#chrissy lives and eddie lives

[sp0o0kylights]

Bullshit.

The word rings obnoxiously in Steve’s ears as he pushes his way out back, not wanting to be anymore of a talking piece at this party than he already was.

He’d just wanted Nancy to stop drinking, take a second, pace herself…

Steve swipes furiously at his eyes, and then curses when it nearly causes him to run into Chrissy Cunnginham, who’s perched in a chair tucked away from the patio door.

“Sorry, sorry.” He apologizes, trying not to sound like he’s upset, trying to keep his cool--only for her to look up and away, brushing off her own tears.

“Oh.” Steve says, a little laugh bubbling out of him. “You too huh?”

Thankfully she correctly interprets that he's not laughing at her, and adds her own giggle to the mix, the sound gentle even if pitched in upset.

"Boy problems?" Steve asks her, sinking down to the vacant chair on Chrissy's right.

She nods, clasping her hands together in her lap.

"Girl problems?" She asks back, and he grimaces a smile.

They sit for a minute, Steve pulling out a cigarette and offering it to her before lighting up. Chrissy shakes her head, and though her nose curls a little at the smoke she doesn’t say anything.

Neither of them do, staring at the few people bringing the party outside in the way only drunk teenagers can.

"Can I tell you something?" Chrissy says finally, as Steve continues to struggle to keep himself breathing evenly (and not spiraling. He still has to go back and try and escort Nancy home, and he needs to keep his temper when he does it.)

She licks her lips. "I keep trying to break up with Jason, but he won't let me."

It takes a second for the words to register, but when they do he leans himself towards chrissy in concern. “What do you mean, he won’t let you?”

“He’s not--it’s not…”She trails off, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. “He talks me out of it is all.”

She’s downplaying it, and Steve’s concern grows tenfold. “Does he argue with you or just…tells you no or something?”

"It's complicated." Chrissy says, refusing to look at him. "He has this vision for me, for us."

Steve watches as she worries at a hangnail.

Feels the need to reach out and take her hand, but keeps his own hands to himself.

If Steve has learned anything, it's that not everyone wants to be touched as much as he does.

"He keeps telling me I'm just being anxious. That I should trust him, and I do, he just expects me to always do what he says? And more and more lately I--"

She huddles down into the little cat costume she's wearing, pulling the thin black sweater around her. "I want different things than he does."

Steve wonders vaguely if Nancy wants different things.

Or a different person entirely.

"That's not fair to you." Steve says, leaning forward and lowering his own voice. "He can't keep you in a relationship you don't want to be in."

A hard thing for him to say, after the bathroom conversation but this is different.

‘Please, let this be different.’ He thinks, before pushing the thought aside.

"He can't force you to do what he wants just because he wants it, or thinks its best. He should be listening to you and what you want too. Relationships are about…compromise right?” It’s what he’s heard anyway, though most of the time “compromise” means “letting the other person get what they want.”

Which is what he thought he’d been doing for Nancy all this time.

“I can help you if you want. Be your," Steve poorly mimes waving a pom pom. "cheer support."

Chrissy looks at him, eyes still wet. "You would?"

"Of course.” He says, before scooting just a smidgen closer. “Might have to ask you to return the favor though. Nancy said some things tonight and I could really use a second--”

A loud curse makes them both startle, interrupting Steve.

Together, they look around before another noise, like bark being scraped, draws both their attention to the large oak that stands in the backyard.”

"Is…is that Eddie Munson?" Chrissy asks.

"I think so."

Chrissy squints a little, as if not quite believing what she's seeing. "Is…he stuck in a tree?"

Steve finds himself staring in his own disbelief, hands moving to his hips as he watches Munsons wriggling, cursing form.

"I think so." He repeats with a shake of his head.

Eddie's foot slips off a branch, once, twice.

"Hey--" Steve calls out in warning, but unfortunately it comes too late.

The branch under his foot gives away with a startling crack! as another branch shreds Munson's jacket as his full weight caches on it.

"Oh!" Chrissy gasps, hand flying to her mouth as Eddie falls right onto his ass with a yelp.

"You good man?" Steve asks, rising from his chair, hesitant to go over but needing to make sure the idiot hasn't cracked his skull open.

Chrissy has no such qualms, popping up to run over to Munson.

"You're bleeding." She tells him worriedly, dropping to her knees to get a better look.

"Well shit." Munson says with a wonky grin. “I’m sorry.”

“What are you apologizing for?” Chrissy asks, as Steve’s newly honed babysitting instincts kick in and drive him to get up and look at Munson’s injury himself.

Chrissy carefully strokes the older teen’s hair out of his face, as Steve bends down to check his head and neck.

"You hurt anywhere?" He asks, spotting the scratch that had Chrissy worried.

It’s on his forehead--the guy must have knocked his face against the tree when he fell. Head injuries always bleed a ton but this one's well contained to a small scrape.

Probably not a concern, though Steve looks at his pupils anyways.

"Nah, I’m pine. I didn't mean to drop in on you guys.” He waves a hand behind him before dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that tree, it was pretty shady.”

Steve, long trained by Dustin, narrows his eyes. "Are you making puns right now?"

"Maybe?" Munson hedges, looking delighted to have been called out.

“Uh huh.” Steve puts his hands back on his hips, straightening up from where he’d crouched down. “Your head okay? You remember your name and shit?”

“Edward Edwardian Munson, present and ready for duty!” He gives a mock salute, before dropping Chrissy a wink. “If the duty is drinking and playing games that is.”

“Your middle name cannot be Edwardian.” Chrissy laughs.

"It is!" He defends, at the same time Steve says,

“It's not "

“Oh?” Munson challenges, as if this entire situation isn’t ridiculous. “Then what is my middle name, Sir Steven?”

“No idea, but I know it’s not that.”

Munson blows a raspberry at him. “Well then, maybe you should mind your own beeswax."

"Like you were doing? Up in the tree right above us?" Steve banters back.

The playful look dies a little, Munson beginning the painful process of standing after one falls.

"For the record, I absolutely was not eavesdropping, you guys just happened to be under the tree I climbed and I was there first. " He says it rapidly, like he's used to being accused of such things, and is heading off as many problems as he can.

Steve just ignores it, opting instead to hold his hands out. One to Chrissy and one to Eddie.

Watches surprise cross the older teens face, even as he waits for Chrissy to get up before accepting Steve's hand.

"Why were you up a tree? The family dog run you up there?" Steve grunts as he pulls the metalhead up.

"Funny." Munson quipped sarcastically. "But no. I was up there for reasons."

'Reasons.' Steve mouths, and has to fight himself to keep from grinning.

"Even though I was there first, I did happen to hear some things." He looks at Chrissy, voice turning serious. "If you need any help getting things through Carver's thick skull I'd love to lend a hand."

"You would cheer for me too?"

"Oh absolutely. I'd make a far better cheerleader than Harrington here." He shoots a grin towards Steve to take the edge off the words, before doing a far more enthusiastic mimicry of the cheerleaders pom pom routine.

"But I know how much Carver hates the word no. If you break up with him and he gives you shit after, I'm happy to step in."

Steve hadn't actually thought about that yet, but given what he knew of Jason it makes sense.

He could easily see Chrissy worrying about Jason harassing her after the break up.

"Thank you. Both of you." She sniffs. "Eddie, are you sure you're okay?"

"Right as rain!" Munson gives a rather theatrical thumbs up. "I'll let you in on a family secret, we Munson's have rubber bones."

She gives him another giggle for his efforts, and even Steve can’t fully cover his

Munson, the ass, notices.

“Well call me the court jester, I got both the King and Queen to smile!” He cheers.

Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny it.

"Chrissy!?" Someone barks, loud in the otherwise quiet backyard.

"Speak of the devil." Eddie drops his voice dramatically as Jason strides out of the house.

"I've been looking for you." He chides, two of his friends following close behind.

They're younger members of the basketball team, ones Steve's brain sluggishly attempts to remember.

"Are your knees dirty?" Jason asks Chrissy, disgust tinting his voice as he slowly looks from her to Munson next to her.

His eyes narrow, expression almost offronted.

"You heathen." Jason snarls, stepping forward with a fist clenched.

It was a move right of the sitcoms Steve swore he didn't watch, and it looked just as cheesy in real life as it did on screen.

"Calm down." Steve speaks up, hands going to his hips.

Jason's head jerks as he registers him, so focused on Munson that Steve slipped his notice entirely.

"Harrington?" He asks, as if Steve could be mistaken for anyone else here.

Steve gives him jazz hands in return.

"What are you doing out here?" Jason speaks only to Steve, whole body angling towards him like he's the only person who matters.

It's something Steve's dad does, if there's a businessman he considers to be an equal in the room. Zoning in on them, so he can subtly work in ways to make them feel inferior.

It's narcissism at its core (or so says his mother, when she's blitzed out on too many glasses of wine.)

"Talking to people." Steve deadpans. "If you're looking for beer, you walked past it."

Jason entire face pinches, like he just stepped in dog shit. "No one just talks to Munson."

It's a stupid thing to say, and whatever Hason was trying to imply with it wasn't appreciated.

"Well mark me as the first." Steve's hip cocks, voice frosting over.

Surprise washes across Munson's face, though he remains silent as Steve deals with Jason.

Probably a smart move, given how Jason seems to be eager for a fight.

"Whatever it is you're doing, you can leave Chrissy out of it." He says, and god his voice even sounds like Steve's dad.

"Chrissy," Steve says, with an eyebrow raise he knows looks judgemental, "can speak for herself."

He turns to face her, inviting her to the conversation, in the same way he'd always wished someone would invite his mother to speak against his father.

Watches as the cheerleader bites her lip, trying hard to hide the tears that have sprung to her eyes--but proves that she's stronger than Steve's mother ever was.

She steps forward, taking the opportunity offered to her with a steadying breath. "Jason--"

"You can explain it to me later." Her boyfriend waves her off, like she was a waitress offering water and not his partner.

Uncaring entirely that she's clearly upset.

That she wants to talk.

Munson has come to stand on Chrissy's other side, gone still in a way Steve's never seen him do.

It's downright weird for a guy who's normally always moving, and Steve knows it's defensive.

He's feeling a little defensive himself right now, though he doesn't want to particularly untangle why.

"Jason, listen to me." Chrissy tries again.

In his preffery vision, Steve spots a flash of familiar color. Turns his head automatically, seeking it out--and sees Jonathan hustling Nancy across the room.

The younger man is trying to balance Nancy while opening the front door, and for a second Steve almost beelines for them, except--

Except.

Nancy's whole body moves in what Steve intimately knows is an exhale, leaning her head in the crook of Jonathan's shoulder.

One arm wraps around his waist, as Jonathan finally gets the door open, and Steve watches with a stunned sort of horror as his girlfriend presses a kiss to Jonathan's shoulder.

It's fine.

He's fine.

Nancy was just--drunk. Seeking comfort. She didn't know what she was doing. She didn't mean it like that, she didn't--

"Oh shit Harrington." Jason drawls, a lazy sort of taunt. "I think Byers just stole your girlfriend."

Steve's head snaps back to him, the emotions he was attempting to box up flying to the front of his brain like dogs who slipped their leash.

"Never thought a priss like Nancy would be easy like that, but then, you never were the kind of guy to inspire loyalty." Jason continues, clearly ignoring his own girlfriend and all Steve can see is red.

Munson sucks air between his teeth next to him, nervously eyeing Steve while Chrissy's eyes have gone wide with shock and growing anger.

"Jason!" She admonishes, but he's not even looking towards her.

That too sharp smile is all for Steve.

He thinks of Nancy, the way she'd been so angry with him but so gentle with Jonathan.

He thinks of the monster he faced down in the Byers house, the terror that had shrank down to that same adrenaline soaked focus he had on the basketball court.

He thinks of this asshole Junior in front of him.

Making Chrissy cry just because she'd been kind enough to try to help Eddie, and accept Eddie's kindness in return when the weirdo tried to help her and Steve both.

Steve taps his foot, then switches his stance.

'Plant your feet.' Hargroves voice snarls in his memory and Steve wouldn't be surprised if the asshole abandons the keg long enough to come watch this.

