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hairmetal666 · 1 month ago

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Eddie owns a record store, gets to talk about music everyday. Life is good. Great, actually.

He's consolidating the Christian rock section on a quiet Wednesday morning when it happens. A man with swoopy dark hair, tight dark blue jeans, and a plum Member's Only jacket walks in, and doesn't take his Ray Bans off even once he's solidly inside.

Eddie is awestruck. This dude is gorgeous. Heart stopping. He watches him browse in quiet astonishment, unable to say anything until he blurts, "Can I help you find something?"

The man smiles--Eddie's heart stops--and he says, "Nah, just browsing. Your sign caught my eye."

And he's still not quite with the program, the rich honey of the man's voice taking him totally by surprise. "Ah, oh, it did?" He manages after a few long beats. "Painted it myself."

"No shit? It's great."

"Thanks, man. I also think it's some of my finest work."

The guy laughs. "How can I know unless I see some of your other pieces?"

Eddie's face heats, but he's never been known for having good impulse control. "Maybe you'll get lucky."

Spots of pink bloom on the man's cheeks and the tips of his ears. "And here I was, thinking I was getting special treatment."

Eddie cocks his head, smiles big. "Well, the day's still young." It's so risky and stupid; no way this guy is queer, but he grins at Eddie, laughs a little too.

"That right? Well, tell me your latest recommendations."

"For you?" Eddie eyes him up and down. "Wham!"

The guy's laugh is warm and rich and Eddie wants to drown in it. "Big of you to say for a someone who's only listened to Enter Sandman for the last four months."

Eddie cackles, points a be-ringed finger. "It's a good song! A great record."

"Hey, I've got no problem with Metallica. I just don't think you should be casting aspersions on Wham!."

"Casting aspersions, do you have a word of the day calendar or some shit?"

"No! It's toilet paper."

Their snickers grow until they're both hysterical, needing to lean against a display to stay upright.

It's like he's living in a dream, hitting it off with a beautiful man who just happened to stumble into his store. They catch their breath and Eddie uses the time to grab a record off a nearby shelf.

"Here," he says. "Try this."

"Joni Mitchell?"

"Don't tell me, Wham! fan, that you're too cool for Joni."

"Nah, she's my best friend's favorite. How much do I owe you?"

"On the house," Eddie shrugs.

"Shit, that's generous. Thanks, man. Now, about your art--" He glances at the shiny watch on his wrist. "Fuck, is it really 3:15? Goddamnit, I gotta get going."

And Eddie wants to call him back, doesn't want this dream encounter to end, but he's dashing to the door--

And just like that, the man is gone, the only evidence it ever happened the lingering chime of the bell over the door.

The bell clatters again, and his head wrenches up hard enough it hurts his neck.

"Was that Steve Harrington?" the customer shrieks.

"No," he scoffs. Except. Except. The hair and the clothes and sunglasses and the face and his lips--

"No!?" He feels the way his eyes have gone wide with panic. He didn't just flirt with Steve Harrington. Of course not. Not ever. He would've recognized--

He runs to the racks of magazines in front of the register, grabbing the latest issue of People. The cover features a glossy, polished photo of the man who just left the store. The one who had the highest grossing movie of the summer alongside his co-star, Julia Roberts. The one who, according to the article within, is in Chicago right now shooting a new movie. The one who Eddie flirted with. The one who flirted back.

He groans and covers his face with his hands. At least he'll never see Steve Harrington again.

---

Harrington comes back.

The second time, he's wearing a jewel blue polo and fitted slacks, Ray Bans nowhere to be seen.

"Got anymore recommendations?" Steve asks.

"What?" Eddie's still trying to accept that Harrington came back.

"I finished Joni. It was good. Recommend something else for me."

Fully with the program, he reaches to the rack behind him, handing the vinyl to Steve without ever taking his eyes off him.

"Seriously?" Steve deadpans.

"Tell me you don't deserve it after last time."

Steve studies the cover of Metallica, a complicated look on his face. "Fine, but you have to listen to the album George Michael released last year."

He mimics getting shot in the heart. "After my magnanimous first suggestion, you dare to punish me with Freedom?"

"Think of it more as an opportunity."

"To regret every decision I've ever made?"

"To expand your musical horizons."

Eddie rolls his eyes. "Fiiiine. It's a deal."

Steve beams. "Good! Ring me up."

And Eddie, he'd comp it again, but Steve gives him this look that tells him not to try it.

As they pass the magazine racks, Eddie points at one featuring Steve on the cover. "That thing you wore to the Vanity Fair party last month was hideous."

Steve snorts, then laughs. "Thanks. My stylist decided to go for something--"

"--terrible?--"

"Avant garde."

"Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?"

Steve pays, throws Eddie one last smile, "next time?"

Eddie nods, already certain this time is the last one.

---

He keeps coming back.

Eddie tries not to read into it.

