#Unnamed Freak

[jonathanbiers]

that "who DARES interrupt our fucking jam session???" death glare

[putting-eddie-munson-in-places]

Can you put him with corroded coffin (if you haven’t already)? 💕

https://www.tumblr.com/dinah-lance/711717731208183808/hellfire

it’s wayne’s world and they’re just living in it

[momotonescreaming]

Part One | Part Two

Jeff felt like he was the only one who actually tried to do some study during his free period. Granted, this was mostly because he didn’t share his free period with anyone, but hey. He’s still counting it. It felt easier than studying at home — no mom to knock on his door every few minutes to ask him something, no annoying younger brothers. Just annoying students constantly getting shushed for talking too loud in the library. At least they listened when the librarian scolded them, unlike a pair of certain younger brothers.

So every day he could, he claimed the same table off to the side of the library, spread out his books, and tried to get some work done. Work on an essay, do some math sheets, sneak in some DnD research when he had the time (and wasn’t worried about the other teens trying to vandalise his papers). It meant he had more time at home to do things he actually liked. DnD. Guitar. Watch some TV.

It was calm, it was routine. No one else sat at his table, and it was better that way. No one wanted to hang out with one of the freaks. It was better when the cliques of Hawkins High didn’t interact. It was also easier said than done. A voice clears — light, high, and almost tentative. Right next to his table. Jeff looks up and sees the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

Chrissy Cunningham.

His heart skips a beat, butterflies flutter in his stomach, every single lovesick cliché. Jeff felt them all. Feelings swirling in his stomach like honey. Sticky sweet and coating all of his insides. It was inescapable. Unavoidable.

She was cute, and he could swear he could smell her floral perfume and strawberry shampoo. Chrissy was that close and it was a silly little thing he had dreamed about. Being that close to the head cheerleader, his unattainable crush.

Her hair was tied up in a lilac scrunchie, ponytail perfectly curled, with matching lilac eyeshadow. He was close enough that he could notice these things, could see how the colour matched the purple tint in her ruffled plaid skirt.

Jeff smiled at her, almost unconsciously, trying not to seem too much like a freak. Just another normal guy. He didn’t want to scare her off. He listened to Eddie rant about conformity all day, but smiling at a pretty girl to make her more comfortable doesn’t seem so bad.

“Hi, um,” Chrissy starts, clutching a stack of books to her chest. There’s a subtle flush to her cheeks, rosy red, and Jeff can’t quite tell if it’s makeup or if it’s just her flustered over him. She continues before he can start over thinking about whether it’s a good flush or not. Does he make her nervous. “Can I sit here? Everywhere else is taken.”

Jeff looks over, and finds that Chrissy’s right. All the other tables are full, students littering the tables with books and papers with no room for anyone else. All tables, except his. It’s sort of telling, that the only table free is his, and no one else's, but he’s trying not to think about it too hard. Not when it’s led Chrissy to him, cutely and shyly asking if she can sit.

“Of course,” he replies, a little hurried, maybe a little too desperate sounding. He bites back a wince, and moves some of his textbooks out of her way. “Totally.”

And she smiles, something soft and small, just for him — as she thanks him and slides into one of the seats opposite. He smiles back, heart fluttering within the confines of his ribcage. Looking back down at the notes he’s been working on for his English essay, it suddenly doesn’t seem a appealing. Not in the way that it normally does. The words blur into one another, drift across the page, as Jeff tries to keep his gaze firm on the page and not sneaking upwards to glance at Chrissy.

At her perfectly coordinated outfit, preppy and cute, without looking too frumpy. At the way her bangs frame her face, highlighting her cheeks, her shining eyes. At the subtle gloss on her lips, tinted a faint pink. Jeff wonders what it tastes like. What it would feel like against his lips. Is it cherry flavoured, or strawberry — to match her hair. Would it be sticky as their lips meet? A thread of lip gloss and saliva stringing between them as they pull apart.

Shaking his head, willing that particular train of thought to leave his head, he closes his English notes and pulls out the math sheets that Mr Mundy gave them this morning. Grips his pencil tight and tries not to think about how Chrissy is right there. He can hear her organise her books, unzip her bag and take out her things. The scratch of pen on paper. The flip of the pages turning.

It’s sort of soothing, the soft sounds of Chrissy working, a nice noise overlaying the background noises of the library. And not just because it’s her. It’s nicer than the other teens whispering and giggling about being told off by the librarian, it’s better than the annoyances he gets at home. The subtle noise of someone working in tandem with him. It’s nice. Just keeping him company. Even if Chrissy just wanted an empty table, and not him specifically.

Jeff tries to concentrate, and works on his math sheets. Tries to speed through them without totally beefing it. Math isn’t his favourite subject — that would be English Lit, funnily enough —  but he’s not totally terrible at math. DnD has admittedly, helped. Which was part of the reason his parents let him continue with it (the other part, of course, being that he enjoyed it).

So he thinks of DnD, and of math, and tries to focus on Mr Mundy’s worksheet. Except it doesn’t go all that well, because of course it doesn’t. He’ll work through a problem, sneak a glance at Chrissy, at the matching purple shade she’s painted her nails, and look back at the worksheet only to find he’s worked through the problem all wrong. Sighing, Jeff erases what he’s done, and looks at the equation.

“Excuse me, um,” Chrissy starts quietly, whispering as to not invoke the ire of the already stressed librarian. “Do you have a spare pen, mine’s ran out of ink.”

