#hanahaki!eddie munson

[munsonburn3r]

Oh, Camellia, won't you take me away? - A Hanahaki!Eddie Munson story (sneak peek!)

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson had been a constant during your short time in hawkins, indiana, which made it that much harder when you had to leave. four years and a clinical trial later, you'd thought you'd conquered an otherwise fatal disease. what you weren't expecting, though, was the man that nearly killed you to walk back into your life, threatening to undo all of the progress you'd made towards healing - both physically and emotionally.

cw: hanahaki!au, angst, descriptions of light gore, childhood trauma, sexual themes and content

a/n: here is a snippet from the hanahaki eddie fic that has been bouncing around in my brain over the past week. feedback welcomed!

Water flowed out across the floor in a surge that mimicked crashing ocean waves. You cursed as you scrambled to right the plastic Procona and liquid sloshed awkwardly, lapping at your fingertips. It was a surprising amount from a relatively small bucket. 

“Everything alright out there?” called a gruff voice from the back office. 

You sighed. “Just fine, Bill! Minor spill. Nothing major.”

A muffled grumble could be heard from the owner’s space behind you, but you paid it no mind. It only took a few steps for you to grab the mop and start cleaning up the water all over the workspace floor, and to your relief, it really wasn’t as much as it seemed. 

The nearly four years you’d spent at Indiana Floral Company had seemed to fly by in a blink of an eye. You weren’t expecting an on the spot interview when you’d first stopped into the shop, but the owner Bill had been impressed at your willingness to learn and your natural eye for design and hired you immediately. Probationary, of course. 

So under Bill’s tutelage, your floral design skills blossomed. The basic knowledge of plants you’d brought from years of spending time gardening with your Grandma grew. You went from simply identifying lilies to knowing the difference between Asiatic and Oriental and their best growing seasons. You could identify roses based on subtle color differences and had learned how to take the most tightly closed bud and blow it open with a little humidity, a plastic bag, and very careful preening. And though you didn’t like to brag, you could match corsage ribbon to prom dresses better than anyone in town. 

As time wore on, Bill had shared that years of design had wrecked his body and that it was time to begin passing the torch. Since Indiana Floral Company was one of the top floral design studios in town, the responsibility embedded in passing said torch was sobering. But after a year and a half of earning your stripes, you landed a head designer role and began training to take over the small family business.

Humming a nondescript tune, you refilled the earlier bucket with water and flower food before chopping the ends off of a bunch of de-thorned roses with the guillotine-like stem cutter. A clunk thrummed out when you dropped the two dozen stems into the water. Each blossom peered at you with a center like a curled eye — delicate sandy cream — perfect for the event you were designing later this weekend. 

A ring of the bells on the front door broke your focus. You wiped your hands on the rag shoved haphazardly into your apron and turned at the sudden sound of Bill’s voice. 

“The 1:30 initial wedding consult must be early. You mind taking this one, kid?” His head peeked around the office door. “I started the file – it’s on the cash wrap.” He looked tired; the man should have retired two years ago. 

With a slight smile, you nodded. “Got it.”

It was impossible to see who had entered due to the amount of plants, gift items, and displays you’d designed around the small space (“customers shop with their eyes first, kid; you gotta draw them in before you let them see the price tag” Bill had said). But as soon as you rounded the front display, your stomach dropped clear out of your body and onto the floor. 

Maybe it was the habitual need to weave around the labyrinth of flora and gifts that had lowered your defenses. Or perhaps it was the fact that this was a typical boring Wednesday afternoon in April. Hell, it could have been the questionable sandwich you had for lunch that you found at the back of the minifridge. 

But one thing was clear: you hadn’t expected to see Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham hand in hand looking around at the array of merchandise you’d set out in preparation for Mother’s Day. 

“Hi!” A saccharine voice matched the sickeningly sweet smile on the strawberry blonde in front of you. “We’re here for a wedding consultation at 1:30. Sorry we’re a bit early — we didn’t want to be late!”

Time stood still. Or maybe that was just you — frozen as you stared the couple down with a look of surprise plastered across your features. You didn’t think you could move (or even speak, for that matter).

However, for the first time in almost four years, you felt your chest tighten and a sharp prickling sensation snake up your windpipe. You licked your dry lips (hadn’t you just put on chapstick?) and attempted to swallow with no success. Instead, your throat constricted, and there it was: an involuntary, yet ever so familiar metallic cough.

image credit: pinterest dividers: @saradika-graphics

tagging some moots that might be interested: @chickpeadumpsterfire @voyeurmunson @joshlmbrt @mediocredreams @littlexdeaths @anamelessfool

[disjointed-art]

The other print for inside the catch my breath bundle! Eddie finally got to play the song for Steve!

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A follow-up to my Hanahaki Platonic Stobin drabble