Have his turn at heckling, just because he can.

Steve plants his feet anyway.

"You know what Carver?" He says, hands dropping from his hips.

Jason's face curves into a smile. "What?" He says, tone smarmy.

"You're full of shit."

Hand cocking back of its own accord, Steve puts every bit of himself into his punch.

Feels it reverberate up his arm as his knuckles connect to Jason's cheek.

It's going to hurt later, but right now all he can do is stand over Jason as the asshole's head snaps sideways, legs staggering him backwards until he's falling into his friends.

Chrissy gasps, Jason's boys chanting variations of 'Oh shit!'

Steve just glares him down.

The junior wipes his bloodied mouth, letting his friends push him up before shrugging them off.

"You're going to regret that." Jason snarls, and Steve squares up a second time, expecting to be rushed, when the sharp snickt! of a switchblade freezes them both.

"I think we're done here." Munson says, knife in hand.

The blade he holds is stained a deep, russet red. Crusty flakes fall off it, drifting gently down to the patio floor.

Jason's eyes boggle at it for a moment before he stands up straight.

"Now it makes sense. You're weak, Harrington, letting the Freak get his claws into you." Jason spits bloodstained saliva down at Eddie's feet. "No wonder Coach wants Billy as co-captain!"

Steve just scoffs.

"Chrissy!" Carver barks, making the poor girl jump. "Come here, we're leaving!"

Trembling, but stepping closer to Steve, she shakes her head.

"Chrissy." Jason orders again, and has the audacity to point to his feet, like a man commanding his dog.

"No." Chrissy says it quietly at first, voice a little shaky, before she seems to realize it.

She stands taller, repeats herself in a stronger voice. "No, Jason. We're done."

Jason stares at her, hard. "Chrissy, your mother told me to bring you home. So I'm going to take you home and get you away from this--demon and his lackey!"

It doesn't sound loving.

It sounds like a threat.

He steps forward, hand out to grab her arm and Steve tenses, shifting to step in front of Chrissy.

Eddie beats him there.

The word demon seems to awaken something in him, because his face is now grinning theatrically, voice dipping low in pitch.

"You heard her, Carver. She said no, and even I respect a lady's wish. So run along now," he walks two fingers in the air, from the hand not waving the knife around. "before I decide to make you and her both one of mine, just as I did Harrington!"

Jason actually crosses himself, before making one last attempt for Chrissy.

"That monster is dangerous. if you don't come with me, I'll have to alert your parents." He locks eyes with her. "For the good of your soul."

Steve snorts at that crock of shit, but Eddie lunges forward, slashing the knife in the air.

It's nowhere near Jason, but the guy leaps a foot back anyway.

"Begone!" Eddie booms, and that's all it takes for Jason and his cronies to huff and puff and stride away.

He keeps his arms in the air for a few beats more, before dropping them when it's clear Jason won't be back.

"So I'm yours, huh?" Steve drawls, as Eddie finally puts his hands down and turns to face them.

The guys scary face drops into something almost excited, and Steve can practically see the adrenaline crackling through him.

"Hey it worked. Carver's a religious nut, he goes running anytime you even hint at Satan." Eddie shrugs, grinning wildly. "Put on a little show and poof! Him and his flying monkeys melt away!"

He mimes melting and Steve stares at him for it, until he hears Chrissy laughing next to him.

Eddie grins at her and Steve is hit with the realization that it was for her benefit. To make her feel better about her psycho ex.

Something fond and familiar winds through his chest as the other boy bows.

He refuses to put a name to it.

"Did you paint your knife?" He asks instead, rubbing the hand he hit Jason with.

"What?" Eddie asks, startled out of his court jester act.

Steve nods to his hand holding the switchblade. "That's not blood, it's way too red."

"Ah." Eddie turns the grin back on, and this time it's for Steve. "Yeah, it's uh. Modeling paint. Not like Carver would know the difference."

Unspoken was the fact that he hadn't thought Steve would.

Prior to last year, he'd have been right.

Drunken cheering erupts into wild yells inside, breaking whatever spell the three of them were under.

Hargrove's voice is the loudest among them, and the dude is definitely wasted.

Steve has a feeling Hargrove also knows the difference between paint and blood, rendering Munson's knife trick useless if the dick tried to start something.

"Do you want a ride home, Chrissy?" He asks quietly.

"If it's not a bother." She says, wiping tears shed refused to let fall from her eyes.

Chrissy Cunningham was a lot stronger than people gave her credit for.

"Come on, Munson, I think it's time we all make our exit." Steve says, finding himself weirdly unwilling to leave the older teen behind.

Eddie could hold his own, but given how badly things were playing out Steve figured it was best if they all just called it a day.

"Yeah lemme just…" Munson puts his blade away, fumbling at his pockets for a moment before turning and snatching up a metal lunchbox.

"There! After you, my liege." He says, before opening the lunchbox to make it talk.

"My lady." He makes it say, pitching his voice high.

Chrissy breaks into giggles again and Steve rolls his eyes, but he claps his good hand on Eddie's shoulder as he walks past.

Eddie smiles at him, this one a bit softer than the others, eyes sparkling and Steve chooses not to read into that either.

The three of them walk together, Eddie splitting off to his van after Chrissy thanks him.

Part Two

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie: *looking at Steve and Chrissy* I can't be in love with two people! I only have one nipple! . . . Okay, they're looking at me. . .

Mike: You said your thoughts outloud again.

Eddie: *shrieks* Goddamnit!

Mike: You want me to tell them you left the country?

Eddie: *already getting up* That'd be great, thanks!

[steviesbicrisis]

Greatest Wingman In History Steve writing this in Robin’s place and making her deliver it to her coffee shop crush, Chrissy.

Biggest Pessimist in History Eddie reading the note with Chrissy and thinking he has no chance with his own crush cause not only he’s straight but he’s interested in his bff

[ymaohoh]

Chrissy lives AU

[steddieas-shegoes]

“Hey, Wayne said you refused to talk to the therapist.”

It was day 34 of visiting Eddie in the hospital, and there was finally a light at the end of the tunnel. If Eddie would talk to the therapist, he could be released into Wayne’s care.

The therapist spent two hours with him, and apparently got nothing more than some sighs and eye rolls.

“I didn’t like him.”

“Well, we can get you another one.”

“I don’t like them either.”

Steve rolled his eyes.

“You haven’t even met them yet.”

“I just know I won’t,” Eddie said as he crossed his arms, hissing when he rubbed against the bandages still covering most of his torso.

“Do you want to stay in the hospital forever?”

“No.”

“Then why can’t you just talk to the therapist? You don’t have to tell them everything, just how you’re feeling now.”

“I don’t want to.”

Steve was trying not to get frustrated. He promised Wayne he’d try to talk some sense into him patiently. It was proving to be harder than he thought it would be.

“What is it that you don’t want to tell them?”

“That maybe I did kill Chrissy! That maybe if she had just gone home or I told her no that she’d still be alive! Maybe Vecna would have gone to the next victim and I wouldn’t have to be here in pain!” Eddie was breathing heavily, his heart monitor beeping more rapidly the more he spoke.

Steve didn’t visibly react, though he wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and hold Eddie, turn back time and pretend that it was possible that Chrissy wouldn’t have died, let Eddie live his life not knowing these horrors existed.

He wanted to be able to scrub the memory of carrying Eddie’s limp and bloody body from his mind so he could go back to his regular nightmares of him dying, not the man he-

“Sorry.”

Steve’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt when Eddie spoke his apology so softly into the room. It was a direct contrast to how he’d been before, and it was startling.

A thought occurred to Steve, one he hadn’t thought of in at least two years, but felt right now.

“You know, I used to be kind of friends with Chrissy. Not close, but we talked.”

Eddie stared at him curiously, probably wondering where this could be going.

“It was funny. It didn’t happen until I wasn’t popular anymore. I guess that just shows she was a great person.”

“Yeah. She was.”

“I remember I was sitting alone eating lunch. Jason and his crew weren’t there and she walked up to me and said ‘let’s be lonely together for today.’ And I guess that was our thing, being lonely together. It sounds stupid.”

“Doesn’t sound stupid to me.”

Steve looked up and saw Eddie’s wide, wet eyes staring back at him, silently begging him to continue his story. Maybe he needed this.

“It happened a few more times and then we ended up hanging out a few times before graduation. We actually,” Steve paused and bit his lip. This would give a lot away and may end up making things worse for Eddie, but he wanted to believe it would help. “We bonded over our crush on you.”

He let it sit in the air for a moment, eyes refusing to look back up at Eddie.

Until he felt a hand on his.

“You both had a crush on me? Me?!”

“Don’t tell Robin, but she was the first person I came out to. Accidentally. And it wasn’t really coming out so much as admitting I thought you were cute.”

“You thought I was cute?!”

“Well, yeah! Always playing with your hair and doodling during class. Helping the freshman find their classes. Giving those speeches. You were brave.”

“Steve. That’s not bravery.”

“It is when everyone is willing to hurt you because of who you are.”

“I barely ever actually got beat up. Words are just words.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

Eddie nodded, swallowed, then sighed.

“Yeah. I just didn’t want anyone to feel like me.”

“That’s why we had a crush on you!”

“Well, that’s nice that you bonded over that.”

Steve didn’t like the sudden change in his tone. Like he’d liked hearing the story, but now he realized it didn’t matter.

And maybe it didn’t.

Chrissy was still gone. Eddie still had to watch her die a terrible death.

They were both still traumatized.

But Steve still had a crush on Eddie that wouldn’t go away no matter how much he repressed it.

And maybe that part of the story was something that could change for the better.

“Robin told me I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, she tells all of us that often.”

“But this is about something specific.”

“What is it?”

“Well, I never got over my crush on you. And instead of saying something about it, I just thought I’d forget about it eventually.”

Eddie blinked at him.

“Chrissy once dared me to ask you out. She said when you graduate, I should do it. Just take the risk.

She was pretty sure you were into both anyways.”

“She was right.”

“Yeah, she usually was,” Steve nodded. “But the problem here is you haven’t technically graduated yet.”

“No I haven’t.”

“You could, though.”

“Maybe.”

“But you have to get out of here first.”

“I see what you’re doing, Harrington.”

“What’s that?” Steve smirked and reached out to move Eddie’s hair away from his face.

“Bribing me to graduate with promises of a date.”

“Is it working?”

Eddie sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“Good. So you’ll talk to the therapist tomorrow?”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“You always have a choice, I’m just hoping you choose you.” ——————————— When Eddie walked across the stage two months later to get his diploma, Steve was giving him a standing ovation.

He ignored his original plan of flipping off Principal Higgins, he didn’t want more eyes on him than he already had.

He ignored it because now he had a new plan. He was gonna walk off the stage, throw his cap in the air, and then kiss Steve Harrington.

Part 2: Prologue

[xoxoladyaz]

AU-gust, Day 5: Pet Sitting

“Nope, no way. Absolutely not.”

Six sets of puppy-dog eyes stared back at her. Lucas, the ham, even pretended to start whimpering.

“Stevie, please,” Dustin whined, “Eddie needs a safe place to stay.”

She stared at Dustin for a few seconds before glancing down at the shoebox in Dustin’s hands. Inside the shoebox surrounded by a few of Claudia’s oldest and fuzziest kitchen towels stood a bat, a small black bat with big black eyes that looked almost just as pathetic as the rest of the kids.

(Almost.)

“I’ve done this song and dance with you before, Henderson, and I told you when you got rid of the alien lizard - ”

“D’artagnan was a cryptid, Stevie!”

“ – alien lizard that I wasn’t going to help you keep playing monster vet. I still haven’t recovered from seeing Mews’ corpse!”

“Mews was my cat and I’m fine! Besides, Eddie’s just a normal bat!”

“Dustin, he has a full head of hair!”

Stevie and Dustin stared at each other before looking back down at the bat (Eddie). Who was running his little claws through his hair and preening. (Stevie could have sworn that he winked at her, but she wasn’t crazy; it was definitely just a trick of the light.)