Jeff looks up, throat hitching, lungs holding air as he locks eyes with Chrissy. Clear blue, deep and inviting and looking at him. He tries to hold himself back, to try not to smile like a loon, and he’s not sure if he’s successful or not.

“It’s Jeff,” he starts, clearing his throat, before digging through his pencil case for a pen he can spare. “And sure. Hope blue’s okay. I know O’Donnell can be a real stickler about black pens only.”

"Blue’s fine,” Chrissy giggles. Fucking giggles. Pressing a hand lightly to her mouth, her soft lips — the other reaching out for the pen Jeff retrieved. “It’s not for O’Donnell.”

“No worries then,” he replies, automatically holding his breath as Chrissy takes the pen, her fingertips brushing against the skin of his hand. Her skin is soft, moisturised, and feels like silk against his. What would it be like, Jeff wonders — retracting his hand, not letting himself linger — if she were to hold his hand. Not just a mere brush of fingertips. Would she entangle their fingers, clutching tight? Would she link their pinkies, swinging their arms in between them as they walked? Would she hold his hand over the table, where everyone could see, so they could work and stay connected at the same time?

“Thank you,” She says, shaking him out of it, uncapping the pen. She jolts a little, eyes widening. “Oh! I’m Chrissy by the way.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jeff replies, smiling and tilting his head at her. He can feel all his insides melting inside him, conjoining into one horrible feelings-filled blob settling in his stomach. Clawing up his ribs, growing likes vines. It was everywhere, it was growing, no amount of smothering was going to kill this crush anytime soon. Not when Chrissy was there, looking the way she did, smiling at him so sweetly. Being kind to him.

—

At the end of their free period they went their separate ways, shaken out of their quiet camaraderie by the ringing of the bell. She had smiled at thanked him as she left, face flushed and ponytail swinging behind her.

Jeff felt like he was going to melt into a puddle, but he still, tragically, had class to go to. So he quickly packed up his things and headed to his next class. He shared it with Frank, which was nice as they actually got to sit next to one another. But the guy was scarily perceptive, and Jeff kind of wanted to keep that moment to himself for a little bit. Wrap it up in tape and hold it close, tucked into his chest. Just him, and Chrissy, and the way that she smiled at him.

But if Jeff knew Frank (and he did), he’d read Jeff like a book. Hopefully he could read him enough that he knew Jeff wanted it unsaid, just for the moment. Not counting Eddie, of course. He was his best friend, and he got it, with his insufferable crush on Steve Harrington.

He’d tell Frank eventually, of course he would, but not now. Definitely not on school grounds, while everyone was still there. If a cheerleader or god forbid — one of the basketball jocks — heard Jeff say he had a crush on the head cheerleader? He’d throw himself into the deep end of lovers lake, never to be seen again.

So he sighs, and enters his next class, hitches his bag further up his shoulder and heads towards his assigned desk. Frank arrives shortly after, messenger bag slung on one shoulder and they lock eyes. He tries to keep it casual light, but he’s sure he sees something on his face. See the like and love and ooey gooey feelings seeping out of his pores.

“Did Kaminsky quiz you again?” Jeff asks, hoping to draw the attention away from his traitorous heart. Frank immediately groans in exasperation, tilting his head to the ceiling, and Jeff just laughs. A wash of relief rushing over his tangled emotions.

—

School dragged on, as it always did at the end of the day, and all Jeff wanted to do was go home and lock himself in his room. Maybe wallow in his emotions for a bit, let them settle, and learn some love song on the guitar. Use it to work through his feelings. Sort through them like puzzle pieces. Pick them up one by one, and carefully slot them into place.  There’s gotta be some good metal ones he can learn.

Jeff lets his mind drift, thinking of songs, and of guitars, and of learning a song just for Chrissy. Lets the class wash over him, absently writing down notes, entirely without thinking about it. He should care about this stuff, should want to take notes, should want to pass. But all of a sudden it really doesn’t seem like it matters. Not when Chrissy sat with him, had talked to him, had borrowed his pen. She forgot to give it back in the end, in the rush of the bell, but Jeff didn’t mind. Not when his crush now had something of his.

Ripping his gaze back towards the blackboard, towards the teacher, he lets the subconscious smile he was sporting drop from his face. Drifting his way through the end of class until finally, finally, the end of day bell rings and he’s free. Packing up his things as fast as he can, absently chatting with Frank as they exit class along with the flood of students.

It’s not Friday, so there’s no Hellfire. There’s no Corroded Coffin practice, he doesn’t have to drive his brothers across town to soccer, or some other lesson they’ve been begging their parents to go to. He just needs to get them, go home, and then he’s free to lock his bedroom door and melt into the carpet.

“You need a ride?” Jeff asks Frank, furrowing his brow as he turns towards his friend. The pair of them slowly walking to the student car park.

“Nah,” Frank replies, hitching his bag further onto his shoulder. “My mom’s picking me up so she can take us shopping for my dad’s birthday. Thanks though.”

“All good man,” Jeff replies, and he can’t help but be quietly relieved. That he doesn’t have to make more small talk, that he won’t politely have to invite Frank in to hang out (because he would, of course he would). That he can leave the school day behind, go home and spend some time alone. He needs it, every now and then, to centre himself. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Frank claps him on the shoulder as he says goodbye, before heading over to the pick up zone. Jeff sighs, lets all the air out of his lungs, before going to wait by his car.

It used to be his dads — an old white ford —  but passed onto Jeff when he upgraded on the condition that he help them drive his brothers around. Jeff had agreed, was desperate for his own car — just little bit more freedom — but he was not a fan of being asked to cart his brothers around like a chauffeur.