Steve is straight, famously has a girlfriend. former horror movie child star turned cinema wunderkind, Nancy Wheeler. They're always on the covers of the tabloids, in ever more improbable stories about affairs and secret babies and french countryside weddings.

But he keeps coming back. And eventually, they grab dinner. And that dinner becomes lunches, movies, clubs, concerts. Eddie's in paparazzi photos, and there's no speculation about their relationship. Steve has a girlfriend.

But sometimes. Sometimes Steve will rest his hand on Eddie's nape, his lower back, let it linger. He'll trace a finger down the tattoos on Eddie's forearms or the patches of his battle vest. He'll lean too close when they talk, unafraid to press their bodies together. And he catches Steve's eyes on his mouth more than once, his pupils wide.

Over the next few weeks, Steve's gaze on Eddie's mouth gets hotter, his looks longer, and it's killing him. All he wants to do, all he ever wants to do, is close the distance between them, appease the gnawing beast of desire in his chest.

But Steve has a girlfriend.

They don't talk about her, not even when he knows all about Steve's best friend, Robin, and the gang of kids who adopted him, or Joyce and Hopper, his surrogate parents. Never Nancy.

He tries not to read into it.

---

They're supposed to meet for dinner. Steve scored reservations at a trendy new restaurant, but Eddie's late. Astronomically, horrifically late. It's pouring rain, it takes fifteen minutes to get a cab, traffic is a nightmare.

Out of patience and time, he decides to run the last few blocks to the restaurant. By the time he reaches the building, he's soaked to the bone, spluttering harsh breaths through mouthfuls of rain.

Steve is walking in the opposite direction, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat.

"Steve?" He calls.

He turns and this is the first time Eddie's seen him angry. "You're late," Steve's eyes rake over him, and his face softens in an instant. He takes Eddie's wrist, leads him into an alley where the buildings are close enough to block some of the rain.

"What happened?"

"Traffic."

Steve's gaze go all soft and gentle, and Eddie's knees buckle a little. "You look like a drowned rat."

"Yeah, well." Eddie scoffs. "We can't all be beautiful movie stars."

"You're more beautiful than I could ever be, even soaking wet."

He shakes his head, ignoring the cascade of butterflies; Steve shouldn't say things like that. His vigorous movement sends wet strands of hair slapping him in the face.

Steve reaches out, softly brushes it back.

Eddie stops breathing.

Steve closes the distance between them.

What a thing, to be kissed by Steve Harrington. What a terrible, glorious thing.

He breaks it fast, face red, can't catch his breath. "Nancy," is all he can say.

"Nancy?"

"You have a girlfriend."

Steve's face scrunches. "She's not my girlfriend."

Eddie's mouth drops. "Yes, she is." They went to the Oscars together.

"Eddie." Steve takes a few steps back. "Eddie. I'm gay."

He laughs, an ugly honking thing. "C'mon. What could she possibly get out of that?"

Steve's eyes widen, eyebrows reaching his hairline, mouth pursed in a bitchy line. It takes Eddie a minute but, "Ohhhhh. So, it's all--?"

"It was the best way."

"But you're--?"

"I thought you clocked me immediately! Wham!???"

"That was because of the jacket!"

"Have you ever met a straight man who dresses like I do and likes George Michael??"

"That describes five dudes I see a day!"

"And you thought they were straight??"

Eddie stares into the middle distance, replaying some of those interactions, and--"Huh. Okay. I get hit on at work waaay more than I realized."

"For fuck's sake, Eddie!" He's shaking his head, but Eddie sees the way the corners of his mouth shake with suppressed laughter.

"I'm sorry! You have a very public straight relationship!"

Steve giggles, pulls Eddie close. "Is this okay?"

"So okay."

"You do like me back?"

"Are you kidding! Thought I was going insane, how much I want you."

"And now?"

"Come back to my place?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

And Eddie, he's seen Steve playing at love dozens of times, but this--right here, in a soggy, smelly alley where they're both soaking wet--it's more perfect than any movie.

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ckret2 · 6 months ago

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So y'all know the Gravity Falls production bible that leaked three weeks ago. Someone in one of my discord servers pointed this out:

And, naturally, that spawned an entire AU.

AU Concept: Ford was kicked out instead of Stan and takes a job as a trucker to makes ends meet since he couldn't go to college, while still studying the weird and anomalous however he can.

Ford driving around from quirky small town to quirky small town, drifting through the liminal spaces of truck stops, meeting odd people in isolated diners, seeing strange things out on the road—a deer with too many eyes bounding across a two-lane highway, a flirty woman at a rest stop who doesn't blink or breathe, mysterious lights in the sky at night, inhuman growls on the CB or 50-year-old broadcasts on the radio—and taking notes when he stops for gas or food.

Aside from having gotten kicked out before graduating high school, Ford's the same person he is in canon.