Dustin’s face started to flush like he was going to argue with her but El (sweet, precious El) cut him off before he could really get going. “Stevie’s right. He is not normal,” El said, stepping forward to run her fingers against Eddie’s head. Eddie rubbed up against her fingers and chirped. 

“See, I knew it - ”

“But he is a friend,” El said and fuck, the full force of El-most-likely-a-changeling-Hopper’s big brown eyes was something Stevie would probably never learn to resist. “And he needs someone to care for him while he gets better.”

“Better? What do you mean, better?”

“Bad man,” El replied matter-of-factly and, well, shit. She didn’t need to say much more than that.

Stevie sighed and turned her attention back towards the “bat” in question. “How long?”

/////

Just a few weeks, maybe a month or two, Dustin had said. “I would have kept him myself but Mom was worried that he’d eat Tews – ”

(“Oh, and you don’t care if I get eaten?” Stevie had replied. Dustin had just rolled his eyes and ignored her.) 

So yeah, two months tops, just until Eddie was “healed” or what not. (He didn’t have any visible injuries that Stevie could see but then again, she was just a cosmetologist, what the fuck did she know about bat anatomy?) Until then, Stevie was going to have a tiny flying roommate who apparently “only likes to listen to metal music, so I’ve brought a few tapes and oh! He loves fantasy so you’ll have to read him this as a bedtime story,” at which point Dustin handed her The Lord of the Rings, “and he gets lonely at night so don’t lock him out, he likes to cuddle, and he should be able to fit in your jacket pocket when you go to work during the day - ”

“No, nope, no way, none of that is happening,” Stevie argued and she really had been planning on sticking to that – no metal music, no bedtime stories, no cuddles, and definitely no work trips, no way, no how.

(She’d folded by hour two of Eddie’s stay at Casa de Harrington.)

/////

“You get this is weird, right?”

“Hmm?” Stevie was cutting apart some strawberries to blend with whatever “protein drink” Dustin kept dropping off at her house. “What’s weird?” She turned to look at Robin, who was watching Eddie shimmy up and down the dining room table to “Rock Me Like a Hurricane.”

“Stevie. This is not normal bat behavior.”

“So? It’s normal Eddie behavior,” Stevie shrugged. She tossed the berries into the blender and, once it was a fine red concoction, put it in a little cup with a little straw and walked over the table. Eddie slid his way across the polished wood and wiggled when he saw her, chittering happily before going to town on his fruit smoothie.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t also normal Stevie behavior!” Robin threw her hands up in the air. “You’re letting a wild animal sleep with you in your bed!”

(She’d tried to encourage Eddie to stay in the guest room that first night all those weeks ago but she’d barely laid in bed for all of two minutes before a dark shape flew through the dark and landed on her chest. She’d screamed and leapt out of the bed but Eddie had somehow managed to grip his claws into her shirt and no amount of arguing with him was able to get him to let go. 

“Fine,” she’d finally growled, “but if I roll over and squish you, it’s not my fault.” 

When she’d finally woken up the next morning, she was still lying on her back and Eddie was still nestled onto her chest. They’d been going to sleep every night that way ever since.)

“Hey,” Stevie replied defensively, “he’s not a wild animal, he’s totally tame.”

“Uh huh,” Robin replied queasily, watching as Eddie happily slurped up his smoothie. “Just because you play dress-up with him doesn’t mean he’s tame, Stevie.”

The tiny vest was from El and Will, something about how Eddie looked “wrong” without it (whatever that meant. Stevie had to admit it did look really cute on him.)

“He looks adorable, Robin!”

“He’s totally taken over your life,” Robin shot back dramatically. “He goes shopping with you, you take him to work – Stevie, he sits with you when you take bubble baths, for Pete’s sake!”

(Hey, Eddie was a gentleman, he always waited until she was covered by bubbles until coming in and sitting on the little nest of towels she’d made for him on the set of drawers by the bathtub and okay, maybe Robin had a point here.)

“And that’s not to mention that I’ve been trying to get you to read a book for literal years now and this bat shows up and suddenly you’re reading Tolkien to him every night?”

“It’s actually a good book, Robin,” Stevie said defensively.

“I know that, Stevie, I just can’t believe that you’re not seeing this! Like, there are so many red flags! He’s literally drinking blood right now!”

Stevie huffed and leaned over the table, like she was physically covering Eddie from Robin’s criticism. “It’s rude to judge somebody else’s eating habits, Robin. Or did you forget our conversation last month when you tried to go vegetarian?”

“That’s different and you know it!” Robin exclaimed. 

Eddie, because he was a little drama king, took the last sip of his smoothie while making eye contact with Robin before letting out an exaggeratedly content sigh. 

“See?!”

Stevie rolled her eyes and set her hand down. Eddie scurried onto her palm, letting out a series of happy chirps. She lifted him up and set him on her shoulder where he waddled to her cheek and pressed his little face against it, like he was giving her a little kiss. “You’re being overdramatic, Robin.”

“Fine, whatever, just don’t come crying to me when he makes you his eternal vampire bride or whatever,” Robin huffed before getting up and stalking out of the kitchen.

“He’s just a bat!” Stevie called after her. Robin responded by slamming the front door after he on the way out. 

Sighing, Stevie turned to look at Eddie, who was currently making a home for himself in her curls. “You are just a bat, right?”

Eddie turned and shot her a wink before wrapping his little body in one of her ringlets.

“Yeah, that’s probably fine.”

/////

One of the best parts of having Eddie around actually was nighttime. She hadn’t gotten so many nights of uninterrupted sleep in years. He was like some sort of nightmare repellent or something; in fact, the only dreams she’d had recently were of a shrouded figure with long dark hair and a sexy laugh and teasing cool hands and other things – 

And when she woke up a month and a half into Eddie’s residency in her home, she probably should have been more shocked at the fact that her bat had turned into a very pale, very sexy and very naked man with long dark hair and cool skin and – 

“God, Robin’s never going to let me live this down,” Stevie murmured as the man stirred above her. He opened his eyes and yep, yeah, those were her bat’s eyes. 

Eddie’s grin grew sharp as he pressed her further into her bed. “I’m sure I can find some way to make up for it,” he said as he drew close enough to kiss her. 

“How do you feel about a Halloween wedding?”

[kitchen-spoon]

Steddie Slice of life

A little sneaky Peaky of a new 5k Steddie slice of life fic I'll be posting on AO3 soon :)

Eddie was back a minute later, Tuna back in his arms as he crawled into bed. She settled in the divot between their legs, her head resting on Eddie’s thigh. He petted at her back looking up at Steve. “Can I bring tuna to the game?” He asked with a megawatt smile, there was mischief and determination behind his eyes that let Steve know he would be losing this battle. 

“People will think we’re crazy,” Steve tried anyway despite knowing better. 

“People already think I’m a woman until I turn around. What's a little more misdirection with a cat and a baby stroller?” Eddie grinned, waggling his brows at Steve, that big smile still on his face. 

“You want to bring her in a baby stroller?” Steve asked in disbelief, he honestly shouldn’t be surprised though. Eddie was as chaotic as they come. 

“It's the most safe and convenient way.” Eddie nodded seriously. “Plus little Miss deserves the princess treatment.” 

Steve rolled his eyes at that but relented. “You spoil her too much but, fine. You have to find a baby stroller that isn’t hundreds of dollars and cat proof it though.” He pointed at Eddie sternly. 

“You know, I’m the king of the thrift baby, I’ll make it happen.” Eddie assured with a cocky grin. Despite his eye rolls, Steve couldn’t deny it, considering he was laying on a mattress sitting in a brass bed frame Eddie found for them at the thrift store with two matching oak side tables to go with it. 

“You have until next weekend, if it isn’t done she stays home.” Steve warned. 

Eddie just smiled even wider, leaning in to give Steve a wet kiss. “Of course baby.” He began peppering kisses all over Steve’s face. “I love youuuu.” He sang. 

“I love you too.” Steve finally cracked and dropped his grumpy facade. If it made Eddie happy he didn’t care. “Now go to bed.” He chuckled and pushed Eddie away when the kisses began to tickle

[bionic-jaden]

I don't know who they are but this image just screams 90s Hellcheer

[badfanfictionaire]

The woods of Hawkins, Indiana were once the most feared lands in the continental US. From 1963 to 1986 the townsfolk didn’t dare step foot into the forest, especially at night, for one reason and one reason alone: cannibals.

Now one of Indiana’s best kept secrets, the cannibalism issue was once a rampant and horrific problem that no one could escape. Everyone knew someone who had been killed and eaten. Rumors swirled as to who was responsible for the killings, but a close knit group of students from the local high school knew the truth: it was the Coventry High football team.

Ironically, or not, the Coventry team was called the Coventry Cannibals. That wasn’t what started the rumor though. It also wasn’t why the Hawkins students knew the truth.

See, one of the Hawkins High students, a poplar jock type by the name of Edgar Milton, had witnessed a rival student from Coventry chewing on the fingers of a dead man. He’d stumbled away from a party and nearly tripped over the grisly scene. Too drunk to name the cannibal, the story he told wasn’t widely believed. That is, until his girlfriend Crystal Casablanca, saw a similar scene in the woods behind her house. People believed her because she was notoriously a straight shooter and didn’t drink. From that night on, tension was high in Hawkins. If cannibals were able to infiltrate the pearly gates of Loch Nora, they could easily be anywhere in town.

Parents locked their kids away at night. The schools canceled all extracurriculars after sunset. Even the high school’s beloved Dungeons and Dragons club, the Hellfire Club, was forced to reschedule their meetings to a morning slot.

People told stories, most of them were just tall tales, of students in the woods with veins in their teeth and blood dripping from their mouths. Teens claimed that cannibals had eaten their toes, their pets, even their siblings. Nothing, and no one, was safe.

It all came to and end one fateful night when an illustrious detective pulled into town. His beat up red Chevy didn’t look like much, but he had a reputation for closing the most dangerous criminal cases in history. This detective was none other than Walter Milton, the great grandfather of Eddie Milton-

“Daddy, I thought you said his name was Edgar Milton.”

“Yeah daddy, it was Edgar!”

“Eddie can be a nickname for Edgar, honey buns.”

“Is your name Edgar, daddy?”

“No, peanut. Daddy’s name isn’t Edgar.”

“That’s because your name is daddy.”

“No his name is Edmund!”

“Girls, girls, no fighting! Come on, don’t you want me to finish the story?”

“Does uncle Wayne save the day?”

“What? No, uncle Wayne isn’t in-”

“Then who is old Mr. Milton?”

“These are all fictional characters!”

“Daddy, I want to be in the story!”

“Yeah, I want a Canadian to eat me! Please daddy? Can I be in it?! Please!”

“Fine, you both can be in it. Ok, where was I…”

👻👻👻👻

(Read on AO3)

[runraerun]

AO3 • Harringrove & HellCheer • Rating: T • Beta: @dame-zoom-a-lot • Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, Homophobic language, Implied Child Abuse, Neil Hargrove.• Tags: The Fruity Four but it’s Steve, Billy, Chrissy and Eddie. Fuck gender norms. Chrissy and Billy blonde bombshell solidarity, Billy Hargrove Centric, Platonic Steddie, Platonic CaliCheer, but Eddie is so bisexual in this it’s crazy. Lots of fluff but lots of angst. Feminization. SFW.

*Written for @harringrovekinktober 2024!🎃 I spun: Feminization at Steve’s house!✨ (even though this turned into Flufftober. I’m so sorry.)

Summary:

“Do my eyes?” Billy mutters around his cigarette, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“With make-up.” Chrissy clarifies easily.

And with that, Billy nearly sucks back the cigarette dangling between his lips. He coughs, and coughs, and then coughs some more. Has to fucking lean forward to catch his breath, feeling a lot like he did when he first tried that stolen cigarette from his dad at the tender age of twelve. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away the stray tears that had eked their way out during his fit. “No. Absolutely not. No fucking way.”

Eddie perks up, “Ooh. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.”

“What the fuck’d you just call me?” Billy croaks, his voice still a little ragged from his coughing.

Or, Chrissy convinces Billy to let her put makeup on him. 💋

“Has anyone ever told you that you have really pretty eyes, Billy?” Chrissy asks from across the fire pit. She’s tucked up under Eddie’s arm, their fingers threaded together over her shoulder.

