#Stranger Things Writers Guild

[kikidoesfanfic]

Woof, I mean, hey

Written for the @strangerthingswritersguild demogorgon daily prompt 'puppy chow' (happy birthday @bobamews)

>On ao3<

"I'd keep an eye on that if I were you," Wayne says, gesturing at the bag of dog food Steve's carrying.

There's a stray that's taken up hiding under the Munson trailer, all round with a litter and such a sweetheart, Steve has been trying to befriend her enough to coax her inside for a bath for a few days now.

"Uncle Wayne, no!" Eddie whines, and now Steve's intrigued, Wayne's looking at Eddie with a positively shit eating grin, the two having a staredown neither seems willing to break.

"What am I keeping an eye out for exactly?" Steve asks.

"Well, back when Eddie first came to live with me,"

"Wayne please."

"There was this skittish little pup hangin' round the park, skinny as anythin' and nobody seemed to own it."

"I'll do the dishes for a month," Eddie says, and Wayne pauses, probably tempted because he hates doing the dishes, and with Steve cooking most nights both Munson men trade off on the chore. He must decide it's worth it though, because he continues.

"So, Eddie begged and begged, big sad cow eyes that I couldn't say no to." Wayne looks to Steve now, "of course I had to buy a little bag of the puppy chow, the kibble stuff."

Eddie, knowing Wayne is unmovable, dramatically flops face down onto the couch.

"But see, the scrawny thing wouldn't get close to eat the food when we were out there, even birds scared the little guy away. So Eddie-" Wayne says, starting to chuckle. "So Eddie thought-" he cuts himself off again with another laugh, Eddie groaning in protest, slightly muffled by the sofa cushion.

"Eddie thought if the pup saw him eatin' the food, he'd know it was safe, that he was safe."

"Aww Eddie, that's so cute!" Steve coos, dropping the bag beside the door to go over and kneel next to the couch.

"Yep, that's me, so cute." Eddie says quickly, head popping up to glare at his uncle. "And that's where the story ends, right Uncle Wayne."

"Sure," he acquiesces, and Eddie looks momentarily relieved until Wayne tacks on, "if you ignore the part where he decided they tasted pretty good as a snack and hid half the bag in his room for later."

"BETRAYAL," Eddie shouts, jumping up on the couch to point an accusatory finger at Wayne, "by my own flesh and blood!"

Steve, meanwhile, is laughing so hard he's bent double, he'd stood to make sure Eddie wouldn't fall off the couch when he yelled, but when Wayne's words processed... well.

"You kept eating it?" Steve wheezes, and Eddie turns to slap at his shoulder.

"No, go back, I'm cute remember! Wayne, look what you did!"

"I can get set some aside from the bag if you like, but I'm not kissing you if you have dog food breath." Steve says, and Wayne chuckles again.

"I changed my mind, pretty much immediately!"

"Yeah, but only 'cause-"

"NO. NOPE. TIME TO GO." Eddie yells, cutting Wayne off, jumping hastily from the couch and shoving at Steve to get him towards their room. "La la la la we can't hear you!"

"Only 'cause he felt guilty for stealing the dogs food" Wayne yells behind them, just as Eddie's about to slam the door.

"No," Eddie despairs, drawing out the word, thumping his head on the door frame a time or two before Steve can stop him. "You're the worst!" He turns and pouts, eyes big and imploring as he looks at Steve, "you can't tell anyone about this, the kids will never let me hear the end of it."

"Don't worry, your secret's safe with me Eds," he says with a fond smile. "Though, I don't think it's me you have to worry about, won't Wayne be home during Hellfire this week?" Eddie's face turns panicked, hurrying back down the hallway, leaving a giggling Steve behind.

"Hey Uncle Wayne, I ever tell you you're the best Uncle a guy could have?"

