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witchthewriter · 1 year ago

Text

𝑩𝒂𝒓𝒃𝒊𝒆 𝑫𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑺𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒔

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐡𝐞𝐚 𝐑𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐲 & 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ female, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

a/n: swears

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

gif credit: @rebecca-quin.

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

・You had been taking Barbie to see the new toys in your closest mall. She instantly went to the doll section, where there were many Barbies (that made her nostalgic) lining the aisles.

"Oh! They've come out with a new one! Oh we so have to show Mami this one-" Barbie said as she took a box from the shelf and showed it to you.

・The box said in big purple letters: 'Barbie as a wrestler!' And it had her alter identity - a purple wig with make-up you could add onto her, it also came with the championship belt along with other accessories.

・Both of you were excited out of your minds, and couldn't wait to send a photo to Rhea

・Rhea was currently in another state, probably in the gym. You both went to as many matches as possible, but sometimes Rhea had to travel just to film scenes

・And yes, you both call Rhea, 'Mami,' it's like a proper nickname. Any weirdness has been erased from it

・Barbie cries while watching nearly every movie - even lighthearted ones.

・When your relationship was first beginning to solidify, Barbie said that she wanted to experience the whole of being a human. (Even though you shook your head).

・To Rhea, that meant taking Barbie on every rollercoaster???

・To you, it meant a lot of sightseeing and listening to people's stories and histories.

・You three like to travel together; Rhea always has everyone's luggage under control, you have everyone's passports, and Barbie makes sure everyone has sunscreen on/has drunk water/gone to the toilet

・You honestly make a great team

・And although Barbie could be thought of as a stereotypical dumb blonde who is inexperienced and a lost puppy - it's far from the truth. She's a quick learner, very kind, open-minded and adores animals.

・It was actually Rhea who put a stop to Barbie's endless adoptions. Because she would save animals who were due to be put down because no one wanted them. But she got too emotional when they got hurt or had to go to the vet (she gets attached to things very easily).

・Dom is a tad jealous of the relationship you have with Rhea. But again, you and Barbie let him fawn all over her during the WWE episodes.

・He's a pretty cool guy though, and has invited you to a few of the WWE parties

・Finn is polite, but doesn't really talk to you guys much. Damien is different though, he's very inclusive and loves seeing you two with Rhea.

・He calls you and Barbie his "best girls!"

・So, all in all, Judgement Day approves of you - not like Rhea would care if they didn't (they would not go against her ... ever)

・Barbie is a nose booper

・Rhea was actually the first person to say "I love you"

・Barbie has bandaids on her ALWAYS

・You try and keep your relationship on the DL when in public - for many reasons actually. Rhea has fans, and you don't want to bring too much attention to the fact that Rhea and Dom aren't actually together. And you don't want attention from the public - Barbie definitely doesn't. The thought actually causes her to hyperventilate.

・You and Barbie have scary dog privilege with Rhea - no one fucks with you.

・Rhea actually hates being in small areas - she's a bit claustrophobic

・You and Rhea let Barbie practice make up on you. She's ... getting better at it ...

・You're the blanket hog btw - Barbie and Rhea always whine when you roll up in the blanket

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Style (cover) by Ryan Adams

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Black Cat (You) x Golden Retriever (Barbie) x Doberman (Rhea)

The Impulsive (Rhea) x The Chaotic (You) x The Unheeded Voice of Reason (Barbie - surprisingly)

Makes A Mess (Rhea) x Cleans The Mess (You) x Is A Mess (Barbie)

𝑹𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Secret Dating

𝑵𝑺𝑭𝑾 🔞 no one under 18 past this point!

・It took a while for all three of you to figure out how sex was going to play out

・It took Barbie a while to understand her own body, so neither you or Rhea pushed her. You were both patient in letting her discover herself.

・But Barbie knew she liked women...

・A lot

・When entering the human world and deciding to stay, Barbie's body changed. So she does have a vagina

・And she very much likes to receive head. That's one of the things she's adamant about liking. She may still be discovering things - but Barbie loves head

・Rhea is a dominant person, but also likes to be dominated. Ironically, Barbie really likes to dominate and you're a big switch.