Platonic Stobin, Steddie, past Stancy || rating: T || wc: 2.7k || tags: dialogue heavy, VERY excessive use of italics, fluff and flirting and humor, no beta

~~~

His sides are ripped to shreds, insides only kept inside because of the torn, dirty scrap of sweater Nancy wrapped around him. Steve’s been downplaying it as much as possible, mostly to keep Munson calm, but Robin knows better.

What’s wrong with your back?

Steve sighs, trying to mute his thoughts into a scramble like they’ve practiced so well over the past nine months, but the scorching pain on his shoulder blades, feet, and arms makes it rather difficult.

Don’t you dare ignore me Steve Harrington.

She glares back at him from her spot next to Nancy. They’ve been walking for miles, every rock and crack in the ground digging into his feet with every step. Munson’s next him, going on about something like bats, or metal music. Steve’s not sure, he’s having a hell of a time focusing.

But the guy crowds into Steve’s space, dipping in and out of orbit like he can’t help being as close as possible. Eddie keeps looking at him. Steve’s never been great with eye contact, but can’t help it when Eddie starts saying things like “the kid worships you, dude” and “insists on the matter, in fact.”

Told you the kid loves you even though he has another older adult male friend.

Steve can practically hear her giggling, but she’s just balancing her out-loud conversation with their mind-reading conversation. She’s better at it than he is, talking to two people at once. Hell, sometimes Steve has a hard enough time keeping track of just one conversation.

Their new super powers had been a learning curve, to say the least. It’d taken them months to learn how to tune each other out when needed, which was more often than not. Working Family Video shed a new light on how absolutely down-bad horny Steve was for almost every mildly attractive woman who walked through the front door. Including Joyce Byers, to Robin’s horror.

Steve was cursed with Robin’s almost near-constant thoughts about her newest crush, Vickie. He’s never met her before, doesn’t remember her from school, but could describe what she looks like down to the small, rust colored freckle on the corner of her left eye, just below the lash line. 

But even with the extensive learning curve, they discovered some severe consequences of their powers almost immediately. 

The first day Robin came over, bloodied and crying, with him no better off, Steve was so shaky he’d dropped a mug, slicing his hand as he scooped up the pieces. She rushed over, said she heard his pain more than felt it, like loud static. 

So, no sharing physical sensations, just mind-reading. Which is great for me, considering how slutty you are. She’d laughed when he lightly knocked her on the shoulder, but she’d thought it with such fondness that he couldn’t be mad if he tried.

The worst of their situation came to light when Robin’s parents called her home, said a weekend away after Star Court was more than enough. So she’d left him alone in that big, empty house, suffering from a severe concussion and dizzy spells.

Which only grew worse the longer they were apart.

Steve didn’t have anywhere to go, now jobless with the mall gone, and none of the kids came to visit. So he’d holed himself up in his room. The headaches grew worse, handfuls of pills doing nothing to help.

By the fifth day, he was vomiting again, shaking and crying, head throbbing, nose bleeding into the toilet bowl all over again when there was a knock on the door. The knock might as well have been inside his skull, but he couldn’t move, could barely see past the haze clouding his periphery like it had after his fight with Billy. He cried as the knocking grew louder, more persistent, until it finally stopped.

He slumped forward, pressed his head into the cool porcelain. Lifting his hand to flush, he noticed a small, vibrant white petal floating amidst the red and black water, all of which, presumably, came out of him.

–can’t find it. Must be… rock. The mat?

Robin?

There was a click, then the sound of his front door opening. Slow, heavy footsteps up the stairs.

Dingus where the hell are you? Not in the bedroom… Please, Steve, I need help.

That got his attention, but as he’d gone to move, the bathroom door opened to a bloodstained Robin, eyes rimmed red, hair a mess, pale and gaunt like a ghost. She dropped to the ground next to him, practically draped herself over his back. And just like before, the pain receded so violently he vomited one last time. A full, yet slightly crumpled, flower floated amidst the yuck inside the toilet. 

It was a daisy.

“Daisies are my favorite,” Robin whispered. She held out her hand to him, dirty and covered in the same green stains as the ones on her shirt, and handed him a very small, miniature sunflower. “So I’m guessing–”

My favorite.

Eventually they’d figured out what works and what doesn’t. Talking on the phone everyday never helped, back to throwing up flowers after only a week. He’d started to pull the daisies out to dry, which Robin said was gross. She took them home with her anyways. 

But he’d borrowed Robin a sweatshirt that she took home with her, and by the fourth day, she was in better shape than he was, only a slight headache instead of Steve’s encroaching migraine. So they started exchanging clothes and quickly learned it wasn’t necessarily their clothes or possessions, but their scents. 

You smell kind of like sunflowers

“Robin, sunflowers don’t have a smell.”

She was face first in his pillow, day seventeen after a two-week family vacation to Key West, returning his comforter, and a myriad of t-shirts. They’d both gotten migraines, but no vomit-soaked flowers or bloody noses. So it was an improvement, overall.

I know they don’t. It’s more like, I don’t know, sunshine. Or fresh grass. A warm rain… like summer.

He’d jumped on her then, smothered her into his mattress until she was tickling him to get off her.

“What do I smell like?” she’d asked, casual but not quite casual enough. He smiled.

Like daisies. An open field full of wildflowers. A new song, or driving with the windows down. 

She smiled back at him, wide and genuine, packed full of love. And he knew, in that moment, he was happy to spend the rest of his life with her.

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts through his reminiscing. The guy looks like he’s trying not to be annoyed, which makes sense considering he’s attempting to be nice and Steve’s completely zoned out. 

Do you have another concussion? Is it rabies?

He sighs, quiet enough that hopefully Eddie doesn’t assume it’s aimed at him. No, Robs. Just a normal dingus-where-did-you-go zone out. Relax.

She shoots him another glare over her shoulder, but ultimately lets it go.

“Harrington, you still with us?” Eddie laughs it off like a joke, but his eyes are wide, and he’s pressing in close again.

He’s warm, and without thinking, Steve finds himself leaning towards him, too– like magnets.

What magnets?

Never mind, Robs, shut up.

“Yeah Munson, I’m still here.” Steve chuckles, and Eddie relaxes a tad. “Can’t get rid of me that easy. I’ve dealt with worse.”

“Worse than an under-water tentacle monster dragging you through hell on your bare-back and almost choking you to death?”

When Eddie puts it like that, Steve really does have to think about it. “What about throwing fireworks at a giant, mind-controlling flesh monster and getting tortured under Star Court by Russian spies who shot me and Robin up with mystery drugs?”

DINGUS! If we haven’t told the Party about our super powers you can’t tell a goddamn stranger like Munson!

Eddie’s eyes are wide and dark again. He chuckles a little too loud, almost deranged. “Yeah, you know what, Harrington, that might be worse.”

They continue to walk in silence. Well, Steve’s silent. He lets Eddie ramble, talking about Dustin, something called a Munson doctrine. He calls Steve a ‘good dude’ at which Steve hopes the sky is dark enough to hide his embarrassed flush.

Eddie says something about the girls jumping in to save him, but he leans in again when he says it, and all Steve can think about is how close he is, the light brush of Eddie’s knuckles against the back of his hand–

What…?

– and the comfort that settles over Steve when he catches Eddie smiling at him. They stop in unison, Eddie leans in close to whisper like it’s a secret.

“But Wheeler, right there, she didn’t waste a second. Not one second. She just dove right in.”

Eddie’s barely shorter than him, just enough that he looks up at Steve through his dark lashes, big, brown, puppy-dog eyes hooked onto his own. He knows guys can be handsome, but he thinks Eddie might be more pretty than handsome.

I’m sorry? What the fuck is happening back there!

“Now, I don’t know what happened between you two,” Eddie says, low and slow. His voice full of honey that soaks into Steve’s brain, the actual words lost in the overwhelming sweetness of everything that is Eddie. “But if I were you, I would get her back. ‘Cause that was as unambiguous a sign of true love as these cynical eyes have ever seen.”

Steve can’t stop staring at his lips. They’re so pink and fluffy and biteable, so he leans in, like instinct tells him. Eddie looks surprised, but brushes his finger tips against Steve’s own. He whispers, “Steve…?” like it’s more revelation than question. Eddie’s so close that Steve just–

“Are you fucking kidding me, Steven?” Robin shouts, incredulous and much too loud. Eddie flinches away from him, hides behind his hair like a turtle shrinking back into its shell. Steve’s shoulders droop in disappointment.

Disappointment? Wait. Did I almost just kiss–

“Eddie Munson?” Robin finishes his not-out-loud sentence.

“Buckley?” Eddie asks, nervous as the girl marches towards them, her eyes locked on Steve.

“Yes, Dingus!” Robin completely ignores Eddie’s response in favor of barreling up to Steve, finger so close to his face he goes cross-eyed. “Yes, you were, and oh my god I can’t believe you!”

Robs, I’m kind of freaking out right now. Can you please relax?

“You’re freaking out?” she shouts. Nancy shushes her, but it goes unnoticed. “I’m freaking out! After all this time, after Tammy fucking Thompson, this is happening right now? With– with– ” Robin wildly gestures to Munson. “Goddamn, Steve, you reek of sunflowers right now, oh my god! Just like when Joyce came into the store.”

It’s as dark as it always is, but a flash of red lighting illuminates the red painted across Eddie’s cheeks as he bites on his lip, looking nervous yet almost bashful as he pulls another larger strand of hair across his face.

“Sunflowers? What’s happening right now,” he whispers to Nancy, who shrugs. She answers with a casual, “I’m not sure, they do this a lot.”

“That’s not fair!” Steve quietly shouts back at her. “What’s wrong with–” he glances at Eddie, who flushes again. He’s so pale I bet he’s red down to his…

“Shut up, shut up, shut up!” Robin throws her hands over her ears and pinches her eyes closed.