So at the end of school Jeff would loiter next to his car until bis brother Vincent came over from the middle school, before driving through the truly terrible pick up line at Hawkins Elementary for Kenneth. It wasn’t that bad, usually. If Vincent didn’t take his sweet time chatting to his friends and being annoying. Making Jeff late. Because of course he did.

He had some time, is what he was saying. Absently scans the parking lot, seeing if there’s anyone he knows, anyone interesting he can people watch. If Chrissy is out here somewhere.

Does she take the bus? Does she walk? Is she staying late for cheer practice? Does she drive, or get a ride from someone else? Her mom, her best friend, Jason. Does he walk her to his car after school, does he hold her books or open the door for her? Does he drive her home with his hand resting on her thigh?

Would she let Jeff do those things. Smiling at him out of the corner of her eyes, giggling when he turns to look at her too. Would she hold his hand over the gear-stick, letting her hand be moved along with his?

“Why are you smiling like that?” Vincent says, entirely too close to Jeff for his liking, making him jolt in place — just slightly. “Weirdo.”

Jeff frowns, looking down at his younger brother to find him giving him a look. Jeff knows that look, he’s seen it on his shithead brother’s face entirely too often. He’s thinking he knows something, is jumping to conclusions, is being a know it all. And if his brothers start talking about how he’s lovesick, has a crush, a girlfriend — it’s all over. He won’t hear the end of it. So he deflects.

“Nothing you need to worry about Vinnie,” Jeff replies, ruffling his brothers hair — because he knows he hates it. “Grown up stuff.”

“You’re not a grown up!” Vincent exclaims indignantly, just as predicted, as they both get into Jeff’s unlocked car. It’s all too easy. A good distraction. “You’re still in high school!”

“I’m closer than you, squirt,” Jeff retorts easily, buckling his seatbelt and starting the engine. Drives off to the sounds of his brothers ranting, and thoughts of Chrissy.

Tag List@goosesister @scarlet-malfoy @mavernanche @manda-panda-monium @yoriposts @grtwdsmwhr

Part Four | Part Five

[sofiiel]

Made myself sad ~ so to make myself happy ↑↑↑

I like to Imagine Jeff's taking the picture ❤ getting a shot of his friends and bandmates hanging out. One day he'll write a book on his life in the band. These pictures are important.

[wheatnoodle]

i hope s5 gives unnamed freak a name. that’s so fucked up of them. he’s in the show just as much as gareth and jeff and yet he’s the only one without a name?? even jason’s friend andy got a name! but here’s the one fat kid in the show that they aren’t going to even give a name and instead list as “unnamed freak”.

he has lines! and nobody, not even his supposed friends in the show, mention his name once. they said “let’s be body inclusive yet still show he’s not really a character!”

so, here’s some of my hcs for unnamed freak.

-his name is grant vanderburg

-he’s in the same grade as jeff and takes honors and ap courses for anything science and history

-grant sucks at math, but luckily that’s where jeff is great so he gets help from him at lunch sometimes

-he is the only person able to physically hold eddie down when he’s all wired up

-was on the wrestling team in middle school

-grant has a girlfriend named jessica who’s in the chess club and the mathletes and they’ve been dating since 7th grade

-he has an older sister, gwyneth, who’s 10 years older, married, and has two kids (he’s an uncle to his niece, 4, and his nephew, 3)

-grant’s dad passed when he was 2 while serving in the military so he has no memory of him and has been raised by a single mom

-his mom is AWESOME, she’s a chef at a restaurant up in indy so she’s constantly bringing home leftovers and sending grant to his friends with tupperware of home cooked meals

-grant was named after his dad and used to want to go into the army to follow him before he started to distrust the government come 8th grade

-his bass came from his grandfather on his dad’s side who, despite living across the country, would fly over and help out as much as he could when things got too much for beth (his mom)

-if music doesn’t work out, he’s considered being a pilot or going to work with his mom in the restaurant business

-he’s the friend that waits for you to tie your shoe while everyone else keeps going on ahead

-sometimes jessica will play a campaign with them and she crushes absolutely everyone involved

-he 100% has a pet lizard named henrietta and is allergic to dogs

-also has a peanut allergy

-he is just as important as the rest of his friend group

[darkimpala1897]

Steve coming home to his apartment, Eddie is just sitting on the couch.

Steve: "Jesus!"

Eddie smiling smugly.

Eddie: "You really should have locks on your windows."

Steve putting his stuff down.

Steve: "I live on the second floor."

Eddie shrugs.

Eddie: "Rapists can climb."

Gareth coming out of the kitchen with a bowl of cereal.

Gareth: "You really need frosted flakes, not this off brand crap."

Steve looking towards Gareth so confused.

Steve: "When did you get here?"

Jeff who was sitting in Steve's recliner turns on a lamp so Steve can see him.

Jeff: "He got here before us actually."

Kevin walking out of the guest room with a blanket around him.

Kevin: "Actually I got here first, then Gareth."

Steve so confused and questioning how in the hell four people got in without setting off the alarm.

Steve: "Yea just make yourself at home, I'm so dreaming. This is a dream I fell asleep somehow."

Andy who was behind Steve also munching on cereal.

Andy: "Nah, your not dreaming but Gareth's right you need some frosted flakes up in this bitch."

Make that five.

