belly, burning his throat and sending a prickling sensation up his scar-covered sides, Steve found that nagging hope bubble up again.

He shakes his head, scoffing at his hopeless self as the sound of rhythm and blues music over the bar’s jukebox almost drowns out Jeff’s and Robin’s chattering.

Maybe he should be talking himself out of it. Finally acknowledging that years-old fleeting something between him and Eddie.

But he wants it.

And Lord knows he acts on a mere fleeting feeling.

Maybe history won’t repeat itself this time. Maybe the rusted gutter was one last divine thunk.

Maybe it won’t just be a first date. Or meaningless sex. Or bullshit.

He should have known that love with Nancy – a love long sucked down his old pool drain along with Barb Holland’s life – couldn’t prosper in the aftermath of an almost apocalypse.

They thought they were supposed to try, is the thing.

Staying in Hawkins. Keeping things at bay. Watching. Perhaps waiting for it all to come back.

But then it didn’t.

It all just lingered.

And they were left to pick up the pieces.

Right mistakes.

Move on.

They just didn’t need to do it together.

Steve pivots on his barstool, leaning an elbow on the bar top to get a better (hopefully seemingly more casual) view of the entryway.

He has seen Eddie over the years. Every Christmas at the Hendersons, sporadic visits home, a phone call here and there. The band hadn’t exactly made it big – at all, really. But they made enough to move around. Tour. Always returning to The Hideout for a one-off Tuesday Night gig as if nothing changed.

Steve looks around, thinking there might be three more drunks than the last show –

And there he is.

Eddie enters the bar with Gareth and George in tow and Steve swears a summer breeze flows in with him.

He looks good. Leather-clad as always. Pants impossibly tight. Jacket chains jangling. His hair still a river of wild curls.

But Steve sinks back on his seat as the trio makes a beeline for the stage, Eddie’s bright eyes turning into a dark frown as he orders the boys about, barely carrying a thing himself.

He probably had some theatrical excuse about his outfit, punctuated by manic hand gestures and a pout or two.

Steve watches as they dump their equipment by the one-step platform, each maneuver creating cacophonous thuds that reverberate through the bar. Jeff grimaces at the sight before shooting an apologetic glance at the manager and barkeep. The boys always did saddle him with sweet-talking the staff.

“Someone’s eager,” Robin teases, catching Steve’s smirk.

Jeff quirks a brow and stifles a smile.

“Shut up,” Steve chuckles into his glass before he downs the last of his beer.

“Eddie is really excited to see you, man,” Jeff nods, offering a nonchalant shrug just as Eddie begins making his way towards them.

Steve’s heart quickens.

There’s that something.

A something that is reflected in the glint in Eddie’s eyes as he smiles wide and waves.

Steve wiggles his fingers in greeting, shaking his head at himself almost instantly causing a lock of his hair to flop out of place.

George not-at-all subtly drags Gareth in Jeff’s direction.

“Over here, Gare,” Robin commands loudly through gritted teeth.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie says, his voice low as he steps forward to stand just close enough that yeah, Steve decides to roll with that hope again.

He reaches up to comb a hand through his hair but Eddie gets there first.

“Sucks about Wheeler, babydoll,” Eddie continues, allowing his fingers to scrape his scalp, carefully looking him over as he does so.

Eddie always is too much.

Everything.

A lot. All at once.

Seeing him.

Steve hums and Eddie soon stops, an embarrassed set of dimples dotting his cheeks as he likely thinks better of it given their current location.

“It was... all a mistake,” Steve admits, taking Eddie’s retreating hand.

He intertwines ring-adorned fingers with his own, refusing to let go of the hope tethering them, ready to start again.

[slavicviking]

STWG prompt: Buzz cut/shaved head

Summary: an AU where Eddie Munson is the one to find Eleven in the woods in 1983

wc: 830

Eddie feels his hands sweat.

“You can, uh, make yourself at home,” he says, gesturing to his cluttered mess of a room. “Mi casa es su casa and all that.”

The girl blinks, not a whiff of understanding crossing her face. She looks be around ten years old but he’s never been good with ages, especially for kids. She’s young and terrified, that much he is sure of.

“Do you want something to drink? Water?”

She nods and immediately curls onto herself. Eddie isn’t sure leaving her all alone in his room is a good idea but he doesn’t think there’s a set of rules to follow here. It’s not every day that he finds a scared child out in the woods, dressed only in a hospital gown, not even any shoes on. All he knows is that the look the kid wears on her face, the one she so desperately trying to mask, he recognizes all too well, has seen it in the mirror when Wayne first took him in five years ago.

He goes into the kitchen, eyes flickering to his bedroom all the time. It has never taken so long to fill a glass full of water but here he is, by the sink, counting away every second. His eyes linger on the phone. He should call the police, he knows that, but he doesn’t even know what to say.

She’s stood up from the bed by the time he returns, maybe finally taking his words to heart. That’s until the floor squeaks and her shoulders tense, and there’s a glare thrown his way yet again.

“Sorry. Just – here,” he offers her the glass and she takes it after a second, a huge goblet in a tiny hand looking terribly out of place. The kid turns back towards whatever peaked her interest while he was away. Eddie peers from behind her, not daring to come closer and spooking her further.

She’s looking at a photo. It’s an old one, taken right after he moved into the trailer. Wayne still had a full head of hair, not that it mattered because there’s a baseball cap hiding it all away. He has his arm swung loosely over Eddie’s tiny frame. But it’s not this that grabs the girl’s attention, Eddie thinks.

“My father shaved it,” he supplies with a waver to his voice that always comes whenever the man is involved. Young pimpled Eddie with a buzz cut peers back at him from the photo and both him and the kid can’t look away.

“Papa,” the girl finally says, barely anything louder than a whisper. It’s the first time she spoke as far as he knows.

“Did your father do this to you, too?” Eddie asks, trying to keep his voice as even and gentle as possible even though there’s a storm raging inside him.

“Bad men,” she informs him, not quite what he expected, but he’s finally getting somewhere, he thinks. She taps Wayne on the picture. “Bad men.”

“Oh!” Eddie swallows. “No, no, no. Wayne’s my uncle. He’s a good person. Kind.”

The girl looks confused, as if unfamiliar with the word. Maybe she is. Jesus Christ.

“He can help you. We can help you,” he insists, checking his tone immediately because the last thing he wants is to spook her when she’s finally opening up. “What’s your name?”

Eddie didn’t anticipate that a question this simple would be so problematic, but the girl clamps up, looks anywhere but at him. Her grip on the glass tightens and it’s only now that he notices a tattoo on her thin wrist. The number 011.

The sound of tires against gravel makes them both jump.

“Bad men,” the girl says again, eyes wide with fear.

“No, no. I’m sure it’s just a neighbor. Let me-“ and he sprints to the front of the trailer. Wayne’s not bound to be home until morning but it’s not unusual for a car to drive up at this time of night. Carl Sampson often comes back from his drunken adventures right around now.

But as Eddie peers from between blinds, he doesn’t recognize the car at all. It’s too expensive, too clean to be owned by someone living in the trailer park. The people that come out don’t seem familiar either. His heart stutters when he sees guns glint in the moonlight.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Shit, shit, shit.”

He thinks about the girl in his room. A part of him, a cowardly part of him, thinks about turning her in, his survival instinct kicking in, but he catches himself – what is he even thinking? This is a child. He runs back into the bedroom. The child is looking at him, looking as lost as he feels. He shudders a breath. “Bad men.”

She nods, as simple as that. Eddie’s eyes roam around the room in rushed panic.

They just about hid her in the wardrobe when Eddie hears a knock on the door.

[penny00dreadful]

✨ Fic Writing Review 2023 ✨

Big, big thanks, hugs and kisses to @thefreakandthehair, @just-my-latest-hyperfixation and @hbyrde36 for tagging me in this! 😘

Words and Fics

296,897 words published on my AO3, plus about 47k of unpublished WIPs 👀

15 total works published

1 WIP currently publishing

4 unpublished WIPs 👀

7 multi-chapter fics complete

7 one-shots

3 tumblr only oneshots

10 drabbles and ficlets

Top 5 Fics by Kudos

Safety

Somebody To Love

Return of The King

Before He Cheats

37 Years To The Day

My fandom fic events in 2023

@steddievember

Is that it?

Did I really do only one?

Damn

I gotta do more fandom fic events

Upcoming Events and Projects for 2024

Completing Cat and Mouse! I am a few chapters ahead and I just finished my big climactic chapter and I am SO FUCKING EXCITED

STWG Hozier Discography Project 🤫

Finishing out my 1 year anniversary fic event thingy, including:

Post-Apocalypse AU

Enemies to Lovers Roommates

Dungeons and Dragons AU

I can't WAIT to see what lies ahead in 2024! Bring it on, bitch!

Rules & Tags below the cut!

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Taggy tags! Sorry if you've been tagged already! @klausinamarink, @shares-a-vest, @pearynice, @starryeyedjanai, @cranberrymoons, @thisapplepielife, @xenon-demon, @mentallyundone, @imfinereallyy, @estrellami-1, @artaxlivs and anyone else who wants to do it and hasn't yet!