Billy snorts, “not recently, no.”

He and Steve aren’t nearly as tangled up as the pair across from them are, even though technically they’ve been together longer than Chrissy and Eddie have—which automatically makes them the superior couple, obviously. But… he and Steve don’t really do the whole PDA thing, even when they’re in ‘safe’ company. A lifetime of having to hide will do that. It’s a tough habit to break.

But he and Steve are sitting side by side, their knees pressed against the other’s, and Billy’s got an arm slung behind Steve, resting along the back of the wicker loveseat they’re squashed onto. Steve’s even got a hand high up on Billy’s thigh, fingers clamping down every so often. Under the security of their shared blanket, of course. And that’s enough for Billy. More than he ever thought he’d get to have, if he’s being honest.

Eddie shoots Steve with a look of disbelief, like he’d caught him red handed at something truly reprehensible. “For shame, Stevie. For shame! You’re a bad boyfriend!”

“What? I—well, listen, I think Billy’s eyes great! I just—” Steve flounders before he turns to look at Billy, red in the cheeks. “I’m sure I’ve said something about your eyes before. Haven’t I?”

“Maybe. I don’t remember.” Billy shrugs, a little embarrassed. In truth, Billy remembers every compliment that Steve’s ever paid him. His chest, his ass, his arms—but never his eyes. Not that it’s a sore point for him or anything, it was just one of the things Steve hasn’t remarked on.

“Shit, does that make me a bad boyfriend?” Steve lets his head fall back against the meat of Billy’s arm and groans. “I’m sorry. Your eyes are great. Really! They work great too. Remember that time you spotted a quarter across the parking lot? Incredible.”

Billy feels his ears heat up. With a roll of his eyes, he growls at Steve, “don’t hurt yourself, Harrington.”

“I’m being serious!” Steve laughs, voice going high with guilt, and it gets everyone else chuckling too.

“Well, I think they’re a really beautiful shade of blue. And your lashes are so dark. Do you tint them?” Chrissy asks, eye’s focused solely on him.

Billy ducks his head, sort of hating this sort of scrutiny. He’s fine with being the center of attention if he’s playing basketball or balancing on top of a keg, but sitting here like this? It’s… weird. Too intimate. Billy clears his throat, “look, I’m flattered, Chrissy, really, but your boy is literally right fucking next to you.”

“It’s okay, she’s right; you do have really pretty eyes.” Munson winks as he takes another drag from his joint.

“Jesus…” Billy shakes his head and follows suit, though he’s just smoking a cigarette. Such is the fate of being the designated-sober-guy for the night.

“So you don’t tint your lashes?” Chrissy asks again.

“I don’t even fucking know what that means.” He mutters around his cigarette.

But Chrissy seems immune to the very clear ‘fuck off’ signals he’s putting out. She continues, “Well, do you dye your hair?”

“No.” He answers quickly, a reflex.

“Billy.” Steve says in a drawn out type of way and a tilt of his head. He levels Billy with a look. The little shit…

“I don’t!” Billy huffs, defensive as he readjusts himself in his seat.

But Munson smells blood in the water, clearly. “Ooh. Tell us what you know, Stevie boy.”

Only then does Steve have the decency to look apologetic, wincing, “I really shouldn’t.”

“Yeah because there’s nothing to tell.” Billy widens his eyes with each passing word in an attempt at conveying his unspoken threat. Steve’s getting dangerously close to being on the receiving end of a purple-nurple.

Eddie begins to chant, “Tell us! Tell us! Tell u—” before Chrissy reached a hand over and pinches his lips shut.

“Shush.” She tuts.

“Go on, ba–Billy. Who cares?��� Steve raises his shoulders, trying to appear innocent. He pulls his knee back only to knock it back against Billy’s, urging him on.

Billy growls out a frustrated sigh. But at this point it was inevitable. And it was true–who the fuck cares? It’s just the four of them. And they have a symbiotic, assured mutual destruction sort of relationship going on between them. Steve trusted them enough to tell them about Billy, so Billy supposes he can tell them about something as stupid as his hair care secrets. “Fine! Jesus... I put a little bit of lemon juice in my hair when it’s sunny. It bleaches it a bit over time. Happy, you pack of vultures?”

“Ecstatic.” Eddie mumbles out from behind Chrissy’s hold on his lips.

“Sorry.” Steve mutters, but he doesn’t sound sorry at all. He’s smiling and on the verge of another fit of giggles for Christ's sake.

“Well it looks great. It makes your eyes pop.” Chrissy leans forward, hands on her knees, as if to get a better look at him in the firelight. Billy feels like a damn bug under a magnifying glass.

“And popping eyes are… good?” Billy cocks a brow. Doesn’t sound good. Sounds weird—like something you’d say about Munson, not him.

“Totally!” She says in that high, sweet voice of hers. Then she gasps, like she’s just remembered something important, “you should let me do your eyes!”

His brows pinch as he takes another pull from his cigarette. “Do my eyes?” Billy exhales a thick cloud of white smoke, “What the fuck does that even mean?”

“Do them up, like with make-up.” She clarifies easily.

And with that, Billy nearly sucks back the cigarette dangling between his lips. He coughs, and coughs, and then coughs some more. Has to fucking lean forward to catch his breath, feeling a lot like he did when he first tried that stolen cigarette from his dad at the tender age of twelve. He uses the back of his hand to wipe away the stray tears that had eked their way out during his fit. “No. Absolutely not. No fucking way.”

Eddie perks up, “Ooh. The gentleman doth protest too much, methinks.”

“What the hell’d you just call me?” Billy croaks, his voice still a little ragged from his coughing.

Chrissy continues, ignoring her boyfriend, “You’d look great! I do Eddie’s make up all the time! I’m going to beauty school, y’know. It’s good practice for me.”

In a way Billy isn’t surprised. Eddie is a freak, after all, and the more time he spends with Chrissy the more he’s starting to realize she’s more or less the same.

“Thanks, but hell no. I’m not… like that.” Billy shakes his head, hoping someone would just change the goddamn conversation already.

“It’s just make-up, dude. It’s not a big deal.” Eddie says casually as he stretches his legs out in front of him, a boot propped up on the edge of the firepit. Apparently not caring if the bottom of it melts.

“You really let her paint your face up, Munson?” Billy asks, still trying to wrap his head around what he’s hearing. Because guys didn’t… do that. Queer or not, you didn’t—unless you were… and Billy wasn’t like that! The wires in his head are crossed, he knows that much, but they’re not totally fried, unless Munson’s apparently were.

“Like the London whore!” Eddie bellows out in a truly terrible British accent. “It’s all very Rocky Horror Picture Show when she’s done with me.”

“Jesus Christ… here I thought me and Steve were the queers.” Billy chuckles dryly.

“Hey!” Steve protests, though Billy’s not sure what about. They are queers. Card carrying, cock-sucking pillow-biters, the pair of ‘em. As fucking insane as that still sounds to admit to himself openly…

“It’s fun!” Chrissy exclaims, voice high, defensive.

“Harmless fun!” Eddie reiterates, voice similarly high.

But there’s no fucking way–

“I don’t like shit getting in my eyes.” Billy grunts out stubbornly.

“Now, that is true. He had to use eye-drops for a few days after he scratched his cornea,” Steve tries to tell his story, but he’s already giggling so damn much that he’s barely fucking intelligible. “I had to sit on his chest and hold his eye open while I put the drops in every single time. I felt like I was wrestling a crocodile.”

“Or maybe he just liked you sitting on him.” Eddie eyebrows jump up and down suggestively which only gets Steve laughing harder, nodding along like he was in on the joke. Christ these two are unbearable when they get together…

“Your lips then.” Chrissy cuts the two knuckleheads off, speaking directly to Billy.

Chrissy’s sweet, but there’s no fucking way Billy’s letting her do that to him. Just the idea of it is… well, not only is it totally bonkers, but it wouldn’t even look good. He’s not… feminine. No part of Billy Hargrove could ever even pass a dainty or whatever. He’s bulky, all hard edges and calluses and scars. He knows he’s hot, sure, but Billy’s not beautiful, even if Steve occasionally whispers it when they’re fucking. But Billy’s not stupid. He knows it’s just something you say. It’s not real. Steve doesn’t actually mean it. “I don’t…”

“You should do it.” Steve says, all smiles. His pupils are blown, eyes gone a little glassy with the high. “Why not?”

Billy narrows his eyes at his boyfriend. “You just want me to look stupid.”

Steve frowns, mouth hanging open in his apparent bewilderment, “Wha-? Why the hell would I want that?”

With a jerky, defensive shrug, Billy answers, “because you get weird when you’re high.”

“Sure, maybe—but I don’t get mean. That’s your thing.” Steve pokes a finger to Billy’s chest.

“I’m just gonna go get my makeup bag!” Chrissy chirps, already up on her feet.

“No–Chrissy, I’m not…” Billy tries to call her back, but she ignores him, disappearing into the bright Harrington house behind them.

“Don’t bother trying to stop her, Hargrove. She’s tiny but she always seems to get her way. It’s like her super power.” Eddie passes on his advice, but Billy just rolls his eyes and grumbles something about not rolling over like a bitch.

When Chrissy comes back, it’s with a fucking suitcase, not a bag. She heaves it up onto one of the glass side tables that creaks and groans under the weight. The boys all watch in fascination as she snaps open the clasp and it unfolds its sides, then unfolds again. It was like a fucking magic trick; the case just keeps getting bigger and bigger.

“There.” She says, hands on her hips, seemingly satisfied. “Okay, Steve, move your tush.”

“Chrissy, I’m not–wait, what are you doing?” Billy’s attention goes from Chrissy to his retreating boyfriend, who’s sliding out from under their shared blanket to stand.

“Moving my tush,” answers Steve, “duh.”

“I was thinking of red at first, but now that I’m looking at you up close, it would overwhelm you. Especially since you won’t let me do your eyes,” Chrissy explains as she plops down where Steve had been, sitting on top of their blanket, effectively sealing Billy in, “so maybe pink.” She holds up several tubes of lipstick to his mouth, humming as she goes.

The corners of his mouth pull down as his brows come together, “Pink?”

Eddie shifts to stand, slapping his thighs as he rises. “Okay, I’m stealing your man, Hargrove.” He threads an arm through Steve’s, “Stevie and I are gonna go see which one of us can hold our breath the longest under the water.”

“For the record, I’m just going to make sure he doesn’t drown.” Steve clarifies as Eddie pulls him towards the pool.

“Come find us when you’re done!” Eddie says in a sing-song voice.

Chrissy just waves a hand over her shoulder in response, more a motion to ‘go away’ as opposed to a farewell wave.

“Those two idiots are going to get themselves killed.” Billy murmurs, stone still as Chrissy holds up yet another tube of lipstick, checking the little color sticker stuck on the bottom.

She giggles, “nah, not when we have Hawkins finest lifeguard here to keep us safe.”

Billy scoffs, gets ready to argue about distractions and inebriated states when pop! Chrissy uncaps a tube of lipstick and the words die in his throat.

“Okay, hold still.” She says, and everything in Billy runs cold. He feels like his heart stops beating in his chest. His lungs solidify. He shuts his eyes so he doesn’t see it coming.

But the expected waxy touch doesn’t reach his lips.

“Billy?” Chrissy asks, in her distinct high, soft voice. It’s strangely soothing. Sort of reminds him of–... Well, another pretty blonde lady who helped him put lipstick on. But that feels like a lifetime ago, back before Billy knew to be ashamed of this sort of thing. Back when he was just playing dress up while the house was empty besides just the two of them. “Billy, if you really don’t want to, I won’t make you. You know that, right?”

And there it is; his out.

The thing he wanted and would have taken a few seconds ago, without hesitation. But… if he’s being honest, he sort of hates that she’s gone ahead and offered it up to him like this. Because now Billy has to make the active choice in this whole humiliating ordeal. How much easier would it have been if she would have just forced him? If it remained out of his hands?