He's still an ambitious guy, and here "ambitious" means working hard and saving as much money as he can—so, a long haul owner-operator who spends weeks at a time on the road. (He goes through a LOT of educational audiobooks.) Plus, this is the easiest way for him to get to travel the country; and since it looks like his "travel the world" dreams with Stan are dead, he'll take what he can get.

Since he's never in the same spot long and carries his life in a truck, almost all of Ford's research is in his journal. His bag of investigation supplies has an instant camera, a portable tape recorder, a thermometer, a flashlight, rubber gloves, and a few zip lock bags—and that's about it. It has to share space with all his clothes, toiletries, and nonperishable food when he's on the road. He doesn't have much opportunity to closely examine anything odd he finds, unless he's lucky enough to run into something when he can stop for the night. He has to cram his paranormal research around the side of his full-time job.

He doesn't live in Gravity Falls, but he knows it exists. Every time he moves—to Chicago, to Nebraska, to California—he seems to inch closer. He currently lives in Portland and usually hauls loads between the Pacific Northwest and Chicago or New York. He stops at the truck stop outside Gravity Falls when he can and has gone fishing in town a few times. He doesn't have the benefit of extensive research to know that this is the weirdest town in the world; but it seems pretty weird to him, there are local rumors about the town, and he's had some weird experiences in the area.

Plus, he can't explain it, but it's like the town's calling to him. He wants to move there, but it'd put him over an hour outside of Portland where the nearest jobs are. Maybe if somebody chucked him like $100k to build a cabin in the woods; but what are the odds of that?

He does know Fiddleford. Truck broke down somewhere and Fiddleford kindly pulled over to fix it on the fly. They looked at each other, had mutual knee-jerk "dumb trucker/hillbilly" reactions, and within ten minutes both went "oh wait you're the most brilliant genius i've ever met." Fiddleford's living the same life he was in canon before Ford called him to Gravity Falls—with his family in California, trying to start a computer company out of his garage—but they make friends and keep in contact.

One time Ford stops at a kitschy roadside knickknack store that also sells new agey magic things—crystals, tarot cards, incense, etc. He bought a "lucky" rearview mirror ornament that looks like an Eye of Providence in a top hat and hung it from his cab fan, and ever since then he's had weird dreams whenever he sleeps in his truck.

Things I don't know yet: what Stan's up to; or why Ford's the one who got kicked out. I tend to believe that in canon Stan wasn't just kicked out because he ruined Ford's college prospects, but rather because the family thought he deliberately sabotaged Ford; so in this AU, Ford would've been kicked out over a proportionate crime.

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #grunkle ford #stanford pines #fanart #my art #my writing #(since i'm not posting a chapter this week this is y'all's substitute Writing And Art From Me)#(i traced the trucks & diner background and i am not ashamed bc i cannot be assed. i just wanna draw ford in Situations)#(i tried a new kind of lining & coloring on the truck! i will never be doing it again!)#(for my follower who's into vehicles: his truck's based on a late 70s Kenworth W900A. loosely. the headlights are anachronistic.)#(the design has been simplified via the logic of—)#(—'if I don't think that detail would be included in a cheap Optimus Prime toy then I don't need to draw it.')#(EDIT: over a week later i realize i typed freightliner instead of kenworth... i don't know why i typed freightliner.)#(i hope the reason no one corrected me is because no one noticed rather than because y'all think im dumb)#trucker ford au

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kookygranger · 6 months ago

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Top five, most memorable kisses of all time

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Corroded Coffin move to Chicago and find their people. Eddie finds you behind the counter at Championship Records. He thinks you're cool. You think he's gorgeous. Life outside of Hawkins might just be worth fighting for.

Warnings: swearing, kissing (obvs), fluff, fem!reader, mostly Eddie's POV, our boy has no rizz, alcohol consumption, I don't think anything else, too many high fidelity references?

Word count: 4k

Author's note: This is a one-shot, that has been sitting in my drafts since last Halloween and thanks to a wip game has finally seen the light of day! Find the playlist that inspired the fic below.

Masterlist

One pill makes you larger,

And one pill makes you small

The bell above the door jingles as Eddie steps through the threshold, his shoulders relaxing as the warmth seeps back into him and he scans the racks of records before him. Perking up as he notices the music playing over the speakers, he was still getting used to how much cooler things were in Chicago than back home – and shit, how much cooler people were.

Eddie clocks you sitting on top of the counter with one leg crossed under you, the other swinging down the side as you sticker a stack of vinyl. You mouth along with the music, not even noticing him slip through the aisles as he stops in a random section with a perfect view of you across the small store.

He’d only come in here to kill some time between soundcheck and the gig tonight at a venue down the street. The rest of the band had gone to find some food, but Eddie wanted to check out the record store they passed on the drive in. And boy, was he glad he did.

He mindlessly flicks through the records in front of him, trying to come up with a good conversation starter. It wasn’t that often that he missed Steve Harrington, but he could sure use one of the boy’s famous pep talks right about now. Fuck, what was it about pretty girls that got him so tongue-tied? Probably the pretty part.