・Barbie likes to sit on Rhea's lap and nuzzle into her cleavage - pretty much making her a boobs gal, but she does like to check out your ass's every now and then

・Rhea is ass over boobs, it's why hers is so ... supple

・The bedroom is the best place to do sexual things as a throuple

・You guys have tried the shower (someone always got too cold), the bath (not all of you fit), the car (same thing - it was too difficult to manuever), toilet stall in the airport (way too sus with three people)

・So it's the best at home, where you have a lot of space to move

・Barbie makes very sexy moans; when she's about to cum, she makes a loud whine that is the prettiest noise

・Rhea LOVES dirty talk

"Whose in charge?" You growl in Rhea's ear as Barbie grabs and kneads Rhea's ass

"You are," she rasps

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bigskyandthecoldgun · 1 year ago

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killer frequency

based off of this idea i had

1 2 3

ao3

words: 3.8k

The pristine BMW looks out of place among the company of the beat-up sedan and the rusted van in the parking lot, but that’s par for the course, honestly. Steve’s only parked here once when the parking lot had been full—noon on a Wednesday for his reluctant not-an-interview with Owens, who runs the radio station in this backwater town—but it hadn’t been much different then, either. Hawkins is full of cars that don’t hold a candle to his beautiful baby, full of people that, quite frankly, are only slightly weird on the best of days and outright give him the creeps on most others.

Steve sighs and glances down at his too-expensive watch, a gift from the station in Chicago, back before he’d been unceremoniously fired, and he’s incredibly dismayed to find that he’s here a whole twenty minutes early. Though, he supposes, it’s not as if there’s much else to do in Hawkins. Especially not this late at night, not so close to midnight.

He probably could’ve gone to that diner that’s open twenty-four hours for a shitty cup of coffee, but they’re starting to know him by name there now, and not in that starstruck, wow, it’s Steve Harrington, from the radio! way that he’s used to. It’s the same at that Rise & Shine coffee place across the street from the KFAM building. Honestly, he could’ve probably done with a cup of coffee to warm him up. It’s a cold November night, and Steve shivers, feeling the breeze through his jacket.

Awaiting him in what’s probably the only up-to-code building in Hawkins is 189.16–The Scream.

The only station that would hire him after his on-air disaster in Chicago.

What a joke.

“What the hell are you standing out in the cold for?” someone yells from the front doors, and Steve looks up to see Robin, the station’s late-night phone-in show co-producer and one of the few people in Hawkins that makes this damn town bearable. He can see the scrunch to her nose from all the way across the parking lot, and he can picture the way the path of her freckles distorts.“Get inside, dingus!”

Steve sighs and locks his car before heading in after her, sunglasses flicked up to sit pretty in his hair when she snorts at the sight of them. “So, what’s on the docket for tonight?” he asks her, glad that the station is always at a decent temperature, that Owens has the decency not to skimp on heating.

Robin pulls a clipboard out of seemingly nowhere and pouts thoughtfully, humming as she taps her pen on the edge of it. “Walk with me,” she tells him, like she’s a big radio exec in a suit with too-large shoulder pads and not a producer of a tiny radio show in a tiny town in the most oversized men’s blazer Steve’s ever seen. But he walks with her anyway, because he thinks Robin is easily the coolest person in town, and she starts heading up the stairs, towards the door with the currently inactive On Air sign hanging above it. “So, we’ve got ‘Guess that Scream’ up first, then some tunes, take a couple of callers, then a paid promotion, yadda yadda, you get the gist.”

She’s practically frog-marching him into the studio, and he’s not fighting her on it, which has become a daily—or nightly, Steve supposes—occurrence for the two of them. “Alright,” Steve says, “is that segment another—”

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite radio host,” a teasing voice says over the speakers, and Steve preemptively rolls his eyes.

Eddie, while generally a pretty nice guy and very easy to bounce banter off of during these long nights, just loves to push Steve’s buttons. Not to mention, he doesn’t even know what the guy looks like, considering he’s in the booth by the time Steve gets here, no matter how early Steve gets here. Part of Steve wonders if Eddie just…lives in the booth or something. He’s the show’s other co-producer and hasn’t made any mistakes as sound engineer yet, which gives him points in Steve’s book, because his last sound engineer somehow screwed up so royally during a show once that Steve’s mic had been muted for half an hour.

