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estrellami-1 · 2 months ago

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Anything

Trigger warning: discussions of death. Not a main character, but it does happen. Lots of angst. Lots of hurt/comfort. I’ll post it in the tags as well.

Steve has a problem.

It’s not a big problem, not really, but his brain won’t let it go and is making it a bigger deal than it really is.

Eddie won’t ride in his car alone.

With the kids, sure; he’ll practically dive into the backseat, noogie Dustin, generally make a nuisance of himself.

But if it’s just the two of them? If Steve insists on driving, Eddie will take his van. There’s no problem if Steve wants to ride with Eddie. But the other way around? Eddie riding with Steve? That doesn’t happen. And Steve has no idea why.

“Talk to him, Dingus,” is Robin’s advice. He’d flip her off, but unfortunately he thinks she’s right: this is something they’re gonna have to talk through.

So Steve pulls on his big-boy pants and marches himself to the Munsons’ trailer, knocking on the door and waiting expectantly.

He doesn’t expect Wayne, but maybe he should’ve, because that’s who answers the door. “Hi, Steve. You’re here for Eddie, I bet, he’ll be in his room.” He moves aside to let Steve in, and Steve thanks him after a second before moving down the hall to Eddie’s room.

He hears him before he sees him; or, more accurately, he hears his guitar. He’s playing the acoustic tonight, instead of his usual sweetheart, so Steve knocks instead of walking in like he’d usually do.

The guitar stops, and Steve hears it being put down, hears a heavy sigh. “Wayne, I’m not really in the- oh.” He opens the door as he speaks and blinks at Steve. After a second, he smiles. “Hey, man, c’mon in.”

Steve blinks. “Uh. Are you okay?”

Eddie purses his lips. “Define okay. I’m not currently being eaten by bats, y’know? But playing the acoustic always reminds me of my Ma.”

“Ah.” Steve shifts. “Sorry, man. Maybe I should come back later.”

Eddie shrugs. “You’re here now, aren’t you? I can’t be that terrible company.”

Steve snorts. “No, I just… I had a question, but it can wait.”

Eddie tilts his head. “You do that a lot, y’know?” He turns, sits on his bed. Motions Steve into his room.

Steve sits next to him, more comfortable here than in his own room. “Do what?”

“Put yourself last.” He shrugs. “You can ask me. If I don’t wanna answer, I won’t.”

Steve scrunches his nose. “Okay, fine. Why won’t you ride in my car?”

Eddie frowns. “I do, though? Hell, I did what, two days ago? You, me and Dustin went to that comic store in Indy.”

“Okay, let me rephrase. Why won’t you ride passenger in my car, alone? Without any of the kids? And even two days ago you were in the backseat with Dustin.” He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, I’m just curious.”

Eddie takes a breath. “No, it’s- yeah. You should know.” He clears his throat, grabs the acoustic again. Plays a riff of some sort, fingers dancing over the frets. “I think I feel like I have to save everyone. Or at least be in a position where I can save them, if the need arises.” He swallows, takes another breath. His fingers still. They tremble over the strings. “Did I ever tell you how my ma died?”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to inhale sharply. He shakes his head. “We can stop,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Eddie smiles ruefully. “I do, though.” He shakes his head. “I was… I was six. It was three days before my seventh birthday. We were driving home from the city. Ma was drivin’, an’ she let me sit in the front seat, since it was almost my birthday. Or- that’s what she said. I think it was so we couldn’t stop her. Couldn’t save her.” He swallows. His eyes are glassy. His accent is thick, the way it gets when he’s thinking about her, or when he’s emotional. His left hand grips the neck of the guitar tightly. Steve worries for his fingers. “We weren’t goin’ that fast, even, but forty’s enough when-” he shakes his head, looks away. Coughs out something that wanted to be a sob. Steve takes the guitar, takes Eddie’s hand. Puts the guitar down. Doesn’t let go of Eddie. “She unbuckled her belt. Dad didn’t see it. I did. Didn’t say anythin’. Maybe I should’ve, I dunno.” He squeezes Steve’s hand. “Then it all happened so fast… she smiled at me, an’ opened her door, an’ next thing I knew-” he wipes at tears on his cheeks. “D’you know what happens to a human head under the wheel of a car at forty miles an hour?”

