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sparkle-fiend · 10 days

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Roadtrip

for @thefreakandthehair, for the April Fools swap! I hope you like it, and I hope I chose right! 🫶

Eddie’s never seen the ocean.

He’s seen lakes and rivers, sure. Ponds and quarries and reservoirs, but never the ocean. Never a real beach, with crabs and seashells and saltwater. Never with real sand between his toes instead of mud, never with tides that ebb and flow.

When he was little his mother had one of those big spiral shells that she kept on the mantle, told him that if he pressed it to his ear he could hear the thundering of the waves against the shores of the Atlantic, could hear the same waves that would lap at her shins as a girl.

The shell is long gone, of course. Lost to whatever box or bin his dad had dumped it in.

But Eddie never stopped thinking about it. About white beaches and what sand would feel like beneath the soles of his feet. About the crashing of waves and the endless, endless expanse of water. How he would be just a drop in it. A speck, really, within its massive depths. Comforting, somehow, instead of terrifying.

It’s what Steve promised him, when he first woke up. When they still weren’t sure what the bat bites were gonna do to him. I’ll take you to the ocean. He’d said, you just gotta pull through, man.

And it was a goddamn bitch and a half doing it. Even after the doctors realized the bat venom was harmless, getting all his shredded muscles to be muscles again was a pain in the ass. He’s actually pretty glad he isn’t all suped up like El, or else he’s nearly positive he would’ve brained his physical therapist ten times over.

If he has to see one more motivational poster, one more kid with too-white teeth grinning at him that he can do it! he’sgoing to lose his mind.

He’s complaining about it when Steve offers.

“Let’s go.” Steve says. He’s tossing a baseball up and down. Throwing it with one hand and catching it with the other.

Eddie lifts his head from the couch. “What?”

“Let’s go.” Steve repeats. “Now. Get you out of here before you survive Vecna only to be taken down by a peppy cat telling you to hang on.” Steve puts the baseball to the side. Meets Eddie’s gaze like he means it. Like now means right now.

Eddie snorts. “You’re insane, Harrington.” But he doesn’t take his eyes off Steve, because Steve is grinning, bright and excited and Eddie’s weak to the magnetic pull of it, the thrumming that vibrates under his skin when Steve looks at him like that.

“We’re going.” Steve affirms, “what is it, twelve hours to Virginia Beach?” His grin widens. “Bet we can make it in ten.”

It’s insane. It’s insanity. It’s four in the afternoon and they won’t get to the beach before midnight but Steve’s like a goddamn dog with a bone when he really gets going, grabbing them both nothing but swim trunks and toothbrushes before he declares them ready.

A trip to Melvald’s, though, was deemed a requirement.

“Road trip food!” Steve had defended, and by the time they’re on the road it’s creeping toward 5, but there’s cokes in the van’s cupholders, red vines in the console, Steve singing Springsteen in his ear, and as the warm June air rips through their windows, as they leave Hawkins in the dust, Eddie swears he can already hear those thundering waves.

They listen to Springsteen. To ABBA and Motörhead, to The Talking Heads and Mercyful Fate. Steve rolls his window down and cards his fingers through the rushing air, his hair ruffling as the early summer wind spills across them both. As the sun lowers Steve flicks on the ridiculous sunglasses he always says make him look like George Michael. Dark and square Steve grins like the dingus Robin always calls him out for being, toothy and wide and confident, and Eddie’s stomach swoops, knowing, really, that George Michael doesn’t hold a goddamn candle.

They’ve only just crossed into West Virginia by the time Eddie needs to switch, his upset nerves sending bright sparks of resistance up his legs at the position, but Steve just says they need to stop for real food, anyways.

They eat at a diner with sticky menus and chipped plates, and Steve sucks down his milkshake so fast he gets brain freeze.

And it’s easy. It’s all so easy, after three months of the opposite, of exercises and tutoring and clawing tooth and nail to graduate, to move again—it’s easy. He breathes, and he doesn’t smell the vestiges of the Upside Down, smiles, and doesn’t feel guilty that Chrissy isn’t here to be able to, anymore.