But as good at the job as he is, Eddie also gets a kick out of Steve’s disgraced career, and he tends to joke about that more than anything else, just to get a rise out of him. Steve’s, like, half-tempted to strangle the guy most nights.

“Hi, Eddie,” he greets in the direction of the mic with a sigh, and there’s a slight snicker over the intercom before it gets cut off. Steve turns to Robin. “Any new records I should be aware of?”

“A couple,” Robin says with a shrug. “We finally got Love Shack, and that redheaded kid, the one that’s friends with our intern, brought in two Kate Bush singles at around…noon, I think. Said you might as well play some good music for once.”

The intercom crackles. “I’m still of the opinion we should have Owens shell out for—”

“No one in Hawkins wants to listen to Iron Maiden other than you, Eddie,” Robin cuts in, rolling her eyes at Steve, who grimaces sympathetically. She clears her throat and runs a hand through her hair. “Do you guys care if I take tonight off? I mean, you’re all set up, and me and Chrissy were hoping to watch a movie when she gets back from her jog, so…”

Steve shrugs. “Not like the station’s ever busy enough to need both producers,” he says, and that earns him a laugh. “Eddie and I will be fine.”

“You won’t drive each other up the wall?” Robin asks, eyes narrowed in the direction of the booth, and she receives a silhouetted thumbs-up as an answer. Robin gives Steve a bright grin and a pat on the shoulder. “Right, well, cover for my ass if Owens asks, m’kay?”

“You got it,” Steve tells her. “Go home, have fun with Chrissy.”

She squeezes his shoulder and gives both him and the tinted window to the booth a wave before heading out, shutting the door behind her. “And then there were two,” Eddie drawls over the intercom, and the feedback squealing a little makes Steve wince. “Sorry! Sorry. Bumped into the mic, that’s my bad.”

Steve shakes his head and hangs his jacket up on the coatrack, rolling his sleeves up just past his elbows and heading over to his not-so-organized work station. He tucks the headphones over his ears, lamenting the way it squishes down his hair, and he adjusts some of the settings on his soundboard until they’re just right. There’s very few other radio show hosts in Hawkins, and Keith, the guy who hosts a movie critic segment a few hours before Steve’s call-in show, often screws with the settings when he’s done, just to give Steve a hard time.

“You with me?” he asks, hearing an affirmative hum through the headphones, and Steve grins, flicking through the selection of vinyls that Robin’s prepped for tonight. He’s about to say something else, but something cuts through the air, some muffled sound. Even lifting his headphones off his ears, he can’t quite make it out. Maybe…a yell? A shout? A stray dog howling? He shrugs, settles them back on his head, but he’s still kinda concerned. “You, uh…you hear something, Eddie?”

“Huh?” Eddie asks, his voice much clearer over the headphones than over the intercom. “Hear what, exactly?”

Steve glances up to look at Eddie’s silhouette. Even shrouded in shadow, another person’s presence is somewhat comforting in the eerie hours of the night, especially in a town like Hawkins. He plays it cool, though, because he’s not about to admit that some weird noise outside has him paranoid. “Thought I heard someone yelling, or—I dunno, maybe howling?”

Eddie snorts. “You’re lucky you’re pretty, Steve, because your jokes aren’t very funny,” he says, and Steve frowns.

“No, I—Eddie, I could’ve sworn I heard something,” he insists.

He can practically hear Eddie rolling his eyes amongst the slight shuffle over the mic. “Jesus H., I almost thought you’d ease up a little,” he mutters. “You probably just heard some cats or something.”

Yeah, whatever that noise had been, Steve is certain it hadn’t been a cat. “Cats?” he scoffs, utterly unamused.

“You know, four legs, whiskers, tails?” Eddie teases, and Steve clicks his tongue. “Uh, not dogs—”

“I know—! I know what a cat is, Eddie,” Steve says. “But, I mean…does Hawkins have, like, a stray cat problem or something?”