Steve forces a smile to cover his gay panic. Shit, am I gay?

“No!” Robin slaps both her hands on either side of his head, mushing his cheeks together. “You’re not g–” she mushes her mouth shut, catching her slip-up just before it tumbled out of her. “And that’s not what that kind of panic means, so don’t call it that.”

“Panic?” Eddie asks, stepping towards them. His eyes are trained on Steve, flashing down to his lips, then back up to catch his gaze. Steve sees something like hope buried beneath Eddie’s tough guy demeanor. “But I thought–” he glances at Nancy before quickly looking away.

Robin rolls her eyes at him, and Eddie backs off a bit. Except his look doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Me?” Nancy asks. “What about me?”

Robin, don’t–

But it’s too late, because at that question, everyone turns to look at Steve.

Over the past few months, Steve’s started growing out his hair. It’s not really in style, but he’s seen a few guys with long hair, and they looked really good. Right now, he wishes it was long enough so he could hide behind it like Eddie. But, then again, he’d also tried growing a mustache, since Freddy Mercury had amazing style– Steve’s always like Queen.

Except my mustache never looked as good as his, so I bet long hair wouldn’t either. Maybe the short hair helps highlight it, like his cheekbones.

Jesus Christ, you’re so obvious. I can crack Russian spy code phrases enough to break into an underground military base but apparently I can’t spot a bisexual within five feet of me.

Steve sighs, dragging his hands down his face at Robin’s inside-mind rambling. Nancy, however, takes it to mean something much different. “Oh, Steve, no.” Her voice is pitying and too nice and it reminds him painfully of the last few months of their relationship. Like she’s talking to a child. “Steve, I’m so sorry, but– I still love Jonathan.”

“I know, Nance, that’s not–”

“Are you kidding me, Wheeler?” Eddie screeches. Steve really doesn’t understand how they’re so lucky that they haven’t been hunted down and eaten by now. 

Eddie’s thrown his hands up in the air, all theatrics as he gawks at her. She backs off, surprised, but quickly recovers and squints her eyes at him, crossing her arms as he continues to ramble. 

“After everything that’s happened? Steve ripping off his sweater, jumping out of the boat and beating a bat to death, then biting its head off, all while soaking wet. I mean, the way he spit that blood out.” Nancy cringes, and yeah, Steve feels the same way, knows he'll be tasting that black sludge in his nightmares. 

Now that’s gay panic.

I thought that’s not what that means, Rob

Ugh, I regret teaching you things.

Eddie’s still on a roll. “He was so… I mean,” Eddie throws his arms out towards Steve, showing him off like he’s a prized cow, “look at him, Wheeler! And you’re picking Byers?”

To Steve’s surprise, the glowering ferocity in Nancy’s face morphs into a coy smile, eyebrows raised in question to an answer she’s already figured out. Because that’s how Nancy Wheeler, journalist extraordinaire, gets her story. She reads people.

Before Eddie well and truly freaks out at the turn in Nancy’s demeanor, she winks at Steve out of the corner of her eye. “Joyce Byers?” She giggles and rolls her eyes. 

Then, in a mortifying turn of events, Nancy pulls a strand of her brown, curly hair in front of her face, forces her eyes open, doe-eyed and almost brown under the dark sky, looking up at him through her lashes, then darts her gaze to Eddie. 

Ha! You have a type! Wait, how did Nancy clock you faster than–

“Okay!” It bursts from Steve’s chest, loud enough it shocks the rest of them. They stand quiet, listening to the mundane noises around them, and breathe a sigh of relief at the resounding silence. “This has been fun, really, but why don’t we all just keep going so we can get the hell out of here and go find my– I mean our– no, the little shits.”

This is why they call you mom.

“I’m not a goddamn mom, Robin, how many damn times do I have to tell you guys that?”

“If you’re mommy, does that mean I’m daddy?” The words slip through Eddie’s mouth and, unfortunately, bury themselves into Steve’s brain. Now Steve’s not sure who’s blush is hotter, his or Eddie’s. He’d guess maybe Eddie’s, judging by the way the man grabs Nancy’s arm and hauls her away at a half sprint. 

She laughs at him, lighthearted, and slings her arm through his as they walk side by side. Steve watches as she leans her head towards Eddie’s whispering something into his ear that finally has the man’s shoulder’s relaxing. He bumps his shoulder against hers, and she returns the gesture.

Robin turns to look at Steve, really look, with sad, concerned eyes and a twist to her mouth.

I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that. It just caught me off guard I guess.

Steve places a light kiss on her dirty forehead. She smiles, grabs his hand in hers, and squeezes once.

“I love you too, Rob.”

[citrusandrottefruit]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Steve probably should have had surgery after Vecna ​​died, because Hanahaki's roots seemed deep, but he chose to alternate between Max and Eddie's hospital rooms. There was no time to waste on his own health.

His parents were back this time. They had sold their house and bought a huge apartment for Steve, who wanted to stay in the city. His parents didn’t even question it, they just demanded his time for a week before leaving with a big hug and the promise of a trip somewhere nice that summer. If he had been a little younger, Steve would have been happier, but after so many years of neglect, all he could think was that this was as far as he was going to get.

A side note, an afterthought. They cared about their son, just not as much as they should have.

Steve's new apartment had four bedrooms, more than he needed, but he was glad his parents tried so hard to make up for it, because it meant he could offer Robin a room when she graduated and there would always be room for the kids. And Eddie and Wayne, who stayed with him while the government found them a new place to live.

Eddie made a joke about Steve's parents being more powerful than the government, for being able to find Steve a great place to live so quickly in a broken city while he and Wayne had to wait.

Wayne was usually around, and despite being a somewhat taciturn man, it was easy to see the love that overflowed for Eddie. It made Steve think of his mother, who had loved and suffered so intensely that she had developed Hanahaki.

And yet, she was not with him.

The cough got worse.

One day, Steve woke up in the middle of the night, struggling after yet another nightmare of torture. Some days, it was easy to forget about Vecna ​​in favor of that hour beneath the Mall, with his life in someone else's hands. On days like these, Robin was needed more than ever, but her parents didn't want her away so much, so sleeping in his new apartment was hardly an option. Calling her wasn't a good idea either, because all it would do was stress her out and they'd end up up all night on the phone. So he resigned himself to taking medication and going out to the balcony, longing for the fresh, clean night air.

He would turn on the TV or music, but he didn't want to wake Eddie, so he just stood outside with his eyes closed and imagined being alone again when Wayne and Eddie left, then tried to imagine what the trip with his parents would be like, if it were to happen. Steve still wasn't sure if he wanted to go, but it might be nice. Maybe he'd get something out of being away from Hawkins for a while. Maybe the coast would make it easier to breathe.

As lost in thought as Steve was, after years of trauma it was impossible not to be aware of the sounds around him, so when Eddie opened the bedroom door and started walking down the hall, he heard it. He stayed silent, not wanting to disturb Eddie.

Of course, Eddie didn't care and showed up a few minutes later with some tea.

For your cough, man.

After that, it became almost a ritual between them. Eddie was always there when Steve woke up startled, and Steve reciprocated. They always had nightmares, so who went to who depended on which one of them woke up first.

Sometimes they would stare at the stars in silence, other times they would talk. Most nights, they would end up in Eddie's bed, in one of the spare bedrooms, without touching each other.

Steve's room, which was definitely his and not a temporary arrangement, felt too intimate.

At the same time, Eddie began asking more and more about Steve's throat, about his shortness of breath, if he was okay, when he planned to go to the hospital. The questions became so frequent that Wayne noticed, too.

The feeling of being cared for was too much. Feared and desired in equal measure.

Eddie shouldn’t even be doing all this, because he was still bandaged, still covered in pink scars, still had a long way to go in physical therapy.

For the second time in his life, Steve felt suffocated by love.

This time, Steve almost hated it. Because he was in love with Eddie, because Eddie didn’t know the things Robin knew. Even if he loved Steve back, how could Steve demand that Eddie take care of him?

Mr. Harrington had reasons to stay with Mrs. Harrington. Although no one talked about it, Steve was sure that his father had been the trigger for his mother’s Hanahaki. And maybe if she had never left, chasing her father across the country, trying to be happy with him to stay alive, maybe… Just maybe, Steve wouldn’t have been alone and maybe he would have been healthy.

Neither Eddie nor anyone else had a good reason to pursue any kind of happiness or emotional stability with Steve.

In addition to the burden of living with a chronic, progressive disease that would possibly become terminal at some point, being emotionally involved with someone with Hanahaki was very complicated. It required loyalty, responsibility, patience, a willingness to accept endless arguments and a desire to reconcile.

Communication was essential. Making sure the other person felt good and loved, comfortable and safe. All of this was too much work, too demanding.

Loving Steve was a prison.

I'll try to post part 3 soon. I've already written the ending, but I'm thinking about how to connect this part to the ending, which will be happy.

[steviewashere]

I don't know when I'll have the time to write this, but:

CW: Minor Mentions of Blood, Character Illness (Hanahaki), Use of Queer as a Slur

Hanahaki AU. Steve develops hanahaki over Eddie. It's not because, oh, Eddie's probably straight and doesn't know I'm into guys...

No, it's because, oh, Eddie doesn't want to be very close to me due to previous hangups he has.

Cut to Steve coughing up dark purple, almost black petals. Soft and wet and sticky to his fingers. Then, after some time, they become small buds. Small black rose buds with gentle, prickly thorns sprouting in his throat.