[momotonescreaming]

Starry Night

Something short and sweet for today's STWG daily drabble. Nice and fluffy, just for Lex. Happy Birthday @thefreakandthehair !!🎂🎉🥳🎈

“Hey you,” Steve says, voice honey warm and melting into Eddie’s ear as he presses a kiss to the side of his boyfriend’s face. He hums a reply, leaning into it, as Steve kisses his cheek again. Wraps his arms around his waist, squeezing gently, feeling the thin material of Eddie’s jacket underneath the palms of his hands. The subtle flex of Eddie’s muscles, the softness of his stomach.

He can’t help himself, he kisses Eddie’s cheek again, smiling all the while. Focuses on the scratch of his 5 o’clock shadow against his lips, the curve of his cheeks as he smiles. Eddie sinks into Steve’s hold, into the warmth of his arms, his chest. A steady balm against the wind chill that whips its way past their little apartment balcony. He sighs happily, a little wistfully,

“Miss me?” Eddie teases, turning to look at Steve, decidedly not moving out of Steve’s arms. Bringing his own hands up to rest on Steve’s. Rubs his thumb in gentle circles, pressing into the back of Steve’s hands. A simple, steady motion. One that says I love you, I want you near, all without him having to say the words. He doesn’t need to.

“Always,” Steve replies, eyes dropping to Eddie’s lips as his boyfriend leans in closer. Presses a kiss on his lips, soft and lingering. He can feel the remaining tension seep out of Eddie’s body, his muscles relax, leaning back into Steve.

Eddie pulls away from the kiss with a slick wet sound, mouth slack, but he doesn’t move far. Stays close enough that they’re breathing the same air. He doesn’t say anything, just breathes, just relaxes into Steve. Sometimes that’s enough.

Sighing, hooking his jaw over Eddie’s shoulder, Steve looks at his boyfriend out of the corner of his eye. Watches him breathe out the cold, watches as his eyes skim the city skyline. The streetlights, the cars, that bar down the road with the flickering neon sign. Squeezes him tighter, snuggles into him.

“You know the one thing I miss about Hawkins?” Eddie says quietly, suddenly, voice floating out into the open air. The wind whisks it away, and Steve almost doesn’t hear him.

“Wayne.”

“Obviously,” Eddie replies, rolling his eyes, but Steve can feel him smile. The gentle pull of his muscles as his lips curl up. Can hear the mirth in his voice, clear as anything. “But I meant the stars. There’s so little in the city.”

Steve turns his gaze upward, at the haze of the city, at the night sky above them. It’s not as clear as Hawkins, as it was out in the middle of nowhere.

He never noticed.

“Who knew Hawkins actually had something going for it?” Steve eventually says, tone light — aiming for teasing, playful, although it just comes out sort of wondering. Wistful. A pause. “I never knew you were into the stars.”

“Neither did I,” Eddie replies, leaning back against Steve, completely this time. Heads resting together, his curls falling over their shoulders. “Not until I left.”

It feels like he’s left the sentence hanging, let it drop off half way through, words falling off the edge of the balcony. So Steve just hums — he’s there, he’s listening — and hopes Eddie can feel the rumble of it reverberate through his chest.

“I used to sit on the porch with Wayne, or climb up on the roof of the trailer.” Eddie sighs, snuggling further into Steve’s arms as a gust whips past. “Smoke and look at the stars. When I was angry, or upset, or needed to chill the fuck out.”

“Did it help?” Steve asks quietly.

“Yeah.” Eddie eventually says. “Didn’t work miracles, of course. But it was nice.”

“I know it’s not the same,” Steve murmurs, squeezing Eddie gently. “But we could put a table and chairs out here, a nicer looking ashtray — so you can smoke and look at the stars again.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, sounding a little forlorn. “Could do.”

“Or,” Steve starts, dragging out the word. Tilting his head so he can better look at Eddie, stare into his eyes, at the streetlights shining in the reflection of them. The corner of his lips curl into a smile. Something small, something playful, something to drag Eddie out of his funk. “We could get some glow in the dark stars. Stick them to the ceiling in our bedroom.”

“I’ve always wanted some of those,” Eddie says, a laugh tumbling out of his mouth. “Lets do it.”

“Yeah?” Steve smiles, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Fuck it.” Eddie laughs, before leaning in to kiss his boyfriend again, eyes fluttering shut. Sighing happily, Steve can feel Eddie smile against his lips. “Lets get some stars.”

[devondespresso]

Since We're Alive Now

T | 5843 words | also on ao3 (soon) | cw: referenced/implied self-image issues, swearing, brief references to physical injury, strong self criticism, and canon typical tone in some areas but with happy ending

April Fools from the @strangerthingswritersguild !! This fic is for @medusapelagia sorry its a littttttle late, I hope the extra 2k to the word count makes up for it dgaskdgkjhdkla

I picked the prompt "platonic hellcheer: fixing their hair", hopefully its the one you gave me or if not, i hope you at least enjoy this instead! 💕

_

Chrissy walked towards the hospital doors with her pink pocketbook in one hand and the black guitar case in the other. A man on his way out noticed her and held the door, and she hurried to catch up with a polite thanks. He nodded, distracted, looking once at the state of her appearance, twice at the guitar case with her. She ducked into the lobby and pretended not to notice.

Chrissy sped up to the reception desk and asked the lady there for a visitor’s pass, smiling like she wasn’t bothered by the stress acne dotting her forehead and cheeks and chin, like she didn’t know her hair looked terrible, unwashed and unbrushed. Severely unkept, without a good mirror to glance at before entering a room full of strangers that’d easily recognise her from photos on the news. 

The woman looked at Chrissy, with an extra loaded glance to the guitar case, then looked down at her computer. 

Chrissy moved her pocketbook over to also be held by the guitar case hand, then brought up her freed hand to check her watch.

“I’m very sorry, but visiting hours are closed for Mr. Munson. You can try again tomorrow, sweetie.”

Chrissy looked up at the lady sitting and looking back at her with a sugary sweet authority. 

Chrissy checked her watch, and, yeah, she got the time right.

“Tomorrow, Miss Cunningham.” she smiled.

She checked the watch one more time, just to be sure she was right.

“What time tomorrow?”

“The visiting hours listed on the board for non-family members of special patents, now, Miss Cunningham, I’m very sorry, but there is a line.”

Chrissy looked across the room at the bulletin board, then back towards the two people behind her. She apologized to the people behind her, and slipped out of line towards the board. 

She set the case gently on the chairs lined up along the wall, keeping it close and still on the chairs in front of her, and searched the board for the hours.

Special patients… special patients… none of them said “special”. There were no new lists either, but there was a new-ish note, just to the side of the regular described hours. 

‘During these uncertain times, staff reserve the right to limit visitation for the protection of patients or their visitors. We thank you for your understanding.’

Chrissy stared at the note, reading it again to be sure.

‘uncertain times… limit visitation… protection of patients or their visitors.’

A bunch of freaking bull.

Chrissy huffed and leaned away from the bulletin board, glaring at the desk for a second before looking back at the guitar case on the seats.

She picked it back up gently, not wanting it hitting against anything despite the outside being scuffed to hell and back already, and looked back around the room for another way. 

She wandered closer to the other end of the reception desk, and on the back wall, among photos and other nurses celebrating long careers at the hospital, was a name Chrissy recognized.

Margret Briggs, and very likely Robin's infamous “second favorite person on the planet”: Miss Maggie. 

Chrissy went up to a different receptionist and politely got her attention.

“Excuse me, sorry, is Miss Maggie working today? I'm friends with Robin Buckley, she mentioned–”

“Oh, you just missed her– give me one second, sugar.” The receptionist got up and went straight to a door behind the counter, opening it to lean inside and yell, “Hey, Maggie! One of your demon children is in here!”

Chrissy startled a laugh, and the receptionist shared a playful smile. Miss Maggie came out the door a few seconds later.

“Friend of Buckley,” The receptionist hummed with a playful jab, “This one's all your's Maggie.” 

“I think you mean ‘thank you Maggie’.” Miss Maggie said, then waved Chrissy over to the very end of the reception desk, meeting at the little employee doors attached to the counter.

“Hey, doll. Christine, right?” hummed, seemingly unfazed that they'd never met before. 

“Chrissy, yeah, I– um… Has something happened to Eddie Munson? He’s not getting worse or anything, right?”

“Not that I know of– I’m not in charge of any of his charts but…” She threw a loaded glance at the far side of the reception desk, then back to Chrissy. “But I’ll check for you real quick.”

She dipped back behind the counter and to one of the unattended computers.

“Thank you,” she sighed, “He mentioned they were still keeping him for a while. For observation or something, but I figured that meant he'd still be, I don't know, relatively stable?”  

“Every now and then we get patients the state wants to oversee, they don’t give us much good reason but it doesn’t hurt anything… The paperwork is a pain in the ass, but that’s nothing to do with the patient–” she paused, caught reading something on the screen. “Munson’s fine. I've got a note about some kind of incident with a visitor, though.” 

She read it again with careful confusion, then stood up, “Looks like nothing serious, friends’ spat, but there's no way they mistake you for him.” She looked up from the computer and over again at the reception desk. “Did you come find me first, doll?”