Eddie laughs. “Not since those rats moved into the abandoned ironworks building,” he says, so casually, and Steve is so horrified, because he drives past that place literally every night to get to this godforsaken radio station. “Anyway, you ready for the pre-flight checks?”

Ah. This bit. Not one of Steve’s favorites—one of the more annoying bits Eddie does, in fact—but he’ll deal with it over Robin’s microphone dinosaur bit any day. “Do you have to do this every night?” he sighs.

“Every night for the rest of our lives, sweetheart,” Eddie croons, and Steve makes a face at the insinuation he’s going to end up stuck in Hawkins for the rest of his miserable life. “Besides, Owens is paying us to check the equipment before each show, which means you get paid to put up with my pre-flight check bit. But if you’re sure you don’t want to…”

He trails off with a lilt in his voice, as if the offer isn’t supposed to be enticing. Steve just pinches the bridge of his nose, though, because he does want to make sure all his sliders are in the right place before they start. “Alright, alright, fine. Let’s…get through this,” he says.

“Alrighty! This is your captain speaking—”

“Eddie.”

“C’mon,” Eddie whines, “just let me have my fun! My bits aren’t hurting anyone.”

“They’re hurting my sanity,” Steve tells him. Eddie does a few melodramatic sniffs. It’s stupid, but it’s kind of charming nonetheless; that’s what most of Eddie’s antics are like. “Fine. Go ahead…captain.”

There’s a delighted cackle filtering in through the headphones. “Buckle in, folks! My co-captain’s about to spin some painfully vanilla hits—”

“Eddie,” Steve warns.

Eddie sighs over the mic. “Fine, fine. My lovely co-captain—whose incredibly pretty face is utterly wasted on radio—is gonna make sure our record player’s in tip-top shape,” he says, and Steve’s cheeks burn as he slides out a vinyl from its sleeve and lets it play for a bit. “Alright, that’s good. It’s working. Hit stop?”

Pulling a face, Steve does just that. “That’s gonna damage the record, y’know,” he warns, and Eddie blows a raspberry.

“Yeah, well, it’s on Owens’ dime. I don’t mind spending his money,” he says dismissively, and Steve snorts. Eddie’s pretty funny when he’s not poking fun at the worst experience Steve’s had in radio. “Alright, up next—phoneline buttons! Your captain will be waiting to take your call on line one.”

“Thought we were co-captains,” Steve says, trying not to sound like he actually cares that much about a slight at his imaginary status as co-captain in a remarkably stupid bit.

Eddie clicks his tongue. “Semantics, my dear Stevie, semantics. Now hit that button,” he says.

With a sigh, because he refuses to let this go on without forcing Eddie to acknowledge his annoyance, Steve hits the button. “Alright, Eddie, ready for you on line one,” he drones.

“Who’s Eddie? This is Captain Donald Key calling. Call me Don,” Eddie says, voice lilting up the way it does when he’s making a stupid, stupid joke, and Steve kind of hates that he knows the shifts in Eddie’s voice well enough to recognize that. Then again, it’s not like he can see the guy’s face, so voice is all he’s got to go off of. Eddie snickers. “Get it? You get it?”

He scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Don Key. It’s a riot,” he says flatly. “Anything else?”

“Well, button two’s line two, it works the same. But let’s move to the Eddie button,” Eddie says.

Steve rolls his eyes, because he knows exactly which one of Eddie’s dumb jokes is next in the lineup. “The producer line,” he corrects, though it’s fruitless. There’s no stopping it.

“Like I said, it’s the Eddie button. You know the drill, press it if you need my help during the show, yadda yadda. But for you, pretty boy,” Eddie drawls, and Steve sees his silhouette toying with something behind the window, “you can push my button anytime you want.”

Of course. Steve hums. “Is there an Eddie mute button?”

“They haven’t invented it yet,” Eddie says, deadpan. “Go on, Steve. Gotta press it. Gotta test to see if it works.”

There’s a tiny little post-it that’s always on the third button—the Eddie button, but Steve’s not calling it that—and it says Press 4 Eddie. The adhesive’s definitely worn by now; Steve is half-certain that Eddie keeps taking it off after they’re done with the show and re-sticking it whenever he gets in the next night.