Steve gasps, grips Eddie’s hand just as tightly. Pulls Eddie in when he begins to shake. “An’ I know why, now,” he whispers. “Dad weren’t good to her. I’unno what he done t’her. I know she did what she could. But I was there. I was right there.” He sniffles, trembles with the effort of keeping his sobs in. Somehow succeeds. “So that’s why. Figure if a kid were to try… I could stop ‘em. Figure if you were to try…”

“You could stop me.” Steve holds him tight. “I won’t,” he whispers. “I swear to you, I won’t.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers back. “But I gotta be able to try.”

“Christ, Eds,” Steve whispers. “I was gonna ask if you’re okay but that’s a stupid question.”

Eddie giggles, still teary-eyed. “Just a little bit.”

Steve pulls away to look him in the eye. “I’m staying tonight, okay? Nightmares are always worse after something like this.”

“Then you should go home,” Eddie argues. “Sleep while you can.”

“Nightmares are always easier with someone else.”

“Damn you, that’s true.” They both laugh a little.

Just then, Wayne comes in with two steaming mugs. “Listen to your boy, son,” he says to Eddie, handing over one of the mugs. He gives Steve the other with a wink. “Lavender tea with a shit ton of honey. Learned it from my ma.”

“Not my boy, Wayne,” Eddie grumbles, but thanks him for the tea anyways.

Steve thanks him too, and he winks again before leaving. Eddie rolls his eyes. “I’d apologize for him, but you’d just defend him.”

“Hey, I like Wayne.”

“I know. Sometimes I think you like him more than you like me.”

Steve chuckles. “Never. You’re my favorite.” He moves so they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder, drinking their tea, leaning against each other. It’s peaceful, and soon enough Eddie’s yawning and dropping his head onto Steve’s shoulder. “Imma pass out soon.”

“Then let’s get you up to brush your teeth before you do.”

Eddie groans like the toddler he secretly is. “I don’t wanna.”

“Yeah, and you don’t wanna go to the dentist to get teeth pulled, either, now do you?”

“Shuddup.”

“Wow. Real master of words here. Really feeling that Dungeon Master power.”

Eddie thumps his arm, but snickers, and really that’s what Steve was going for in the first place, so he just smiles and leads Eddie to the bathroom.

Soon enough they’re in bed, tucked in next to each other, not quite packed like sardines and it’s only because of the heat outside that Steve isn’t more upset not to have more of a reason to touch Eddie. “Night, Eds,” he murmurs, smiling when Eddie rolls over to face him and is temporarily blinded by his own hair. Steve helps move his hair, grabs at Eddie’s hand when he’s done. “Wake me up if the nightmare doesn’t, okay?”

“C’mon, Steve, I can deal with them-”

“I know you can,” Steve answers. “But I want to be up if you are. I want to help if I can. Please, Eddie?”

Eddie sighs after a second. “Damn you,” he says, “I can’t say no to you.” He’s smiling, despite his words, so Steve smiles back.

“Thank you.”

“G’night, Stevie.”

“Night, Eds.”

Steve wakes up to Eddie crying out in his sleep. Even with his eyes closed, he’s got tears streaming down his cheeks. Steve sits up, turns on the lamp, and puts a hand on Eddie’s shoulder. “Eddie?”

He rolls over, away from Steve, and continues sobbing. “Eds? Are you awake?” No answer, so Steve puts his hand back on Eddie’s shoulder and shakes a little. “Eddie, wake up!”