They play I Spy on the road until the sun dips below the horizon. Until they’re one of a handful of cars on the road. Until Eddie has to click on the overhead light to read their crumpled map. Until they’ve gone through all of Eddie’s tapes that Steve can stomach and they’re forced to fall back on the radio, snorting at the staticky ads the late-night stations make their money on.

It’s nearly midnight when they finally cross into Virginia, the both of them subsisting on little beyond the caffeine in the six pack of Cokes they’d somehow had the foresight to bring. But if he’s tired, Steve doesn’t show it. Shrugs off Eddie’s offers to drive. Stays bright eyed as they merge from I-64 to I-81 and back, as the clock ticks far past midnight and the first signs for the beach finally crop up.

They slow as they merge off the interstate, the map inches from Eddie’s face as he tries to read the tiny type of street names.

They make a wrong turn more than once. Have to double back twice. But Steve just grins, tells Eddie: it’s part of the experience.

It’s closing in on 4am when they pull into the deserted parking lot. When Steve kills the engine and they both stare across the calm, inky surface of the Atlantic. The very air smells different. Salty and fresh, as if the water itself changes the very atmosphere around it.

Steve puts his hand on Eddie’s. Grips it tight for one beat, two, before unlocking his car door.

They climb under the thin chain that signals the beach as closed. Eddie slips off his shoes the moment they reach the boardwalk, when he can feel the thin film of sand grind against his heels. It’s rougher than he expected. Coarse instead of the soft, fluffy texture he’d been expecting, how he’d imagined it in all the photos.

Steve has to help him across the sand. Holds his arm as they cross the unstable and uneven distance to where the tide laps at the shore.

It’s warmer than he expected. As the water laps at his ankles, retreats, only to reach again, he smiles as the heated water soothes his frayed nerves. He wiggles his toes. Watches as they create tiny ripples in the water, droplets flying, and he grins wider, bubbles of giddiness swelling in his chest before they pop and he laughs, delighted as the drag of the tide sinks his feet deeper into the sand.

He looks to Steve, to the boy who took him here, who drove and drove and drove, all afternoon and all night so Eddie could have this, have something after everything—and Steve’s already looking at him. Doesn’t even pretend to not be as his smile quirks a little more, his hand still bracing Eddie’s arm.

“Can you stand?” He asks, “I can go put our shoes down.” He nods towards Eddie’s shirt, “your shirt, too, if you don’t want it wet.”

Eddie nods, and Steve releases his hold, standing close until Eddie’s shirt is in a ball in Steve’s waiting hand.

Steve jogs away, and Eddie stares out at the dark expanse, at the waves he can see cresting and falling so many miles away. He looks down, down to where his feet are still slowly sinking into the sand, like the ocean itself is trying to claim him, trying to make him one with it, one with the push and pull, one with its crystalline shores and darkest depths, one with its torrential waves and calming tides, how he could be one speck in something so much larger.

And then Steve is at his side again. He holds his hand, this time. Slides his fingers between Eddie’s and helps him pull his feet free.

The water is at their shins. Their knees. Then their hips and then their waists, the dark ink of the water wrapping around them both. The moon and the stars glint off its rippling surface, and out here the sand is softer, a cushion under his toes as he releases Steve’s hand—and dives under.

It’s different than anywhere else he’s ever swam. It’s silent. He can hear nothing under its surface. Not the movement of his body or the sound of the wind, nothing, beyond the rush of water. He keeps his eyes closed and it sounds like the spiral shell, sounds like his mother pressing it to his ear and whispering that it could take him here, if he listened hard enough.

In the water he’s buoyant, and when he pedals his legs and pumps his arms their protests are distant, more of a grumble than an outright shout to the contrary and he kicks faster, until his lungs scream and he feels salt in his nose.