It’s kind of charming, though. That Eddie goes through all that effort for a dumb little joke between the two of them.

“Press ‘four’ Eddie,” Steve sighs.

“This is your brain, Steve,” Eddie says in a lofty, snooty voice, dragging the vowel sound in Steve’s name out. It sounds like he’s doing an impression of Steve with a sitcom rich guy accent thrown on top. “Sorry I made you such an un-fun turkey.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “I’m a turkey now? What happened to the airplane—you know what? Don’t answer that,” he says. “We almost done? It’s getting close to time.”

Eddie tuts. “Sound blaster,” he reminds Steve, and Steve wrinkles his nose.

“Can you be normal and call it a soundboard like literally everyone else does?” Steve asks as he hits a button at random. It’s the womp-womp horn. It’s dumb, but it’s good for a cheap laugh.

“Nope. Sorry, sweetheart, you’re stuck with me, and I happen to enjoy fun. Go ahead and check those volume sliders for me,” Eddie tells him.

Steve cranks the volume of his mic up all the way, leans as close to it as possible, and grins. “Hey there, Eddie,” he says, and he watches the silhouette in the booth jump a foot out of his seat. He laughs, and there looks to be what he’s pretty sure is Eddie’s middle finger joining the usual shape of his silhouette. Steve slides the volume back down to a decent level. “I get you with that every time. We done, captain?”

There’s a bit of rustling as Eddie settles back down again. “We sure are! Coming in for landing, local time—”

“I should not encourage you,” Steve groans.

“I knew you had a fun side, Stevie,” Eddie coos, and Steve balls up a wad of legal pad paper to throw it into the trash can across the room. He makes it. “He shoots, he scores! And with that, why don’t we get our show started, tiger?”

Steve raises a brow, even though he’s pretty sure Eddie can’t make it out from all the way in the booth. “‘Tiger?’ That’s new. Thought I was a turkey,” he remarks, playfully snide. “Alright, introduction first—”

“Then it’s Guess That Scream!” Eddie whoops.

To be perfectly honest, Steve had thought that had been part of Robin’s ongoing joke of telling him outlandish fake segment names. A couple of times, she’d even gotten him to announce them on air before Eddie had been forced to correct him. “Uh, was that not part of Robin’s bit?” he asks, genuinely confused.

There’s a long, dramatic sigh blowing through his headphones. “Nope! This one isn’t even my fault, it was Owens’ idea. He insists we do it tonight. Play a scream, they call in,” Eddie tells him. Owens is a weird guy, and an even weirder boss. He’s nice, sure, but he’s also barely ever at the station. He’d showed up for Steve’s first show and has been in the wind ever since. Eddie clears his throat. “Okay, Steve, you’re live in three, two…”

The ‘on air’ sign above the window to the booth hums to life, the neon buzzing just loud enough to be heard through the headphones. Steve thinks it’s a wonder it can’t be heard on the actual broadcast. He presses the button on the soundboard for the station’s jingle and takes a deep breath to get himself focused.

“Good evening, Hawkins, Indiana,” Steve says, and he admittedly puts on a voice for radio, one that’s much smoother and slightly lower than his natural speaking voice. Robin pokes fun at him for it after every show. “This is your host, Steve Harrington, and you’re listening to 189.16—The Scream. Before we start taking your calls tonight on Hawkins’ only late-night phone-in talk show, I need to let you all know about a special competition we have for you this evening. It’s”—he barely holds back a sigh, but he’s a professional, goddammit—“Guess That Scream.”

“This is actually one of our station manager’s better ideas,” Eddie adds, and Steve’s noticed that Eddie puts on a voice for their shows, too. Steve’s not used to his producers being performers; Robin doesn’t put on a voice, and his producers back in Chicago hadn’t either, but Eddie’s honestly not half bad at it.

He adjusts the headphones a bit. “Here’s how it works, folks. I’m gonna play you a scream, then you call in and…Guess That Scream,” Steve explains, and this is such a dumb premise for a segment. It’s not like he’s above this kind of stuff anymore, though. “We need you lovely people at home to guess why they’re screaming. Did they stub their toe? Maybe…cut a finger off while chopping vegetables? Or discover the corpse of a loved one?”