But you weren’t just pretty, you were obviously very cool, and he certainly wasn’t used to girls sharing the same interests as him – but he’d met a lot of them since he’d moved to Chicago a couple of months ago.

Just as he’s thinking about what albums he could pick out to impress you, the bell above the door jingles again. A guy around his age walks in, his short hair spiked, nose and ears pierced and tattoos peeking out from a crisp white t-shirt. He walks with confidence to where you sit and makes you jump slightly as he greets you boisterously.

“Shit, you scared me.”

He snickers and starts rummaging through a crate of cassettes by the counter.

“Yeah, you look like you were in the zone. Did you even notice you had a customer?”

You turn your head in Eddie’s direction just as he ducks his down, continuing to flick through the disco section. Wait, shit where’s the metal?

“Shit.” You whisper under your breath and turn your attention back to the other guy, not quite lowering your voice enough so Eddie couldn’t eavesdrop. “No, but in my defence this song is a banger.”

Severin, Severin, speak so slightly

Severin, down on your bended knee

“What the fuck are you listening to anyway?”

“I made a pre-Halloween mix. Music that led to goth before goth was a thing.” You frown as you try to unstick a bright red sticker from the price gun you’d been tapping on the pile of vinyl.

Eddie smiles to himself as he continues to pretend he’s browsing and not tuning into your conversation.

“Are you coming to The Allied tonight? There’s some new band from Indiana or something playing. Apparently, they do a sick cover of Master of Puppets.”

Eddie pauses in his faux perusing for a second as he awaits your reply.

“I wasn’t really planning on it, no.”

The guy huffs, “No? What was your plan, going home to sulk to The Velvet Underground?”

“I don’t sulk–“

“You do when you listen to The Velvet Underground.”

“What do you want me to do? Pogo to Heroin? Anyway, I was gonna work on an article actually.”

“Why don’t you write about this band tonight? Tim says they’re pretty good. He saw them a couple of weeks ago at the Metro.”

“Tim said that about that god-awful noise band that played at De Salle’s. It was the worst four hours of my life. I thought my ears were actually going to bleed.”

“Whatever, you say that like you’re not currently playing the most depressing German synth music that nobody in their right mind would listen to.” He points his hand in the air, drawing your attention to the new song playing from the speakers behind you.

“First of all, this is David Bowie’s Low. And if you knew as much about music as you claim to, you’d know that this was his seminal work in his Berlin era and an ambient soundscape masterpiece. Secondly–“

“I like it.”

Both of your heads shoot up at Eddie’s interruption. He blushes and clears his throat as you catch his eye and the corner of your mouth quirks up. “Sorry, I just–it’s a good mixtape. I like the theme.” He frowns and shakes his head at himself, he doesn’t know what came over him. Who is this guy that’s bothering you, anyway? You have amazing taste and he’s now sure you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. You gesture in his direction and look back at the guy that’s teasing you.

“The customer is always right, Simon.”

Eddie moves quickly to the B section and finds the album you were talking about before heading over to you.

“Did you find everything you need?” You smile at him sweetly as you hop off the counter and take the record from him. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked before. Customer service isn’t exactly my strongest skill.”

The guy, Simon, snorts. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the way your face lights up quietly when you realise what album he picked.

“What are your strongest skills?” That was such a weird question Munson, what the hell?

You look up at him a little taken aback, before a small smile creeps up on you.

“Talking about music…or” you shake your head in contemplation, “writing about it actually.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Maybe it’s not so much a skill, more like an obsession.”

“She’s actually kind of good.” Simon butts in with a shrug and you roll your eyes.

“Such a high compliment cuz.”

You were cousins. He still had a shot.

“You write for magazines?”

“Zines mostly,” you point to a stack of xeroxed pamphlets on the counter, “but I’ve published a few reviews with Spin and The Face.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, “That’s pretty cool.”

You breathe out a laugh and take the cash he hands you, collecting his change. “Thanks.”

“Wait, you're Eddie, right?” He turns to Simon, almost forgetting he was there. “Your band’s playing at The Allied tonight? I met your drummer Gareth at a show last week.”

“Uh yeah, that’s me. We’re called Corroded Coffin.”

“Cool name.” You smirk and hand him his record wrapped in paper. Eddie tucks it under his arm, his dimples showing as he smiles back at you.

“Thanks.”

“You’re from Indiana then?” You call back to Simon’s earlier statement, as Eddie doesn’t make a move to immediately leave.

He rubs the back of his neck as he nods, “Yeah. Just moved here a couple of months ago with my band.”

“Welcome to Chicago, Eddie.” You smile and introduce yourself, “Let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you…vinyl wise I mean.”

“Thanks,” he scratches the stubble on his jaw before stepping away from the counter. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight at the show?” He tries to keep his voice casual, but there’s a hint of hope in there.