[straight4joekeery]

I love when writing fics that feature corroded coffin we’ve decided that:

Eddie: literally insane

Gareth: mean girl

Jeff: nicest person on the planet earth

The other guy: he’s just there

[mrsjellymunson]

🎸Get Lucky🎸

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest day 18 prompt, ‘Freak’ | WC: 1000 | Rating: T | POV: Grant/unnamed freak | CW: longing, self-deprecation, ogling, allusions to sex | Tags: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, Grant, The Hideout | Summary: One member of Corroded Coffin gets lucky after a gig, and another doesn’t 😕

They each have their own favourite places in The Hideout.

Gareth’s is at the bar, loving the camaraderie with their fans as much as the booze behind it.

Jeff’s is his spot on stage. He adores the buzz from the crowd, and the validation he feels.

Eddie’s is the dingy bathroom - if he’d marked the wall for each conquest that he’d taken back there, he could’ve redecorated by now.

Grant’s favourite space is the ‘green room’, an overly-optimistic description of the messy back area which stores everything from band equipment to St Patrick’s Day decorations. He chills there after performances, basking in the endorphins and reflecting on gigs well played.

Tonight, Grant looks out over the crowd. And he gets it, he really does. With Eddie’s looks and irrepressible charm, Gareth’s manic but endearing persona, and Jeff’s softness and charisma, he understands that he’s not the greatest catch out of the bunch.

But when he glances out this evening, and spots a pretty girl in a floral dress looking completely out of her depth in the throng of black-clad metal fans, he can’t help but feel a twinge of longing.

Even though he knows he barely has any chance, he flits his eyes to her once more, before dropping them back to his instrument, where they remain for most of the night.

The gig goes well, their individual talents coalescing well, creating an impressive whole. Eddie’s his usual manic self, striding around the small stage and commanding attention. Gareth’s hammering on his drums, always giving it his all like there’s a music exec in the building. Jeff only has eyes for his girl - she’s a few feet from his side of the stage, safely away from the jostling bodies, her growing bump a testament to their love.

And Grant? He’s diligently playing his instrument, bobbing his head and occasionally stamping a foot, soaking up the cheering and fans singing along, but rarely looking out into the crowd.

Eddie is eyeing the girls, as always. Grant watches as the pretty girl squeezes her way to the front, slipping beneath leather-clad elbows and between sweaty bodies. Not a typical Hideout-goer, her dress is hardly comparable to the tight shirts and denim favoured by most of the female clientele. But it showcases her cleavage nicely (not that he’s deliberately looking, he would never) and makes her stand out in her own way. He chances one more look, fancying that there’s something familiar about her, but without the confidence to properly catch her eye he can’t be sure.

She bops and sways and pushes her elbows together, gazing at Eddie through her lashes. It certainly gets his attention, and Grant notices that Eddie spends at least half the gig looking in her direction. Another conquest.

The boys finish their set and Eddie immediately jumps offstage. Taking her gently by an elbow, he murmurs low in her ear,

“Hey, sweet thing. You look a little lost down here. You wanna go somewhere a little quieter?”

She nods sweetly, clearly under his thrall, and Grant swallows back the bile that rises in the back of his throat. He can’t believe she’s fallen for Eddie’s shallow bullshit, but he has to admit he has game - it almost never fails. He’s not generally a jealous guy, but he can’t help the feeling that someone so seemingly sweet deserves better than… this.

Grant heads swiftly down the narrow corridor to the sanctuary of the green room, hoping to avoid hearing any of what Eddie’s about to do. But just as he reaches the doorway, he hears his name being called. He turns, bewildered, to see the girl in the floral dress standing directly in front of him.

“Wh-?”

“Hi Grant, I don’t know if you remember me? We had math and geography classes together in high school.”

Grant doesn’t say anything. He just stares, like she’s grown an extra head.

He watches her face fall. Is she realising this is all a horrendous mistake? He manages to softly say her name, continuing,

“Remember you? O- of course I do! You sat in front of me for two years, how could I not remember you?”

He smiles then, and his eyes twinkle as his full cheeks lift up. She reciprocates, and he thinks it’s the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. He’s confused, however.

“But, how do you remember me?”

“You don’t have classes with someone for two years and not pick up a thing or two. Like how you’re really cute, and have a great sense of humour. How kind and generous you are with your friends, and how you’ve looked after the younger sheep. How you have a pet rabbit, and you love it more than anything, but you never tell people about it because you think it’s not ‘metal’. And how I’ve had a crush on you since you lent me a pencil when mine broke just before a test, and you never asked for it back. And I came here tonight to see if you wanted to, maybe, hook up sometime.”

She huffs out a breath, like she’s relieved to have finally said it aloud.

Eddie’s aghast in the narrow hallway, never having been cockblocked by anyone before, let alone a bandmate. Grant’s eyes flick between them as he stammers,

“But… aren't… you two…?”

“No, silly. You wouldn’t look at me all night, so I had to come up with another way of getting back here. I figured flirting with the horny front man would work, and it did. Didn’t it, big boy?”

She flashes a glance at Eddie, who’s standing there gaping like a fish.

There’s a few seconds of silence while everyone processes. Finally realising she needs a response, Grant, smiling again, finds the courage to mumble,

“You… really think I’m cute?”

She slips her hand into his, and, pulling him past a still-gaping Eddie into Eddie’s favourite room, she murmurs,

“Why don’t you come in here with me, and find out…?”