He’s up with an aborted yell and a flail of limbs, sitting up and staring into the darkness of his room, trembling. He sniffs and turns to face Steve, finally realizing he’s there, and Steve opens his arms for a hug.

He collapses into Steve’s arms, face mashed into the side of Steve’s neck, arms snaking around Steve’s torso to give an ineffectual tug. Steve takes the hint and inches closer until they’re practically hip-to-hip. “Y’wanna talk about it?” He asks. Eddie sniffs and shakes his head. “Y’want me to talk? To distract you?” Eddie nods. “Okay. Uh… I may have bitten myself in the butt with this one, ‘cause I’m not a great storyteller, not like you are, but did you know we actually met in middle school?”

No answer. “We did. Hawkins Middle was putting on its annual talent show. Now, back then, I was nobody. No one knew me, my name, my parents… nothing. I had one friend named Tommy, who I’d grown up with. Of course, you know him, and you know what happened between us, but he was my only friend back then. I didn’t tell anyone, but I signed up for the talent show. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do, I just knew I wanted to do something. I’ve always had a pretty decent voice, so I figured I could just sing, if I couldn’t figure out anything else to do. Knew I’d at least beat out Tammy Thompson.” He shifts so Eddie’s hair is no longer a choking hazard and pets his hand over Eddie’s head, doing his best to tame the wild curls. “So it’s the night of the talent show, right? And it feels like the whole school is there. I’m sitting backstage, peeking through the curtains, and am about to have my very first panic attack. Someone bumps into me and knocks me over. They tell me to watch where I’m going, even though I wasn’t moving. So now I’m on the ground, thinking about the crowd, and the noise is getting to be too much, and someone grabs my hand and it all… stops. Just like that. It’s silent, other than, like, a ringing sound in my ears. And this boy, the one who grabbed my hand, kneels in front of me, puts my hand on his chest-” Steve demonstrates, moving so he can grab Eddie’s hand and put it on his chest, just over his heart. “-and tells me to breathe with him. In, out. In, out. He raised his hand when we breathed in, and lowered it when we breathed out. In, out. In, out. And when my breathing’s calmed down, he tells me to name five things I can see. And you know what I said first?”

Eddie furrows his brows. “My… my hair?”

“Yup,” Steve nods. “But you’d just had it shaved off, so d’you know what I really saw first?”

“What?”

Steve giggles. “Your ears.”

Eddie groans and ducks his head, pressing his forehead into Steve’s chest. “Hated my ears.”

“I’m gonna say something that’s gonna sound mean, but is actually a compliment,” Steve warns him. “Your ears reminded me of Dumbo. I always loved that movie, the reminder that we don’t have to change who we are in order to be loved. That sometimes the things we hate most about ourselves, the things people tease us about the most, are actually the things that help us most, in the end.” He guides Eddie to lay down. “And I’m not saying your ears are what saved you. But I am saying they reminded me that everything, maybe, isn’t entirely hopeless.” He smiles, tucks Eddie’s hair behind his ear. Says, “I like your ears.”

Said ear burns red. “You’d be one of the few.”

“That’s okay.”

“What’s your thing? Your… ears?”

Steve hums. “Did you know I cried a lot as a kid? I was very emotional, very easily moved. My dad always hated it, so I learned to cover it up. But I think it’s what got me here in the end. I could’ve told Dustin I didn’t have time to help him, but I didn’t. I got roped into this whole mess, but it’s how I got to know him and the kids. It’s how I got to know Robin and you.”

Eddie smiles. “I’m glad you cried as a kid.”

Steve laughs. “Yeah. Me too.” He shifts, a little closer, a little more down the bed so their eyes are level. “D’you wanna talk about it?”

“There’s nothing I want less.”

“D’you think you can sleep?”

Eddie takes a breath. Steve feels the exhale over his cheek. “Maybe.”

“M’kay. Lemme know if you can’t.”

“Okay. I won’t.”