People around them find out quickly, very quickly, that Steve is experiencing Hanahaki. Everybody, sans Eddie himself, finds out they're related to Eddie—even as these black roses symbolize hatred, even as they come close to death and mourning in their meaning—they're still perfectly Eddie in color, shape, and beauty. Obviously, since nobody wants Steve to, y'know, die, they tell him to confess to Eddie.

However, Steve is faced with a secondary option at one of his doctor visits. A surgery. The petals can be removed, the thorns torn out and tossed, his lungs cleared...but his brain shocked empty of all traces of Eddie. All traces. He wouldn't know Eddie as he is now. He wouldn't know Eddie from when Dustin would ramble on and on and on about his new guy best friend. He wouldn't know Eddie as the mischievous troublemaker in high school.

And he especially wouldn't know Eddie as his childhood best friend that he drifted apart from many, many years ago. Nobody but them knows that part.

And soon, through decision, through the fear of death...Steve chooses to forget that part, too. He chooses to remove Eddie from his conscious. Every last part of him. With the decision made, the party members keep Eddie away, Robin goes through Steve's room and hides anything he has of Eddie's—including a little memory box of their childhood photographs, little trinkets he'd receive from Eddie, doodles and crushed flowers...crushed flowers that look similar to the ones Steve coughed up with a note attached to them: "For the prince to my prince. Mama said they're for royal people, and I thought they were beautiful. These are for you, because you're beautiful, too."

Steve kept all of it. Tucked neatly away for nobody but him to see. All these delicate, baby confessions of two queer kids in rural America, waiting for the right moment; though never getting that after a fall out in their relationship.

According to Eddie, the two drifted away due to rhetoric Steve's dad was spouting; rhetoric that was being passed on and spat right at Eddie's face from Steve's mouth. Even if he saw Steve change during and after Vecna, he'll always remember the last big fight in their friendship; the day he was called a queer.

When Eddie finds out, he's beyond devastated that Steve would make the choice to forget him. He gets it, Steve didn't want to die. He knows. But now he doesn't even have a spot in Steve's life? It cuts deep, it hurts.

He knows so much about Steve. Little details. Favorite things. Where his moles are. How he styles his hair. What he looked like before braces, before Tommy, before high school bullshit, before all the traumas. He knows who Steve really is, sweet and nurturing and nearly unbearably kind.

And now Steve doesn't know him. Doesn't love him.

He wishes he knew, because then they wouldn't be in this mess.

But Eddie gets to fall in love with Steve all over again. Shake his hand and introduce himself. Even though he wishes they could meet each other as kids, just like they did. Because Eddie remembers a dorky, geeky, self-conscious, timid little kid quietly asking him if they could play princes on the playground. And Steve remembers Eddie at twenty-one, full grown and stubborn; not the same shy kid, not the bubbly kid...just a man haunted.

But! Plot twist!!!

What if, yeah, Steve does forget Eddie...initially?

He meets Eddie again, for the first time. He gets to know Eddie. He begins a friendship with Eddie.

And then he begins getting these awful...awful migraines being around Eddie. Flashes of fractured, half-formed memories of some kid with big brown eyes and a shaved head, of a kid crouched down in wood chips trying to find a guitar pick he had dropped. Little glimpses of smiles: some with teeth missing, some with teeth growing back in, some with blood-stained lips, some with a blue tint. There's splintering voices, a little boy's and an older man's and a squeaky, pubescent voice—he hears his own name crackled around the edges, hears Prince Stevie cooed and King Steve snarled, soft words whispered through choking sobs and whip wild yelling.

He looks Eddie straight on at one point, his face open with concern, but all he sees is an angry, sobbing, red-faced, wet-faced little Eddie talking with Steve, "You think I'm...I'm a dirty queer? Why would you say that to me? No...no, Steve, keep your voice down, keep your voice"—and then, quieter, a whisper—"I thought I could trust you. I know I like boys, but that was a secret. You're an asshole, Steve. Go fuck yourself."

And when he blinks again, Eddie's concerned face staring back at him, all Steve does is cough and cough and cough. Eventually, he's hunched tight into himself and spitting directly into Eddie's palm. Out comes a fully formed black rose.

A bud that hadn't bloomed, that hadn't been removed. Sharp thorns and wet petals and an eye that swirls and swirls and swirls.

It all comes back to him, then, staring at that flower, floundering backwards, catching Eddie's eyes in a daze.

It all comes back to him.

How much he's always loved Eddie Munson.

Anyway, just like, a hanahaki surgery gone wrong, I guess. Like they all think it works until, y'know, it doesn't. They get close again and it floods back in. The very thing he tried to get away from.

I imagine that after Steve coughs up that fully formed rose, Eddie squishes it in his palm. The thorns cutting up his hand, the petals crushed between his fingers. And then he just...eats it. Like fully puts it on his tongue, chews it up between his teeth, and swallows the whole damn thing—yes, even the thorns. There's blood in his mouth, petals between his teeth, blood and drool on his hand.

And he lunges forward to grab Steve's face, to kiss him so roughly they could be devouring each other. And all they taste in each other are the bittersweet ghosts of black rose petals and the metallic harshness of one another's blood; Steve had hacked up blood, too, from the thorns cutting his throat.

And when they separate?

"You were the first boy I ever fell in love with," Eddie confesses, "you're the only boy I've ever loved. There's been nobody else in that place, Steve. Only you, after everything, have remained."

Okay. Now I'm done. I promise I'm done rambling. Would this be interesting as a fic? I don't know. It's fine.

[theladycarpathia]

@hellcheeranniversaryweek

Day three - Hanahaki Chrissy’s with the wrong person. It’s killing her more than she realizes. 

The wet clump of daffodil petals almost chokes Chrissy as she gags over the toilet bowl. She coughs and coughs until she feels the mass begin to clear and she can spit out the remains of the yellow petals. 

That’s not good. Last time they were red chrysanthemums. If the petals are growing and changing, it means the affliction is getting worse. 

She slumps back against the bath, taking deep steady breaths. She never took breathing for granted before but it’s becoming more of a luxury these days. It’s getting hard to hide too - she’d been in class the other day when she’d felt another clump beginning to gather in her throat. She’d begged to visit the restroom and had only just made it in time to vomit blood-red petals down the sink. 

There’s a furious pounding at the door and Chrissy starts, grabbing desperately for the pull-chain. The toilet sends the petals vanishing down the drain in a whirlpool of water just in time as Andrew pushes in. 

“You’re supposed to knock!” Chrissy says furiously. Her mother had disabled the chain on the door a long time ago, under the guise of fearing that one of her children would get stuck in there. Chrissy had been old enough at thirteen to see through it for what it really was. 

Andrew stares at her, still slumped on the floor, with something like concern creasing his features. “Are you okay?” he asks hesitantly, whatever indignation he’d previously held lost. 

“Fine,” Chrissy says, rubbing at her face. She must be a hideous sight - pale and sweaty, the faint sheen of the recently sick. “I think something disagreed with me. Don’t eat meat from the cafeteria when you get to high school, okay?”

“Okay.” Andrews says and then offers her a hand up. She takes it, unsteadily getting to her feet. She knows from past experience that she needs to go lie down and drink nothing but water for a few hours. 

“You’re sure you’re okay?” Andrew asks, flicking his eyes over her. Chrissy tries to smile and hopes that she doesn’t have a petal stuck in her teeth. 

“Fine,” she lies and she can feel his eyes following her all the way down the corridor. 

She collapses onto her bed, after kicking her door shut. It also doesn’t lock - Laura doesn’t believe much in privacy in the same way she doesn’t believe in calories - but at least she has a door. 

She presses her face into the coolness of her pillow and breathes. She has homework and chores and she can’t do any of it right now. Her throat hurts, rubbed raw by thick petals and the occasional thorn and her chest aches from the heaving. She won’t be able to eat this evening but maybe that’s best. She feels as though Laura scrutinizes every bite, like she can see each one turning Chrissy into an unshapely, imperfect daughter. 

She fails at everything. Daughter. Sister. Girlfriend. 

She and Jason have been together since middle school. She doesn’t know how to be anything other than Jason Carver’s girlfriend. That’s all she’s known, and if she’d been anyone else, it would have been like fate and destiny laid out her life in front of her, each perfect step following the last. 

But she’s not perfect. The constant effort of trying to be was choking her. So she’d decided to do something about it. 

She hadn’t known. She’d gone to the woods at the back of the high school after practice and there he was. Eddie Munson. 

The next day she’d woken up to find a single petal on her pillow. That had been two months ago and each day, she spits up more and more. Every time she sees him - passing in the hall, sitting with Hellfire club in the cafeteria, when he waves at her during class - she feels another clump beginning to grow in her throat. 

Eddie Munson isn’t meant to be her destiny. Unfortunately, her heart says differently. 

There’s a sudden knock at the door and Chrissy jolts upright, heart pounding. “Come in!” she calls and Andrew pushes in.

“I made you some tea,” he says, holding out one of their mother’s delicate rose pattern cups. Chrissy takes it, fingers trembling. She must have looked awful for Andrew to do something like this. 

“Thank you,” she says and takes a sip, even though she knows that the liquid will scald her sore throat all the way down. 

It’s a recurring problem of her’s, proving to be a fatal flaw. She’ll put someone else’s feelings ahead of her own wellbeing. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Andrew asks, almost hesitant to leave. Chrissy swallows and tries to not wince at the pain.

“I’m okay,” she says, the lie as bitter as the tea. “I think I’ll just skip dinner and go to bed early. I’ll be alright tomorrow.”