[little-annie]

Happy Birthday @strangerthingswritersguild ❤️

M (Mentions of sexual activity and Eddie's 🍆) | WC 836 | Stobin & Steddie

It was Steve's 29th birthday and although Eddie had plans -rockstar duties- that didn't stop Robin from swooping in and saving the day.

Work couldn't be escaped, which sure, that was shitty, but Steve owned the place and still had to see through certain duties on a daily basis. Plus it gave him and Robin the opportunity to hash out their plans for the evening. On their way out of the shop they ordered pizza to Steve's apartment and set out to the closest gas station to procure a hoard of candy and a couple bottles of wine.

It was their constant gabbing back and forth that distracted Steve from Eddie's car in the parkade. 

Both he and Robin, oblivious to the fact of what was waiting in the apartment for Steve, they carried on.

By the time the elevator reached the 34th floor, a bag of Skittles had been demolished and Steve was laughing so hard he was hiccuping. With tears in his eyes and gasping for breath Steve was bent over wheezing when Robin opened the door to his and Eddie's apartment, leaving him momentarily blind to the sight before him.

But that didn't mean he missed the blood curdling scream released by Robin in the same instant Eddie's voice yelled out a happy, “Surprise!”

Popping upright with the joy that his boyfriend was home for his birthday, Steve was met with a very nude Eddie. There in his porcelain skin and tattooed glory, Eddie was laid out on their black leather couch, surrounded by rose petals, candles and chocolates.

Steve's heart fluttered with excitement.

And Robin's shuddered with horror. “Eddie! What the fuck!? Put your junk away!”

While Eddie calmly cupped himself on the couch not moving another inch from his position, Steve struggled to pull his eyes away as Robin's ire was turned towards him.

“I thought you said he wasn't going to be home, Dingus. How am I ever going get the image of Eddie's saggy nuts -

“-hey my nuts aren't saggy!”

- out of my head. It'll be forever burned into my retinas. I'll have to bleach my eyeballs or carve them out with a fucking spoon.”

Eddie's now grumbling to himself on the couch looking down at his crotch, most likely trying to hype himself up from Robin's early insult. Steve's sure he hears the whispered words of, ‘You're not saggy, you're perfectly normal and I love you.’ And with Eddie Steve can never be sure, but it's not a far off guess.

God how he loves that dork.

Steve can't believe Eddie flew in from his tour for his birthday.

Still shielding himself from Robin's delicate eyes, Eddie catches Steve's lingering stare and puckers his lips into a kiss, blowing it in Steve's direction while he continues to stand in the doorway with Robin.

Eventually he decides to tune back into her rant.

“- penis, Steve. I'm a lesbian, I shouldn't have to see anyone's dick. And we both know I've seen yours enough as is. Lord knows I can't forget last Halloween and the horror that it truly was. But Eddie's?! I didn't need to know it was pierced, let alone tattooed! Sure you probably would have told me eventually, but come on man, I didn't need to see it.”

It's the mention of such a tattoo that has Steve whipping his head back in Eddie's direction.

Eddie didn't have a tattoo there when he left.

Oh.

Oh.

As Steve catches on and Eddie sends him a wink, mouthing a sly ‘Surprise,’ he has to restrain him from shoving Robin out the door.

“Get out.”

Robin's rambling stops and she looks at Steve deeply offended, “Excuse me.”

He'll make it up to her later, but currently his rockstar boyfriend is laid out naked on their expensive couch with a new tattoo that Steve really feels the deep seeded need to taste, lick from the man's body, or suck from his skin. 

Truly any of the above works.

Robin rolls her eyes and groans, “But Steve-uh, the pizza.”

“I'll order a pizza to your damn apartment, Robby. But I swear to god if you don't leave in the next five seconds you're going to see a whole lot more than just a single dick.”

She scrunches her nose in disgust, “Boo you whore.”

“You know it.” Steve states proudly, “Now out, please. I swear once Eddie's gone we can do a pizza and wine night.”