“Um, no, I tried the front, and she said visiting hours were closed. Normally I never had any trouble…” 

Miss Maggie’s face soured for a second, then she shrugged. “Well, at least that's an easy fix, then.”

She leaned over to grab a blank visitor's pass and began writing, asking Chrissy a couple questions to fill it out. She finished with a loopy signature and handed the pass to her. Chrissy moved her pocketbook over to the same hand as the guitar again, and took the pass.

“Thank you so much, I…”

“Not a problem, doll, you always come ask for me if you need something. It's a lot easier to help you kids when you aren't making a scene.” she laughed.

Chrissy smiled and thanked her again, waving to her and the receptionist before heading down Eddie's hall.

Chrissy reached the room and knocked on the door.

“No vacancy.” Eddie’s muffled voice said from the other side, and Chrissy huffed before opening and leaning in through the door.

“You sure there isn’t room for one more?”

“Heeeey, Chris!” he yelled, stretching out the word and throwing in the nickname like they’d known each other for way longer than a month or so. “Hey, you’re hair’s down, looks great.”

“Yeah, didn’t feel like doing it today.” She said at a more reasonable volume, but she still couldn’t help the huge smile tugging at her cheeks. She ducked into the room and closed the door behind her, only to turn back and find Eddie now sitting up properly with a deathgrip on the bed rails.

“Chrissy.” Eddie said, staring at the case before looking up at her face. “Did you go back?”

“You wanted your guitar, right?” she said, walking over to the other side of the room to put it away.

“Yeah, I asked Nancy to grab it, next time she was in the area, specifically because she wouldn’t have something making that a completely miserable visit.”

Chrissy set it down, holding back an eye-roll and sealing her mouth shut.

“I also told her it could wait if something came up–”

“Well something did,” she said, keeping her voice light, “Steve’s bites flared up and Nancy wanted to check in, so I told her I’d get it.”

“Then it could’ve waited, Chris.” he sighed, “No one’s robbing the half-broken satanist’s dumpster–”

“Maybe there's a chance I actually wanted to go.” she snapped, then paused and took a breath. She picked up a chair and dragged it over to the side of the bed. “Your trailer is– I don't know, nice to me. I told Nancy I'd get it, like, hours ago, and now I'm here before visiting hours are up.”

Eddie watched as she sat down, got that look on his face where you could tell he was thinking but couldn’t guess what. She looked back, and he nodded.

“Well, thanks, Chris.” he said quietly, dropping back to the half-up position of the hospital bed and looking back at his guitar. “Nice to have her back in the room with me again.” he smiled.

“She complained the whole way, y’know, you’re going to have to make it up to her.”

“Oh, I am, aren’t I?” he sighed, with convincing fake exasperation that was broken towards the end with a smile. “Most metal concert in the world and I couldn’t even use the real version of her.”

“Looks like you’ll just have to play it again.”

Eddie glanced over at her, sad for a second before turning back. “Yeah, probably should. Make better memories and all that recovery shit.”

“You should get the rest of Corroded Coffin in on it.” she said, resting her elbows on the bed. “Can’t be the most metal without them, too.”

“Christopher, you wound me.” he ‘gasped’, hand on his chest like clutching pearls, and had he not been sternly advised to rest Chrissy assumed he’d be halfway across the room right now. “Am I alone not metal enough to have that title?”

“Are you not more powerful with Jeff and Grant by your side?” she mused along, imitating his silly accent.

“I knew it, you like Jeff more than me!” he cried, flopping over to one side with the back of his hand over his temple.

Chrissy snorted and hummed a vague agreement.

“Scandalized, betrayed– the ultimate betrayal! The greatest betrayal known to man or woman!” He continued, flopping over to the other side, other hand doing the same pose, “By my best friend no less! And also by Chrissy!”

“You jerk.” she laughed, and laid her head down on her arms pillowed below her.

“Alright, I hear your pleas.” Eddie continued, dropping the arm and looking at her over-earnestly, “You can regain your title by admitting that I’m the most metal… twenty-year-old super-super senior with interdimensional bat bites that you’ve ever met.”

“Deal.” Chrissy laughed, “But a metalhead still belongs with his metal band.”

“Of course. Every good metal band needs someone vaguely louder and charged with murder.”

“And with long hair, of course.”

“Yes, exactly, poor Gareth’s at least a year or two away from anything like this.” he preened, “If one of the nurses doesn't chop it all off before then. Mrs. Mitchell called it a rat’s nest, and I don't really have a mirror here but I don't think she's that far off.” he laughed, fiddling with the end of a curl escaping over his shoulder. Chrissy’s gaze followed the strand up to the rest of the hair, and while, yeah, there was a mess of strands outside of their curls that tied into a matted mess, a lot of what the nurse called a ‘rats nest’ was just frizz. And untamed was not the same as irreparable.

“I can brush it real quick.” she hummed.

“Thought you said you didn’t wanna do hair today?”

“I didn’t want to do my hair.” she corrected, pulling a strand of hair down out in front of her face, twirling it  “I kind of just… didn’t want to think about how I look.” She let it fall onto her face, then tucked it back again.

Eddie hummed and sunk down in the bed, hair bunching up across the bed and actively making the ‘rat’s nest’ look worse.

“Yeah, that's okay.” he muttered, then continued, “You don’t exactly brush out curly hair anyway, but thanks for offering, Chris. I’ll probably just have to buzz it again and start over. Or start back at an ugly ass bob.” he laughed, cynically.

“Or,” she said, sitting up to prove she's serious. “You could just let me try to get some tangles out first, because it's really not that bad.”

“Chris, seriously, it’s a mess. Don’t waste your time.”

“It’s never a waste of time.” she said, getting up to find the bag of hygiene stuff in the corner.

“Chris–”

“Ah ah ah, let me explain myself.” 

Chrissy dug out a wide comb and then a small compact mirror from her purse before running back to the bed. She held out the mirror and leaned over next to him, pointing the mirror so they’d both be able to see.

“Chris…”

“Hold the mirror.”

Eddie reluctantly held the little compact mirror, much lower to be easier on his body, and pointed it at his face.

“Pretty sight, isn’t it.” he said sarcastically.

“Yup.” Chrissy said earnestly, pulling a bundle of hair out in front and combing through it with her fingers, and hoped Eddie would use her mirror to let himself see it, “It’s just a little tangled down here, I can work through that part for you, and the rest of this–” she combed through the dense fuzz gathering around the shape of the curls like a glow, “This is just extra frizzy from everything. It's like half the amount of tangles the nurse was thinking, just chopping it would be overkill even if it was that bad.”

“Okay, well if I've got a personal stylist, then.” he joked, snapping the compact closed and handing it back, “But only if I can return the favor.”

“Sure.” she smiled, “But you first, scoot over.”

Eddie nodded, taking the arm she offered for assistance in moving. “So on a scale of one to ten how close is this to a classic slumber party?”

“About a seven.”

“Oh, only a seven? What are we missing?”

She laughed and thought about it as she sat on the bed behind him. “Mm, we could use some music. Madonna, The Go-Gos, Cyndi Lauper, all your favorites.”

“Mhm, you know me so well.” He grumbled, playing annoyed.

Chrissy separated out a section of hair and started working through knots gently with her fingers. Eddie did his best to keep still, head only turning slightly, probably without realizing, as he looked around the room thinking of something to do. Not nervous, just allergic to being perfectly still.

“Your book’s on the table back here, if you're looking for it.”

Eddie only hummed so she could know he heard her. 

It stayed quiet for a few more moments.

“How’d–”

He shifted slightly to sit differently, and a few strands of hair stayed caught in her hand and got pulled. On reflex he went to touch the spot that hurt, but his bigger injuries stopped him halfway.

“Sorry–”

“Its fine, my bad.” he huffed, then, purposely casual, “How’d it go with Carver?”

Chrissy shrugged. “I mean… he’s taking it better than I expected, I guess.”

“Not freaking out?”

“Nothing like that,” she hummed, “He was still upset in the beginning, kept trying to come up with excuses for me, ironically.”

Eddie hummed to show he was listening.

“So I told him even if none of this happened, I couldn’t stay with someone who wouldn’t listen to what I had to say about it all. And now he’s just… quiet, I think.”

Eddie turned his head slightly to talk to her. “Quiet as in he stopped the conversation? Or stopped talking to you… at all?”

“He still talks to people, and me, if we have anything to talk about, but he’s… lost in thought, I guess, most of the time. Unless there's some special reason to get happy.”

“Huh.” he said, leaning over in a thinking position, forgetting he was supposed to stay still.

Chrissy set the comb down on the bed beside her.

“Yeah, it’s pretty strange. He was always so expressive even before we got together, and I know some of the distance is normal breakup stuff, but since talking with me… it’s like there’s something… actually wrong.”

Eddie shook his head. “I think he’s thinking. Nothing wrong with him, not that you did, or– You did it, but not…” Eddie paused for another second to get his speech straight, then sat back up and turned to her. “He’s thinking about everything. What he did, and what it means now. Now that he can’t tell himself it’s what you would’ve wanted. And if the bastard's lucky–” he cringed right after he said it, then recovered with a breath. “If we’re lucky, he’s questioning what he wants to believe about other people, now that you’re more person than what he was expecting.”