But she knows that she won’t. There’s only two ways out of this. But if the love isn’t reciprocated, it will only kill her faster. She’s not sure if that will be kinder, the petals choking her before everyone knows the truth. 

She’s with the wrong person and it’s going to kill her.

I'm gonna go ahead and add this to 'never ending list of fics I mean to write'

Red Chrysanthemums - unrelenting love Daffodils - unrequited love

[steddieunderdogfics]

Fill My Lungs With Sweetness by WabiSabiPapi

@arimakes

Rating: Explicit

38,966 words, 7/7 chapters

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Post-Stranger Things 4 Vol. 2, Alternate Ending, Apocalypse, Post-Apocalypse, Hanahaki Disease, But With An Upside Down Twist, Injured Steve Harrington, Prepper Eddie Munson, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Virgin Eddie Munson, Top Steve Harrington, Bottom Eddie Munson, Eventual Smut, Falling in Love at the End of the World, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Body Horror, Angst

Summary:

For Eddie, the end of the world is a blessing. It brings about a peace he's never known… until one day, a charming stranger shows up, turns everything on its head, and steals his breath away.

Thanks for the rec! This recommendation is apart of our Writer's Wednesday! All of the recs today are written by @arimakes. Want to nominate an author? Fill out this form!

You can submit fic recs to our asks or the submission box!

[hitlikehammers]

steddie does the 🌷flower-blooming🌷 disease love thing—but make it ✨only softness✨

OR: think hanahaki with a princess romantic, ✨non-life threatening✨, horticultural🌿 streak

Honestly: after everything, the flowers should not have been a surprise. And look: sappy romance novels might talk about choking on them or what the fuck ever, about it being lethal if unrequited, blah blah etcetera. But as far as Eddie ever understood, it was kinda like…your body having too much of a thing, and needing to expel it, lest it cause some kind of imbalance. But when it was love—requited or otherwise—it expelled itself as something a little horrifying, but undeniably beautiful. Flowers. And you tend them as best you can. They’re a part of you. Because it’s terrifying. But it’s beautiful. You’re in love that big.

rating: t ♥️ tags: post-s4, falling in love, friends to lovers, fluff, romance, softness, hanahaki disease, or really more: hanahaki-adjacent 🌺🌻, as in: NO life-threatening angst ONLY big feelings and beauty, feelings reveal, love confessions, happy ending♥️

for @steddielovemonth day sixteen: “If I had a flower for every time I thought of you...I could walk through my garden forever.” ― Alfred Tennyson

A lot had changed since Vecna. Aches and pains that weren’t there before. Nightmares featuring a very new cast of characters. A family he never could have imagined cobbling together who actually took the concept seriously, in a way Eddie had never felt anything close to in his life—save with Wayne. Random worries that plagued a lot of random moments, unprovoked.

Steve goddamn Harrington sliding almost too-perfectly into every little crevice of Eddie’s life—except for the sexy ones and…that hadn’t started as a problem. In fact, it hadn’t started even as a consideration, because gorgeous as he is? Straight-hero-boy was never gonna be on Eddie’s metaphorical dance card. So it’d been a much less convoluted and earth-shattering experience—though it still very much was both of those things; just less—to wake up in the hospital with Steve napping at his side, or squinting at a pamphlets nurse had left about physical therapy; or waking up and Steve was already in the kitchen making breakfast, like real breakfast, when Eddie’s meal standards usually involved shoving his hand into a box and stuffing his mouth with theta he could grab. Or Steve just, stopping by before or after his shifts, to see if Eddie needed anything. To listen to Eddie ramble about a campaign, or bring Eddie the latest release from a band he said he liked probably one time. To fall asleep on the bed on top of the comforter and cut the nightmares short just by rolling over with a hand to eddies chest and a muffled S’okay.

Or most uncanny: coming over, just to hang out.

So getting used to all that made it easier to segue into going to visit Steve at work when Eddie could finally move around enough to drive again. Stopping at Steve’s place unannounced when he’d finally been convinced he was genuinely welcome—by way of Steve giving him a key, what the fuck—and that there really were no parents waiting with pitchforks. Trying his own hand at making meals for when Steve worked midday shifts, so he’d have something when he pulled in—so what if it’s frozen pizza. It’s the fucking thought that counts—and Eddie really does need to start small. He really can’t start a fire in Steve’s kitchen, so he needs to get a decent track record going here in his own first.

Because he does want to cook for Steve. In Steve’s kitchen. When he spent the night at Steve’s, even. When he kept some nightmares in check.

Honestly: after all that, the flowers should not have been a surprise.

And look: sappy romance novels—aimed either at horny teenagers or housewives who can’t get a refill on their antidepressants—might talk about choking on them or what the fuck ever, about it being lethal if unrequited, blah blah etcetera. But as far as Eddie ever understood, it was kinda like…your body having too much of a thing, and needing to expel it, lest it cause some kind of imbalance. Like lots of…body things.

But when it was love—requited or otherwise—it expelled itself as something a little horrifying, but undeniably beautiful.

Flowers.

So when Eddie starts growing jasmine from his fingertips; honeysuckle in the hairs on his arms and legs; bluebells from every line of scar tissue, no matter where it ran; alternating sunflowers, dahlias, and red asters, straight from the center of his sternum, always in the same order and always accompanied by whichever wasn’t steadily unfurling from his chest, the other two in spades were getting coughed up not violently, but persistently, in the meantime—always, like all of it, a little fucking terrifying—with blossoms of lisianthus to cover both his nipples—which he had to look up; they were real pretty but fuck if he’d ever seen one before it bloomed his tits like a Renaissance painting trying to be censored by a stray leaf—before he pulled them all the way out and sparked the cycle again: horrifying. But he knew enough that the point was to cultivate the growth, the encourage your own body doing its thing to keep you a-okay (or close enough), so he does what everyone’s taught to do, if this…challenge happens to visit upon them.

You fucking plant them. So they can take root the way they want to but can’t—whether because it’s too much for anyone to speak and show even their truest, most treasured partner, or because they don’t, or can’t, have a partner with whom to even try—but you plant the growing things, the living embodiment of what your heart’s beating out of your pores.

Literally.

And you tend them as best you can. They’re a partof you.

Because it’s terrifying. But it’s beautiful.

You’re in love that big.

And of course Eddie knows why. He watches Steve sleep too much, touches his chest to ease the nightmares too much, cooks next to him too much, feels his breath catch at his side on the sofa too much, for him not to know.

He’s kinda proud of it, actually. Because what he feels is this huge and terrifying and exquisite. No matter what he can never do about it with his gorgeous straight now-undoubtedly-best friend.

But it is massive and terrifying and beautiful, and fuck yeah his every cell should be blossoming a testament to the fact that he, freak-supreme Edward Munson, gets to feel it. No matter what comes or doesn’t—save for the flowers themselves.

It’s predictable, though, and definitely in line with both Eddie’s general mixed bag of luck, as much as with the life and routine and expectation of the presence of Steve goddamn Harrington, that…well:

“What is this?”

Eddie tapping down the soil around the last of this morning’s ready-to-transplant blossoms he plucked straight out the shower—good for like…watering and stuff.

He thinks.

He hadn’t heard Steve’s approach, is the thing. And he’s never shown Steve this little space, cordoned off at the edge of the woods behind the little house their government money earned them. It’s mostly out of sight. There no reason to poke around out here.

Save…well. This reason.

“Just my garden,” Eddie tries to say all casual, keep it light like his heart’s not in his goddamn throat.

“You,” Steve says slow, walks the perimeter like he recognizes on sight what this is, what this means, that it’s all terrifying and beautiful and something close to sacred.

All he says is:

“These can’t grow this fast.”

Like he actually does specifically know for a fact that the various species in the ground in front of them couldn’t naturally be this big, this fast, in the time since the Munsons moved in.

Eddie still asks, because he’s never taken Steve here, wasn’t expecting Steve to find him here now, and his heart’s still knocking wild at the base of his fucking throat:

“How do you know?”

Steve looks at Eddie for a series of blinks that feel probably a lot longer for how many heartbeats fit into the space of time. Then he shrugs, eyes back to the flowers:

“I like to garden.”

That’s news to Eddie.

“How do you know I didn’t like to garden, too? Y’know, before?”

Because Eddie could have. Not like they’d known each other. He doesn’t know where in the fucking trailer park he’d have done it, let alone hidden it from view so as to have no evidence, but he couldhave. These beauties could have been salvaged from a former home, a half-former life, for all anyone could prove—the trailer’s long been confiscated and the lot it’s sat on’s still quarantined.

Steve leans over the sad little fence Eddie’s put up around the edges, where the larger plants—mostly the ones that burst out from the center of his chest—make a border. His eyes flick up to Eddie’s as he reaches for a petal, but doesn’t touch: he’s asking permission.

And of course Eddie nods, because anything he has is Steve’s. No question.

“Who is it for?”

Eddie nearly can’t stop himself from snorting because: anything he has is Steve’s.

This, maybe most of all.

“No one I can have,” Eddie leans against the opposite line of fencing as Steve strokes bright red, bright yellow, satiny fronds that looks right in his hands.

“That’s insane,” of Steve’s response, more to the flowers than to Eddie.

Bur at the very least it lets Eddie get the snort he’d stifled earlier out as he deadpans:

“Gee, thanks.”

Steve looks up then. Petals still held delicate between deft fingertips.

“No, I just,” and his eyes are wide when he glances back down, releases the petals gently, makes sure they fall back to where they’re meant to lie. Pristine.

Precious.