But Chrissy isn’t like that. She isn’t actually pushy. No, she’s… Helpful. Like she could see something in Billy, maybe. The same thing his mom saw. Something Neil had spotted at some point too. Maybe that’s why his dad hates him so much.

Chrissy doesn’t hate him though. Even though he was an asshole in high school, and pretty much everyone hated or was afraid of him back then. But now that they’re out of high school, and Billy’s out out, at least to the handful of people here tonight, he’s surrounded by people that don’t hate him, even though they have every right to. It’s still sort of surreal.

And now Chrissy’s sitting here in front of him on her folded legs, with seemingly endless patience—like she’s got all the time in the world for Billy to work through his impossibly complicated shit. Like how actual friends treat each other, maybe. Billy doesn’t really know. The only real friend he’s ever had turned into his boyfriend, so his frame of reference for this sort of shit is probably fucked up beyond recognition.

But maybe they are friends. And you could trust friends, in theory. He could trust Chrissy, in theory.

“No, it’s okay.” Billy swallows, feels his adam's apple bob in his throat, “I don’t care.” He lies as he flicks what little remained of his cigarette into the crackling fire pit beside them.

She beams, looking like pure sunshine even in this dim, flickering firelight. And fuck, she really is too good for Munson; way out of his fucking league. Just like how Steve is way out of Billy’s. But hey, some people just had shitty taste in men, what’re you gonna do?

“Okay. Well, then pull your lips tight over your teeth–oh, not that tight. Just enough that they’re not–yeah, that’s perfect.” Chrissy instructs him gently, doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make him feel the sharp, hot feeling of shame at any point. Then Billy feels the distantly familiar smooth feeling of lipstick over his mouth. He’s already itching for another smoke, but that may just be his nerves acting out.

“Oh yeah, pink is definitely your color. Eddie looks completely washed out in this shade, but you have those nice warm undertones.” She says, pulling the lipstick along his bottom lip now, taking her time around the edges. It feels like she’s going over his lip line, but he doesn’t comment. Doesn’t risk moving his mouth and throwing Chrissy off. She seems to be completely in her zone. “Dollface looks perfect on you.”

“Doll face?” He frowns. Coming out of his mouth it almost sounds like a slur.

“The shade. It’s called Dollface.” She explains as she pulls back a little, and Billy tries very hard not to immediately wipe all of her hard work off on the sleeve of his shirt. “Can I put blush on you too? I have the perfect shade that would match it.”

“I don’t–... I don’t want to look like a clown or anything.” He mutters, hyper conscious of how different his lips feel when he speaks now.

“It’ll be subtle, I promise. Like mine.” She motions towards her own face and Billy has to squint to see what the fuck she’s talking about. But there is a slight peachy tone to the apples of her cheeks, now that he’s looking for it. “I wouldn’t want to cover any of your freckles up, after all. They’re so cute.”

Jesus… He’s never had this many compliments paid to him so fucking quickly, and all on things that no one ever fucking mentioned. Sure, he gets lots of remarks on his ass and his chest, but those were things he worked tirelessly on, spent hours doing squats and pumping iron. But his eyelashes? His freckles? The blue of his eyes? Those weren’t things he earned. They were just… him. Base model, nothing special, piece of shit with anger issues, Billy Hargrove.

But he nods nonetheless. “Okay.”

“Okay.” She repeats with a smile. She leans back towards her magic make-up bag and fishes out a plastic compact that opens up like a clamshell, along with a big fluffy brush. She swishes it around the pigment for a second before tapping off the excess in a colorful cloud. Billy watches her with an enraptured sort of fascination. She grabs a napkin, and a few other sticks of something before she settles back around in front of him again.

“The trick is to suck in your cheeks, like a little fishy.” She says before she demonstrates it.

And even though it feels stupid and embarrassing, he does the ‘little fishy face’ right along with her.

She hums her approval as she swipes the soft bristles against his cheeks. They catch a little on his stubble. He hopes it doesn’t wreck her brush.

“Perfect,” she coos, soft as a dove. Chrissy snaps the clamshell of pink blush shut and puts it aside before she picks up some of her dark pencils. “Now, I know you said you didn’t want anything in your eyes, but I thought maybe we could try just a water line? You don’t need to, but I promise it won’t go anywhere near your actual eyeball, just your lower lash line. It would really pull the whole look together.”

Billy frowns. Hasn’t he given enough?

Sensing his hesitation, Chrissy continues to plead her case, “it might just tickle, a teeny tiny bit. And if you don’t like it, I’ll stop right away. Deal?”

He hesitates, running his tongue along his teeth as he mulls it over. “It won’t touch my eye at all?”

“Nope. I’ll hug the outside of your lid, I promise. You just gotta stay super still for me, okay? And it washes right off. One lap around the pool and it’ll probably be all gone once you get out.”

Oh, right. Billy had forgotten about how he was going to get this gunk off. He had work tomorrow, and he couldn’t exactly show up at the pool looking like… well. Whatever he looked like now. Billy wasn’t exactly sure. It made his insides squirm.

“Fine. As long as it’s quick.” Billy huffs, readjusting his legs so that they didn’t fall asleep on him.

“Quick as a bunny!” She uncaps the pencil and leans forward.

Her hands are back on his face–only this time she’s pulling down at the skin where his eye bags usually form if he doesn't get enough sleep. Billy expects it to hurt, or maybe to burn a little, but she’s right; it just tickles. He flinches when the cool tip of the pencil initially hits the sensitive skin of his lower lid, but Chrissy remains as patient as a saint, and just waits for him to stop blinking before she tries again. And this time Billy knows what to expect, so Chrissy’s able to do a full swipe, left to right, focusing a little on the outer edge, before she moves onto the next eye and does the same.

“Now,” She murmurs as she retrieves the napkin, “kiss this.”

He screws his face up, “what?”

“To get the excess off. And it makes the lipstick last longer.” She waves the bit of tissue in his face. “Trust me, I’m almost an expert.”

Billy sincerely has his doubts, but he kisses the tissue, blotting his lipstick. It still feels like a lot is left on his mouth, but it doesn’t feel as… heavy. Sort of feels nice, actually. And when he pulls the napkin away it’s marked the perfect imprint of his pink kiss. If he didn’t just finish making it himself he wouldn’t have thought his lips were even capable…

“Do you want gloss?” Chrissy asks, pulling him from his fog.

“Won’t that ruin the—“ Billy points towards his mouth, “this layer?”

She shakes her head, sending her blonde ponytail into motion behind her, “No, it sort of just seals it. And bonus, it tastes like bubblegum.”

Steve likes bubblegum.

“Alright.” He says quickly, with a jerky sort of shrug. He’s already made it this far, he might as well see it through all the way. And it’s not like he’s going to do this again or anything… may as well go full hog.

So she pulls out a wand coated in the clear looking gel and does a final swipe over the top of his lips with it. It feels sort of sticky. And now that it’s sitting under his nose, he really can smell the bubblegum.

“Done!” Chrissy exclaims as she pulls her hands away. She holds them up and away from Billy, as if to reassure him that she’s finished with her torture. “Smile for me so I know I didn’t get anything on your teeth.”

And there’s no way he can give Chrissy anything remotely genuine at the moment, so Billy simply bares his teeth for her to inspect.

“No lipstick on your teeth. And I think I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.” Chrissy says, admiring her handiwork.

“Yeah?” Billy clears his throat, not knowing where to look. Eddie and Steve are still busy splashing and shoving each other in the pool, so at least he doesn’t need to worry about them. “I don’t look too stupid?”

She smacks his arm with the back of her hand, “You don’t look stupid at all, silly. You look great!” She then starts tidying up her makeup, putting everything back in its proper place. Billy watches her with the same fascination as he did while she was taking it out.

“Your mom teach you this shit?” Billy asks.

She frowns, just a little. “Some of it.”

He nods. His leg bounces. Resists the urge to rub at his eyes. The hard shells of Chrissy’s makeup containers clack together as she rearranges them.

“My mom used to—“ Billy mumbles, quiet enough that he very much doubts Chrissy had even heard him, but when he looks up, she’s stopped putting her things away, and her eyes are on him. Waiting for him to go on.

He clears his throat, doesn’t even know why he’s confessing this to her, but a strange compulsion seems to have taken over him. He feels the words right at the tip of his tongue before he can think to bury them back down, back to somewhere deep within himself. “My mom used to do this for me sometimes. When I was really little.”

It’s something that should be embarrassing. Something to laugh at, like the punchline of a joke. But Chrissy doesn’t laugh. She smiles gently. “Those sound like happy memories.”

Billy frowns—he’d never thought of them as happy, per se. More embarrassing than anything else. Something he can’t look in the eye. Billy ducks his head, feels his eyes sting. He should stop, he knows. Just shut the hell up. Because why the hell is he getting himself worked up over a dumb childhood memory in front of some chick he barely knows? It’s stupid.

And yet, the idea of not saying more seems even more unbearable than eating his words.

“I’d ask her to, when she was in the mirror getting ready or whatever.” Billy explains, daring to meet her eye before retreating to somewhere off in the distance. “This was before I knew it was, y’know… not something boys did. My dad made sure I knew it though, after he caught us. I didn’t ask after that.”

The truth of it is, maybe those memories could have been happy if they didn’t exist exclusively under the shadow of Neil. He can’t picture his mom’s smiling face without also picturing Neil’s disgusted one. Can’t remember how it felt having the make up on his face when the bruises lasted so much longer. He can’t hear the soft words his mom had whispered to him over the roar of the awful names Neil called him afterwards—the ones he never stopped calling him. It’s no wonder Billy’s so goddamn fucked in the head.

Then, there’s a hand slipping overtop of his, small and soft, squeezing against his rough, calloused ones. “I’m sorry.”

Billy feels a rush of emotions, but he’s not entirely sure which direction they’re flowing. Hot or cold.

Part of him wants to stand up and scream at Chrissy that he doesn’t need her fucking pity—that Billy Hargrove doesn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him, that sympathy is for the weak—and Billy isn’t weak.

Some shit Neil would do.

But in the moment, Billy can’t find the strength to do any of it. He just sits there and squeezes her hand back. So maybe he is weak after all.

“My parents were tough on me too,” Chrissy explains, keeping her voice low. “I sort of always felt like a disappointment to them.”

”You?” Billy scoffs, his voice frustratingly shakey, “you’re like, perfect.”

“Yeah, well, some parents are dummies. They get all upset when their kid turns out differently than how they expected.” Chrissy says with a tilt of her head. And Billy knows she isn’t just talking about her own mom and dad. “Dumb, right?”

Billy nods as he sniffs back any congestion that dared try and accumulate in his nose, along with the tears he doesn’t let fall. He blinks a few times, letting the air take them. “Yeah, real fuckin’ dumb.”

Chrissy smiles, and it’s like she’s beaming. Too fucking good for Munson, Billy thinks again as she stands, bringing him along with her by way of their clasped hands. “You ready to show the boys?”

A new wave of uncertainty hits Billy straight in the gut, but he keeps pace with her. ”You sure I don’t look stupid?”

“I’m positive. You should trust me, Billy. I’m like, really smart.” Chrissy insists, a playful giggle on the edge of her words.

Billy scoffs in response, but he doesn’t bother arguing. She is smart. Smarter than the rest of them combined, most likely.

When they approach the pool, Steve and Eddie are so preoccupied with staying underwater they don’t even notice Chrissy and him. Which suits Billy just fine; he doesn’t want to draw any more attention to his painted face than it was already inevitably going to get. They just slip into the shallow end and wait for the other two to come up for air. Or drown.

It’s Eddie that breaks the surface first in a flurry of splashing and gasping breaths. He’d probably catch his breath faster if he stopped cursing for a second, but Eddie’s got one of those mouths that never fucking stops.

Steve is the second to rise out of the water. While Eddie looks like a drowned fucking rat, Steve looks like he’s materialized out of a copy of Sports Illustrated as usual. His hair’s slicked back, but he gives it a good shake and briefly runs his fingers through the strands, somehow making it look just as good as always. God’s fucking favourite, that one.

Billy’s gotta look away because sometimes it’s even too much for him to take in.

“You cheated.” Eddie accuses Steve.