Chrissy nodded, and gestured back to his hair.

“Right, sorry.” he said, sitting straight again.

“You’re fine.” she hummed. “That’s good, then, if he really is thinking things through. He never seemed like the type of person to want to hurt anyone.”

“Yeah, turns out you can’t really judge someone until the world is ending.”

“It’s not that. You can’t judge someone under that kind of pressure.” she said, gently pulling excess strands out of a particularly big knot.  “It’s more like… he has what it takes to do good, and he just… didn’t. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t know him well enough, but I’d like to think he’s going to get better.”

“Lovely optimism, but I wouldn't hold your breath.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” 

Eddie shrugged, and it was quiet for a good few moments before Eddie started talking again.

“I’d imagine as far as breakups go, this one’s gotta be one of the wildest rides.” he said, and Chrissy could hear the stupid grin he had to be wearing.

“Yeah, it hasn’t exactly been the fairytale romance he was hoping for.”

“God, yeah, he’d probably have a better time in a fucking Shakespearean tragedy. Like, imagine how bad you gotta screw up for your ex to start shooting the shit with the murder suspect.”

Chrissy cracked a smile. “Excuse you, I am willingly shooting the shit with a loud fantasy-loving dork.”

“Augh, you wound me, Christine!” he yelled, throwing his head back, throwing a limp wrist up over his forehead again.

She burst out into a real laugh and pushed him back into place again. “I might for real if you don’t sit still.”

“Again with you and your ruthless betrayals.” he joked, sitting back up again. “Are you this cruel with all your clients?”

“No, only the girls at the slumber party who do too much boy talk.”

“Oh my god, what jackass brings up boyfriends at a slumber party?”

“If you find him, let me know.”

Eddie straightened up, arm coming up as far as he could go in and attempted a mock salute. “When I find the culprit, dear lady, he shall be banished!”

She giggled at his antics, gently parting his hair into two fluffy sections. “Not banished. I just need to let him know his hair’s all set.” Then she tossed both halves of his brushed hair over his shoulder for him to see.

“Holy shit, are you sure this is better?” He laughed, patting the frizz down.

“It's not matted, that’s all I promised.”

“You’ve tricked me, this was your grand scheme! You lured me in with your fabulous looks and promises of detangling, only to trap me in a deal, all to get me to do your hair!”

“Oh yes, it was my plan all along!” she mused with him, getting off the bed to grab her pocketbook.

Chrissy dug around until she found the small hairbrush she kept in there. It wasn’t exactly the best tool, but it’d be enough.

They settled back onto the bed, Eddie sitting more comfortably by the head of the bed, legs folded in so Chrissy could sit close enough in front. Eddie took the pocket hairbrush and a section of her hair and started working through the few tangles gently.

It stayed peacefully quiet for a good few minutes as he focused on not pulling any hair. Then, when there was more smooth hair than knots and he seemed more confident that he wouldn’t hurt her, he started talking.

“If bringing up a guy again won’t get me banished…”

“Of course it won’t.” she laughed, turning slightly to give him her attention.

But he stayed quiet, brushing her hair like he hadn’t heard her.

“It’s a staple of slumber parties, actually,” she continued, less energetic but just as soft, “Madonna, boy talk, and just… regular talk. Secrets, if we want to.”

Eddie hummed, and stayed quiet a second longer.

“Did… have you talked with Harrington lately?” 

“Yeah, he’s okay, said he was taking it easier after the flare up as a precaution.”

Eddie hummed absently, stuck in a thought as he ran the brush needlessly through untangled hair, like either he hadn’t thought to stop or wanted to pretend he didn’t.

“Has anyone told you about me? What kind of person I am?”

“I don’t think so?” She turned around, “You’re talking about our friends? Not assholes that don’t know you?” 

“No, yeah, definitely– definitely people that know me.” he laughed, cynically.

“Who’s talking shit about you?”

“Nobody’s talking–”

“You’re saying it like you're waiting for someone to drop some dirt on you!”

“I’ve got the dirt on me!” he yelled, then took a breath and lowered his voice. “Harrington just figured me out. And it pissed him off.”

Chrissy searched his expression for any more context, but Eddie was too busy sifting through it himself to leave any to share. Chrissy put a hand on his knee, and waited.

He shook his head and looked away.

“I’m a hypocrite.” he said, then looked up and away to continue with a mocking melody. “The goon that talks himself up as something more honorable than he is, could even dream of being. A spineless rat wearing purpose like a costume.” His wide cynical smile slowly shut and clamped down into a pressed frown. “That sort of thing.”

“Did he say that?”

“No.” Eddie finally looked at her again, all fronts of humor lost. “During that whole fucked-up adventure, alternate dimensions and evil wizards and shit, I learned about myself, that I'm a coward at best. And at worst? I’m a delusional coward playing hero to make myself feel better.”

Finishing his declaration with a concrete certainty. Like he had it all figured out. Like the picture he painted looked anything like him. Like she wouldn’t have slapped him sick for saying that about anyone else.

“So now you know. He doesn’t strike me as a gossip, but, uh… I'd rather you hear it from me. I am nothing if not honest about it now.” he picked up the hairbrush again, gesturing for her to turn around so he could ‘finish’ brushing her hair. 

Chrissy turned around again, folding her knees in crisscrossed, and making sure to look at the blank wall across from them.

“So he didn’t tell you that, you decided it. And Steve got mad that you said it.”

“He made me realize it all. He was just mad at my stupid decisions.” Eddie continued, relaxing as he wove his story to the empty room, but still not loud enough to reach anyone else. “I was dropped into a real-life quest, and with real shit on the line, I realized all I think to do is run. I told him, in the middle of it, I didn’t know why– I thought I’d accepted it. So I could go ahead and fix myself before it cost us anything.”

Chrissy could feel the bed shift as he moved to sit another way again, set the hairbrush he was using on the bed beside her. 

“But I hadn’t, I just wanted… I wanted to prove it wasn’t there. And he had to have known, he told me not to– but I saw my chance and I took it anyway. 

“You mean the bats.” 

“I mean jumping into a volcano so I could be a martyr.”

“Buying time for Dustin and the others.”

She waited for his response, but he said nothing, and brushed at the ends of her hair. 

Chrissy kept her gaze on the wall in front of her, tracing the designs of the wallpaper so she wouldn’t turn around. “You couldn’t know how necessary it was in the moment. You might’ve been the only reason it worked."

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what is it?”

“That I didn’t want to survive!” he yelled again, then the brush hit the hospital floor. “My body did but my mind wanted to be a hero, wanted to be Obi-wan, Aragorn, Kas, anybody that wasn’t too scared to help, pulled along for the ride because I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, with nothing to add to the group of heroes.”

Quiet rang out behind her, and Chrissy made sure to keep her gaze stuck to the wall against her desire to look and understand. Instead, she slid a hand out behind her, palm up as an offer, and Eddie took it, cold hand taking hers quietly.

“You’re being too hard on yourself–” 

“I nearly killed myself trying to be something I’m not! And isn’t that fucking pathetic? To try and die to be like a storybook hero– I would’ve been fine if all that storybook shit was a bunch of bull, I could’ve watched the world be more depressing than fantasy, but–” he sighed, his voice starting to shake, “But he’s real. Dragged my sorry ass out of hell and doesn’t even have the decency to be a real dick about it. I just–”

He cut himself off with a big breath. Chrissy squeezed his hand, and he huffed, maybe sad, or maybe a laugh. It was quiet for a second more, and then a weight eased onto her shoulder. She looked over slightly to find Eddie resting the crown of his head against her sweater, and he took a a weak inhale to steady his voice.

“Since, like, second grade I imagined that, yeah, if I were faced with an evil wizard, or an army of minions, or whatever fantasy shit I could play as– I was sure I’d be the type to stand up and fight it, because I knew fear, I knew strategy and combat better than any asshole on the basketball team, and once Hellfire started to be more freshman than anything I figured I’d be the Aragorn to the Hobbits– but now that it’s happened? Playing is the only thing I seem to know how to do. When I wasn’t running for my damn life, I was playing shit like a game, picked the piece I wanted without telling anyone, and then got surprised when life doesn't work like that, and the party already had its hero.”

“And he knows. He can fucking smell it on me, maybe they all can. That i wanted that role so bad i missed the fucking point of it. And now that I’ve accepted it, actually accepted it… I don’t know what to do anymore. I can’t lie to the guys, to Dustin, keep playing some kind of bravery now that I know it’s all bull– I can’t host a campaign for Dustin if he knows the kind of person I am when that shit is real, every round of combat he’d know what a hypocrite I am. Maybe I should just stop–”

“Hey, hey,” she turned around, too fast and so uncoordinated that she nearly hit his leg, and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “I’m stopping you there.” 

“If you had seen me, Chris, you’d believe me.” he muttered back, matching her volume, “Probably wouldn’t hate me, I don’t really know if you… do that shit.” He cracked a smile, almost like a little laugh at the awkward wording.

“Well, even if I was humanly capable of hating people, because hate is such a strong word,” she smiled, leaning into the joke, and Eddie huffed, “I still don’t think I’d hate you for this.”

“That is probably… the most Chrissy answer possible.” he laughed again and wiped at his face.