He splutters when he surfaces. With hair in his eyes and salt on his tongue he has to wipe at his face before the water is gone, before he can blink his eyes open. Steve waves. A dorky little smile on his face as he waggles his fingers, before dipping under.

Eddie can’t see him under the water. Can’t see his shadow or his ripples of movement—and for once it doesn’t strike him to be afraid. Not for Steve’s life or his own, because they’re safe. They’re safe, and the most dangerous thing that could wrap around either of their ankles is seaweed.

Steve’s hand brushes Eddie’s shin. His touch featherlight under the darkness of the water, before popping up next to him.

Steve too wipes the water from his face. Flips back his hair. And smiles.

Eddie could never get the shell to bring him here, like his mother said it could. Could never get it to carry him to the water’s edge. Could never get it to take him away.

But Steve takes his hand again. Curls their fingers together. “Worth the drive?” Steve’s voice coalesces into the lapping of the tide, his face inches from Eddie’s own, water still glistening against his skin.

The waves push and pull, and Eddie swallows. “Yeah.” Eddie whispers. “Thank you, Steve.” The waves push and pull. Lap at their waists.

Steve squeezes his hand. And it feels inevitable. Feels like the moon itself is pulling them together as the tides push, and Eddie follows.

They lean forward at the same time. Let the tide push them together, and not apart.

Steve tastes like salt. Like the ocean. Endless and comforting he brings up his hand to cup Eddie’s cheek, squeezing his hand, and Eddie’s never felt less like a drop in the ocean.

They watch the sunrise. Watch as the sky changes from black to blue to red to orange, the sun’s rays skipping like stones over the ocean’s surface. Their hair dries in salty tangles and they eat the last of their roadtrip food while seagulls and morning runners begin to encroach in on their bubble. Surfers begin to ride the incoming tide and the clouds alight with sun-kissed hues.

He’s shirtless. They both are. Their scars exposed to the salt and the sand—and no one glances their way.

#this is so lovely #🥹💖#steddie fic

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sparkle-fiend · 13 days

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#eddie munson #st gifs

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sparkle-fiend · 19 days

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sparkle-fiend · 21 days

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we should meet steve's parents in st5 but it should be joe keery in a wig and joe keery with a fake beard like in back to the future 2

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sparkle-fiend · 1 month

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Eddie was all about desecrating corpses.

Particularly, the huge ones--and nothing was larger than the burnt out husk of Starcourt.

Yellow caution tape, muddied and ripped from its time in the weather still decorated parts of the doors.

The place used to be crawling with security, but that had eased off now, the job returning to a local outfit rather than the smooth and swift guards who previously haunted the joint in pairs.

It was easy as two days spent camped out in his van, watching the main entrance and a few side doors. In no time at all, Eddie had schedules memorized, points of entry selected and even three possible escape routes should things get dicey.

He didn't expect them to.

Not when he’d already rolled his checks and came up with a number that, were this an actual D&D game, would make him a happy man.

It was always a point of contention between him and his Pa. This perception. The natural ability he had that good ‘ol dad just didn’t seem to possess.

The one that made him patient long enough to get a feel for a gig.

To know instinctively how hard a job might be, and how to go about doing it safely.

(Eddie personally doesn't believe much of it is talent. Thinks it is in fact, forcibly learned, due to the nature of his upbringing.

Grandma and Grandpa Munson, bless their dead, departed souls, had at least given something of a shit. Tried to keep family things family and work things work, even when said work was illegal as it gets.

They understood things like appearance and public reputation.

How that kept the pigs off your back and food on your table.)

His Pa had never cared for any of that.

Eddie didn’t grow up with family meals, or even food in the house let alone on the table. He grew up watchful, forced to learn or take a hit meant for an adult in the process. To weigh the risks against the benefits, and how to charm the pants off an unsuspecting target while doing so.

It was how he’d escaped his own prison sentence when his Pa finally got eyes too big for his abilities.

Eddi had gotten lucky in that situation.

Or rather--he’d gotten Wayne.