“Eddie.”

He giggles. “I’m kidding. I’ll let you know. I just… won’t stop talking at you until you answer.”

Steve hums, lets his eyes slip shut. “I’ll always answer.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, so soft. It makes something warm unfurl in Steve’s chest. “I know you will.”

Steve reaches out, squeezes Eddie’s hand in answer. Lets sleep drag him down the way it’s wanted to since he lay back down.

He doesn’t think about the fact that their hands are still clasped.

He’s the first one up in the morning, and he’s a little annoyed by it because they’d shifted during the night, so Steve is no longer facing Eddie.

His annoyance lasts for all of two seconds before he realizes there’s a warm weight behind him and over his hip, and he figures out it’s because Eddie is behind him, arm over Steve’s hip, fingers curled against the little bit of skin visible from Steve’s shirt riding up during the night.

Steve smiles, sighs, and lets his eyes sink shut again.

He doesn’t sleep, just kind of drifts, so he feels it when Eddie wakes up. He feels him tense in a stretch, feels his forehead press against Steve’s spine, feels his fingers curl farther into Steve’s stomach.

He feels Eddie wake up fully and realize the position he’s in. Feels him hum, then stiffen, slowly pulling away. Steve aches about it, but doesn’t move until he’s out of bed completely, taking the time then to roll over as if he’d just woken up. “M’rn’n,” he mumbles, not exaggerating the sleep-rough in his voice at all.

“Mornin’,” Eddie yawns. “How’d you sleep?”

Steve hums, stretches, sits up. “Think I should be asking you that.”

Eddie smiles. “I slept fine. Now how about you?”

“No more nightmares?”

“Not at all. Think you chased ‘em all away.”

“Good.”

“Steve.”

“What?”

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh. Fine. Great.”

Eddie hums, but takes his word for it, offers his hand to help Steve up, which he accepts.

“Can I ask you something that I’m pretty sure you’re not gonna want to answer?”

Eddie grins crookedly. “You can ask me anything, Stevie. If I don’t wanna answer, I won’t.” He sits back on the bed, next to Steve. “What is it?”

“What was your dad like?”

Eddie blows out a breath, looks away. “Jesus, first thing in the morning, too. Uh… y’know how you said your dad is a grade-A asshole?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah. Last I heard, he’s in the state prison for the next… five? Ten? Years. I dunno, don’t really keep track. Was just little things at first, petty theft, then he got an ego and started stealing cars, met a guy who could clean ‘em, and he just…” he shakes his head. “Wayne says he got too big for his britches. I say he got what was coming to him. He tried to rob someone and it… didn’t go well. He got caught, the owner tried to scare him off, swung first, but it doesn’t matter who swung first when he’s dead and my dad was trespassing, right? Tried to say it was self-defense, but…”

“But he was trespassing,” Steve nods.

“Exactly. He got twenty-five for that, and it’s been… twelve years? So I guess he’s got… thirteen left. Not five or ten. Guess it feels like he’s been gone that long.” He sighs. “I went to live with Wayne before that, though… I had a friend, he was my best friend, and my dad… really didn’t like how close we were. Spit out a couple’a slurs, said something about sending me to a camp.” Steve’s breath catches. “I called Wayne that night. Poor guy drove that night, was there by… one in the morning? Picked me up and I’ve never looked back.” He shrugs, picks at his comforter. “Turns out Dad was right about me, but Wayne’s never had an issue, so.” He shrugs. His fingers belie his nerves.

“I think, if I were to ever tell my dad,” Steve says quietly, “a camp would be the least of my issues.”

Eddie’s fingers still for a second before continuing, not fidgeting quite as quickly as before. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Then it’s a good thing you don’t have to tell him.”

“I think I do, though.”

“How so?”

“He’s got this… way. Of just proving himself right, every time. It’s why I haven’t left yet. He always finds a way to twist it around and show me I can’t make it on my own. Not on my Family Video salary.”