“Yeah, maybe…” She let out a deep breath, “You want to know what I think?”

Eddie hesitated, sulking and thinking for a few moments, then shrugged. “Yeah. Color me curious.”

Chrissy nodded and took a moment to put her thoughts together. Because she could give a good pap-talk, could find something nice to say about every girl in her squad, but Eddie would immediately be able to tell if she tried a pep-talk, and he’d hate it. So Chrissy spoke slowly.

“I think… you’ve taken a picture of yourself, and you’re treating it like a mirror.”

Eddie looked up, eyes questioning for a second before opening his mouth to ask, for good reason, because pictures and mirrors were a Chrissy problem, because Eddie used that metaphor not even a week ago with her. But Chrissy held up a hand between them, asking for just another second to explain further, because Eddie didn't have the pictures or mirrors specifically, but metaphors and analogies were an Eddie language.

“You have a picture of yourself… and it’s real– and other people can see it, if you show it to them. It's a picture, not a painting– But it’s one picture, and you’ve stared at it too long–”

Eddie caught the connection but didn't like it, leaning out of the conversation with a huff, looking off to the side, far away from her face, with well-restrained frustration.

Chrissy grabbed his shirt and pulled him back over, making sure he’d look her in the eye.

“You stare at it too long, because someone back down the line told you you had to,” she gritted out, “That if you just stare at these pictures hard enough, you'll finally figure out what everyone else sees, and you’ll finally find what’s wrong with you.” 

Eddie didn’t look away but she clearly hit a nerve, so Chrissy dropped her hand, softened her tone.

“Because if you can find what’s wrong with you, you can fix it, and then you’ll be happy. Or… better. Or deserving– whatever it is. But it’s a picture. And even if it’s showing you everything as it is, even if you're right about everything you’re seeing, it's just one side of you, and it could never capture all that you are.”

Eddie sat and stared at her, expression guarded, but only in that way that you couldn't control. The urge to stay unbothered or undecided as you thought, to pause the moment so you could take in everything and breathe.

Eddie nodded, barely there, just a slight move on an inhale. His eyes flicked back and forth between her and the walls before his face soured, slightly to keep that same guard up, and he ducked his head down into both hands, a curtain of frizzy hair covering his face. 

Chrissy waited for a second, but he didn’t move. So she set a hand out on the bed in front of him, and he shifted one hand free from propping himself up, grabbing hers on the bed and holding on.

“The people that love you most will always see more than a picture of you. How you look when you’re doing things that you love, how you help people that are lost in their worst nightmares.” She smiled, the memory both sweet and sad, “I remember thinking– with everything going on, the one thing I remember best when I first really talked to you? Was how bright you are.”

Chrissy smiled, looking down, and brushed her thumb absently against the big chrome rings adorning the hand still holding hers.

“You've got the whole… all black, tough guy, stomping on tables, big denim and leather but when you take that off you're just… so bright. You know you're a lighthouse but you're also a candle, keeping the light around when the powers gone out. You couldn't know what was going on with me, but you knew there was something, and you cared enough to make me laugh in spite of it, just by being yourself. You don’t know how to take down the evil wizards or fight an army of monsters because a group of heroes is not who you fight for. And to be useful to someone else’s story was never what made people love you.”

Chrissy paused for a breath or two, then lowered the crown of her head to rest on top of his.

“If I had died, my last wish would've been to go back to your trailer’s living room. Or that bench beyond the field, or to sit at the lunch table full of people that you make an escape for, whatever place that'd bring me back to that glowing life in you. And if you can’t see how beautiful you are, I’ll be your eyes until you do.”

Eddie kept a death grip on her hand, a grip she tried to match, and a tear or two ran down her face. She wiped them away with her one free hand, and with her other she loosened her grip, then moved the thumb side to side, softly brushing against the skin on the back of his hand.

“Cheater.” Eddie mumbled to the bed, voice raw and quiet. “S’plagiarism. Half your damn speech.”

She huffed lightly at his joke, and smiled. “Well, I still mean it.”

“Of course you do.” he whispered, then shifted his head a bit. Chrissy sat up straighter again to give him space to move, but he didn't shift again.

Eddie's thumb started tracing the back of her hand, repeating the motion she unconsciously stopped. Chrissy started it again, and put her head back on top of Eddie's.

“I don't think plagiarism is the right word. Maybe inspiration.”

Eddie laughed.

“Yeah, y’pulled calling a grown-ass man ‘beautiful’ out of thin air.”

“What, do you not think you're pretty, Munson?” she challenged, ducking her head down to try and peer through his hair. 

“Oh, I'm just ‘pretty’ now?”

Chrissy bursted out laughing, and Eddie shot up, pushing back some of his hair to play into the theatrics even more.

“What happened to ‘beautiful’, Chrissington, hm?”

“You know what I mean–” she giggled.

“No, no, I see how it is–”

“You're beauuuuuutiful~~”

“Noooooope.”

“Gooooorgeous~~”

“You're flattery cannot convince me–”

“Ooo, ravishing!!”

“Oh my god–” he made a dumb gagging sound, sticking out his tongue and everything.

“Oh, that's where we draw the line.”

“Yes, god, never say that about me again.”

“Ravishing~~”

“NOPE!” He yelled, slapping hands over his ears, “Can't hear you!”

“Don't yell!” she hissed through another huge smile.

“WHAT? I CAN'T–”

“Stoooop,” she pulled his hands off his head with a laugh, “You’re going to get me kicked out.”

“Oh, sorry, forgot breaking the rules was a fate worse than death.”

“Stolen metaphors aside,” she said, coming back down from the chaos, “You’ll trust me on this, right?”

Eddie considered, catching his breath, residual joy and tears both lingering on his face. 

“Y’know, instinct says not to, but…” he hummed, then cracked a small smile, “Flattery works incredibly well with me, so I’ll take your word on it.”

[hbyrde36]

Honey, You're Familiar

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild Hozier Project

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

WC limit: 3000 | Song prompt: From Eden by Hozier

Rating: G | WC: 2998 | also on ao3

Steve and Eddie had been best friends since The Beginning. 

From the moment angels were blinked into existence, in a flurry of wide powerful wings and otherworldly beauty, they were inseparable, happy, right up until God made something new. 

Humans.

Curious creatures with souls and hearts capable of a full spectrum of emotions, given the one thing angels had been denied. 

Free will. 

Eddie hated them. Part of their job as angels was to watch over these new creations, but the more they watched, the more withdrawn Eddie became. 

He claimed God favored them, these beings who hardly knew of divine existence and whose lifespans were so short they barely mattered in the grand scheme of things. Steve disagreed, arguing that God didn’t play favorites, and surely, even if They did, the angels who’d been gifted with power and immortality were the preferred children. 

They debated about it– a lot, until friendly arguments turned into shouting matches. 

Was this anger?

This unpleasant thing that served no purpose except to make Eddie fly away from him in a huff. Was it sorrow that made his friend’s eyes shimmer, his lips turn down in that awful way? 

Eddie was changing, and Steve didn’t know what to do. He much preferred the days when they could laugh and smile together. It always left him feeling warm inside.

“You envy them.” Steve accused one day when Eddie was especially prickly. “Why? Is it not enough to be as you are and live here in Heaven with God? With me?”

“No! It’s not enough!” 

Eddie’s hands wound into his own hair and pulled, as if he’d tear it out from the root. “Why do they get the freedom to form such relationships? Why do they get to have it, and I don’t?!”

Steve tilted his head, perplexed. “To have what?”

“Love!”

“But, you do.” Steve said, still not understanding. “God loves us, and we love Them.”

Eddie sighed mournfully, all the fight draining out of him at once. “It’s not their love I ache for, Steve.”

It was no surprise when Eddie sided with Lucifer in the war and consequently fell from Heaven. Steve was there when it happened, forced to bear witness to the first and greatest loss he’d ever known. 

He was… sad, when Eddie was gone. 

Steve tried to pretend otherwise, but whenever he was alone and he thought of how he would never see his friend again, his eyes leaked and he would feel a terrible pain in his chest. 

Was he broken? 

He hadn’t thought angels were capable of such sentiments, but that couldn’t be true. Eddie’d had these things, feelings. They were what led him on his doomed path.

It was possible, it just wasn’t allowed.

He did his best to go on as before. It was difficult, nearly impossible sometimes, but it all became easier when a new flock of angels was made to replace their numbers, and Robin came barreling into his life. 

Part of him wanted to resist, to keep the space next to him forever empty, preserving the memory of who’d been there before, but he’d been alone for so long. 

Robin grew on him, and they quickly became close. While she could never replace Eddie, their friendship went a long way in filling the hole losing him had left behind. 

They complimented each other well. Where Steve was quiet and contemplative these days, Robin talked almost constantly. Not one to sit in silence, she always preferred to fill it. 

Just like Eddie. 

They were quite alike actually, Eddie and Robin. Steve couldn't help thinking that if they’d ever met they would’ve become fast friends, or killed one another. 

Things were ok for a while, Steve managed, until he was sent to Earth for the first time. He begged Robin to come along, nervous to walk amongst the humans when he’d only ever watched from afar, but she wasn’t allowed. 

Guardian angel for a day. An easy job, mostly watching and waiting, ensuring his charge remained safe. In all likelihood, he wouldn’t even be needed. 