You bite your lip and shrug, “Yeah, maybe you will.”

Eddie nods and takes his queue to leave, the bell jingling again as he steps back out into the cold.

“Yeah, maybe you will.” Simon mocks you in a breathy imitation and you roll your eyes. “So now that you know the singer is cute are you coming?”

“Obviously! You better get me on the door list, or I swear to god I’m telling Aunt Carol about the stash in your underwear drawer.”

***

“Hey, Carlos.” You greet your friend at the door of The Allied, who waves you in without payment. “That Darondo record came in, I put it aside for you.” You call back on your way in, hearing a muffled thanks as the music from inside hits your eardrums.

There’s a decent crowd tonight, and you have to push past a few people to reach the sticky top bar.

“Oh, she showed up! Surprise, surprise.” Simon makes his way over to you, ignoring the calls of indignance as he passes other customers. He slings a rag over his shoulder, which makes you bite your lip, attempting to hold in a laugh, remembering how he’d practised that move in the mirror when he turned twenty-one and landed the second most coveted job of your teenage selves.

You shrug nonchalantly, despite your cousin knowing the exact reason you’re here. “I ended up doing inventory ‘till late. Thought I may as well drop by before catching the L.”

Simon flicks your nose, your retaliating slap missing him as he moves to pour your drink. You thank him with a forced smile when he slides it across the bar, picking it up and turning to find a spot in the crowd.

“No tip?”

You call over your shoulder, “Yeah, take it easy on the cologne.” You smirk, not even having to turn around to know he’s probably sniffing his shirt.

You take your usual spot leaning against the wall, up the back and away from most of the crowd. Your rule was front row or back. None of that squished in the middle, view blocked by the tallest guy you’d ever seen crap. Either it was front and centre, immersed in the moment, or your own space with a view of it all.

You’d never be up front for a band you didn’t know, and tonight was no exception, no matter how large the butterflies in your stomach at the prospect of seeing him again.

You don’t know what it was about Eddie, apart from the obvious fact that he was gorgeous. Maybe it was something in his presence. But when he walked up to the counter earlier with a record you’d just been talking about and a shy smile on his face – you were a goner.

The murmurs of the crowd quieten when the house lights are switched off, a yellow glow on the stage and above the bar now the only sources of light.

There are a few enthusiastic cheers when the band appear from a door behind the stage and a smattering of applause as they take their place. You take a sip of your drink, ignoring the feeling in your chest when Eddie steps up to the mic and adjusts his red Warlock guitar. He smiles and you duck your head, trying not to look too much like the girl who’s just fallen for a lead singer when he addresses the crowd.

“Evening. Hope you brought your earplugs, this one’s new.” The quiet, reservedness of his introduction and the boy you’d met earlier is undone with the first crashing of cymbals and thrash of power chords.

Stage Eddie isn’t what you were expecting, but still somehow makes total sense. He’s more comfortable, more himself up there as he thrashes back and forth, hair whipping wildly. And they’re good. Really good.

Maybe you’d write about them after all.

The band are almost through their set when he spots you. Your back straightens as his eyes lock onto yours. Normally you hate making eye contact with someone on stage, but you can’t seem to look away when his chocolate-brown gaze twinkles over the heads of the rest of the crowd. In between songs, he gives you a wave, and you nod, returning his small smile.

When they finish, you move back to the bar. Waiting for the lingering fans to clear over a rum and coke. You’re only on your second sip when you feel a burning hot presence behind you.

“You made it.”

You turn around, and Eddie leans an arm on the bar beside you, moving in closer as the growing line pushes him forward.

“I did.” You nod, taking another sip of your drink.

He clears his throat, pushing his sweaty bangs away from his forehead.

“So, uh, what did you think?”

You smile, “I think you’re going to fit in very well here.”

“I hope that’s a good thing,” he chuckles.

“Oh, it is. You’re one of us now. Welcome to the dark side, Eddie.”

His eyebrows raise, the ghost of a smirk kicking up when you’re interrupted by your cousin.

“Man, that was sick! What can I get ya?”

Eddie thanks Simon, then looks back at you, “What are you having?” He holds up two fingers when you answer, signalling for another round, then starts playing with a beermat while you wait. Your eyes are trained to the glint of silver on his fingers.

“How are you liking Chicago so far?”

Eddie looks back at you and puffs his cheeks up as he exhales. “Honestly?... I didn’t know life could be this good.”

You feel a sharp tingling in your nose as your eyes well up a little for the boy standing in front of you, his cheeks dusted with pink as he tries to hold back a smile.

“Trust me, things are only gonna get better from here.”

“Yeah?” He beams at you then and you inhale deeply as you fight the urge to reach out and wrap your arms around him.

“Yeah.”

***

Eddie had seen you a few times since the gig at The Allied. Dropping into the record store when he could. In small crowds at gigs in the city. You’d greet him with a hug or a squeeze to the arm that never failed to get his heart rate going.