“Yeah, I cheated by not smoking a pack a day for the past four years like you have.” Steve snorts as he backstrokes to the shallow end, followed by Eddie’s doggy paddle.

“So he admits to cheating. I want that on record.” Eddie calls over to Chrissy and Billy, who’ve propped themselves up on the stone steps leading into the pool, patiently (or, impatiently if Billy’s being honest) waiting.

Steve flips around when his feet can touch, and immediately locks eyes on Billy. And then he just. Stares.

God, Billy really wishes he weren’t sober for this. That was sort of an oversight on his part. Hell, he hadn’t even grabbed a cigarette on his way over so he’s got nothing to do with his hands besides letting them hang by his side, his elbows propping him up behind him.

“Holy shit…” Steve mutters, coming towards him like he’s locked in some kind of weird tractor beam.

“Looking good, Hargrove.” Munson says as he crowds Chrissy, who doesn’t seem put off by the attention. In fact, she sort of lights up under it. So weird. “I almost couldn’t tell you two sexy blondes apart.” He winks.

Billy rolls his eyes, grimacing at the remark. He makes a mental note to give Munson a Charlie horse the next time he’s within arms reach. But when his eyes return to Steve’s, he’s… like, struck stupid or something.

“You kill off one too many of your brain cells under the water, pretty boy?” Billy quirks a brow, trying to give what he hopes is a sharp grin, even from behind his pink lips. “You and I both know you can’t afford to lose anym—“

Then Steve’s kissing him.

Actually kissing him.

In front of people.

…They’ve never done that before. Not ever. Not that they’d ever talked about it, but they didn’t need to. Because Steve and Billy didn’t do PDA. It just isn’t in the cards for them. And yet—

Steve seems to hear Billy’s internal struggle and pulls away, taking some of Billy’s bubblegum lip gloss with him, looking a little sheepish as he licks his lips. “Sorry. I couldn’t really control myself there for a second.”

“You’re hanging around with Eddie too much.” Chrissy laughs, and is rewarded by a playful bite to the cheek from Munson, as if to prove her point of his impulsivity.

“You just look so… good.” Steve admits, and Billy’s stomach doesn’t do an entire flip inside of him. It doesn’t. He’s fine. “You look beau—”

“Don’t.” Billy cuts in. He’s already exposed enough, he doesn’t need Steve to wax poetically about his fucking beauty in front of an audience. Even if it is just Chrissy and Eddie.

“But you do!” Steve insists, smiling, going all syrupy on him. Must still be feeling the effect of that joint from earlier.

”I swear to god, Harrington, I will drown you.” Billy gets his hands on Steve’s biceps and keeps him at bay. Steve pouts and whines.

Yep, definitely still high.

“Good luck, he can stay under for like four whole minutes.” Eddie mutters, still sulking about his defeat. Steve throws him a long suffering roll of his eyes.

“C’mon, let’s see if you can win back your dignity with a game of chicken.” Chrissy all but shoves Eddie off. He’s like a fucking leech. Though Steve isn’t too far off at the moment.

“You know I’ll never say no to having your legs wrapped around my head, sweetheart.” Eddie swoons and even Steve has the decency to balk at the audacity.

“Alright, you take shoulders.” Billy sighs as he pushes off the hard steps. He’s a way sturdier bottom than Steve could ever hope to be.

When Steve doesn’t answer, Billy claps his hands on either side of the column of Steve’s neck, hoping the hit’ll knock a little sense into Steve’s oxygen deprived brain. “Hey, you with me, amigo?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Steve finally sputters out, still unable to break eye contact, “Always, baby.”

Billy ignores the way it makes every inch of him feel warm, and fucking. Cherished. God damn. Harrington really is going to be the death of him.

By the time their game of water chicken has wrapped, Billy’s been thoroughly soaked so there’s not much makeup left on his face, save for a slight pink residue on the lines of his lips. It’s for the best, he thinks. It didn’t look right on him anyway…

But when Chrissy’s hugging him goodbye, she not-so-subtly slips Dollface into his pocket and pulls away with a cheeky, knowing sort of grin. He almost cracks a smile before Eddie is glomming onto him, insisting he also is in dire need of a goodbye hug.

Billy shoves him off before he gets too comfortable, and Eddie folds with a manic, downright deranged laugh that somehow, against all odds, seems to be growing on Billy. Will wonders never fucking cease?

Later that night, before going to sleep next to Steve, he puts the tube of lipstick into the top drawer in Steve’s bathroom. Knows it’ll be safe there, like every other god forsaken thing Billy’s given him—including his busted up, worn down, hardened heart—Steve always keeps whatever Billy gives him safe.

[chrissycvnningham]

pick your pocket, full of sorrow

and run away with me tomorrow

june

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

The drive's short one. 

Steve gets out of his car, opening the passenger door for Chrissy and escorting her up to the house, quietly envisioning what Jason would look like if a real monster got him.

What would he say, staring down the crazy, five-starred head, filled with teeth and drool? Would he turn back? Or run?

(Steve swears he doesn't take great pleasure in imagining Carver getting eaten, but he'll admit to taking a little.)  

"Chrissy do you have any idea--oh." Mrs. Cunningham startles, grasping her robe at the front as she spots Steve standing next to her daughter.  

"Hi Miss Cunningham." He says.

"Hello." She says suspiciously. "And who are you?"

"I'm Steve Harrington, ma'am." He watches as her mother straightens immediately at his name, and sinks right into the ol' Harrington charm, knowing instantly it will work. "I know you were expecting Jason, but I'm afraid he wasn't able to drive Chrissy home." 

"Oh, Steve! It's so late I almost didn't recognize you." She titters, suspicion gone. "Your mother and I are on the same charity board." 

Of course they were.

"I thought you were dating that nice Nancy girl." She says with a squint that mimics Chrissy's, because even in the midst of a crisis he can't escape the gossip that is Hawkins upper echelon. 

"Nance is waiting in the car." Steve lies smoothly. "I just wanted to make sure Chrissy got home safe." 

"What happened?" Chrissy's father appears, ushering them both in while blatantly peering around them, eyes sweeping the street before closing the door.

Steve recognizes the move. He's checking for nosy neighbors. 

"Jason and I broke up." Chrissy admits.

"What?" 

"We..." She falters in front of her parents. 

"What happened to Jason?" Her father asks, tuning back in once they're safely away from peering eyes.

"I'm afraid Jason and some of his friends brought beer to the party." Steve steps in to explain.  

"Oh Chrissy, it's a high school party. That's no reason to break up with him." Her mother fusses, face flushing in embarrassment. Her eyes dart from her daughter to Steve and back, and Steve knows he needs to start damage control. 

If he plays it right he can burn Jason while he's at it. 

"He was horrible, mom. Just awful." Chrissy says, but Steve can tell she's shrinking under her mothers gaze. 

"He drank quite a lot, Miss Cunningham." With a theatrical wince, Steve turns to face Chrissy's dad, lowers his voice and says "I'm going to have to talk to Coach about it." 

He gets the intended response, which is a raised eyebrow. "That bad, huh?" 

Steve nods once, painting a pained smile on his face. "He made a real fool of himself tonight, Sir. The basketball team has a reputation to uphold." 

"Oh." Mrs. Cunningham says, hand fluttering in front of her face. "I never would have thought…"

"He's normally a good guy. I don't know what got into him." Steve has them both eating out of the palm of his hand, attention neatly off Chrissy and onto the story he's feeding them. 

Its worth it to see her shoulders relax. 

"I couldn't let him take Chrissy home in the state he was in Sir, and he got very…" 

Steve pauses. 

Fills his voice with tempered disappointment, channeling his dad. "Belligerent. Said some nasty things."  

"Really?" Mr. Cunningham says, with a low whistle, and Steve knows by his tone alone that he's bought in.

Hook, line, sinker.

Steve nods once. "I have to get back to my girlfriend, but Chrissy'" He turns earnestly here, to let her know he's not faking this next bit. "Let me know if Jason bothers you at school. I'll set him straight again if I have to." 

"Thank you Steve." Mr. Cunningham says, as Chrissy's mom hustles her daughter towards the kitchen. 

Steve shakes his hand, then waves at Crissy as she calls her own thank you over her shoulder, before disappearing out the door and back to his car.

The same one where Nancy very much isn't. 

That's a problem for tomorrow Steve.

xXx

Tomorrow Steve gets into an argument with Nancy. 

She can't recall that Jonathan took her home, or that he's bullshit, their whole relationship, bullshit--

But she also can't tell him she loves him.

So Steve snaps at her. Storms off.

 Play’s more basketball.

It takes less than two hours for him to get mopey and another three for him to spiral into deciding he was wrong somehow.

That's what his mom said all the time anyway, wasn't it? The man's always wrong Steven, and he's the man here so…

He gets flowers, chocolates, and fucking waylaid (by Dustin Henderson with his Grow a Monster) and things go sideways from there.

 Train tracks and a junkyard and demodogs make time speed up. An encounter with Billy and a dinner plate causes Steve's recollection of the evening to be fuzzy. 

He just knows that in the middle of dodging death, he has the realization that Nance wants to break up with him.

That he should let her. 

Even if it hurts, even if he doesn't want to. 

She wants to be let go.

So Steve does. He respects her, and when he has a moment after its all over, he tells her to go with Jonathan.

(At least he permanently gets the squirts out if this. Or at least everyone but Mike.

Even if most of them are shitheads and one of them's Hargrove's step sister.

It's--something.

But when Dustin keeps pestering him, demanding Steve drive him all over Hawkins and then drags him to the movies, well.

It might be the best something Steve's had in his life so far. )

xXx

"Oh shit. Is that from Caver?" Eddie asks, popping up near Steve's car like the clown in a jack in the box. 

"Carver can't hit for shit. This was Hargrove." Steve replies, attempting an eyeroll before remembering that his entire face is a bruise. 

One, giant, never ending bruise. 

"I guess his step sister gave him the slip to come hang out with these kids I watch sometimes. I didn't know she wasn't supposed to be there." Steve shrugs, because it's the technical truth. 

If you turn it sideways and squint anyway. 

"Asshole tried to threaten the kid Max is into by slamming him into a wall and screaming shit, so I stepped in, and--" He waves at his face. 

The same one he's already getting looks for. 

"I was winning." Steve sighs theatrically. "He broke a plate over my head."

The story seemed to freeze Eddie but he recovers with a quick shake of his head. 

"You poor thing." He tuts. "Let me guess--you were more worried about the hair than the wound?" 

Eddie's hands flutter like he's going to touch Steve's head but he seems to contain himself at the last minute.

The hospital threatened to buzz it for stitches." Steve says darkly, playing into the bit. 

(He had not gone to a hospital. 

None of them had.)  

"What would our King be without his crown of hair?" Eddie laments, in a falsetto that was half insult half oddly sincere. It was jarring in that it was hard to get a read on, but the more Steve was around the guy the less it seemed malicious and the more it came off  as just….goofy.

Eddie Munson, Steve decided, was not a freak.

 He was a dorky little weirdo, just like all the other kids Steve now hung out with. 

Just older, and with slightly better hair. 

"Hey Eddie." Another boy calls out, approaching cautiously. 

He's got a leather jacket on, and if Steve thinks hard enough he can sort of conjure up a memory of the guy at Eddie's lunch table, throwing a piece of bread at a pale sophomore decked out in plaid. "You good man?" 

"Yeah Jeff, just checkin' in on the Hair here." Eddie sticks a thumb towards Steve, who raises his hand and waves. 

The falsetto comes back, somehow higher as the older boy swoons over Steves arm. "Soothing his poor soul after that brute Hargrove almost killed him." 

"Has anyone ever told you you're a lot like Bugs Bunny?" Steve asks, the thought leaving his mouth the instant he had it.

(He doesn't care, it's a legitimate question.) 

It has the effect of making Munson look downright chuffed. "I have actually, but only by my Uncle." 

"Why are you checking in?" Jeff interrupts, before seeming to realize he said it out loud. " Ah, I mean--"

"Oh he didn't tell you?" Steve says, as casually as he can muster. "Eddie claimed me and Chrissy at a party last weekend." 

See Munson? Two people could play the weird bit game. 