The human in question was a kind older man, who ran a small coffee counter in a park, in a city Steve couldn't remember the name of. He ordered a drink and took a seat, doing his best to go unnoticed.

He observed much over the course of the day. Joyous reunions and somber goodbyes. First kisses and last kisses, and not one but two chance meetings where sparks flew. It was a magical thing to see someone find their soulmate. 

Steve returned to Heaven with a heavy heart. 

It'd been a very long time since their last conversation, but he could still hear Eddie’s voice… how resigned it had sounded, how devastated, when he’d looked at him and said “It’s not their love I ache for.” 

Finally, he got it. Eddie had loved him. 

Steve loved Eddie too, though he hadn’t realized it back then, so caught up in what they were supposed to be. He’d witnessed it up close now, love. Recognized it and the power it held, even as it made the wielder feel powerless. 

It was agony. 

Unable to hold it in anymore, he told Robin. 

It was probably the most words he’d ever said to her at once. He didn’t mention Eddie’s name, or admit whether the object of his desire was angel or otherwise. He didn’t want to rebel, but he couldn’t continue on as if nothing had changed. Couldn’t live the lie anymore. He was supposed to love only God, and it simply wasn’t true. 

Robin said he should talk to God, convinced that They had grown softer since the fall. Steve wasn’t so sure about that but he trusted her, and had little choice.

Thankfully, she’d been right. God was understanding, in Their way, and not wishing to see Steve so unhappy decided to gift him– a chance.   

He didn’t know what it meant, and that was as ominous as it was thrilling. It had felt a little too easy, in the end. All he knew was he was bound for earth, and as he prepared for the journey he could only wonder what the catch would be.

Steve woke up feeling like he’d been having the strangest dream. He couldn't recall the details apart from a beautiful boy’s face framed in soft dark curls, but wasn’t that always the way? 

He hopped out of bed with a spring in his step. It was a big day, the grand opening of his and Robin’s new coffee shop and he couldn't wait to greet their first customers.

Eddie cut ties with Lucifer shortly after the fall, uninterested in trading one leader demanding blind faith and allegiance for another. 

He was still a demon, technically, as were all who fell, but although he hated humans, he had no desire to harm them. 

He wasn’t evil, he was angry. 

At them, at God, even Steve, but mostly at himself. 

He’d let his feelings overtake his sense, and in his effort to fight for more he’d somehow wound up with less, only managing to get himself banished– sent as far away from the one he loved as it was possible to be. 

Eddie didn’t spend much time on Earth, still too bitter. He wasn’t exactly welcome in Hell either, but over the years had found his fair share of quiet corners to inhabit. 

He kept in touch with some others who’d also refused to follow Lucifer as he made the transition from fallen angel to Devil. Gareth, Jeff, and Grant. They became friends, of a sort. Kept an eye on eachother, gave warnings of trouble on the horizon, and a heads up about other interesting goings-on.

Which was how Eddie found out about the first time Steve set foot on earth. 

He’d gotten rip-roaring drunk once, on a rare night where all the boys were together in one place, and spilled his guts about Steve.They teased him a little, but only in good fun. They’d had their own motivations for taking up the cause and agreed love was as good a reason as any.

When Gareth came by to say an angel had been spotted in Central Park who bared a striking resemblance to his Steve, Eddie panicked. He’d been existing as if he’d never see the angel again, because he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t, and spent many long years pushing it all down, pretending he didn’t care anymore because it was the only way he could function.

Suddenly it all came rushing back to the surface, his heart becoming a gaping wound, open to the world all over again. 

He wanted to go to him, of course he did, but it’d been eons since they last spoke. Would Steve want to see him? Would he care? Even if he did, what would it matter? 

It would change nothing.

Deciding it would be more painful to see him now and lose him all over again than to never see him at all, Eddie buried his head in the sand. By the time it hit him that regardless of the pain he’d regret not going forever, it was too late. Steve was gone, nothing but an empty cup of coffee on a table to prove he’d been there at all. 

When fate conspired only days later to give Eddie a second chance, he knew he couldn’t waste it.

He’d gotten an address from Jeff and had to huff a laugh when he spotted the place. A cute little indie coffee shop. Was Steve the fucking coffee fairy now or something?

The front of the cafe was a wall of windows, and Eddie’s heart skipped a beat as he spotted Steve through the glass. He froze with his hand on the door, unsure if he was ready to face whatever was about to happen. 

Steve stood behind the counter next to a girl with a mischievous smile, laughing raucously at something she’d said. His eyes shone bright, and he was as beautiful as Eddie remembered– though he did miss the way his wings had framed his body. A pity angels weren't allowed to use them down here. 

Just when Eddie was building his resolve to finally go inside, Steve turned and their eyes met. The angel’s smile fell, mouth twisting into a curious expression, a wrinkle forming between his brows. 

He’d been prepared for a number of reactions, for Steve to be happy to see him, or angry and hating him, but he was wholly unprepared for Steve to look at him like that– as if he didn’t know him at all.

Eddie fled.

He didn’t run far, taking refuge in an alleyway across from the shop, well-versed in hiding in the shadows by now. 

He watched for days, unable to leave while Steve was near, but just as unable to approach him again.

In the evenings he would follow Steve home, never knowing where the girl went. Robin, as her name tag said. One second she'd be there and the next, poof, but Steve always walked to a small apartment where he’d spend the night hours alone before leaving again early the next morning.

What was he doing?

Who was his charge? 

Eddie had assumed it was Robin but the more he observed the more convinced he became that she was an angel too. 

None of it made sense. 

It all came to a head one night when he was lurking in his spot waiting for Steve to walk by, and found himself getting bodily thrown into a brick wall. A figure stepped into him, her small hand strong and firm around his throat, skin glowing ever-so-slightly with heavenly power.

Eddie raised his hands in the universal gesture for, I come in peace, and finally Robin let him go.

“What do you want, Demon?”

“I prefer Eddie, actually.”

She smirked, raising a single eyebrow. “Eddie the demon? What, you didn't want to come up with some fancy new name like all your buddies?”

They weren’t his buddies, not the demons she was referring too anyway, but she wasn't likely to believe that.

“Never been one for conformity, I guess.” Eddie grinned, stifling a laugh.

Understatement.

“Seriously, why are you watching him? What are you planning?”

“Nothing, just… looking in on an old friend. I swear.”

“Sure, you and Steve used to be friends. I’m supposed to believe you're not here to ruin his chance, attacking an old ally turned enemy now that he’s vulnerable?”

“What do you mean?”

She narrowed her eyes, considering him carefully.

“You actually don’t know, do you?” She backed away, looking him up and down. “You came to the door that first day, but never came inside. Why?”

“The way he looked, I… don’t think he remembered me.”

She snorted a laugh. 

Which Eddie did not appreciate. “Jeez, way to kick a guy when he’s down.”

“Sorry.” She said, not sorry at all. “Look, it’s nothing personal. He doesn’t remember anything. He’s human now.”

“What?! Why?”

Robin shrugged. “He wanted more. He loved another before God and They took mercy on him, sent him here for a chance at a different life.”

“Who?” Eddie gasped, reeling.

“Who, what?”

“Who did he love enough to leave Heaven for?”

“What do you care?!” She sneered, throwing her hands up. “Y’know what? Don’t answer that, It doesn’t matter. Not even I know who it is, and I'm his best friend.”

Best friend.

Eddie deflated. Had Steve replaced him so easily?

Robin plowed ahead, either unknowing or uncaring of the pain she was inflicting. “I know your kind. You’re bad news. If you really were friends before, if you ever cared about him, you’ll leave him alone.”

Eddie tried to go back to his life, such as it was. He wandered the underworld aimlessly, plagued by thoughts of Steve.

Was it Eddie… that he loved?

Was he okay? Was he happy? Was he safe? He was so vulnerable now– to sickness, and injury. Shit, humans dropped dead from heart attacks all the time!

Eddie could deal with it before, knowing he was out there somewhere, even if they couldn’t be together. But now… now Steve would grow old and die one day, and he couldn’t take that.

The idea of living forever in a world where Steve no longer existed was intolerable.

He went to Lucifer.

It was a long shot, he knew. He’d abandoned his de facto leader long ago, but back in the war Lucifer had been fond of him and Eddie hoped against hope that their history would help his case now. 

The former angel all but laughed in his face. He held no such power, not that he would ever grant Eddie’s wish if he did. 

“What a waste that would be,” the Devil had said, still holding out hope that someday Eddie would break and join him. 

Desperate, he returned to the coffee shop, taking up his old post, and waited for Robin to confront him.

As she stalked angrily into the alley, he hurried to explain. 

“I know what you’re going to say, but hear me out. I love him, Robin, always have. That’s why I fell. I was outraged at being denied this thing that humans were given freely to take for granted.” 

She pursed her lips. 

“You don’t believe me.”

Robin sighed heavily. “I can’t believe I'm saying this, but I do, actually.”

“Really?”

She pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket and handed it to him.

Eddie unfolded it with shaking hands, a perfect sketch of his face.

“I found this, along with several others. Apparently he’s been drawing them for weeks. Somehow, deep down, he remembers you.”