Robin groans once again, but she does eventually leave with a pinch to Steve's ass and a snarky, “Don't get him pregnant!” sent in Eddie's general direction.

With the click of the door behind him, Steve sheds his clothes clumsily and hops from one foot to the other as he steps out of his jeans, then underwear, on his way to the couch.

With little to no grace he falls into Eddie's arms with a giggle, feeling the press of lips to his forehead and the whispered words of, “Happy Birthday, Baby,” to his skin.

[maxinemaxmayfield]

For the @strangerthingswritersguild prompt (7th August): clothes swap

(gen • 201 words • steddie)

“Where’s my Hellfire shirt?” Eddie shouts from the bedroom, clearly starting to panic. They’re already late, and Steve glances down from his cup of coffee to take in the black and red splashed across his chest. He’s been wearing it all morning, but apparently Eddie hasn’t been paying any attention. 

“Eds,” Steve calls, walking down the hall. “Eddie.” 

He’s crouched like a goblin on the floor by the closet, digging through piles of clothes frantically. “I can’t find it anywhere!”

“Eddie, look at me.”

“I don’t have time, Steve! Fucking– help me look!” 

“Eds.” 

“What?!”

“Look up.” 

Eddie glances at Steve’s face, then drops his eyes to his torso. “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you say anything!” 

“I didn’t know you were looking for it.” 

Eddie stands and huffs, then stalks over to Steve’s drawer and pulls out a polo. “Well, you steal my shit, I steal yours.” 

“You know the kids are going to make fun of you, right?” Steve points out, watching Eddie’s hair poof out through the neck-hole as he tugs it over his head. 

Eddie flips him the bird as he throws his battle vest over the polo, a bizarre contrast he doesn’t seem to notice.

[momotonescreaming]

STWG Daily Drabble

Prompts: Give in and chill

“I can’t do it anymore,” Eddie exclaims as he storms through the trailer door, wind blowing in from the Trailer Park behind him. He slams it shut behind him, running a hand through his now bedraggled hair. Rings catching on his curls, he groans in frustration, he rips his hand out of his hair and throws his bag to the floor along with his mechanic jumpsuit. Kicks off his shoes. “I’m done.”

Steve watches as his boyfriend stands there for a second, breathing heavy, looking down at his pile of things on the floor. He takes a deep breath, or he sighs, and Steve hums in affirmation that he’s listening. Tilts his head to see if he can spy the look on Eddie’s face.

Huffing, Eddie turns to Steve’s position on the couch, huffing, muscles tense in a tight line across his shoulders. “Work sucks. I’m quitting. I’m becoming a dealer again, that was easier.”

“No it wasn’t,’ Steve says simply. Feeling his lips curl up into an ever so faint smile.

“Okay, no it wasn’t,” Eddie concedes, before whirling around and throwing is arms up in the air. “But my point still stands! I’ve had enough of old men either telling me I’m a murderer or that they know how to change tyres better than me. Fuck them. I’m giving up. I'm giving in and out and around.”

He lets out another noise, a scream or a yell of frustration, clenching his hands tight. And then he releases. And Steve watches as all the tension leaves his body, melt off his shoulders and drip onto the floor. Looks up at Steve through his large wet eyes, bottom lip protruding just slightly as Eddie pouts.

Steve holds open one arm, making space for Eddie, looking reassuringly at the man. He slumps his way across the trailer, dragging his socked feet, before falling into the couch cushions. Snuggles into Steve’s hold, resting his head on his chest. Feeling the gentle rise and fall of it under his head. It’s soothing, so Steve makes sure to try and keep his breathing slow and steady.

He wraps his arm around his boyfriend, bringing him in close, before gently kissing him on the top of his head. Eddie sighs at that, melting further and wrapping his arms around Steve in return. He smells like engine oil and cheap deodorant. Of cigarette smoke, and of home.

“Fixing cars was more fun when I was doing it with you and Wayne,” Eddie mumbles. Clutches at the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “Doing it for work sucks.”