Wayne, who gave up his own room, his own bed, for his nephew. Had bought him his sweetheart on his sixteenth birthday and a van on his eighteenth. Both things were used, and a little battered around the edges, and Eddie had almost thrown up the day he accidentally found out Wayne had used his life savings for the damn car, but they were above and beyond anything he had any right too.

Eddie would be damned without him.

But he knows his uncle needs help.

Can't pay for himself and Eddie. Never really could, and so has been giving his nephew literally everything he has in an effort to make up for it until Eddie could help pay his way.

Not that a singular soul would trust a teenage Munson with such a precious thing as a part time job, and so Eddie had turned to the familiar.

The mall fire, and the resulting flood of federal agents had really put a damper on his income the past few months. Drugs were risky, and getting riskier with them sniffing about, and things were getting tight again in a way they hadn’t in a long, long time.

(All it had taken was finding the hidden stack of bills.

Big ol’ words stamped in red topped every one. Bold letters screaming ‘Overdue’ and ‘Payment Missed’ and ‘Late Fees.’

One single letter had panicked Eddie more than any other, the one that clearly said Wayne had been talking to the payday loan place down the street, and he’d be damned if his shortcomings made his Uncle willingly walk into a debt pit so few climbed out of.)

Growing up like he had, Eddie was trusted in certain circles. Had access to places many didn't as his sole inheritance, because he was known.

Someone who didn't rat, who could be trusted with given tasks. Who kept to the criminal code, and was good about not backstabbing you if caught.

He’d hit up a few old connections, dropped some hints. Put out “feelers” as one might say.

Got a nibble and soon enough, Eddie was back in business, getting called up and offered a few small tasks for decent dough.

Sometimes it was fetching information.

Sometimes it was ferrying an item.

Today, it was a retrieval.

There was something someone wanted in the ruins of Starcourt--and they were offering an insane amount of money to get it.

The plans hadn't made sense, not at first. The instructions Eddie had been given sounded outlandish, if not outright total bunk.

Like the existence of a multi level basement under Starcourt? How the hell had no one caught that being built?

Or that the security systems down there could possibly still be turned on? After four months?

Who was even paying for it?

Eddie had heard stupider things though, and the pay for this little jaunt was good. Too good to pass up.

"They want a local in case something happens and the rescue squad comes running in. That way, it's just a little trespassing fun. The town deviant getting his kicks in the big scary mall, and not what they think it is." His connection had told him, meeting with Eddie in a Mcdonalds the town over.

The place had a play palace, big enough to host a number of screaming rugrats. It made for a great cover as they pretended to be just two men in overalls, getting burgers on their lunch.

Not a soul could hear a sound over the kids screaming, and if a blueprint sat between them then, well, if it looks like a maintenance worker, and it talks like a maintenance worker…

People never did look twice.

"And what else exactly would they think this is?" Eddie asked, munching on the food he got for free as part of even entertaining the offer.

"A retrieval, Double D."

Eddie hated that nickname.

"Some rich kid bit it in the fire, and his parents are paying out top dollar to get a few of his things, seein’ as the feds wouldn’t let anybody back in after they condemned the place." The guy, whose name was Mickey said.

He idly traced a finger along the lines of the blueprint, the path he was wanting Eddie to take.

(The path Eddie would later ignore, on grounds that it was going to get him caught.)

“Specifically a signet ring and car keys.”

“Car keys?” Eddie had asked, mostly in a bid for more information. Mickey was the kind of guy you could breadcrumb into giving more information than he intended to, if one played their cards right.

And Eddie was a damn good poker player.

“Yup. Goes to a BMW--which they want you to drive to a safe place. Parents think he lost it somewhere around,” Mickey’s finger stopped, before tapping the blueprint twice. “Here.”

Something had niggled in the back of Eddie’s head. The first whispers of recognition, of a fact that he knew something about this--something he couldn’t yet recall.

He wasn’t stupid enough to ignore it.

“Who's the kid?” He’d asked.