Today, he’d gotten off early from his temporary new gig at the auto shop and he found himself parked outside the record store.

It was overcast, but there was no bite to the air. A balmy wind tousling his hair as he ran across the street to the hole-in-the-wall coffee shop, avoiding the fat drops of rain that had begun to fall sporadically.

He spots you through the window when he makes his back to the store, bobbing your head along to whatever’s playing as you fill the racks. The now familiar bell jingles and he smiles when he recognises Joy Division over the speakers. He’d seen you in their shirt on more than one occasion.

He meets you as you're walking back to the counter.

“Oh, hey Eddie.” You smile and do a double take, taking in his greasy coveralls, and suddenly he’s wishing he’d gone home and showered. Even if it was an hour out of his way.

“Hey.” He places a coffee on the counter along with a white paper bag. “Thought you might like a mid-afternoon pick me up. I’ve uh, I’ve seen you with one of those cinnamon things before.”

Your eyes light up as you inspect the inside of the bag. “Oh my god, you’re my hero! Thank you, that’s so sweet.”

He shrugs, taking a step back from the counter, his own black coffee still clutched in his hands.

“So, this is the day job then huh?” You gesture to his outfit.

He scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah for now. Until the music starts paying off. If the music starts paying off.”

You nod, taking a bite of your cinnamon scroll and he can’t help but smirk at the way your eyes quickly roll to the back of your head. “It will.”

His free hand goes to his pocket, face hidden slightly by his hair as he tucks into himself at your confident statement.

“Thanks.” He turns around to start perusing the aisles.

“Oh, we will be getting the new Metallica album on the day of release by the way. I’ll put a tape aside for you.”

“Thank you.” He offers you a smile over his shoulder, and you tip your coffee to him.

He takes his time flicking through the rows, a few customers coming and going as he does, although he knows exactly what he’s looking for. Once the store is quiet again, he walks back over to you, selection in hand.

“Lee Hazelwood?” You take the record from him with a look of surprise.

He nods, “Yeah, I liked that song on that pre-goth mixtape you gave me. It’s like the kind of thing my uncle would listen to but…”

“Sinister.”

“Yeah.”

You smile, “It’s cool isn’t it? You know he actually wrote These Boots Are Made For Walkin’. Helped save Nancy Sinatra’s career after the teeny-bopper thing didn’t work out. They made a couple of albums together actually, and you know the first time he retired from the music industry was because the success of The Beatles’ made him depressed.”

He leans his arms on the counter as you talk. “Wow, you really are a wealth of knowledge for this stuff huh?”

You shrug, “What else is there?”

“Apart from books.”

You nod, “Good movies.”

He smiles, “Pizza.”

“Dumplings.”

“DnD”

You frown, “That nerdy board game?”

“No, uh d–dumplings like you said, and uh– dough–doughnuts?”

You scrunch up your face, “Okay,” and giggle at Eddie’s strained smile.

“So uh, what–would you–“ Not screwing this up at all Munson. “Would you maybe wanna do that together sometime? The pizza and dumplings, or probably one or the other I guess, and a movie, good music–“ he blows out a puff of air, scrunching up his face.

“Are you asking if I wanna go see a movie?”

“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, “that and dinner. If you want.”

“I do like both those things.” You smile. “How about Thursday? I finish closing up at six.”

“Yeah. Cool. Thursday sounds good.” The guys and their weekly standing appointment for band practice would not agree.

***

Thursday rolls around faster than Eddie’s prepared for. Predictably, his bandmates all made fun of him for cancelling practice for you. But he just ignored the high-pitched ooohs and went to make sure his lucky Sabbath shirt was washed before he needed it.

He’s wearing it now as he paces outside the movie theatre, twisting his rings, oblivious to you sneaking up behind him until it’s too late.

“Boo!”

“Jesus Christ.” He jumps and twists around, your hands that had reached out to scare him still on his hips, his arms float in the air for a second before landing on your shoulders.

“You’re on edge,” you tease before your face sets a little more seriously. “You okay?”

“Y-yeah. Yeah, just uh, you wanna head in? It starts in like five minutes.”

You nod, your hands leaving his waist as his fall back to his sides. “What are we seeing anyway?” You look up at the black lettering above you, smiling just as Eddie reveals your viewing choice for the night.

“Thought we could see Young Frankenstein. Saw they were doing an old-school horror weekend here in the paper.”

“That sounds great.”

He lets out a breath of relief when you bump his shoulder affectionately, and you begin walking into the theatre side by side.

“Now the real important question Eddie Munson. What are your go-to movie snacks?”

His hand twitches when it accidentally brushes the back of yours.

“Well, popcorn obviously.”

“Obviously.” You nod.

“Sour Patch Kids and you gotta add a packet of Reese’s Pieces in there too.”

“Wait, in there as in–?”

“In the popcorn bucket. All of it. Like a good version of a trail mix.”

You grin, “Very interesting.”