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

Thanks for organising this event @corrodedcoffinfest, this was a very enjoyable prompt! 🖤🖤🖤

Extremely cool divider by @strangergraphics

My general taglist (open): @joejoequinnquinn @jamdoughnutmagician @guiltyasquinn @madaboutmunson @airen256 @sunshinepeachx @the-unforgivenn @skrzydlak @comeonatmebruh @jamiecb66 @80s-addict @abellmunsonmovie @definitionwanderlust @sheneedsrocknroll92 @munson-blurbs @wonderlanddreamer @daisy-munson @maedesculpaeusoubi @kurdtbean

[bisexual-cryptid]

i’m almost positive someone has done this but i can’t stop thinking about that one scene in friends with steddie.

steve and eddie have been secretly dating for awhile now, but they haven’t told anyone sans robin. one day steve is dropping eddie off at band practice because he spent the night at steve’s and would be late if he went back to his trailer beforehand.

steve walks eddie to the garage, because he is a good boyfriend and it also means they get to spend more time together.

“have a good practice, baby. i love you,” steve says before leaning in and pecking eddie on the lips, eddie kissing back easily. the two of them come to the realization of what they did at the same time, their eyes going wide. steve thinks quick one his feet, walking over to the balking gareth and taking his face in his hands.

“have a good practice, i love you.” steve repeats before leaning in to place a peck on gareth’s unmoving lips. he repeats his mantra and kiss with the remaining two members of corroded coffin, all of them looking at him like he’s crazy. steve claps his hands once, startling them a little.

“welp, that’s my cue. see you all on the flip flop.” steve says awkwardly, saluting them as he quickly walks back to his car. the band is left staring after him, each of them with matching blushes on their face and a general attitude of ‘what the fuck just happened.’

[piastrinorris]

okay friends i would like to see some more communal fandom lore and so!! we all know this guy, right?

there's been a poll going around fairly recently about what the poor sod's name is, since he never got one (justice for freak #1) and i think we ought to expand on his lore a little more, since it's what he deserves and fuck knows the duffels aren't going to give him any more context

so we know jeff graduates in 1986. gareth's got another year and a half left. but our unnamed pal here got missed out of that lore drop, too, and so therefore:

feel free to also add what your name is for him in the tags! it'll be interesting to see if there's any patterns between what people think his name is vs how old he is 😊

[emesis-nemisis]

Corodded Coffin Fest Day One

First - Rehearsal

Word count: 998, Rating: T , Pairings: None, CW: Language, fighting, boys being incredibly nerdy, author taking creative liberties and making Eddie a year or two younger for the sake of this making sense (Its their first rehearsal before the Hawkins Middle talent show he gushed to Chrissy about.), Dialogue heavy. Featuring: Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Frankie.

@corrodedcoffinfest

This is my first public work ever lol, I hope you enjoy! (Cuttin it real close here with the time)

“You guys, this is not working…”  Eddie hollered behind him. 

Frankie’s plucking and Jeff’s strumming halts, but the sound of heavy bumps and pangs continued from behind them.

It all sounded awful - The rhythm wasn’t right and the timing of the guitars fell all over the place. It made a mess of sound, and Eddie was sure he was developing a stress headache. 

 Gareth is still playing. 

“Could one of  you-” Eddie wipes his hands over his face trying to compose himself, taking a deep breath and turning around so that he could pull his hair in peace. 

“Yeah, I got it.” 

Frankie moves over to the drum-kit, biting a laugh at the look of his friend still smacking the life out of the set. Eyes closed and head banging, ginger curls flopping all over the place. His hand comes up to hold the symbols still, and when Gareth moves his sticks over it, slapping them and not getting his desired sound, he double takes. 

“Dude, what gives!” Gareth frowns up at him, beet red and hair drenched in sweat. 

“We’re taking five.” 

“Again?!” He pants. 

The air was stifling in the garage, and it didn’t help that they kept the door closed. The heat of the sun’s been cooking them like a brisket all afternoon, but Gareth stays on his shit - refusing to let them open it. Practically locking them all inside of a slow cooker during an abnormally hot day of spring. 

“I don’t understand, the song sounded fine when I practiced earlier.” Jeff’s eyebrows screwed tight, staring down at his guitar with a remorseful frown.  

Frankie rolls his eyes, pulling the strap over his head and setting his bass down gently. “I think I’m actually starting to hear what my mom hears- this really is just... noise.” He plops down on the ratty sitting chair with a huff, wiping his face of sweat and leaning back in defeat. 

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Gareth exclaimed, “I’ve been practicing too.” Sitting up straighter, he swivels on his seat, glaring accusingly at Frankie where he was resting. 

“Come on man, do you even have to ask?” He says with his head cocked slightly. 

Gareth shrugs “It’s not like you bothered to tune the damn thing before you got here.” 

The boy’s eyebrows raise high and stiff, “What, you mean like how you thought to have your shit put together before we pulled up.” 

“It was like one bolt that needed tightening.” 

“We’re in your garage!” Frankie shouts, “You’re really gonna point fingers at me when your kit wasn’t fully set up either-” 

“Woah, guys let’s just calm down a second- '' Jeff interjects. A nervous tone to his voice that goes ignored as his loudmouth friends refuse to let up on each other. 

“Your timing is shit! Are you even paying attention to the rest of us?” Frankie continues over Jeff's pleas unremorsefully. 

“You wanna talk about timing so bad? How bout you go mouthing off to your mother for bringing you here late.”

“You guys!” Eddie shouts, “Stop!” 

The garage fell silent. Frankie’s arms tightly crossed against his chest and Gareth’s glare didn’t leave him once, but they quieted down to listen. 

“It’s not any one thing, alright. It’s not just the timing, it’s not just the tuning… it’s all of it.” 