“Just take a deep breath, Baby,” Steve says, rubbing his hand across Eddie’s shoulder. Slow and soothing, a steady comforting weight. “Chill out with me for a second.”

“I can do that,” Eddie replies, voice mumbled as he presses his face into Steve’s chest. He takes a stuttering breath, and Steve can feel it from where their bodies are pressed together. Takes a deep of his own.

“Just relax, sit with me,” Steve starts, pressing another kiss to Eddie’s head. “And when you feel better I’ll put a movie on while you change into some comfy clothes. We’ll chill, relax, and you can tell me how much work sucked in great detail.”

Eddie snorts a weak laugh.

“That sound okay, Baby?” Steve adds, turning so he can look at Eddie, try and get a glimpse of his face.

Eddie’s smiling, a little weak and watery, but it’s there. “Yeah, I can do that.”

“Good.” Steve says, fondly looking down at his boyfriend. Gently resting his fingers under Eddie’s chin and tilting his head up. Eddie lets himself be moved, eyes wide and shining, eyes flicking down to Steve’s lips and then back up to his eyes again. God, Steve could drown in Eddie’s eyes. Eddie would let him.

Instead he leans into to kiss him, soft and gentle and exactly what Eddie needs.

[imfinereallyy]

13

discord drabble prompt: Friday the 13th

and a little bit inspired by @cranberrymoons drabble.

**

"How many times has it been man?" Eddie sucks a breath through his teeth, jaw clenched tight.

"I don't know, I've lost count." Steve bangs his head against the cabin door. He wonders if he smashes his own head against the door hard enough if it will kill him. If it would restart them all over again.

"I thought maybe after the 13th time we died, it would have stopped." Eddie cups the back of Steve's head like he knows what he's thinking. Like Eddie can't stand the idea of seeing Steve's blood splattered against the wood, although this wouldn't be the first (nor last) time he's seen it.

"Why would it stop after thirteen?" Steve touches the back of Eddie's hand, seeking comfort. He can hear the screams of campers in the distance; it's okay. They'll save them next time.

"Well, that's the tale, isn't it? On Friday the 13th, in the summer camp near Lover's Lake, he'll take thirteen victims after he wakes?"

Steve laughs; he's pretty sure there is blood in his teeth. Eddie doesn't seem to mind. "Well, I can tell you we are way past 13 loops, Ed. I remember thirteen, actually. You died first that time. He slit your throat." The laugh dies on his lips, and despair fills his stomach. That was a bad one. Steve lasted longer than Eddie; he had to watch his body be dragged into the lake. Steve is glad they restarted that time.

"Hey, don't give me that face. We will get out of this. Maybe we just have to survive until he has thirteen victims. Maybe this will end."

"We can't let our friends or kids die, Ed."

Eddie has this look on his face that he knew Steve would say that. His look says he had dismissed the idea himself before Steve even answered. Self-sacrificing bastard.

Steve kinda wants to kiss him.

"What if...what if only one of us dies?" Steve says hesitantly.

"What do you mean?" Steve knows Eddie knows exactly what he means.

"What if I just die, and you get everyone—"

"No."

Steve sighs, "Ed—"

Eddie tugs the back of Steve's hair, "I said no. We will figure this out. Okay?"

Steve wants to believe him despite making his own plans in his head. "Okay."

***

[jaytriesstrangerthings]

Daily Drabblers Prompt from @strangerthingswritersguild prompt “Come back!”

—

People don’t stay. They never really have when it comes to Steve. It was probably the first thing Steve knew for certain, barely ten years old and his parents decide to leave him alone with a shitty nanny who doesn’t really care about Steve as much as she cares about the Harrington pay rate. It didn’t matter how much Steve cried and begged as they were leaving, how desperate he was on the rare phone call begging his mother and father to “Come back!” promising to do anything and everything to be someone worth sticking around for.