Something pings like a plucked string in eddies chest, underneath where he’s due for a sunflower to appear real soon

“I mean, loving you would be such a,” Steve looks up and locks with Eddie’s eyes:

“A privilege.”

More plucking in Eddie’s chest for that, Jesus fuck. The sprouting of a petal above the sensation. Quicker; more urgent—his heartbeat slamming like it’s pushing the blossom out all on its own.

Eddie doesn’t know what to make of that, save maybe that’s how this works, when the reason for it all is standing in front of you, spouting…this.

This.

Then Steve’s glancing around a little more, taking in the varietals on display a little more intently before he adds:

“Flowers or no flowers.”

He says it almost a little breathy, but. It might just be Eddie’s imagination.

“I never really understood it,” Steve goes on, apropos of everything but still kinda out of nowhere all the same. “Like is it supposed to be a, a modern day dowry or something? But it’s not worth money which, I guess,” he licks his lips, and Jesus H, he’s so fucking beautiful.

Terrifying, but beautiful.

“That would be better, really,” Steve decides with a gentle little smile. “Means more.”

It means…everything, really. Steve means everything.

Flowers or no, he already did. And now, it’s…Eddie kinda appreciates the terror. He loves knowing, having tangible proof of how his heart’s that set, and unwavering with it.

“I wished for it. As a kid.”

Eddie tilts his head as Steve lifts a while sunflower—the one flower especially that Eddie knows gives full weight to the who of all this.

As if there was any question.

“So many times,” and Steve’s burying his face a little in the massive head of the flower—they don’t smell like much, Eddie’s learned.

But he kind of thinks what they do smell like, really is sunshine.

“Can I,” Steve swallows, straightens, looks hopeful, nervous.

Beautiful; terrified.

“Can you, just,” he clears his throat, and extends a hand; “cane you come with me somewhere?”

As if it’s a question. As if it’s ever been a question.

His hand’s in Steve’s between heartbeats.

“I need to show you something,” Steve whispers, but his smile is…golden.

The car ride is silent, but they done let go. Eddie gets led into the Harrington house, up the stairs, farther down the hall than he ever really goes.

He understands why once the door to one of the last rooms is opened, and as he’s led inside.

“Steve…”

He takes in the fragrance; he takes in a puzzling cross of chaos and maze-like intrigue in raised flower beds under greenhouse lights. It’s like a puzzle, a game, on a rich-boy budget.

It’s two lives, laid out in a single beautiful testament.

“I didn’t always love to garden, just always wanted to,” Steve murmurs low; terrified—but so so warm; “wanted to feel enough, to garden.”

Eddie turns from taking in the intricate lines from a bird’s eye perspective, appreciating how it draws him in, like it, like it’s for—

“Who,” he chokes around the question he can’t help but ask, hope to big and goring, a bubble set to burst through his ribs:

“Who’s it for?”

Steve leans closer, raises a brow.

“Eddie,” he says pointedly; it’s terrifying, how beautiful Eddie’s stupid simple name sounds in that voice, on that tongue.

Steve grabs Eddie’s hands again and walks the through the labyrinth slow, intentional, and eddies breath catches when it hits him: they’re all the same.

The flowers are familiar because their gardens are the same.

Save for one striking difference. A notable lack of yellow. But then—

Steve crouches a little, lifts a very delicate flower hanging from a broad-growing shrub, frames it in the hollow of his palm.

“What do they look like, to you?” Steve asks, but the answer’s fucking obvious:

Music notes. They’re, they’re…

They’re Steve’s garden’s sunflowers.

They’re the ones that make it undeniable, the answer to Eddie’s shaky-hopeful question.

But if they weren’t, if they somehow were not themselves enough—

Steve pulls Eddie close, close, closer.

Kisses his mouth as satin-sweet as a petal between fingertips.

And Eddie’s chest feels like it’s blooming every shade of loving, all at once, for the discovery:

He hadn’t even scratched the surface of just how much love he could feel. And there’s not terror in it, now.

But there is so much more beauty.

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @allmyfavoritethingsinoneblog @anthrobrat @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @disrespectedgoatman @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @friendlyneighborhoodgaycousin @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @madigoround @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here and here

[mc-i-r]

Asphodel by @chrystalmethchristian

AO3 Art 1 (twitter)

A/N: I got to work with the lovely @chrystalmethchristian and @disjointed-art on the steddie big bang 2023! This was such a fun experience to have and I'm a little sad it's over but I'm so happy with how it came out! Please check out the amazing author and artist for this piece!!

Edit: I forgot tags I'm so sorry-

@small-teacup @estrellami-1 @merricatty @bookworm0690

[disjointed-art]

I couldn’t take it anymore! I had to finally post it!!

Catch my breath epilogue: breath of fresh air

They did it! They survived death twice and are moving into their future together!

Official preorder date for the printed book is April 20th!!! I’m still working on the bundle extras but I can share the date I’m planning on finally!!! Couldn’t yesterday because it’s not a joke lol

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Fairytale Ending

written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: Rose || wc: 367 || rated: T || tags: Hanahaki, blood, sick fic

🥀🥀🥀

"Steve, what the fuck is this?"

It's a hypothetical question. Or well, a non-question, because Eddie knows exactly what he's holding in his now blood-splattered hand.

It's a full rose bud, fresh from Steve's lungs.

Steve doesn't respond, just closes his sunken eyes and turns his head away. Red stains his chapped lips, either from the crushed petals or his own blood, Eddie can't tell.

Steve's been pulling away for weeks. Cutting everyone off one by one until only Robin could get him to pick up the phone.

Until today, when she'd called Eddie in a fit of sobs, saying she hadn't been able to reach him for days. He'd hopped in the van not ten minutes later, knocking and knocking until he'd finally said fuck it and busted a window.

Like some fucked up version of Snow White, he found Steve lying on his soon-to-be death bed surrounded by bloodied flower petals.

"He doesn't love me." Steve's ragged voice stutters over another coughing fit.

He. Steve has a Prince Charming somewhere out there, and here he is stuck with Eddie instead.

Jealousy squeezes Eddie's chest in a vice so painful it feels like he rebroke the same ribs Steve snapped while saving his life. But Eddie doesn't have time to dwell when Steve's coughing morphs into sobs.

"Steve Harrington," Eddie gentles his voice, cupping his hand around Steve's face, fruitlessly wiping away stray tears. "It's impossible to know you without loving every single part of you. I--"

Eddie doesn't have the excuse of a flower to choke on. He wonders if it's worth it, confessing his love to the man of his dreams when there's irrefutable proof in the shape of a bloodied flower that it's unrequited.

Fuck it. Eddie might not be a knight in shining armor, but he's done being a coward.

"I know I do."

“Yeah?” There's blood between his teeth and a thorn stuck in his gums when Steve smiles like he won the lottery. Like all his dreams have come true.

Oh.

Eddie bends forward, kisses his fevered forehead. “Yeah, sweetheart, I really do love you.”

Steve hums, content. “I love you too.”

Maybe Eddie finally gets his happily ever after.

[munsonburn3r]

Ahhh thank you so much for the reblog! I definitely have some jabs planned for this mini series. Chapter one is nearly done!

Oh, Camellia, won't you take me away? - A Hanahaki!Eddie Munson story (sneak peek!)

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson had been a constant during your short time in hawkins, indiana, which made it that much harder when you had to leave. four years and a clinical trial later, you'd thought you'd conquered an otherwise fatal disease. what you weren't expecting, though, was the man that nearly killed you to walk back into your life, threatening to undo all of the progress you'd made towards healing - both physically and emotionally.

cw: hanahaki!au, angst, descriptions of light gore, childhood trauma, sexual themes and content

a/n: here is a snippet from the hanahaki eddie fic that has been bouncing around in my brain over the past week. feedback welcomed!

Water flowed out across the floor in a surge that mimicked crashing ocean waves. You cursed as you scrambled to right the plastic Procona and liquid sloshed awkwardly, lapping at your fingertips. It was a surprising amount from a relatively small bucket. 

“Everything alright out there?” called a gruff voice from the back office. 

You sighed. “Just fine, Bill! Minor spill. Nothing major.”

A muffled grumble could be heard from the owner’s space behind you, but you paid it no mind. It only took a few steps for you to grab the mop and start cleaning up the water all over the workspace floor, and to your relief, it really wasn’t as much as it seemed. 

The nearly four years you’d spent at Indiana Floral Company had seemed to fly by in a blink of an eye. You weren’t expecting an on the spot interview when you’d first stopped into the shop, but the owner Bill had been impressed at your willingness to learn and your natural eye for design and hired you immediately. Probationary, of course. 

So under Bill’s tutelage, your floral design skills blossomed. The basic knowledge of plants you’d brought from years of spending time gardening with your Grandma grew. You went from simply identifying lilies to knowing the difference between Asiatic and Oriental and their best growing seasons. You could identify roses based on subtle color differences and had learned how to take the most tightly closed bud and blow it open with a little humidity, a plastic bag, and very careful preening. And though you didn’t like to brag, you could match corsage ribbon to prom dresses better than anyone in town. 

As time wore on, Bill had shared that years of design had wrecked his body and that it was time to begin passing the torch. Since Indiana Floral Company was one of the top floral design studios in town, the responsibility embedded in passing said torch was sobering. But after a year and a half of earning your stripes, you landed a head designer role and began training to take over the small family business.

Humming a nondescript tune, you refilled the earlier bucket with water and flower food before chopping the ends off of a bunch of de-thorned roses with the guillotine-like stem cutter. A clunk thrummed out when you dropped the two dozen stems into the water. Each blossom peered at you with a center like a curled eye — delicate sandy cream — perfect for the event you were designing later this weekend. 