“The hell do you mean, Munson?” The glaring boy’s gaze shifts, finding a new target for those piercing blue eyes to melt.

“If you’d cool your britches down long enough for me to tell you, you’d know what I mean, Emmerson.” Eddie retorts.

Gareth’s chest continues to puff out, but he bites his tongue from causing further damage. 

“This is our first rehearsal, right?” he starts, “I mean, we’ve all played before, but this is the first time we’ve all tried to mesh together.”

“So?” 

“So, how’d the first campaign we ever tried to run go?.” 

“Terrible.” 

“Catastrophic.” 

“A real shit show, if you ask me.” 

“You mean things weren’t perfect right off the bat?” Eddie muses with wide eyes. Fake gasping and clutching pearls he’ll never own. 

It’s rhetorical, that much is obvious. But Jeff answers him anyway. 

“It was new… the campaign was written too specifically and we messed up the whole quest within like… an hour.” 

“We didn’t even make it to the dungeon before we were all either dead, or lost with no way back to each other.” Frankie chimes. 

“Or the story.” Eddie supplies. 

 “Or the story.” He parrots, nodding. 

“Yeah” Eddie tsk’s with a lopsided frown “that was my bad.” 

Gareth chuckles at the memory, “God we were awful.” 

“We were new.” Eddie says, laughing too. “We were allowed to be awful.” 

“But, we’re not new at this?” Jeff says, “We formed this band because we’d all heard each other talking about instruments we already played.” 

Gareth side eyes him wholeheartedly, “We formed this band so we could enter in the talent show and impress girls.” 

Frankie’s arm whips up to heave a small smack across the back of his head. “Enough arguing, dipshit. Listen.” 

“But we’ve never played together though, have we?” Eddie continues. 

 Gareth has enough mind to look embarrassed for jumping the gun. “No…” 

“And we’ve never had to face the struggle of keeping up with each other's time before. Just like I never had to face the struggle of watching a carefully crafted quest go up in flames because I relied too heavily on the checks all working out the way I planned for them too.” 

“So what I’m hearing is, this is all your fault?” Gareth's eyes squint small, eyeing Eddie down with mirth. 

Eddie retaliates with a shove, because no, that’s not what he was saying, but he smiles when Gareth shoves him back, laughing. Not even a full minute goes by before the other boys jump in, altogether forgetting the fight that started this mess to begin with. 

We’ll get there, Eddie thinks to himself. He’s sure of it. 

[momotonescreaming]

Teenage Dream - Part 6

AKA - the Jeff and Eddie have crushes on jocks series Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Chrissy had waved him goodbye as they exited the library, a cute wiggle of her fingers as they went their separate ways down the hall. It was almost embarrassing how much it put Jeff in a good mood. How lighter he felt, giddy and happy, and trying not to smile in the halls. It made the rest of the day easier, go by faster. And Jeff sure as hell wasn’t complaining. She took his day and lifted it up, just by the virtue of being in it.

The rest of the day passed in a rush of classes, and of teachers, and of notes and a drifting mind. Drifting to band, and Hellfire, and Chrissy. To guitar chords and crooned words. To strawberry ponytails and matching scrunchies. And next thing he knew the bell was ringing.

Time for band practice. Corroded Coffin tried their best to get together and practice once a week, every week. It was a good excuse to hang out at first, when they were all building their friendships. Talk shit, talk music, riff off each other. Then they got their gig at The Hideout, and practice became a lot more serious.

Granted, they only played to a handful of drunks, but it was a start! It was invigorating, being on the stage, feeling the heat of the shitty lights, the sound of their music coming out the amps, the energy that flowed through them.

Jeff didn’t quite know how he was going to focus on it all tonight. This has been the first practice since her. Since she sat with him and they had an actual conversation, at least. If he finds himself recommending they start playing love songs, he’s going to put his head through one of Gareth’s drums.

He was walking through the halls in a daze, trying to leave the building without colliding into someone in the veritable flood of students all leaving at the same time. Bag strap clutched tightly in his hand, shoulders tight as he weaves past a row of jocks trying their best to take up the entire width of the hall. A voice shakes him out of his reverie.

“Hey Jeff,” Frank greets with a nod of his head, walking in tandem with Jeff as they finally, finally, leave Hawkins High for the day. “You heading to Gareth’s?”

“Gotta do the school run first,” He says with a grimace, slowly heading to the car park, Frank by his side. “Mom’s at work and Dad can’t pick my brothers up. So I’ll drop them home first. Why’d you ask?”

“Mind giving me a ride?” Frank asks, brows gently furrowed as he asks.

“Yeah no worries man. As long as you don’t mind tagging along as I deliver shithead one and two home.”

Frank snorts. “It beats the bus, and Eddie drives like an animal.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Jeff jokes, tilting his head and smiling to Frank, braces bared. Eddie knows they think he drives like a maniac — they’ve all told him as such — but it hasn’t done shit to make him drive like a normal person. Eddie’s the one to drive them to their gigs at The Hideout — he’s got the van, it’s the biggest — and it’s a fucking ordeal every time.

Jeff collects his brothers, both of them only complaining the whole time that Frank’s claimed the front seat and taken control of the stereo. Had put in one of Jeff’s Black Sabbath cassettes to his delight, and his brothers dismay. They had groaned in unison the second the music started, so naturally Jeff turned the volume up. Him and Frank, head-banging the whole way home. Singing louder and louder to smother the sounds of his complaining brothers. His car, his music.