Tears poured down his face as he continued to stare at the proof of Steve’s feelings for him.

“Why did you come back here?” She asked.

“To beg you to take a request to God, plead my case… please.” 

“What for?”

“To make me human too.”

“Are you sure? If They agree to it you’ll be just like him, vulnerable, with no memory of who you were.”

“I know. I’ll just have to trust that we’ll find each other again.”

Eddie woke up feeling like he’d been having the strangest dream. He didn’t have time to dwell on it though, rent was due soon and he still hadn’t found a job.

He set out for the corner store to pick up a newspaper and found himself drawn to an adorable little coffee shop along the way with a help wanted sign out front. He knew the prices at a place like that were well out of his budget, but one look at the beautiful man behind the counter was enough to have him thinking– screw the budget. 

Besides, it couldn’t hurt to put in an application, even if he had no experience as a barista.

The man looked up as Eddie entered the empty shop, and their eyes met. There was something familiar about him. The man paled, eyes going wide. It was a curious reaction, but Steve, as his nametag read, shook it off quickly and forced a smile. 

“Good Morning, what can I get you?”

Gorgeous and the voice of an angel? Eddie was half in love already. 

He ordered the cheapest thing on the menu, a drip coffee, which Steve poured with shaking hands, cursing as a little of the hot liquid sloshed over the cup’s side, burning him. 

“You okay?”

Steve turned, offering his first real smile, laughing at himself as he shook his head.

Without a word he reached into his apron pocket and pulled out a small sketchbook, sliding it across the counter. “This is going to sound crazy, but I think I've been dreaming about you.”

Steve showed him then, page after page filled with drawings of Eddie's face. 

Eddie’s stomach flipped, suddenly realizing why Steve had looked so familiar. “I think I've been dreaming about you, too.”

As always, all my love and thanks to @penny00dreadful beloved friend and beta.

Also to @hitlikehammers and @theheadlessphilosopher for listening to me talk about this and reading it through as I attempted to parse this down from 3400 words to it's current form.

Some tags of those I recall expressing interest or i think might like this? (sorry if i miss anyone or if you didn't want to be tagged!): @griefabyss69 @pearynice @eriquin @cranberrymoons @momotonescreaming @kikidoesfanfic @brbsoulnomming @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @hellion-child @dreamwatch @mentallyundone @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @vegasol

[imfinereallyy]

Huggin' and a-kissin', dancin' and a-lovin'

NSFW, tags: fluff and smut, wc: 2741

I wrote a lil self indulgent fic for the lovely sage aka @cranberrymoons and for the STWG

Steve Harrington had come to learn many things about Eddie Munson in the time they spent together, but subtle wasn’t one of them. 

“Do you have a name for your dick?” Eddie asked abruptly, his hands were behind his head as he gazed down at Steve.

Steve got up on his elbows, giving Eddie his best ‘Are you shitting me?’ look he could muster. He shouldn’t have been surprised; it was just like Eddie to do something like this. Especially if it was in moments like these. 

 “Eddie, I am about to put my mouth on your cock, and your idea of dirty talk is to ask me if I’ve ever named my dick?”

“Oh shit, were we supposed to be doing a dirty talk? My bad—” Eddie cleared his throat like he was preparing to send the kids off to war in their dungeons game,

 “Are you ready to set sail on my ocean of flavor, baby?” 

read the rest on ao3

[miraculousmultifan]

Foreigner's God

This fic was written for the @strangerthingswritersguild's Hozier Project where we each chose a song from Hozier's self-titled album and wrote a one-shot inspired by it. I chose Foreigner's God.

I also crossposted this fic on AO3 which you can read here.

Here are the tags (the fic will be under the cut):

Ship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Other Characters Mentioned Additional Tags: Presumed Dead Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Eddie Munson, Kas!Eddie, Post-Season 4, The Five Stages of Grief, Angst with a Happy Ending, Struggles With Religion, Mentions of Atheism, Ambiguous/Open Ending

Warning: I want to clarify, since I was having some struggles finding the right tag, that there is a lot of discussion about Christianity (namely Steve's relationship with Christianity and faith as well as his own grievances with other Christians and things like "how God chooses who gets a miracle"). My family is Christian, so there's a little bit of my own self-projection with Steve's internal monologue, but this is in no way meant as "Christianity Bashing"

If any of that is something you wouldn't like to read, I suggest you don't continue. This has been your warning! :)

Denial.

Kneeling over the man’s prone form, Steve refuses to believe he is truly dead. They get back to the trailer quickly, so surely there’s still a chance that he could make it. Right?

The Upside Down rattles with earthquakes, but Dustin’s tears are still louder in comparison. The man’s not dead because that would mean he left Dustin to grieve. He wouldn’t do that, so he’s not dead.

Steve dips his head down until his cheek is suspended a thread above his lips, waiting to feel a soft brush of air to prove that he’s still breathing. He wraps his fingers around his wrist like a pathetic excuse for a hand-hold as he tries to find a pulse. He stays like that for much longer than he needs to in the hopes of feeling a puff of breath, a thump of a heartbeat under his skin. 

It will come. It has to. Because he isn’t dead.

Nancy and Robin pull Steve and Dustin away from his body, even as their own bodies shake with sobs. The ground trembles as another earthquake runs rampant through the Upside Down, splitting the ground and spreading cracks through the dirt.

One by one, everyone leaves the Upside Down through the gate in the ceiling of his trailer. Without–

They leave him lying there. They leave him to rot.

Not that he can rot. Because he isn’t dead.

Anger.

Steve used to be a Christian. Back before the Upside Down. Back before he was pushed headfirst into actual hell.

He wasn’t exactly devout. He definitely didn’t follow the “no sex before marriage” rule or anything. But the faith aspect? The belief of a God that created them? An all-powerful, all-knowing, all-loving God? He believed that. He wanted to believe there was someone with the ability to protect them. To look after them.

Then he had to fight a six-foot, slimy, petal-headed monster to protect Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler. The same monster that made Will Byers go missing. The same monster that killed Barb in his pool. Where was God then?

God doesn’t exist. There is no possible way the God that is supposed to love them unconditionally and protect them would create something hell-bent on tearing apart every living being it came across.

Some people might assume the demogorgon, the Upside Down, all of it has to be the work of Satan. Steve knows better. Satan is only supposed to tempt you to sin. His goal is damnation, not death. That’s what he wants. Not vicious, violent creatures that kill innocent people for fun.

So, after Carver comes back from everything alive, surviving the earthquakes and rifts in the ground, and tries to spew bullshit about the kind of people God loves and the kind that he sends to hell, Steve knows he’s wrong. What ever happened to “love thy neighbor?”

While he isn’t a Christian anymore, he knows that Carver is simply twisting the words of the Bible to support his own malicious agenda, venting his grief over Chrissy by directing his rage onto a scapegoat. An easy target that didn’t deserve any of it.

It’s easy for Carver to blame him and call him a Satanist when the jock had a front-row seat to Max floating in the air, her limbs snapping like twigs. For a Christian with no experience with the Upside Down, blaming it on Satan seems like an easy out that requires minimal critical thinking.

But then Carver went from vague comments about sinners to using the Bible to turn Hawkins against him. Calling him a freak, a murderer, a Satanist. They deface his missing posters with devil horns and pentagrams, unable to let his name rest. After everything, they still won’t let him rest.

And Steve is angry. His heart is heavy with the weight, the hate, of Carver’s fucked up beliefs. Why does this jackass get to live when he is dead? Why does Carver get to run his name through the mud when he’s not even around to defend himself?

Carver is so scared of imaginary monsters that he can’t see the real ones that are haunting Hawkins.

He sacrificed himself for a town that hates him. A town that, even now, couldn’t appreciate what he’d done for them. Hawkins never deserved him. Not even the federal government could be bothered to clear his name. It’s much easier for them to hide the truth and paint him as the real villain rather than reveal him as the hero he really was. They’re the cowards. Not him.

Steve hates Hawkins. Steve hates the people who ruined the life of a boy whose biggest “crime” was dressing in edgy clothes, listening to loud music, and playing a nerdy board game. Steve hates the people that made him feel like a coward for trying to protect himself. Steve hates the people who taught him that he would only be redeemable when he was dead.

He hates God for letting it happen.

Steve wants to scream. He wants to kick and bite. Thrash and punch. He wants to shout from the rooftops about how the very man they scorn is the one who saved them all.

He wants to scream the name of a god he no longer believes in. He wants to curse a god that doesn’t exist. The purest expression of his grief, echoing through town.

Bargaining.

Steve would trade the ungrateful citizens of Hawkins if it meant he could have him back.

To the people of Hawkins, he’s just missing. With the lines of open gates, destruction on every corner, overcast sky, and endless ash floating in the air, some of them believe that whatever his agenda was, he had succeeded. They don’t know shit.

They pray to their god for a miracle. For someone to stop the murders. Stop “the devil” from wreaking havoc. As if their god actually had that power. Steve and his friends hadn’t laid down their lives for everyone to shout “miracle!” If they managed to defeat Vecna, Steve didn’t want God getting all the credit for it.

Miracles are bullshit anyway. Why should a god give miracles so sparsely? Why do some people get miracles and others don’t? God shouldn’t play favorites. How does he decide who deserves a miracle? 