“Ooh, good one, Steve,” Eddie says. “Now hit ’em with the tape!”

“We’ll play that tape in just a second. Alright, Hawkins, listen close, and then call in to…Guess That Scream,” he says. He’s sure that, judging by the way the sign has switched off, Eddie’s playing some jingle on his end and has their mics muted while Steve looks around for the tape. This is bullshit. He used to have a guy playing tapes for him back in Chicago. He glances up. “Eddie, where’s the tape?”

There’s an annoyed sort of grunt from his headphones. “I gave it to you yesterday, Steve. You could not possibly have lost it in that short of a timeframe,” Eddie says. The tips of Steve’s ears start to burn in embarrassment. “Steve, seriously?”

“Eddie—let’s face it, Guess That Scream is a terrible idea anyway,” he says, and he can sense the irritation in the silence that follows. Steve winces. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I don’t have the tape.”

Eddie sighs. “Well, it may be a stupid idea, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be fun. We’re gonna need a scream tonight, Stevie,” he says, clearly building up to something. He hasn’t dropped the performative voice. “And, uh…you’re the one at the mic. So…”

Oh, he’s gotta be joking.

“Really, Eddie? You want—you seriously want me to scream? You know this show depends on my voice, right?” he huffs.

“Just do it! We’ve had enough of this stupid jingle, just think of a scream and let it rip,” Eddie tells him, and the sign switches on again.

Steve scrambles to think of something. “Sorry about that! I’m back. Had to step away there for a second. Listen close, and then call in to Guess That Scream,” he vamps, and he settles for what is definitely a terrible idea. He starts off pretty close to the mic and yells out, leaning back from it and going quiet in a poor attempt at mimicking someone falling off a cliff. Cheeks burning, Steve leans back in. “Well, folks, there you have it. Call in with your guesses, and if you get it right, you could win…two tickets to the Amazing Maize Maze, held at the Hawkins Fairgrounds, and one free fried…dough. Fried dough? Uh—just call in at 555-239-KFAM with your guess. Now, here’s some music while you get dialing…this is ABBA’s SOS.”

He slides the vinyl out from its sleeve and replaces the one on the turn table, setting it to play and putting the other one back, and his shoulders slump in relief when he sees the sign turn off again. “Oh my God, Steve, that was…surprisingly adequate. Didn’t take you for a big improv guy. I cannot wait to hear what people think that was,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, well, thanks,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. “How the hell did I get into this mess?”

“Uh…by freaking the hell out and berating one of your guests live on air because he pissed you off,” Eddie snickers, as if Steve needs the reminder of that mortifying day. “Never actually heard that broadcast, but I did hear it was worth listening to. But lighten up, Steve! That Looney Tunes scream is gonna be the highlight of my week.”

Steve balls up another piece of paper and tosses it. He misses. There’s a long couple of minutes of silence before Steve actually gets the balls to say something about it. “Yeah, well, if you don’t actually know what he said to me, maybe you shouldn’t—”

“Oops,” Eddie interrupts, and the sign glows once again, “you’ve got a call coming in. Line one, sweetheart. Fade the music out for me and take the call, will you?”

Of course. Steve gradually slides the volume of the turntable down before turning it off and taking the call. Showtime…again. “Welcome to 189.16—The Scream, caller. You’re talking to Steve Harrington, what’s going on with you tonight?” he asks, trying to keep the tones in his voice as dulcet as possible.

“Steve! Thank God I made it through. My name is Joyce Byers,” the caller says, a little urgently, and Steve wonders if Eddie and Robin know her. In a town as small as this one, they probably do. “I’m the 911 operator and police dispatcher for Hawkins.”

Weird details about her job, but alright. “Welcome to the show, Joyce. Are you calling in to Guess That Scream? As a 911 operator, you probably have an educated guess, right?” he jokes, and it’s a little morbid, sure, but it’s not like he’s raking in ratings anymore. No public opinion to worry about now, really.

“What? No! Look, I found a body, and I need your help.”

#smushing two things i have brainrot over together like one might smush two barbies' faces together to make them kiss #to be continued #steddie #steve x eddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #cross posted on ao3

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