Eddie hums. “Maybe not on your own,” he admits. “But with a person or two? There’s Family Videos in other cities. Ask to transfer. Robin’s been making noise about heading to Indy, right?”

“I think she just wants out of Hawkins, and Indy is the only feasible place to her.”

“Very understandable. Where would you go, Steve? If you could go anywhere?”

Steve sighs. “That’s the problem, though. I can’t leave the kids.”

Eddie chuckles. “I should’ve known. Then why not find a place in between? Maybe on the edge of town?”

“We’re still both on a Family Video salary. I don’t think even combined we could afford anything.” Steve tilts his head. “You said a person or two. Who’s the other person?”

“Ah,” Eddie says. “Well, not to come between the platonic soulmates, but I’m sure Wayne would love to have his life back.”

Steve snorts. “Robin loves you almost as much as I do, Eds, of course you’re welcome.”

Eddie ignores that, for the sake of his own sanity. “Well,” he says instead. “Maybe it’s time to take a crack at those newspapers Wayne’s been hoarding.”

“Maybe it is,” Steve says, a strange sort of smile playing across his lips. “And I can ask people. You’d be surprised at the amount of gossip I hear at work.”

“Oh, I believe it, trust me. Or are you forgetting I use to hang around Sam Goody?”

“Oh, god,” Steve laughs, “I had forgotten that, yeah.” He sighs. “D’you think we would’ve been friends back then? If we’d known each other?”

“I don’t think so.” Eddie chews at his bottom lip. “Not because of you, but because of me. I was still stuck in that high school hierarchal shit, y’know? I would’ve seen you as an asshole jock even though you weren’t anymore.”

“I think I’m still working on it.”

“I think we’re all working on being who we want to be.” He stands and offers Steve a hand up with a grin. “And y’know what helps with that?”

Steve chuckles, places his hand in Eddie’s. “What’s that?”

“Pancakes,” he says decisively. “C’mon, let’s go bully Wayne into making us some.”

“And by bully, you mean ask once.”

Eddie hums. “Same difference.”

He waltzes into the living room, arms spread wide. “Sir Wayne! Our visiting prince has requested pancakes this fine morn.”

Wayne squints at him. “I’m your king, dipshit,” he says, lip quirked up in a smile as he winks at Steve. “Make your own damn pancakes.”

“Wayne!” Eddie cries. “Betrayal! Betrayal of the highest order!”

“You’ll live,” Wayne deadpans. Steve giggles.

Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne. “Fine,” he says. “We will make our own. But there shall be no extra for you, sir!”

Following him to the kitchen, Steve says, “We’ll make extra.”

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Wayne returns, “but I’d ‘preciate it.”

In the kitchen, Eddie sighs with his head halfway in a cabinet. “Okay, so we don’t have mix.”

“That’s okay,” Steve says. “I can make them from scratch.”

“Or,” Eddie says, turning to Steve with a grin. “We can go out.”

“We could,” Steve allows. “But then Wayne wouldn’t get any.”

Eddie hops backwards onto the counter and leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “Y’know how I said we wouldn’t have been friends if we’d met earlier?”

“Yeah.”

“It really would’ve been entirely my fault.” He sighs. “You’re just… so nice. And it would’ve been unbelievable, for me, because the Munson Doctrine dictates that all jocks are assholes and stay jockish assholes. I think what happened… had to happen, if we were gonna be friends.”

Steve worries his lip. “Then… is it bad if I say I’m glad it happened? If only for that reason?”

“Only if I’m also glad it happened, for that reason,” Eddie responds quietly. “Y’know the only other person I’ve told about my ma is Jeff?”

“I’m…” he pauses, scrunching his nose. “I wanna say I’m honored, but that sounds weird.”

Eddie chuckles. “I know what you mean, Stevie.”