Why hadn’t a true hero fit that criteria?

What “lesson” does God teach when he lets innocent children die without stepping in? What “lesson” does he teach his believers when he lets them invoke his name like a waiver as they hurt an innocent boy?

Sometimes Steve thinks that it should have been him instead. It was his fourth year dealing with the Upside Down; his winning streak had run its course. It was about time anyway. It should have been him.

Steve can’t fathom trading anyone else for him. It would either be the shitheads of Hawkins or Steve. Maybe the assholes in Hawkins Lab who released the Upside Down on all of them in the first place. Maybe the fucking feds that used him as a scapegoat instead of owning up to their mistake.

Depression.

Alone in his house, Steve sits on his bed in his room and stares down at the piece of clothing in his lap. He isn’t crying, but it’s a near thing.

Dustin hasn’t called in days, torn up by grief. Mike refuses to look at him, using him as an easy target to place his blame. Lucas is too busy sitting at Max’s bedside to be betrayed by Steve’s failure. Sometimes Erica comes over to sit on the couch with him and show him her dice or talk about My Little Pony, but they never talk about him.

Robin knows something is wrong, of course. They know each other so intrinsically that they don't have to speak to share their thoughts and feelings.

The thing is… Steve doesn’t want to talk about it. If he tried to open up, he’d have to find a way to pry the man’s name from his throat. Robin supports him like always, but he can tell that she’s starting to worry even more than usual.

He wants to cry. He wants to sit there and let himself cry, but he can’t. His eyes are deceptively dry, giving off the impression that he isn’t grieving even when he feels it every day.

Does he even have the right to grieve? Steve barely knew the guy! They’d only spent a week together and he had the audacity to grieve at the same level as someone like Dustin? Steve was being irrational.

Robin and Nancy could have handled Vecna, no problem. Steve never should have assumed being the distraction would be easy. That the distraction team would just hop back through the gate as soon as they played their part. Not when he knew how vicious and determined those bats could be.

The denim vest feels like it’s burning a hole through Steve’s legs. It’s selfish for him to keep it. Surely Wayne needs it more. 

But the two of them had sort of become friends, hadn’t they? They had joked together. They bonded over Dustin’s overconfident attitude. They…

Well, let’s just say Steve had to go through a bit of a bi-crisis in the midst of his mourning.

If Steve could only talk to Robin about this mass of grief, guilt, and what-ifs in his chest—if he could finally say his name—maybe he could finally break down into pieces. Maybe his numb exterior could finally reflect his shattered heart. 

Acceptance.

He’s dead. He’s dead, and he’s never coming back.

He was an ever-present pressure in Steve’s life for one short week before he vanished forever. And Steve can accept that.

They won’t have another opportunity to tease Dustin together. They won’t sit pressed on a couch together, their thighs brushing. He won’t lean too close into Steve’s space and bump their shoulders together. They won’t get the chance to say the things they left unsaid.

And now Steve will never know.

But he can accept that. He can because he has to.  Because they held his funeral. 

You don’t hold funerals for people who aren’t dead. So Steve just has to accept it. The sooner he can, the sooner he can move on.

…

Revival?

Something is in his house.

That’s the first thing Steve registers when he steps up to the front door. The wood by the handle is scratched up with claw marks, and the metal lock is on the ground, pulled out of the door and rendering Steve’s house key obsolete.

Instead of entering the threshold unprotected, Steve scrambles back to his car to grab the nail bat from his trunk. He considers getting his walkie out to ask for help but decides to scope out the situation first. Cautiously, he makes his way through the entryway leaving the door open behind him in case he needs to make a hasty escape.

He expects the house to be destroyed; valuables taken, glass shattered, and dirt smeared all over the linoleum tiles. There’s definitely mud tracked into the house, but the shape of the footprints is like nothing Steve has ever seen. From a distance, they might look like regular feet, but upon closer inspection, Steve notices that the toes seem elongated, the length of the feet bigger than any normal human’s.

Tentatively, Steve follows the footsteps with his bat tightly gripped in his fist. They lead up the stairs to Steve’s bedroom where the door is hanging slightly ajar.

Something is in Steve’s room.

It has long, leathery wings; ragged and tangled hair; sharp, pointed claws; and a thrashing, demonic tail. It moves around the room with shameless wonder, trilling to itself as it sniffs at the comforter on Steve’s bed, the clothes in his closet, and the denim vest on his desk.

The creature stops at the desk, pausing to smell the vest thoroughly, unconsciously giving Steve a view of its side profile. Strange… The monster bears a striking resemblance to–

“Eddie?” Steve breathed, his grip on his bat loosening as his eyes finally blurred with unshed tears. “Is that you?”

The monster whips around to face Steve, its lips pulled up into a snarl as its dark, human-like eyes stare sharp and steady, directly into the emptiest parts of his heart. Without a warning, the creature crowds into Steve’s space and starts sniffing him within an inch of his life. It runs its strangely human-like nose along the crook of Steve’s bared neck while its clawed hands hold Steve’s arms by his sides firmly.

Steve drops the bat, frozen in place. Now that it’s so close, Steve can see the similarities to Eddie in the monster’s face. Those same expressive Bambi eyes. The strong line of his nose. Those same plush-looking lips pulled back to reveal monstrous fangs. Even with the changes, there’s no doubt in Steve’s mind that the creature before him is Eddie.

Then, when Eddie has apparently finished sniffing, he snuffles in Steve’s face, satisfied, and picks him up like he’s made of feathers. With seemingly minimal effort, he places Steve in the center of his bed and fluffs the blankets up around him, swiping his frighteningly long, black tongue up Steve’s cheek in a sopping wet lick.

Steve blushes, unsure how he should be reacting. “Eddie?” he murmurs softly once more, hoping to draw Eddie’s attention to the words leaving his lips.

Eddie chirps, climbing into the bed to join Steve and curling up at his knees. His wings flap, sending a burst of air across Steve’s face before they settle, and he faces Steve with his eyes relaxed and expression open.

With a nervous smile, still not sure what to do with his hands, Steve says, “Do you… recognize me?”

Another chirp and Eddie presses his forehead into Steve’s outstretched palms. 

“Okay,” Steve breathes, letting out a brief sigh of relief. “Can you speak?”

Eddie whimpers, hanging his head low. The sound is broken, raspy as though his vocal cords are struggling to produce the deep sound. Steve feels like he’s losing him all over again.

Mustering all the tender charm he can manage, Steve slowly reaches out to loosely hold one of Eddie’s hands. Eddie picks up his head to watch him, making no move to stop the motion, the only indication of his interest being the little flick of the end of his tail back and forth.

As gently as he can, Steve rubs his thumb against the inside of Eddie’s wrist and softly presses a kiss to his palm. “I’m glad you found me,” he murmurs, hoping that Eddie will understand the sentiment. “I’m glad you’re back.”

There’s no mutual language between the two of them for Steve to express it, and he knows he would only break if he tried to verbally convey it, but his entire being feels like it’s lit up with the broken love he holds in his cracked and shattered heart. Even if he said the words out loud, Eddie wouldn’t be able to respond in kind. 

Just like everyone else, leaving Steve wanting for something no one can give him. 

Steve lays back in his bed to stare up at the ceiling. All his grief is no longer warranted now that Eddie’s back, but despite that, he still feels as though he’s lost something truly important. 

His cheeks are still damp from the brief tears he shed at Eddie’s return, but when he goes to wipe them away, Eddie beats him to it. He raises himself up until he’s propped up on top of Steve and leans down to lick the tears away. It’s a little gross, but Steve appreciates it anyway.

With that task complete, Eddie flops down until his entire body weight is pressing down on Steve, laying on top of him like it’s a normal thing for friends to do. He nuzzles at the crook of Steve's neck and chuffs.

Steve chuckles nervously, a deep flush rising to his cheeks. “You alright there, Eds?” he manages to squeak out.

Instead of moving his head to look up at Steve, Eddie presses his face harder into Steve’s neck as a rumbling sound vibrates from the base of his throat. It sounds strangely like a purr.

Then, to Steve's immense surprise, Eddie raises his head and looks Steve straight in the eye. His eyebrows furrow in intense concentration as he opens his mouth. At first, only a low growl comes out before it slowly morphs as Eddie’s lips form around the word “…S-Steevie.”

Steve blushes a pretty pink. “Yeah. That’s me.”

Eddie snorts, though it reminds Steve more of a dragon huffing smoke from its nose than a laugh. He presses their foreheads together gently and Steve goes still beneath him. “Missed you,” Eddie grits out as though those two words took all of his effort. Then his face splits into a wide grin and he leans down to lick at the tip of Steve’s nose, reminiscent of an excitable puppy.

Heat blooms in Steve’s chest, and he struggles to hold back the warmth that wants to pour out of him from his fingertips. So, instead, he reaches his hand up to brush Eddie’s hair back from his forehead and smiles. “I missed you too,” he murmurs in response, trying to put all of his love into those four words.

Eventually, they’ll work on re-introducing Eddie to everyone else and giving him some speech therapy to help with his vocal cords, but for now, Steve is content to just lay there. He has no reason to grieve anymore. Not when he has Eddie back.