It was fun. Had helped him get more into the zone, the right mindset for practice. Left him breathless and laughing, volume cranked up high.

He had dropped his brothers home, picked up his guitar, and then it was just him and Frank in the car. Frank holding Jeff’s guitar in between his knees, making sure it doesn’t slip and damage anything. Making sure it doesn’t get damaged. It’s precious. It’s his. He had saved up for it, had asked for money for his birthday and Christmas, picked a day there was a big sale on at their local music store when he bought it.

It’s not Eddie’s sweetheart, but it’s fucking good kit if he says so himself.

They were making the drive to Gareth’s, and things were good. But Frank was giving him looks from across the centre console. Now that they were alone, without the annoying constant presence of his brothers — he had the room to do so. Frank was the ‘silent but deadly’ type. Was content to sit back and listen, wasn’t pressed to make a comment if he didn’t have to. But it also meant the guy was scarily good at picking up on things. Reading in between the lines.

Things you weren’t sure you wanted to be picked up on.

“Jeff,” Frank starts, voice only just loud enough to be heard over the music pounding out of the car stereo. There was something in his voice, his tone, something pondering. Knowing. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

Oh fuck, he does know something. Whether he knows the specificity of the something is another thing entirely. So does the fact that he’s not sure if he wants to tell or not. Open this can of worms, release the hounds.

He focuses his gaze on the road ahead of him, on the chipped asphalt and the feel of the steering wheel under the palms of his hands. On Frank’s calm, steady gaze on the side of his head.

Frank wouldn’t be mean about it. Wouldn’t be unnecessarily rude, or cruel. Jeff wouldn’t befriend anyone like that, and Frank wouldn’t be that sort of person.

Maybe he doesn’t have to tell him it’s Chrissy specifically. Maybe he can just say he’s got a crush. Developed feelings. It’s just taking up a lot of space in his mind right now. It might be nice, to tell someone else. Ease the pressure. Lessen the burden. Maybe it won’t be so bad, if more than just Eddie knows Jeff is falling hopelessly.

But before he can say anything, before Jeff can even open his mouth — he’s pulling up at Gareth’s house. Drove the entire way without thinking about it. Completely on auto-pilot. He pulls to the kerb, parks the car, and turns to look at Frank. Gives him a small smile.

“I know.”

Frank just nods, and Jeff lets himself sigh a little. Guess they’re tabling this discussion for another time.

Eddie’s van is parked a little ways up the road — at an angle, tail end sticking into the road. Frank snorts as he sees it, exiting the car and shutting the door behind him. “Very glad I didn’t catch a ride with him now.”

Walking up to Gareth’s open garage, guitar in hand, Jeff sees Eddie and Gareth standing in the middle, an amp on the floor between them. Right in front of Gareth’s drum kit, unplugged, decidedly not where it should be.

Gareth’s kit was in the centre, right underneath the handmade Corroded Coffin banner they had strung across the back of the garage. It looked sick as hell, and thankfully Gareth’s parents were cool enough to leave it there. Jeff’s parents would never. Him wanting to learn the guitar was fine, great even. A creative outlet. His mother was less impressed when it evolved into metal music. And an electric guitar. It was louder.

She conceded it was fine when he told he he could plug his headphones into the amp, listen to it that way so he wouldn’t bother the family. No way in hell was she going to let him host band practice though.

Eddie lived in a trailer, and Frank’s place only had an open carport, not a closed in Garage. For a while at the start there they all thought they were shit out of luck.

Thankfully, they had Gareth. Who’s parents were fine with the metal, the band, the DnD. Who were just on the edge of rich that their garage was mostly sound proof. That they could shred as loud as they wanted and it wasn’t a problem (not until the neighbours complained, of course).

“I’m just saying, dude” Eddie exclaims, waving his hands around as he speaks. Rings catching the light, wallet chain lightly jingling at his side. “If we put an amp on either side of your drums, it’ll look sick as hell.”

“It’ll also blow my eardrums out,” Gareth retorted, that familiar scowl on his face, gesturing to his head, and then over at the wall. “Plus, all the outlets are over there, y’know, where we usually plug the amps in?”

“Where’s your vision Gare-Bear!” Eddie says, almost hopping in place. “Your sense of drama! Theatre! Performance!”

“Not here in my parents garage!”

“Jeff, Frankie-Baby,” Eddie adds, whipping around to address them as they approach. Hands clapsed together in front of him like he’s pleading.  “Tell Gareth he’s wrong.”

“I mean,” Jeff starts, dragging out the word as he thinks. Runs his tongue over his braces.  “Where are the outlets in The Hideout? What’s the point in moving them here, if they’re just gonna be somewhere different on stage?”

“See!” Gareth exclaims, before shoving the amp in Eddie’s direction. “We should just leave them off to the side as normal.”

“We are used to them over there,” Jeff adds, not sure if he’s helping anyone.

Eddie moves towards Frank, almost shuffling as his feet scoot across the concrete floor. Hands still clasped together. “Franklin, back me up.”

If the ground were softer Jeff thinks Eddie would be on his knees, really hamming it up, looking up at Frank like he was praying to an uncaring god.

“I think we should hurry up and start practising,” He eventually says, holding back a smile as Eddie groans. “Gareth, you still have my bass?”

Gareth nods, leading Frank over to the back of the garage with the pile of stuff they haven’t moved or organised yet. Jeff snorts as he looks over at Eddie to find him pouting. “Come on drama queen, lets plug this in.”