They've attracted more of Eddie's friends now, two more boys in leather jackets edging closer like frightened deer. 

(One of which is the aforementioned younger man Jeff threw bread at, and Steve vaguely thinks the guy's name starts with a g.) 

"Apparently we're his minions now." Steve tells Jeff in a rather put upon manner. 

"It was just you, the fair maiden chose otherwise." Eddie counters dismissively, voice dropping down low. 

Steve snorts. Hums a sarcastic; "Like you'd let us choose." 

Eddie finally abandons whatever voice that was supposed to be (a villain, Steve thinks, and wonders if it hurts Eddies throat to drop from a false high to a deep low that quickly.)  to say:

 "Mock me all you like, Harrington, but you can't deny the bit worked." 

Steve automatically went for another eye roll, and gets a flash of pain for it. "Who said I was mocking you, you dork? Just stating facts." 

Yet again, Eddie reacts weird to the comment. He looks almost bashful for a second, before he recovers, tugging his hair in front of his face as he plays with it.

The bell rings once in warning, and Steve makes a face towards the doors. 

"I gotta go, Mrs Clicks out to fail me. See you around, Eddie. Jeff." The way his eyes are bruised up he can't quite make out the face Jeff makes at that, but Steve's pretty sure the guys mouth was open. 

"She's a nasty one, my minion, best stay on your toes around her." Eddie calls, and Steve waves a hand in the air to show he heard. 

"What just happened?" Jeff asks, far too loudly for how close Steve still is. 

It makes him chuckle a bit, even as one of the other guys says something in a far quieter voice that has Munson squawking and flapping his arms like a bird. 

The winding little feelings in his chest squeeze his heart, and Steve shakes his head, refusing to be fond of Eddie Munson. 

xXx

College rejection letters come in, one after the another.

Steve could have made it into a few schools he's certain, except he hadn't really applied to any.

Not that any college other than Penn Hurst mattered. His dad wanted him to be a legacy, come hell or high water.

Steve's punishment was hand picked by his parents, and he gets the sailor outfit his new minimum wage job requires is supposed to be a part of it--that his dad made him apply because it was the most embarrassing thing he could think to subject Steve too-- but honestly? 

It's not that bad. 

Not even with Robin, the manager he met yesterday, and who positively, completely and totally, hates Steve’s guts.  

He figures he has time to win her over. 

All the time in the world, now that demons aren't trying to eat his, or any of the kid's, faces. He can focus on the small things. Build himself back up.

Figure out the person he wants to be, now that he's no longer King Steve. 

It’s the thought that kept him from attending any graduation parties. To go felt like backsliding into old habits. 

‘If the kids--if it comes back again--’ 

Getting drunk at night in a random house seemed almost irresponsible.

Particularly not with people Steve has history with, without anyone he really cares about being present. Certainly not Nance and Jonathan, who he wishes he didn’t know are at some end-of-year game night one of Nancy’s friends is hosting. 

(Steve can’t think about that for a number of reasons. 

When he does--because of course he does-- he makes sure to focus on the weirdness that is Jonathan Byers being someone he cares about, instead of the fact he can’t seem to kill his love for Nancy. 

Or that he's horrifically jealous of their relationship. 

That the best sleep he had ever had was between them, two nights after the lab, when they crammed themselves into Jonathan's bed because they all couldn't quite believe it was over.

That night had been so incredibly weird, but grouping together felt safer. Smarter.

Better.

Not in a way Steve wants to put into words. 

Not in a way he wants to confront at all.) 

His parents hadn’t been able to make it home to watch him walk at his graduation--his father landing a last minute meeting with some important person or other. 

Faked apologies were given, money transferred, and Steve, not wanting to sit in his too-huge house, had meandered to Family Video. 

Tried to forget his father’s cold voice in the background of his mother’s call, loudly announcing he’d have made it a priority to see Steve graduate-- if he’d gotten into Penn Hurst. 

Steve just shakes his head. Pushes those thoughts into the back of his head, into the same place all his other weird thoughts live.

The glare he gets from the tall, pimple-ridden guy working the rental counter was expected.

Chrissy Cunningham, was not. 

"I thought you’d be at one of the parties.” He tells her, when he turns down the romance aisle and finds her staring blankly at a shelf. 

She startles, before recognition flits over her face and a warm smile is directed his way. 

“I'm honestly not a fan of parties." She confides in him, hand clutching a tape in her hands."Not those kinds, anyway.” 

"More slumber parties, less keg stands your speed?" Steve guessed, blatantly turning his head sideways in order to read the title.

She awards him with a wider smile. "Exactly." 

"Chrissy Cunningham. Are you renting Jaws?" He teases, leaning in just a touch.

She flushes, but turns and squares up to him. Steve's delighted to see it. 

"Why yes I am. I'll do you one better and even admit it's one of my favorite movies." 

Steve grins at her, and sees the way she lights up on response, eyes bright. 

This is the Chrissy that Carver had tried to kill. The strength and pure fun that radiates off her enhances the beauty she has to something almost otherworldly. 

Steve has seen enough beauty in his life to recognize when it will stay. That Chrissy wil one day be 80 years old, with gray hair and knit sweaters, and she'll still be able to light up a room. 

"Like sharks killing people that much huh?” He teases. And it’s easy, slipping into this part of himself around her. The part he’s been trying to get back. 

The confidence that he walked with, before monsters crawled out of the ground, and Nancy put a hole in his heart.

"I'll let you in on a secret. ." Chrissy leans in, dropping her voice low enough that Steve has to lean in a bit too to hear. "My favorite character is the shark." 

Steve playfully gapes at her, and for the first  time in a long time, feels like things will be okay. 

He’ll be okay.

He won’t be King Steve. He’s not Nancy's Boyfriend Steve either--but someone else. Himself.

A Steve who exists outside of Hawkins High, outside his family name. 

He likes it.

"I told you that was his car. Steve!" A too familiar voice calls and Steve can't mask the despair that hits him as he turns to his (now least) favorite shithead, whose storming through Family Video’s doors. 

"Dustin." He identifies, with an edge to his voice he can only pray Chrissy doesn't pick up on. "Other brats. What are you doing?" 

Mike stands stubbornly at Dustin's right, Lucas nervous at his left. 

Will Byers is situated next to Mike but Steve's not as familiar with him, and has no idea how to interpret the kid. 

If he had to guess based on the face he’s being sent, Will’s more nervous then the rest--but equally determined. 

(This does not make Steve feel better. It in fact, somewhat convinces them they’ve run headfirst back into trouble.) 

"Well we were going to go to Lucas’s, but now, we're bumming a ride from you!" 

"I'm busy." He says flatly. 

"Ste~eeeve!" 

"I didn't know you had a brother." Chrissy says, hand covering her mouth. 

Looking back at her, Steve's pretty sure she's trying to physically hold back laughter. 

If one could shoot lasers with their eyes, Steve would be nailing Dustin for ruining--whatever it was that was happening here. 

"He's a rescue" Steve says flatly. "It’s not working out though. We're planning on returning him to the shelter.” 

"Wow Steve." Dustin returns, offended. "First of all, if anyone's rescuing anyone I rescued you, or did you suddenly forget that you show up to family dinner every Thursday at my house like a sad orpha--mmpphh!" 

‘Mmpphh’ because Steve had taken several long strides across the store to smack his hand over Dustin's mouth. 

"Sorry Chrissy, it would appear the asshole children I am paid to babysit escaped whoever is supposed to be watching them." He shakes Dustins head, in lue of strangling him. “Hit me up later we’ll discuss the shark’s best kills.” 

“Will do.” Chrissy says, as Steve begins the process of shoving his four smaller friends out the door. “Drive safe!” 

“No you don’t, and you’re gonna prove it by swinging through McDonalds for us.” Dustin sing-songs, swinging himself into the passenger side of the Beemer. 

“You assholes owe me, big time.” Steve hisses, as Lucas and Mike instantly begin making kissy faces the second they’re out into the parking lot. "I had plans tonight!"

“Do you have McDonalds money?” Steve asks, only to immediately wince at himself because fuck did he just sound like a soccer mom. 

“I have money I took out of my mom’s wallet.” Mike says as he settles into the car with his friends.

“Fine.” Steve sighs in defeat, starting the car. 

He determinedly does not ask if the idiots walked here, because there is a suspicious lack of bicycles, if only because he hit his mom quota for the day and Steve refuses to say anything else that might edge out his cool persona.

The one he swears he still has.

Supposedly. 

("Does my mom really pay you to watch me?" Dustin asks a while later, when the other brats are distracted. His voice is painfully honest, and softer than it normally is. 

"In food, yes." Steve says, because he’s not that much of an asshole--and maybe, because Dustin is truly his only friend right now.

Steve honestly looks forward to those Thursday dinners, helping Ma Henderson and having her fuss over him in a way his parents never had. 

In a way no one ever had. 

Dustin lands a solid kick to his ankle, making Steve curse. "That's not payment you ass!"

"Ow, God Dustin--" 

"Just admit you're my actual friend, you dick!" 

"Language! I swear your mom stole you from wolves, you animal--" Steve swatted at him. 

Maybe, possibly later, he will go on to admit that yes, Dustin is his friend. 

He will even agree to making up a stupid handshake for it. 

It involves lightsabers and gore at least, which Steve insists is very cool.)

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Eddie was sitting at the picnic table at Forest Hills, staring at a stain in the wood as he tried to make a decision. It required proper, serious thinking, he knew, but no matter how hard he thought about it or how serious, he couldn't seem to make a decision.

"Ha-ha!" Eddie said and pulled out a coin. "This always works."

He closed his eyes, holding the coin tightly in his hand as he thought about his choices. Steve or Chrissy. Chrissy or Steve. Steve or Chrissy. Heads for Steve because of his hair and tails for Chrissy because of her ponytail. Eddie opened his eyes and let out a breath. He flipped the coin and watched it sail through the air before falling onto the table.

"WHAT - HOW?!"

The coin was standing up on its edge, neither on heads or tails. Eddie stared at it in amazement for a moment before picking it up again. He closed his eyes, let out a breath, and opened his eyes. Steve or Chrissy. Heads or Tails. He flipped the coin. It landed on the edge again.

"What the FUCK is happening?!"

Eddie sighed in annoyance. He stood up, pacing back and forth. He grabbed the coin. Surely, it couldn't happen a third time. He flipped the coin, and it landed on the table. . .ON THE FUCKING EDGE AGAIN!

"Oh, come ON!"

Eddie slapped his face, trying to wake himself up. This can't be happening. No, there were definitely forces at work here. Maybe this place was haunted by what happened with Chrissy here and the fact that she almost died. Okay, one more time. Eddie huffed and flipped the coin.

"JESUS H CHRIST!"

"At what point does this stop being funny?" Max grinned.

"Never," Erica replied. "It never stops being funny."

El giggled, wiping her bloody nose. The three girls were staring out the window in Max's trailer, watching Eddie getting frustrated.

"This is what he gets for eating the last cookie that Uncle Wayne made," Max said, laughing. "That was supposed to be for me and he fucking knew it."

"What decision do you think he's making?" Erica said.

"I have no fucking clue."

Meanwhile. . .Eddie slammed the coin on the table. Fuck it. The universe was telling him it was okay to choose both so both it fucking is. He smoothed down his vest and ran his fingers through his hair. He scurried over to Wayne's garden and grabbed some flowers. He fisted them both in his hands and ran off towards the van.

"Boy!" Wayne yelled as he popped his head out of the trailer, and Eddie skidded to a stop, turning around.

"Hey, can I borrow these?" Eddie asked.

"Well, you already pulled them out of the ground, so, yeah," Wayne said.

"Hey, by the way, purely hypothetical question. . .how do you ask two people out at the same time?" Eddie asked.

"Well, I suppose it's not much different than asking one person out," he said. "Just gotta be honest and direct. Steve and Chrissy?"

Eddie scoffed and stuttered incoherently before sighing.

"Yeah."

"Good luck."

"Thanks!"

He silently thanked the mysterious force that led him to the decision and drove off.