Mostly because he was curious, partially because it was a way to ease in the real questions he wanted to ask.

Like what a rich kid was doing four levels down in Starcourt the night of the fire.

“Does it matter?” Mickey said, but dug into his pockets anyway. Retrieved a little 2 by 3 wallet photo, done in the traditional High School Picture Day style.

He’d tossed it on the table, and Eddie didn’t react.

Kept his face perfectly blank, even as his stomach contracted and his breath caught in his chest.

Carefully pulled the picture to him, to make a show of examining it.

“Don’t know him.” He lied after a moment, fighting to get his breathing back under control before Mickey figured out what was up.

“Told you it didn’t matter. What matters is that you get the shit. And hey, while you’re down there…”

Mickey talked a bit more, and idly, Eddie listened. He knew this little B&E was going to have more components than just retrieving a few things. Had long figured out that this entire front of retrieving “some rich kids keys” was just that--a front.

Word on the street was that Starcourt was hiding something--something a lot of very powerful people were getting increasingly interested in. He’d rolled his eyes when he caught wind of the first little rumblings, the rumors and whispers that the thing was shrouded in Government secrets and conspiracies, but hadn’t been able to ignore the shit that had come after.

Likely, the people who had hired him and Mickey understood they had to act now, before someone else did, to see if anything worthwhile was actually down there.

The real question is why the hell they were using Steve Harrington’s death to do it--when Eddie knew for a fact that Steve Harrington was alive.

Or alive as anyone could be, at two am at a Shell gas station.

“Alright.” Eddie said finally, pulling the blueprint towards himself before rolling it up, making sure to casually roll up Harrington’s picture with it. “You got me interested. Half up front and I’m in.”

Mickey grinned at him. “Knew you would be, kid.”

One hand shake and a hefty envelope later, and Eddie found himself on the way to Starcourt on his very first stakeout.

It was that first initial look that confirmed it--Harrington’s prized BMW was in fact, still sitting in the parking lot.

Abandoned by rich assholes who absolutely could have paid to have it towed.

Which led to a domino effect of stakeouts, late nights and confrontations, up to and including his present position, counting down the minutes before he could break into Starcourt.

“Ready?” He murmured, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was talking to himself given how quietly he said it.

They would be wrong.

“Yeah.” The not-so-dead rich kid drawled from the passenger seat.

Eddie tossed a grin at Harrington, who rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his hair.

“Come on, Stevie.” He purred. “Let’s go find out who impersonated your parents, and why they want that ring you supposedly own so badly.”

“Honestly dude I just want my car back.”

“That too.”

#oooohhh I am intrigued #steddie #steddie fic

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sparkle-fiend · 1 month

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anyway the actual point of fandom is to inspire each other. reading each other's fics and admiring each other's art and saying wow i love this and i feel something and i want to invoke this in other people, i want to write a sentence that feels like a meteor shower, i want to paint a kiss with such tenderness it makes you ache, i want to create something that someone else somewhere will see it and think oh, i need to do that too, right now. i am embracing being a corny cunt on main to say inspiring each other is one of the things humanity is best at and one of the things fandom is built for and i think that's beautiful

#fandom

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sparkle-fiend · 1 month

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Eddie's Quest

Love is going out of your way to do something you know will make them happy.

a @steddielovemonth prompt | 916 words | CW: implied bad Harrington parents, rec drug use | Rating: T

There isn’t much from Steve’s childhood that Eddie knows about and what he does know, hasn’t always been good. Steve just doesn’t share a lot in general though. He’s content in living in the present, which isn’t something Eddie really knows how to do. So when Steve does share something positive, something that he holds dear from his childhood, Eddie latches on.

Their anniversary is coming up, only a few weeks away, and Steve mentioned he misses the way a babysitter made this specific kind of cake. Black something. Steve couldn’t remember the name of it so now Eddie’s on a mission to try and figure it out.