They get everything set up — still in the same layout they always use, despite Eddie’s complaints — Eddie and Jeff moving the amps into place and untangling the cables. Plugging in their guitars, Frank’s bass, as Gareth fidgeted and fussed with his kit. Adjusting his seat, moving a cymbal over, getting the pedals into position.

“We start same as always?” Frank asks, absently fidgeting and tuning his bass. Plucking strings, eyes flicking between it and the guys.

“Well,” Eddie teases, smiling and tilting his head.

“Do not start, oh my god,” Gareth replies, gathering up his drumsticks.

Practice continues as normal, playing covers, practising riffs, showing off for each other. Talking about original songs, snacking, invading Gareth’s mom’s kitchen for cans of coke. Well, mostly normal, if not for the looks Eddie is giving him from across the garage. Eyes wide, trying to gesture with his eyes, his head. Like’s he’s asking a question, inquiring, all without saying the words.

And Jeff knows exactly what Eddie is asking about. It’s what he’s always asking Jeff about these days — Chrissy. About their meeting in free period, about her sitting with him willingly. About Eddie’s unofficial bet about her being there again. About how he said he’d tell Jeff I told you so at practice. And ah fuck, Eddie’s trying to cash in. He tries to give him a look back from across the garage, saying not now, and also fuck off, you were right. Chrissy was there in free period, had remembered his name and sat with him again.

It felt like the start of a friendship, almost. The start of something new. Like kindergartners sitting together at the playground and declaring they were friends right then, right there.

But why did he have to do this now, where Frank and Gareth were there, watching, not knowing what they were trying to communicate. Gareth peering over his drum kit with his familiar scowl, brows furrowed and mouth tight. Fucking suspicious bastard.

He didn’t look at Frank. He knew he’d see that look on his face again. That he had figured out exactly what they were trying to talk about. He knew, but Gareth didn’t. And Gareth was going to be the tough one to crack, he was feisty, a real spitfire. Held on tight. Clutching onto that metal head title, the culture, the community.

“What the fuck are you two looking like that for,” he says, as one of their songs are winding down.

“Nothing,” Jeff deflects, letting go of his guitar, letting it hang from the strap across his chest. “Just Eddie being Eddie.”

“Oh et tu, Jeffus?” Eddie replies, feigning betrayal, but they can all see him smiling. “You’d betray me right here, in front of god and satan and everyone?”

“You started it,” he says with a shrug, tone light as Frank snorts back a laugh.

Eddie makes a noise of indignation, really starting to play it up now, as everyone watches him. He turns to Gareth, his hand on his heart, and bow his head. “It’s a guitarist thing, you wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh you can fuck right off then,” Gareth retorts, threatening to throw a drum stick over at Eddie. “Go eat shit somewhere else.”

“Maybe I will,” Eddie laughs, slowly backing out of the garage, watching as the cable extends between his guitar and the amp. “I don’t need you. Me and Jeff will go start a two man band, really kill it out there.”

“Don’t drag me into this!” Jeff says, laughing as Eddie continues to slowly shuffle his way out of the garage.

“Oh you’ve been dragged,” Eddie laughs, sweeping a hand out to the side. “You signed up for this, as my bestest friend in the whole wide world — and as my fellow guitarist.”

“What would you name your two man band?” Frank asks, successfully deflecting. Jeff feels himself sigh, the air leave his lungs. The tightness unfold its way out of his body. “And don’t say Corroded Coffin.”

Tag List: @goosesister @scarlet-malfoy @mavernanche @manda-panda-monium @yoriposts @grtwdsmwhr @panicatthediaz @m-owo-n @goodolefashionedloverboi @chaosgremlinmunson @thespaceantwhowrites @perseus-notjackson @eyesofshinigami @hotluncheddie @novacorpsrecruit @nburkhardt @pansexuality-activated @silentiumdelirium @steaddie-on @steddie-as-they-go @redfreckledwolf @lavender248 @actualwakingnightmare @queenie-ofthe-void @a-little-unsteddie

[sofiiel]

ℭ𝔬𝔯𝔯𝔬𝔡𝔢𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔣𝔣𝔦𝔫

[gingervitis69420]

I left off some genres that felt either too early, too late, or too geographically specific.

[resident-gay-bitch]

This is kinda trending I guess for the marauders at the moment but I haven’t seen it for these guys yet, sooooo I thought, why not?! I’m curious!!

Let’s not come at how unconventional my handwriting is idc

Also I’m doing another one for the little dweebs because I’m so curious!!!

[darkimpala1897]

Random Corroded Coffin slash Steddie thoughts I had.

Gareth he one time ate a whole bowl of display grapes, he was so sick for weeks.

Jeff got high as balls once and thought he was spider man and tried climbing up the wall ended up breaking his wrist.

Eddie tried balancing books on his head because he saw it in a TV show once and he just absolutely smacked himself into a wall Steve was laughing for hours.

Kevin got his words mixed up and called Steve Daddy he was completely mortified for weeks.

Andy made the kitchen explode literally, he's no longer allowed in the kitchen.

Steve he one time decided to look down a barrel of a nerf gun and nearly shot his own eye out.

Eddie decided to slide down the banister totally forgetting there was a post at the end of it, he ended up absolutely smacking the shit out of his balls.

Gareth set off a paint bomb on Eddie and Steve except he had it turned the wrong way and Steve had to hose him down outside.

Jeff mistook a glue stick for chapstick and glued his lips together for about three hours Steve had to help him get unstuck.

Kevin one time said fuck you instead of bless you and now literally everyone says fuck you instead of bless you.