[cyraclove]

posting my wips that I’ll probably never get around to writing to free myself of them part 1

untitled high school musical (not the movie) au

“I got it! I got it!”

Eddie turns his head to see Dustin bounding into the black box, a delirious smile on his face. He skids to a stop right in front of the table, chest heaving as he rests his hands on his knees.

“I got it,” he wheezes. “I got…I got it.”

Crossing toward Dustin, Eddie grins as he crouches down to look up at him.

“Breathe, dickhead. You got what? The clap? Heard that’s making the rounds.”

Dustin snorts, coughing out a laugh.

“No, asshole,” he says. “I got the part. I’m Seymour.”

Eddie stands to hook an arm around Dustin’s neck, tugging him into his side as he pulls the brim of his cap over his eyes. Dustin cackles wildly.

“Fuck yeah, you are,” Eddie beams, holding Dustin in a headlock while he tries to wriggle free. “That’s fucking amazing, man.”

Dustin’s hat falls to the floor as he manages to slip out of Eddie’s grip. He shoots him another toothy smile before pulling him into a hug.

“Congrats, kid,” Eddie says as he claps him on the back. “And you thought you bombed that audition.”

“Shit, I really did,” Dustin says, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t believe it. Freshmen never get cast in lead roles.”

A familiar voice comes from the other side of the room.

“They do if they’re right for the part.”

Ms. Shapiro stands in the doorway leading into her office, leaning against the doorframe. A willowy woman fond of flowy scarves and big banana clips, she’s hard to miss.

She peers at Eddie through her green-rimmed glasses as he stares down at his feet, silently hoping that she hasn’t graded his tech theatre exam yet.

The look that she’s giving him tells him that she probably has.

“Thank you so much, Ms. Shapiro,” Dustin grins. “This is, like, a dream role for me. Oh, man. I just…you have no idea.”

“Don’t thank me,” Ms. Shapiro replies with a soft smile. “You gave a great audition. We’re lucky to have you.”

Dustin grins even wider, still flushed and starry-eyed.

There’s a warm tug inside of Eddie’s chest. Precious little bastard. He’s not sure he’s ever seen him this happy, not even after winning a campaign.

“You can come by and pick up your script and libretto whenever you want,” Ms. Shapiro tells Dustin. “First rehearsal is Monday right after last period.”

Nodding, Dustin hoists his backpack onto his shoulder.

“I gotta go call Steve,” he says, turning to Eddie, “but then I’ll be right back to play.”

“Hey, no rush,” Eddie assures him with a lazy wave. “I’m still settin’ up. Go bask in it, Streisand.”

Eddie crosses his arms as he leans against the table, chuckling to himself as Dustin all but sprints out into the hallway.

He and Ms. Shapiro exchange glances.

Expecting her to disappear back into her office, Eddie goes back to busying himself with getting ready for that afternoon’s game. He dares a peek in her direction out of the corner of his eyes.

She’s still there. Just staring at him.

“Sorry for the, uh, noise,” Eddie says with a sheepish chuckle. “Kid just got excited. Dreams coming true and all that.”

Ms. Shapiro hums in agreement but stays right where she is.

“You won’t hear another peep out of me,” Eddie continues, pulling an invisible zipper across his lips. “I mean, uh, until everyone else gets here.”

“I was hoping to have a word with you, actually,” Ms. Shapiro says. “Got a minute?”

Panic crawls down the nape of Eddie’s neck.

“Uh, sure,” he answers, nothing in his head but Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck. “What’s up?”

Ms. Shapiro walks briefly back into her office to take something off of her desk before making her way over to Eddie. She pulls out a chair and takes a seat, placing a crumpled sheet of paper on the table in front of her.

“I have your last exam right here,” she says calmly, sliding it towards him. “I have to say I’m surprised that you even showed up to take it, considering that I’ve marked you absent for almost every class this year.”

Eddie’s heart drops into his stomach as he looks down at the exam, a big, fat 27 glaring up at him in red pen. He huffs a laugh, running a hand across the back of his neck.

“I really tanked that one, huh?”

Ms. Shapiro cuts her eyes in his direction.

“Yes. You did.”

She sighs, sitting back against her chair.

“Look, I know that my class is the last period of your day. You’re a senior. And it’s a class that you don’t really care about.”

Guilt sticks in Eddie’s gut like a knife.

“I never said that I don’t—“

“But unless you’d like to be a senior again,” Ms. Shapiro interrupts pointedly, “you have to pass.”

He’d been busting his ass cramming for O’Donnell’s exam that he completely forgot about Shapiro’s. Eddie had walked into her class that day without so much as a pencil.

Eddie’s shoulders slump as he flops into the chair across from her, his face buried into his hands.

“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles. “Fuck.”

Ms. Shapiro clears her throat.

“Sorry. Shit.”

“Listen, Eddie. I like you. You’re a bright kid and I don’t want to see you stuck here another year,” Ms. Shapiro starts. “But we just don’t have a lot of time left in the school year, so you don’t have very many opportunities left to make this up.”

She absentmindedly toys with one of the figurines on the table. Eddie clenches his jaw as he resists the urge to snatch it from her hand.

“That’s why I have another option for you,” Ms. Shapiro starts. “Something you can do to fix your grade.”

Eddie studies her closely, eyes narrowing. “Like…extra credit?”

“Sure.”

“What exactly are we taking about, here?”

“I only had three men show up to audition for Little Shop of Horrors,” she explains. “Three. The only one worth listening to was Dustin.”

Ms. Shapiro pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose before tenting her fingers in front of her.

“I had no choice but to cast the other two, but there are four male roles. I’m short one.”

They stare at each other. Eddie’s stomach drops.

“No. No. Nope, not me,” Eddie says, shaking his head. “You’ve got the wrong guy. There’s no way in hell I’m doing a musical. I don’t sing.”

“You’re in a band, right?”

“I play guitar!”

“Oh. Well, it’s really just talk-singing, anyway.”

“I don’t act!”

“Give me a break,” Ms. Shapiro laughs. “I hear you in here, Eddie.”

“This is dif—“

“This,” Ms. Shapiro cuts in, sweeping her hand over the table, “is acting. And you’re good at it.”

Eddie rakes an anxious hand through his hair.

“Ms. Shapiro, I will do anything,” Eddie pleads, “anything else. You don’t…you don’t want me in your show. Trust me. I’ll f—muck it up.”

“I doubt that.”

Groaning, Eddie runs a hand over his face.

“Please. Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not,” Ms. Shapiro clarifies. “I’m simply giving you an option. It’s this—a guaranteed A in my class—or a failing grade.”

“Are you even allowed to do this? Is this illegal? It feels a little illegal.”

“Like you said, it’s just like extra credit. A lot of extra credit. I’m perfectly within my right to give my students opportunities to improve their grades.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Eddie squeezes his eyes shut. The last thing he wants is to rot in this pit-stained cesspool for another year because of his grade in an elective.

A fucking musical, though. A singing, dancing, jazz hands-ing onstage spectacle. What better way to draw the unwanted attention of a bunch of brain dead meatheads than to step into a literal spotlight and make an idiot out of himself?

“Ms. Shapiro—“

“Hang on a second,” she says, cutting Eddie off as she goes to stand.

Eddie watches as she rummages around on her desk for something before walking back over to the table. She holds out another sheet of paper, thankfully not a second failed exam.

“What’s this?”

“I thought you might like to look at the cast list before you make your decision,” Ms. Shapiro answers, an unsettlingly pleased smile on her face.

Cocking a brow, Eddie takes it from her.

“I don’t know who else I’d know besides Henderson, but o—“

Eddie chokes on a breath as he stares down at the list, an all too familiar name typed out right beneath Dustin’s. His pulse pounds at his temples, the paper shaking a bit in his hands as he reads it over and over again.

Chrissy Cunningham.

Looking up at Ms. Shapiro, Eddie opens his mouth but no words come out, his tongue like a wet piece of cardboard. He swallows hard.

“I was surprised to see her at auditions,” Ms. Shapiro says as she takes the cast list back from Eddie. “I knew she’d be perfect for Audrey the second she walked in, though.”

Eddie’s blood rushes in his ears, his brain a useless pile of goo. He suddenly finds himself looking down at a thick libretto with the name Orin Scrivello scribbled across the top in black sharpie.

“Totally up to you,” Ms. Shapiro chirps, offering him the book.

After a beat, he takes it from her. It’s like being handed a hammer so that he can pound the final nail into his own coffin.

God, he’s so fucked.

“When’d did you say the first rehearsal is?”

[ymaohoh]

top hellcheer AU's

part 2

[steddie-island]

Wiggly worm Wednesday🪱🖋️

I was tagged by @just-my-latest-hyperfixation and @whimsicalwadewinstonwilson

There are brain worms today but they're pretty angsty ones-- with a happy ending, because I can't let something just be angsty!

CW for recreational drug use, talk about addiction, mention of canon character death, PTSD

This is another long one, these get away from me somehow.

No pressure tagging @runninriot @stervrucht @rozzieroos and anyone else who wants to do this. 😌

I keep listening to My Fault by Shaboozey and seeing Eddie, rolling in the fame and glory he fought so hard for. He wonders why that doesn't fix him, wonders why he still has dreams about Chrissy Cunningham dying in front of him, why he still wakes up in a cold sweat with a mob hot on his heels.

Even having the love of his fucking life there doesn't make it all better, doesn't make it go away. Besides, Steve has his own shit, his own nightmares, his own trauma he's still trying to work through. Eddie refuses to be a burden.

So he turns to booze, and to drugs. He parties harder and harder, until he passes out hard enough that he doesn't dream (at least, he doesn't remember dreaming).

Steve knows something's changed. He's not an idiot, he's lived with Eddie for a few years now. He's seen enough rock stars on a downward trajectory, has had a few who crashed on their couch. Eddie's going down and he's going down hard, and Steve is fucking terrified.

He talks to Eddie, who insists he doesn't have a problem, he's fine, Steve's just being a worrier the way he always is. Eddie finally promises to slow down when Steve breaks down in front of him and literally begs.

And it's a promise Eddie means to keep, only slowing down means the dreams come back harder, stronger. So he doesn't slow down for long.

Steve tries to stick around and help him, but he can't handle seeing the way Eddie starts to look like a hollow shell of himself. He's still a livewire on-stage, but there's something more manic to it. The rest of the band notices it, too. Eddie tells them all to get off his dick when they try to have the same talk that Steve had with him.

Finally there's a breaking point. They're at an aftershow party. Someone flirts with Steve (something they're both used to because, fucking duh, Steve's hot). Only this time Eddie snaps, and he ends up breaking this poor asshole's nose, getting his own ass kicked a little, and he leaves in cuffs.

Steve leaves that night. Calls up Robin, who knows how worried he's been, and she and Vicki come help him pack his bags and come back to their little apartment to stay for a while.

Eddie's mugshot is all over the tabloids, followed by news of Corroded Coffin cutting their tour short, taking a break.

Then Eddie disappears from the public. It was one thing for the band to be as pissed as they were, but coming home to an empty apartment (not empty empty, but empty of the only thing he really gave a damn about besides Warlock) almost did him in.

So Eddie, for the first time since he left Hawkins, goes home to his uncle Wayne. Wayne helps him detox. And it's fucking hard. Eddie wants to give up, almost does a few times. Wayne catches him leaned over the bathroom counter and doesn't stop him, just says he hopes the hit is worth losing Steve forever.

Eddie hates him for a few days, but when the worst of it is finally over and Wayne brings him hot chocolate in a chipped Garfield mug, he instantly melts.

That isn't the end of it, though. There are meetings to go to. Apologies have to be made, and not just to the band and Steve. Eddie makes his way down the list, saving the most important person for last.

Finally he does show up at Steve's (Robin's) door, though. He thought about showing up with flowers and candy and the notebook full of songs he's written to try to show Steve just how sorry he is. He doesn't do any of that, he just apologizes. Asks Steve out for coffee.

They get to sit and talk, and it's like old times again. Steve's still cautious, but he has the man he fell in love with in front of him again. When Eddie drops him off at Robin's again it's with a kiss so gentle, so tender, it nearly makes Steve cry.

He moves back in a week later.

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