Eddie finds himself at Claudia Henderson’s doorstep on a Tuesday morning with flowers in his hand. When she opens the door, Eddie doesn’t even let her say hello before he’s giving them to her with a, “I need your help finding this really obscure recipe to make Steve happy and I have a feeling it’s going to be a nightmare because I can’t bake for shit. Will you please help?”

Claudia coos at him. “Oh you’re the sweetest, Eddie! Of course, I’ll help! Come in, come in.”

They end up pouring over all her cookbooks, and then Claudia starts a phone tree with Karen, Sue, and Joyce for their recipes. All five of them converge at the library, their personal cookbooks in hand, to take over one of the study rooms the library offers. “If we don’t have it,” Claudia told him as they settled in, “then the library will.”

Eddie can’t even argue as they get to work.

“Did he say what it tasted like?” Karen asks as she starts flipping through a book. Joyce had the brilliant idea of marking where all the dessert sections started in each book, so each woman was currently flipping away while Eddie tried to remember every detail Steve had mentioned.

“He mentioned cherries,” Eddie groans, scrubbing at his face. “And it’s a cake.”

“Could be topped with cherries,” Sue hums as she sorts through her books.

“Or a cherry filling,” Claudia points out.

“Steve has a sweet tooth,” Joyce adds after a while. “He likes rich flavors, so it’s probably on the sweeter side than a refreshing dessert.”

Eddie shrugs. “I guess?”

“You know,” Karen says as she taps her fingers against her book. “I think I remember a few of Steve’s nannies over the years. They were always at the school for pick up. Do you know which one has the recipe?”

“Does she still live here?” Sue asks. “It would save us some time to just ask.”

“No, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “He said his parents didn’t let him keep in touch and she moved away. He doesn’t know where.”

The women share a knowing, quiet look amongst them. Eddie’s not sure he’s fluent in their silent mom language, but he knows a judgy look when he sees one.

Eddie jumps up and paces the room, retracing every line of thinking that particular conversation followed. The problem is, they were high as fuck when Steve brought it up, sharing tidbits between big bites of the ice cream they’d found in their freezer.

“You would have loved her,” Steve had said with a mouthful. He was laying on Eddie, legs hanging off the arm of the couch and propped against Eddie’s side so they could share the pint. “She liked to read a lot, always had books for me.”

“What kind of books?” Eddie asked.

“Think ones.” Steve shrugged, eyes glazed over. “Fairy Tales, but the real gross stuff. So my dad wouldn’t get mad,” he added quickly.

Gross fairy tales, Eddie thinks. He knows what Steve’s talking about, the original dark shit that they used to scare children into behaving from the grim–

“German!” Eddie screeches as he slams his hands on the table. To their credit, none of the mothers jump except for Joyce. “She was German!”

Karen looks up at the ceiling, eyes narrowed in concentration. Claudia taps her fingers against her temple. Sue hums as she checks a few of the spines on the other stacks. Joyce leans back, crossing her arms as she stares off into space.

“That has to help,” Eddie tries, quieter, “right?”

“Maybe,” Karen says as she blinks back at the cookbook. She trades it for another. “And you’re sure it had cherries?”

“Oh!” Joyce jumps up, hands flailing as she grabs for a book off Claudia’s stack. “I know it!”

They all crowd around the book, heads tucked together as Joyce flies through the sections and slaps a finger against a chocolate cake. “Black Forest Cake,” she says, panting a little.

Eddie moves the book to read the description. “This is it!”

Their cheering gets them kicked out, but none of them seem to mind as they tote their cookbook stacks back to their cars. Claudia and Sue are already talking about commandeering Karen’s kitchen to bake it in a few days, since her kitchen is bigger, and they can all help – make a day of it with wine and gossip. He doesn’t care how it gets made, just that he can take it to Steve, to show him he listens and cares and loves him so much. He can’t wait to share this cake with him, to make it for him every year just because. His quest will be complete and he’ll get to live happily ever after with a very happy, well-fed prince. Best quest yet.

Thank you @lady-lostmind for beta reading!

Ao3 Link

#steddie #steddie fic

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