There was nothing Steve could offer that compared to whatever New York or the Hamptons had. He was just a kid, but he was their kid, and he thought maybe that would count for something. Steve had never been very good at math, counting, apparently, was no exception.

It wasn’t until Robin that he knew what it was like for someone to stay. She insisted their souls were tangled together and promised she would never leave him of her own volition. Over the years she was a constant in his life. They went through everything together. As close as two people could be in a way that never really made sense to anyone else. Robin helped him take nudes on a regular basis, Steve checked Robin’s breasts for lumps on a monthly rotation, Robin helped Steve realize that maybe guys can be just as attractive as girls which is ironic considering Robin’s status as a raging lesbian. Point is Robin is his everything.

Was.

He’s yet to figure out what tense to use, didn’t think he’d ever really need to know. Thought “is” would be all he ever needed when it comes to Robin. He always just kind of assumed they’d die hand in hand in a shared room at some nursing home making jokes about tapioca pudding and gossiping about the staff.

Robin was supposed to stay.

After graduating they bought a duplex, each claiming one of the units so they could live together but still technically have their own space. They tore down the fence splitting up the backyard and still spent basically every night together like an infinite sleepover.

It’s cold without her, sitting on the green couch they found at a thrift store in town about a week after moving in. The fuzzy yellow blanket with cartoon bees she’d given him declaring he’s “the bees knees,” doing nothing to warn the ice in his veins.

Robin was supposed to stay.

Steve blames himself. It should have been him if it was going to be someone. He wished it was both of them if it had to be her. He was the one driving, looked over to her for a second too long and didn’t see the semi coming around the bend.

His car is fixed and sitting in the driveway, has been for weeks now. He hasn’t driven since that night. Maybe it’s fear, anxiety, maybe it’s just the reminder that she isn’t going to be sitting in the passenger seat anymore, flipping through songs and never making it to the end of one before she would get bored and switch CDs or change the station. Steve always pretended to be annoyed but he refuses to listen to the end of a song ever again.

Robin was supposed to stay.

There was a funeral of course, Steve was the first one there and the last one to leave, standing over the fresh pile of dirt and waiting for someone to jump out and tell him it was some insensitive prank or something. Begging her desperately to Come back! despite knowing she wouldn’t, couldn’t.

He knows she would. In a heartbeat she’d be back if she was able, even if that just meant haunting their duplex.

He’s half convinced himself that that’s why it’s so cold even with the blanket. Sometimes Steve feels like he’s waiting for her to level up in her ghost adventure or something, going from just making the room cold to flipping the TV channel and knocking things over like a disgruntled cat.

Robin was supposed to stay.

But people don’t stay. They never really have when it comes to Steve. It was probably the first thing Steve knew for certain. How could he forget?

[salamandergoo]

A lil something I wrote for the daily drabble prompt “closet” in the Stranger Things Writer’s Guild Discord!

———

Jonathan spent a lot of time in the closet. Metaphorically, yes, he was queer and had known it since he was young. But literally, too. He knew how to keep his breathing quiet, even when he was sobbing. On the nights where his parents’ yelling was too loud, he could tuck himself into the corner of his closet and bury his face in his favorite sweater. If he was quiet about it, no one would know. As long as he choked out the sound of his crying, Lonnie would never find out and he could wring himself of the fear.

[withacapitalp]

For anyone who missed the first invite, Stranger Things Writers Guild is live and we're having our first community writing event today! From 6 (ish!) pm EST to 10 pm EST we will be doing sprints, maybe listening to some music, and chilling out 😎😎

This is the link!