“Just wait till you try it, sweetheart, you’ll never do it any other way.”

You laugh, “Okay, lead the way.”

He bows, gesturing his hand towards the confection stand. “After you m’lady.”

Your giggle, Eddie quickly finds out is his new favourite sound. When it appears again in the movie theatre, he can’t seem to keep his eyes on Gene Wilder, only watching you light up with laughter.

He can’t quite believe how well it’s all going. That is until you’re sharing a large pepperoni, on the bench outside the place you insisted served the best “pies” in all of Chicago, and your confusion stops his heart for a second.

He groans when he takes the first bite of cheesy dough.

“Good right?”

He nods, chewing and swallowing quickly. “My uncle told me pizza wasn’t a first date kind of meal, but we don’t have anything like this back in Hawkins.”

You’re sitting so close that he notices you still right away.

“Wait, this is a date?”

“Oh,” he swears his heart drops to his stomach as he sees the surprise on your face. “Oh well, yeah I thought it was but I guess I–it doesn’t have to be, sorry.”

You reach out to grab his arm when he instinctively moves away, “No! I just didn’t realise you were asking me out, out. You kinda just kept listing food.” He scoffs, shaking his head at himself. “I want it to be a date.”

He bites his lip, looking back at you with eyebrows raised, “Really?”

“Yes,” you laugh, squeezing the arm still in your hold. “Of course. I would love to…be on a date with you right now.”

He beams, “Well, it’s your lucky night sweetheart.”

***

The date (once it’s established as one), goes so well Eddie finds himself back at your apartment, admiring your wall lined with records while you find the both of you a drink.

His eyebrows marry together when he notices Dusty Springfield next to the Sex Pistols.

“What’s the system here?” You hand him a beer when you reappear by his side. “Not by genre?”

“No. Autobiographical.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

“How–?”

“Well,” you step forward, reaching out to pick a plastic sleeve as if from memory, “if I want to find the song Landslide by Fleetwood Mac, I have to remember that I bought it for someone in the fall of 1983 but didn’t give it to them…for personal reasons.” You show him the white cover of the album.

“That sounds…”

“Comforting.”

He nods slowly, “Yes.”

“It is.”

God, you’re weird. And cute. And cool. And, shit he was going for it, you said you wanted to be on a date with him. You invited him back to your place. No one’s ever done that before. He should go for it. He’s going for it–

Your lips feel even softer than he imagined, and he can’t help but give himself a mental high-five when you immediately move closer to him, face melting into the hand that cradles your cheek. You taste almost vanilla-y with the combo of rum and coke still sitting on your tongue when his meets yours. He places his beer down on the coffee table, and your lips follow him when he has to dip down slightly before his free hand comes to sit on your waist.

You part for a breath, “Didn’t realise vinyl categorisation would get you so hot.” You tease him, lips plump and eyes slightly glazed over, and he’s never wanted anything more in his life than to keep you looking at him like this.

“Yeah uh, really love that Dewey Decimal system.” He leans close to capture your lips again, but you pull back, leaving him to chase you.

“The Dewey Decimal system is for books.” You shake your head.

Eddie huffs, “I really don’t care.” He finally finds your lips again and he swears they taste even sweeter the second time, despite being tainted by his own.

You guide him back to slowly sit on the couch, bodies falling a little clumsily together before you situate yourself in his lap, legs straddling his. You both stay like that for what could be hours for all Eddie cares, lips clicking in the silence.

“Fuck, I could kiss you all night.” He leans his forehead against yours, heavy breathing synced with your own, as you finally come up for air.

You shake your head, eyes soft and reassuring.

“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie.”

God dammit, is he glad he left Hawkins.

Tagging: @storiesbyrhi (I hope you like the coffee shop across from the record store 😉), @bettyfrommars (I finished it!)

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #she writes #Spotify

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neonpajamas · 1 year ago

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Do you live in the Chicago area? Do you like poetry and record stores and VHS collections and nostalgic toys? I'm hosting a reading next Saturday & I'd love to see you there! Did I mention it's free?

#chicago #poetry #event #free #free event #bric-a-brac #record store #poster #flyer #reading #poetry reading #live event #fiction #authors

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newjazzthings · 1 month ago

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ART ENSEMBLE OF CHICAGO / THE THIRD DECADE

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stevesbipanic · 2 years ago

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Steve's only 25 when it all catches up to him.

It starts off small, things people wouldn't even be able to tell is an early sign of something wrong. Misplacing keys, forgetting which day he has his shifts, what time he's supposed to get Robin. Robin notices though.

Robin knows Steve always keeps his keys on the hook next to Eddie's by the front door, that's where he always finds them, he's not misplacing the keys, he's forgetting the hook exists.

Robin knows Steve has the same shifts every week, they never change because they line up with Eddie's at the record store nearby. Robin knows Steve isn't forgetting what time he's supposed to pick Robin up, he's forgetting Robin moved away a few months ago after she graduated college.