A ring of the bells on the front door broke your focus. You wiped your hands on the rag shoved haphazardly into your apron and turned at the sudden sound of Bill’s voice. 

“The 1:30 initial wedding consult must be early. You mind taking this one, kid?” His head peeked around the office door. “I started the file – it’s on the cash wrap.” He looked tired; the man should have retired two years ago. 

With a slight smile, you nodded. “Got it.”

It was impossible to see who had entered due to the amount of plants, gift items, and displays you’d designed around the small space (“customers shop with their eyes first, kid; you gotta draw them in before you let them see the price tag” Bill had said). But as soon as you rounded the front display, your stomach dropped clear out of your body and onto the floor. 

Maybe it was the habitual need to weave around the labyrinth of flora and gifts that had lowered your defenses. Or perhaps it was the fact that this was a typical boring Wednesday afternoon in April. Hell, it could have been the questionable sandwich you had for lunch that you found at the back of the minifridge. 

But one thing was clear: you hadn’t expected to see Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham hand in hand looking around at the array of merchandise you’d set out in preparation for Mother’s Day. 

“Hi!” A saccharine voice matched the sickeningly sweet smile on the strawberry blonde in front of you. “We’re here for a wedding consultation at 1:30. Sorry we’re a bit early — we didn’t want to be late!”

Time stood still. Or maybe that was just you — frozen as you stared the couple down with a look of surprise plastered across your features. You didn’t think you could move (or even speak, for that matter).

However, for the first time in almost four years, you felt your chest tighten and a sharp prickling sensation snake up your windpipe. You licked your dry lips (hadn’t you just put on chapstick?) and attempted to swallow with no success. Instead, your throat constricted, and there it was: an involuntary, yet ever so familiar metallic cough.

image credit: pinterest dividers: @saradika-graphics

tagging some moots that might be interested: @chickpeadumpsterfire @voyeurmunson @joshlmbrt @mediocredreams @littlexdeaths @anamelessfool

[citrusandrottefruit]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Some thoughts on this

My thoughts on the Hanahaki fic:

I think the whole idea of ​​Hanahaki is really interesting and can be quite romantic in a tragic way, but I also think a lot about how horrible it is and the potential for it to end badly even when it's about reciprocated love. I think Hanahaki itself could be explored so much more in so many ways, but it often becomes so secondary, even though it's the theme of the fic.

How could anyone focus more on the fact that they're in love than on what that love has caused? Why don't these people try to confess early on, when they're still relatively okay? Some characters are so quick to choose to die without knowing for sure.

Hanahaki is horrible, but it’s usually portrayed as being horrible for the cause, not for itself. The suffering of dying, of feeling the slow decline of one’s own body, is understated, I think.

Another thing I was also thinking about is how stories about sick people end in miracle or tragedy. I don’t like that. Why can’t a sick person have something good that will last? Why can’t they be happy? Why does happiness have to be fleeting and end in death? Or a miracle? Why is it always about transforming other people’s lives?

People don’t have to be healthy to be happy. Health can be an important part of that, but it’s not an option for many people. Finding moments of happiness, joy, satisfaction, and pride should still be possible. And that’s not about making a bucket list and skydiving.

With that in mind, I wanted to write about a moment in the life of someone with Hanahaki, like a chronic illness. Just a moment. It’s not when Steve was diagnosed and had to learn to accept the fact that he wasn��t healthy, it’s not that moment in illness when the decline is so rapid that you run out of options. It’s just a moment in his life, where everything is influenced by the illness, but the big thing isn’t the illness itself. It’s him falling in love and deciding to open up to the family he found.

Also, since most Hanahaki fics have as their main themes poor communication and romantic love triggering the disease, I wanted to do something different.

Hanahaki is not something magical here that can happen to anyone (if it could, it would be much more common), it is simply a genetic disease that is triggered by emotional distress and starts to fill the person's lungs with something that looks like roots (what is that? I don't know. Some kind of cartilage hyperplasia that doesn't directly affect the joints, but causes a lot of cartilage to spontaneously grow around the lungs, maybe).

So, I decided that here Steve recognizes the importance of communication and does something about it, telling everyone who matters about what Hanahaki is really like. And Eddie, who would normally be the cause of Hanahaki, is not. He is simply someone Steve has started to love, who will not be the main cause of his suffering.

In this case, it's also easier for him to confess, because he doesn't have to say, "Hey, Eddie, if you don't like me, I'm going to die, because you made me sick." Technically, he would just have to say, "Hey, Eddie, I'm sick, love me, because loving and taking care of me will help me survive longer." But he didn't say any of that. He talked about himself, about his parents, and about his illness.

Because he wants to be loved, he wants to have a family, but he could never live in peace with himself if he didn't make it very clear what his life is going to be like. Right now, he's stable and relatively well, but things are still going to get worse and he needs to be sure, for himself and for the people he loves, that he won't be abandoned.

I could have done a lot worse. I considered it. Putting Steve through a lot more hospitalizations, having a lot more invasive procedures, spending a lot more time in the hospital, but I think that would have been inconsistent with everything he's done in canon. And I didn't want to take away all of his heroic deeds because his disease was so advanced, so I decided to give him 10 years of stability, with the disease progressing at a manageable pace.

Unfortunately, that also involved a lot of neglect of treatment, so his health started to decline further, but it's far from terminal.

Being sick is a very lonely experience, especially with rare diseases, because it feels like no one understands. Even the people closest to you, friends and family, are often unwilling to even try to understand. So I wanted to write an Eddie who searches for everything he can on his own, and who listens silently when Steve has the courage to talk about Hanahaki and his parents. He will never fully understand Steve, but he is trying, and that is very important.

Since Mrs. Harrington also has Hanahaki, it was possible to bring two different perspectives, and get this! Neither of them died, neither of them is a “one-sided love,” they just deal with the disease in very different ways.

I thought a lot about how to write Steve’s parents’ relationship, because it’s so complex, but I decided not to try to understand the nuances, because it’s being presented from their son’s point of view anyway, so it’s not like he knows everything. The fact is, they balance between decline and survival.

Mrs. Harrington is doing well because her husband still makes a point of spoiling her and giving her attention, and that’s enough to make her feel loved. He may like how loved he is, how much she adores him, and I can’t say he doesn’t want her to be well. He does. He cares for her, deeply. He wouldn’t spend 15 years (counting from the diagnosis) with a sick woman if he didn’t want to keep her alive.

But he doesn't understand Hahanaki, he doesn't even expect her to live for another 50 years. He doesn't think of her death as something that will shake the universe, it's just a certainty. He loves her, in a distant and impersonal way, and he loves that she loves him so much. They don't communicate well. They don't face Hanahaki together, they just go around it as if it were a huge ghost between them.

Mrs. Harrington medicates herself, of course, and gets the best treatments that money can buy, but that's very secondary in her life. Being reciprocated, believing in it and being with the ones she loves helps control the disease, but they don't do it in a healthy way.

To make matters worse, she isolated herself from many people and focused on who caused the circumstances that triggered Hanahaki.

Steve does the opposite. He talks about Hanahaki, he wants to make sure everyone knows how unavoidable Hanahaki has become, though he does his best to ignore it until 1985, when he has to tell Robin. Even then, he tries to downplay the fact that he is sick, because he doesn't want to worry her.

He changes his outlook because shortly after Vecna, he can feel how much weaker his body seems to be, and when he doesn't get better, he realizes that he can't be well enough to hide it anymore. Then the tests, the realization that he has actually gotten worse, and with that comes a new understanding of how uncertain his future is.

Steve could be like his mother. They share the same blood, the same disease, they spent years having similar ideas about keeping things a secret, they both watched Mr. Harrington go away while they stayed behind.

Then he watched his mother go away too.

Steve had a relationship that didn’t end well, and he was able to forgive, and he might have been able to get back together with Nancy and ignore everything that went wrong between them during spring break. But he didn’t do any of those things. Maybe that’s the choice he would have made, if Robin hadn’t been there for him, and if he hadn’t fallen in love with Eddie, if he didn’t care about the kids. If there wasn’t so much else in his life.

He made very different choices than his mother.

Anyway, that's it. Chronic Hanahaki, having a support network that goes far beyond a boyfriend, complications caused by the disease and the agony of living knowing that any day could be THE day you'll go into the hospital and won't get out so easily.

@eyehartart

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

@steddieangstyaugust Day 31 - Speaking Saturday: "I'm not going to beg you to love me."

i’m challenging myself to keep all these at either 127 or 1,270 words each, see day one for more of an explanation!

“You can’t keep going on like this, Eddie! You’re gonna die, you’ve gotta find them, tell them!”

Eddie hacks another horrible cough. Three petals fall into his hand this time. “Uh huh.”