[jeandejard3n]

Stranger Things: Lost in Hawkins

[kikidoesfanfic]

Demogorgon daily prompt for the word Lucas on the Stranger Things Writers Guild! G

Assume the setup for this is Steve carrying Eddie into the ER all bloodied and heroic before eventually collapsing cause sepsis and concussions and such and such and ending up in the hospital as well. It's been a few days, Max is awake cause El, Eddie is cleared, things are great.

~~~

"-eel safer when you're around, even Mike." Eddie surfaces disoriented, hears a voice but can't quite place it in the moment of groginess with the beeping and the stark white room assaulting his eyes and the hospital smells burning at his nose. "You know he'd never admit that though."

A pause.

"Louisville beat out LSU by eleven yesterday, it was a pretty good game, I thought maybe we could watch it, I got my dad to... tape it... for me." Lucas, the voice is Lucas, wobbly as it gets towards the end. "The finals are tomorrow so, you should hurry up and wake up, you know? You're gonna miss it. I know Indiana didn't get very far but, you like Louisville right?"

Eddie cracks his eyes back open slowly, brightness of the room a lot less harsh the second go around, and looks over towards where Lucas is sitting. His back is facing Eddie and he's perched in a chair at someone's bedside, *Steve's bedside*. which, shit, the last thing Eddie remembers is... huh, bats, telling Dustin he loved him, Steve's worried face hovering over him.

So what happened to Steve?

"I have to go soon, Mom wants help setting up Max's room, she's gonna stay with us until she can get the casts off her arms, remember?" Lucas sighs, "I think she was hoping you'd wake up before she got sent home, it'll be hard to bring her to visit."

Eddie doesn't know if he should interrupt the moment, Lucas' voice taking on that wet quality that signals tears, Eddie's never been the best at dealing with tears. Hasn't been the best at dealing with Lucas in general really, which, he grimaces, is something he still needs to fix.

"Steve. Come on man you have to wake up soon. You promised to take me to see the Pacers, who else is gonna do that?" A sniffle, and Eddie can see Lucas wipe his sleeve across his face. "None of the other's even came to my game, but you-"

He sobs, a cut off quiet sound hand coming up to cover his mouth, and it gives Eddie time to feel like shit about that one before Lucas continues. God he was a dick about that, Steve had chewed him out about it too.

"I was on the bench and you still came." Lucas' voice lowers to a whisper and he adds, "you have to get better, Steve, nobody else understands like you do."

He stands, taking a deep breath to settle himself he grabs Steves hand, giving it a pat and then fiddles with his blankets so they sit just so.

"Dustin will be here in a few, I'll see you soon, Steve, rest up." Call Eddie a coward, though he thinks he's earned a few weeks leeway on that at the very least, but he quickly snaps his eyes shut before Lucas can turn. He shouldn't have heard any of that, it wasn't for him, he has things to make right with the kid but now's not the time for that either.

Lucas pauses at the foot of Eddie's bed on his way out, taps the railing twice before he goes on his way.

Yeah, they definitely need to talk, Eddie thinks as he opens his eyes again to look over at Steve resting quiet in his bed. He's got a few apologies to make, jocks aren't all bad, after all.

AO3

[little-annie]

Catching up on my @strangerthingswritersguild prompts today

T (Mentions of blood and dying) | WC 711 | Steddie

Like wildfire above, the sky dances in the colour of flames between the blackened clouds. Bright and blinding with every flash of lightning and every strike of energy into the ground. The thunder rolls and the monsters roar and where flesh was ripped from bone, Eddie burns.

“Look at me.”

A voice comes faintly through the constant whorl in Eddie's ears. Bat wings, and screeching, screaming cries from Satan's own spawn.

The fuckers.

He'll die because of them.

“Eddie, god dammit look at me.”

That same voice breaks into his consciousness again, though with this time accompanied by a strong jerking grip to Eddie's jaw. With force his head is turned and his gaze is pulled away from the blackness it'd been staring into. 