Robin keeps noticing when the kids start calling her because the little things are becoming big things.

Robin notices when Dustin calls and tells her Steve thought he and Suzie were back together, "Like how crazy is that we broke up two years ago, I don't think I've even mentioned her lately."

Robin notices when Lucas calls and tells her Steve asked when his next game was, "The season ended months ago, he came to the finals."

Robin notices when Max calls and whispers softly, "He asked to take me to the skatepark, Robin, I told him I had to help mum. He's forgotten I'm blind Robin."

Robin wished she'd noticed sooner, maybe years ago when Steve was getting knocked around a lot. She wished she'd screamed in the face of those Russians to take her instead. She wished a lot of things when Eddie called her.

"He's in hospital, Birdie, he collapsed at work."

Robin is back in Chicago for the first time since she graduated. She wished she'd visited sooner.

"Do you think the feds are gonna let me go soon, Robbie? I mean it usually doesn't take this long for them to bring me the NDAs."

Robin hopes Steve doesn't notice her eyes going glossy as she runs her fingers through his hair, "Don't worry Stevie, I'm sure they'll be in soon, Dusty is probs just arguing over something in his."

"At least he isn't having to explain he raised a demodog. Did I ever tell you about that Robbie?"

Robin smiles softly, "Yeah but tell me again, don't want to forget any of it."

Eddie gives Robin the gist of what the doctors said, Eddie didn't understand much, a lot of technical words and shit. Too many concussions, more than they knew about most likely. They say it'll probably get worse with no timeframe of how quickly it'll happen, there might be good days, there will be a lot of bad days.

The first bad day comes a week later. Steve barely remembers Eddie, trapped in a time when Eddie was just the kids DM. Eddie sobs in the corridor in Robin's arms. The next day it's like nothing happened and Steve gets discharged. They tell Steve, this time Eddie is the one to comfort him.

"I don't want to forget you Eds."

"It's okay if you do, sweetheart, I'll still be here."

It's Robins idea to start writing everything down. Eddie, Nancy and the kids all help. Filling journals upon journals of stories and pictures of Steve's life to help on the bad days. Steve has to quit his job, Robin moves back to Chicago, they make it work.

On bad days depending on how far back Steve is Dustin or Robin or Eddie will read through the books with him, filling in the gaps of what he needs. On the worst days, Eddie leaves the pile of journals on the bed with a note and waits downstairs to see if Steve will join him later.

They make it work for a few years. Steve celebrates his 30th birthday with perfect clarity. He writes himself an entry in the journal next to a big group picture with Steve and Eddie's matching rings showing.

That July, over a decade since Starcourt, Steve is in hospital again. He'd collapsed at breakfast. Eddie had thought it was going to be one of their good days, Steve had woken up fine, all his memories in tact if a little fuzzy. He'd made them coffee and giggled at Eddie's singing while he made them eggs and just like that it all came crashing down.

Steve's brain is shutting down. They don't know if he'll make it past Christmas. There's more bad days after that. More days with books left on the bed. Most days Steve doesn't even come downstairs. On the good days, Eddie always calls off work. He'd rather be fired than miss a single second of Steve smiling at him like he does, so full of love.

They have Christmas, the whole family comes, they have to bring every chair from around the house and squish in around the table just to fit but it's perfect. Steve sits between Robin and Eddie, face bright and full of love and life. Everyone gives him the tightest hug as the night closes, all lingering, afraid of letting go.

"I love you, dingus."

"I love you too, Robbie."

Later, upstairs in their room, Steve and Eddie go through all the journals, laughing softly at each little note the kids have left. Steve writes his little journal entry, a tradition of good days, and curls into Eddie's arm whispering soft loving words to each other before falling asleep.

Steve never wakes up.

The funeral happens shortly after, all of the family is still in town. Robin holds Eddie afterwards as they go through the journals together. When they get to the last page, they struggle not to smudge the ink with their tears.

Dear Eds and Robbie,

I don't know how many more good days I'm going to get so I'm leaving this here for you now. I love you both so much, you're equally my soulmates and I want you two to look after each other while I'm gone.

Robs, go travelling with Nancy, ok? Thank you for looking after me all these years but it's time for you to go look after yourself. Go see the world for me, tell me all about it wherever I am when you get back.

Eddie, I'm sorry we didn't get as much time as we hoped, I hope you know that even just a day with you has been worth a lifetime with anyone else. Go follow your dreams, write music, perform, show the world how amazing I know you are. I give you full permission to fall in love with whoever you meet along the way, I don't want either of you guys to be alone.

Thank you for giving me a life worth remembering.

Your Dingus,

Stevie

#omfg i sobbed writing this im sorry #stranger things #steve harrington #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #st4 #steddie #stobin #robin buckely #angst #poor steve #concussions #memory loss #fuck i actually cried so much omfg #ficlet #major character death #tw major character death #tw death

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