The cough started not long after Eddie’d been deemed fully recovered and fully cleared of all wrongdoing in the spring break murders.

It started light at first, Eddie brushing it off as getting used to smoking again, but it’d just gotten worse.

After a good couple weeks of solid cough, Steve finally saw a petal.

All Eddie’s attempts at squirreling them away successful until that moment.

Eddie had contracted Hanahaki. Love blossoms, Death thorns.

And he’d staunchly refused any conversation about confessing to whoever it was he was stuck on, who he was literally dying over.

"Why are you being such an idiot about this?!”

“I’m being realistic, Steve.” Every breath sounds like it’s going through a cheese grater.

“Realis– Eddie. You. Are. Going. To. Die.”

“Yep.”

“And you’re okay with that?”

That finally seems to set him off, “Of course I’m not! I’m fucking pissed that this is my lot in life. I survived the bats, the infections, the goddamn people of this town, and now it’s my stupid, lovesick heart that does me in?? I’m livid!”

Eddie hacks another cough, folding up on the bed with the force of them. A pile of ten blood-spattered petals sit on his lap by the end of his fit.

“So why not try?” Steve asks when Eddie’s breathing levels back out to its new normal level of wheezing. “If you’re already resigned yourself to dying, what’s the harm in telling them?”

Eddie studies him, his dark eyes are bloodshot, watering still from the coughs, then closes his eyes and shakes his head yet again.

“Damn it, Eddie.” Steve drops his head into his palms, “Do you think this is fun for us? Watching you wither away like this?” He picks his head back up, “Do you think Wayne is enjoying knowing that he got you back from the dead once only for you to turn around and walk back towards it?”

“I’m not going to do it, Steve, so stop.”

“No, this is asinine and you know it, Munson!”

Eddie’s face twists up in anger, “I’m not going to beg you to love me!”

Every fiber of Steve’s being freezes in place. His heart stops, his feet are made of ice.

Then, his head, blissfully quiet for only a moment, swirls back into a frenzy.

What?! Me?! I’m the one causing thi—

“I want you to leave.” Eddie’s whisper cuts his thoughts short.

“Huh?”

“Leave.”

“Eddie, no, wait, just let me–”

“Go, Steve!”

Steve’s legs pick him up in an instant. “Eddie, I—”

“I said leave, Harrington! Get the fuck out of my hou—” a fit of coughs breaks into his speech, and this time, Eddie reaches for the bucket, spewing his meager breakfast and bile into the bottom along with at least ten more petals. A final heave, and a whole rose makes an appearance.

Once done, he spits a couple times, then without looking up, says, “Go. Now.”

So he does. 

He walks down the hall and to the front door in a daze, his thoughts swirling.

Eddie’s in love with him?

He– Him?? Steve Harrington? He’s like, the complete opposite of what Eddie should be into. 

He’s driving now, not sure where he’s going.

But why? Why him? How is Steve supposed to help him??

That’s why he didn’t want to tell you, dipshit.

Of course.

The car pulls into Robin’s driveway.

What is he supposed to do now? He’s got to save Eddie’s life somehow, right?

“Dingus, what are you doing here?”

“I’m why Eddie’s dying.”

Robin’s expression shifts, she pulls him into the house and up the stairs to her room.

Steve sinks down onto the edge of her mattress. “Robin, Eddie’s in love with me. I’m his Hanahaki.”

“I know, I know,” She says, patting his back, “He told me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, Steve. Not unless you suddenly have a whole new preference in partners.”

Steve sits with that a moment. Did he? Eddie’s a good-looking guy, sure, that’s just objective. But…. he thinks about kissing Eddie, how his lips would feel against his, about the times he’d seen him naked while helping him recover, about how he’d feel against him..

Nothing.

Steve doesn’t want to kiss Eddie. Doesn’t want to do anything more with the imagined naked man in his head other than find him some clothes after helping get him clean and changing his bandages. 

He loves the guy, sure, but it’s only maybe more than how much he loves Jonathan. Meaning he’s on the Steve Scale of Caring just under all the shitheads.

“No. I don’t.”

Robin heaves a sigh, “Yeah, figured as much. What’d Eddie say when you told him?”

“..Told him what?”

“That you don’t feel that way about him.”

“I didn’t.”

“You didn’t?”

Steve shrugs.

“You didn’t tell him you don’t have feelings for him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything. He didn’t let me.” He tells Robin what Eddie said, about throwing up and demanding he leave right after.

“What? What’s with the face?” “We have to get back to Eddie’s.” Robin shoots up, grabbing her back and pulling on some socks.

Steve follows, “What? What do you mean?”

“How many did he throw up? How many petals?”

“Uh, I dunno, ten maybe? A whole flower came out at the end.”

Robin’s eyes go wide, “Oh no.”

A rock sinks heavily into Steve’s stomach, “What’s “Oh no.”?”

“Let’s go!!”

She pulls him down the steps and back out the door, barely managing to pull her shoes on.

“Gotta hurry! We've got to get back to Forest Hills!”

So he steps on it, not quite sure what the huge rush is, but Robin’s expression tells him it’s serious.

“What is happening, Rob, why am I hurrying?” He asks desperately, screeching around the last corner.

“You rejected him, It’s going to take hold even faster now!”

Steve feels like throwing up, he presses his foot down even harder.

“I didn’t though. I didn’t say anything!”

“I don’t think it matters,” Robin says, flinging open the passenger door.

Steve follows, hopping up the porch steps and through the back door just behind her.

Her gasp doesn’t bode well. “Oh no.”

He pushes past her, into Eddie’s room. 

“Holy shit… Eddie!”

Eddie’s curled up on his side facing them in the door, paler than even an hour ago, chest barely moving.

There’s thick thorny vines snaking out of his face. two out his mouth, one out his right nostril, all three covered in beautiful, bloody white roses. 

The blooms do their best to cover his face, but his scrunched brow can still be seen.

“Eddie..” Steve whispers, reaching for his cheek.

He doesn’t touch him however, Robin’s voice startling him from down the hall, “Hello? Yes, Hi, I need an ambulance please, it’s thorns!”

Steve doesn’t know what to do.

He wants to yank the stems out, he wants to pick Eddie up and run him to the hospital himself.. But he’s frozen. 

All he can do is stare down at the slowly decreasing rate of movement of Eddie’s chest, and listen as the sirens get closer.

—

He’s in a coma. 

The beeping has been sounding in Steve’s head for weeks now, sat at Eddie’s bedside.

The vines are gone, held back by medication, but it’s only prolonging the inevitable.

“I hate you.” Steve lies.

The scratching in his throat is getting stronger.

🙃🙃🙃🙃

this is it!! the last day of Angsty August!! i can't believe i've posted something for every single day this month, holy shit

i'd say i'm not going to do this ever again, but i want to write something for every day in @steddie-spooktober so i'll see y'all then 😅

see the collection on tumblr | on AO3!

[emitowrites]

Heather

I got so burnt out over the holidays, the socialising and family obligations overwhelmed my boundaries, self-care, and need for a schedule - so I haven't really been able to work on anything creative for a little while.

I'd started writing this a little while ago after seeing @steddieunderdogfics' January Calendar had the Hanahaki theme for 1/13. I've not really read many Hanahaki stories before, but I wanted to give it a go! So here we are!

I was listening to Heather by Conan Gray when it dawned on me that it is also the name of a flowering shrub native to Scotland, so it's another Emito Steddie Songfic, too!

It's a 10k word, one-shot, find it here on my Ao3.

Steve manages to save Eddie from the Upside Down, but as they wait for him to wake up Steve gets sicker and sicker, coughing up tiny, brightly coloured flowers.

Hope you like it 💚

[atimeofyourlife]

Whumptober day 4

rated:t | wc: 506 | prompt: Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?” |cw: minor emetophobia Steve has Hanahaki AU

Steve tried to keep quiet as he coughed over the toilet, bringing up mouthful after mouthful of bloodstained petals. He didn't want anyone else to hear or to know that he was struck by hanahaki. It had steadily been getting worse over a couple of weeks, and Steve knew he didn't have much longer before he would have to make the decision on the surgery. But he didn't know how to go about any of it without making anyone, especially Eddie, feel guilty.

A hacking cough forced it's way out of his chest accompanied by his first whole flower, a partially open black rose.

"Steve, are you in there?" He heard Robin call after a knock on the door. "You've been a while, everyone's getting worried."

"I'm fine, Rob-" He started but got cut off as he started coughing up even more petals.

"Please let me in. I need to know that you're okay?"

Steve leaned over to unlock the door, then had to throw himself back towards the toilet as the next round of petals made their appearance.

"Oh, Steve." Robin said as she took in what she could see.

"Lock it." Steve mumbled between coughs.

Robin did as asked before kneeling behind Steve to rub his back.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Robin asked after Steve's coughing had slowed down.

"Didn't want anyone to worry." Steve admitted.

"Steve, we love you. Of course we're going to worry about you. Some of those kids were practically climbing the walls once they realized how long you'd been gone. They all wanted to come and see if you were okay. I didn't think you'd want them to see you if you were unwell so I convinced them to let me check."

"Thanks." Steve replied, leaning against Robin's shoulder.

"Do you know who it is?" She asked, curiosity getting the better of her. "Is it Nancy? Because I know she's still kinda with Jonathan, but I'm sure-"

"No. It's not Nance. I. It's Eddie." Steve said quietly, knowing it wasn't just him admitting having hanahaki, but also him coming out to Robin.

"Oh. Have- have you thought about telling him?"

"No. I, uh. I asked him out a few weeks ago. He turned me down, said he only saw me as a friend. It started after that. I don't want him to feel guilty or like he has to try to love me or that he has to be the one who saves me. It's not his fault." Steve explained, hating how it made him feel unlovable.

"What are you going to do?"

"I think I'm going to have to get the surgery. When you knocked on the door, I coughed up my first whole flower. So I know it's getting worse."

"Do you-" Robin started, but was cut off by another knock on the door.

"Steve, you in there?" Eddie's voice came through.

"He's sick, can you get everyone home?" Robin replied as Steve lurched back over the toilet, violently coughing up even more petals and blood.

all my whumptober fills