Somehow, some time he was moved from the heap of gore that was himself and a pile of Demobats that surrounded him. No longer laying in a pool of his own blood, but now prompt upright with the bite of bark to his back and the dampness of a forest floor beneath him.

In front of him is the bruised, battered and bloody face of Steve Harrington.

Even in his dying moments Eddie thinks Steve's beautiful.

“You're going to be okay.”

And delusional apparently.

There's no way he's going to be okay. 

Eddie accepted as much, what felt like hours ago.

He'll die here in hell and they'll leave him here to rot. 

It'll be better that way.

Less dead-weight to lug around and drag through whatever portal they can manage to find.

At least Steve's hazel eyes are the last thing he'll see.

The grip on his jaw squeezes tighter and Steve repeats himself giving Eddie's head a small, sharp shake. “You're going to be okay.”

Eddie wheezes a breath and his lungs feel weak.

“You ever had stitches before?” Steve asks 

Furrowing his brow, Eddie nods, thinking of that time he was dicking around in the scrap yard and ended up catching his leg on a stray piece of metal.

“Good.” Steve nods, “Good. I'm going to stitch you up, okay?”

Eddie's about to protest, but thinks it's pointless, a waste breath just as the stitches will be a waste of perfectly good medical equipment.

They don't need to use it on him.

He's still looking at Steve. Watching the way his eyes roam and his nose scrunches and the gash above his brow continues to bleed. 

His eyes look glassy.

“Tell me.” Steve says, begs nearly, “Come on. Say it. Say, ‘I'll be okay.’”

Those beautiful hazel eyes search Eddie's with a sort of desperation. 

God he can't lie to Steve.

He can't bear to disappoint him either.

With a cough and a sputter, Eddie wheezes, tries his fucking hardest to do as Steve says.

“I-” he coughs up what he's sure is blood, reaching forward to brace himself holding Steve's wrist, “I'll… be okay.”

Staring at Eddie's lips for much longer than necessary, Steve grits his teeth and without so much as a breath of notice Eddie feels Steve's lips crashing into his.

It's fast and urgent. Tasting of copper and the spoils of war.

But it too gives Eddie a goddamn will to live.

He tries to lean into the sensation even more but quickly Steve pulls away, replacing his lips what to Eddie's tongue feels like a fucking stick.

What the fuck?

“Bite.” Steve instructs, harsh and demanding, digging in a backpack that's been thrown down by his side.

Soon enough there's what looks to be alcohol, and needle and thread in Steve's one hand.

*Bite* Eddie remembers, feeling the warmth of his own drool pool around the stick in his mouth. 

*Bite*

Responding to Eddie's silence Steve looks up. “Harder.” He instructs, “It's going to hurt and we don't need you screaming so loud that whatever the fuck is out there can find us.”

He wants to ask about the kiss. The there and gone press of Steve's lips to his own. Mostly he just wants to know why. Why now? Why him? Why in the hell here of all places?

But Eddie bites down harder instead.

He can ask those questions later.

He'll be okay.

Steve reminds him of as much again as the first stitch pierces his skin.

[maxinemaxmayfield]

DOUBLE DRABBLE DAY!? For the @strangerthingswritersguild daily drabble prompts (plural!): chill / give in 700 words, teen & up (pre-relationship steddie, post-s4, recreational drug use)

CHILL

Neither of them likes being alone; Steve’s house is too empty, too big, too cold. Every corner is filled with nothing but the reminder that no one cares enough to be there for him, not even his own parents.

Eddie’s trailer, on the other hand, is too full. Ghosts haunt every corner, reminders of the people he couldn’t save, the ones he almost lost, and the hellmouth to another dimension that cracked through his fucking ceiling and changed his life. Sometimes it feels so crowded he can’t breathe. 

So they drive. They never know where they’ll end up. Sometimes it’s the movies, or the diner, or the quarry. Tonight, the weather’s mild and dry, sky clear enough to see all the stars, and Steve swings into a cornfield. 

Eddie tosses him a look.

“What?” Steve asks, driving far enough that they can’t see the road they left behind them. “I don’t wanna be around people.”

“I’m people,” Eddie points out, cocking an eyebrow.

Steve snorts. “You don’t count.” 

“Maimed!” Eddie crows, grabbing one of Steve’s hands from the wheel and dragging it to his chest, like he’s plunging a knife into Eddie’s very heart. The car swerves. “Wounded! Aggrieved!” 

“You know what I mean,” Steve says, pulling his arm from Eddie’s grasp to plant it back on the steering wheel. “I don’t have to think around you. I can just… chill.” 

Steve eases onto the brake to bring them to a stop, nothing but corn as far as the eye can see. He leaves the radio on, playing some shit he doesn’t actually care enough to listen to, and gets out to lean on the hood. It’s still warm. 

Eddie joins him a moment later, already pulling a joint from his pocket. He pats down his jacket, looking for a lighter. He’s always losing them.

Steve has one out and ready in second, used to it at this point. He extends the flame towards Eddie.

Easy. Routine. Muscle memory. 

GIVE IN

Eddie doesn’t waste any time draping himself across the hood of Steve’s car, hair spreading out like a halo. Stars reflect in his wide eyes as he stares at the sky like he wants to memorize it. 

“Ever wonder if there’s life out there?” Eddie asks around an exhale of smoke. 

“There’s enough weird alien shit here in Hawkins, dude. I don’t need to think about the whole universe.”

“Fair.”

It’s quiet for a while, just the faint sound of wind jostling the stalks around them as they pass the joint back and forth.

At some point, they slide down, sitting on the hard ground with their backs against the front of the Beemer. At some point, Steve realizes that he isn’t watching the night sky anymore. He’s watching Eddie’s tongue poke out from his lips, always moving even when he isn’t talking, like he’s having a silent conversation with himself. 

“Willpower,” Steve says aloud. Eddie turns.

“Huh?”

“Like, as a concept. Do you think people shouldn’t always do what they want cause it might be kinda bad for them?” 

Eddie laughs, a deep sound that quickly gets lost in the miles of corn around them. “You’re asking the town drug dealer if he thinks people shouldn’t partake in things that might be bad?”

“Okay, but what about… other stuff?” 

“Man, life’s too short. We’re goddamn walking evidence of that. If you really want something, crave something, fuck it. Give in.” 

So Steve does. He gives in. He closes the space between him and Eddie, reaches out to cradle his palm against Eddie’s cheek, draws him even closer and kisses him. 

It’s short, just the press of lips together, smokey and dry and chaste. When Steve pulls back, Eddie doesn’t move, eyes wide and jaw slack. 

Steve thinks he might have made a mistake. “You, uh… still stand by that advice?” 

“Advice?” Eddie asks, dumbfounded. 

“To give in…”

Something clicks into place behind Eddie’s shocked eyes. “Oh, shit, that’s what you were talking about?” 

Steve nods; can’t help but feel amused. 

“I’m really fucking glad I didn’t tell you to resist, then,” Eddie says, and captures Steve’s lips once more, with such enthusiasm that they both end up in the dirt.

[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

[axquiva]

If I see one more post complaining about the delay in production for a show season or a new movie because of the WGA and critizing them for going on strike, I'm actually going to loose it. Look I understand. I'm pissed that we're probably aren't going to get Stranger Things 5 when we thought we were. But I'm not pissed at the writers. I'm pissed at the fucking corporate assholes who are the reason all this is happening in the first place. Instead of taking out your pointless frustration at a relatively mild inconvenience to your life, actually try and see what you can do to help the writers who are being unfairly treated, and the actors & crew members who might be in trouble with all this as well.

It's not the WGA's fault this is happening. So stop acting like it is.

[byler-alarmist]

I think we need to continue our efforts to be Very Loud about the WGA strike and put the fire under the studio execs' asses. They need to know that it's Their Fault we are pissed off, and They need to stop wasting everyone's time (and pay their writers).

[eightfifteen]

As weird as some of these are, i see potential...

(( though eden x steve is mostly because i realised there were suspiciously few straight options so i had to correct against personal bias ))