Steve nods, and they stay there for a minute, looking at each other, until Steve looks away with a sigh. “Alright,” he says, pancakes?”

Eddie gusts out a sigh. “Please.”

Steve chuckles and shoves the flour towards Eddie. “Here. Two cups.”

Eddie frowns. “Only?”

“For now. We can always make more later if we need to.”

Eddie shrugs, but nods at Steve, as if deferring to his expertise. “D’you have eggs?”

“Uh.” Eddie checks the fridge, then the cabinet. “No, but we’ve got Spam?”

Steve snorts. “That works. Wanna cut up a can and fry it?”

“Works for me.”

And so they work, side by side, until breakfast is ready and they’re all three eating side by side.

After, Wayne stretches in his seat, glances at the clock, and mutters something underneath his breath as he gets up. “Thanks for breakfast, boys. Steve, you gonna be here for dinner?”

“Uh,” Steve says, glancing at Eddie. “Unless Ed kicks me out.”

“Never,” Eddie swears.

“I’ll pick up burgers on my way back,” Wayne decides. “That work for you two?”

“Definitely,” Eddie nods.

“Sure. Thank you, Wayne.”

“Son,” Wayne starts, then shakes his head.

Steve gets the message: he belongs here. His cheeks burn. “Thanks, Wayne,” he murmurs.

Wayne ruffles his hair as he passes.

“So,” Eddie asks, once it’s just the two of them. “Any plans for the day?”

Steve makes a face. “I gotta work at two, but I’m free till then.”

Eddie snorts. “Lemme guess, you’re working alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Well not today!” Eddie says brightly. “Why don’t I come with?”

Steve blinks. “Because… why would you?”

“Cause you’re my friend, Stevie. I wanna hang out with you but I can’t do that if you’re at work and I’m here.”

Steve snickers. “I guess we can talk about moving in together. Tuesdays are always the slowest day of the week.”

“Yeah! Wayne’s got the papers around here somewhere.” He trails off, looking around, then bounds over to the TV with a triumphant, “Ha!” He reaches into the crate the TV’s sitting on and pulls out a stack of newspapers. “Okay, we don’t want anything from last year… beginning of this year might be too old…” he hesitates, looking at Steve. “Maybe since Spring Break? A lot of people moved out.”

Steve hums, moves closer. “Good point. There’s bound to be something on the edge of town.” He sighs as he sits next to Eddie. “The only problem is Robin doesn’t have a car, or even her license. And if I’m working here, and she’s trying to work in Indy, how’s she gonna get there?”

“Well,” Eddie begins, “who says you have to stay at Family Video? Why not stretch your wings out? Try something else? Indy’s a big city with lots of opportunity. How about this.” He shifts so he’s facing Steve. “If you could do anything in the world, work anywhere, what would you do? Where would you work?”

Steve fidgets with his pant leg as he thinks. “A bakery,” he decides softly.

Eddie stills for a moment. “I feel like I should’ve seen that coming. You’d be a great baker, Steve. Or if you want to just sell the baked goods, you’d be great at that, too. Hawkins is small enough we don’t have need for a bakery. Not when you can get everything you need at Melvald’s. But Indy’s big. I pass by two bakeries every time I head into the city.” He puts a hand on Steve’s knee. “Stay at Family Video for now. But when we move, you can apply to those places. Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Steve nods. He can feel his cheeks heating up, feel the excitement coursing through his body. “You really think I could?”

“Steve.” Eddie sighs. “I think you are so much better than you see. I think you can do anything.”

“I dunno about anything.” Steve ducks his head as he blushes. “But, uh. Thank you.”

Eddie smiles. “For?”

Steve looks up at him. His breath catches, for a second, at the look in Eddie’s eyes. He looks away with a shrug even as his cheeks heat up. “Believing in me, I guess.”

“Anything,” Eddie promises again.

Steve looks at him again. Really looks, even as his cheeks heat uncomfortably warm. “…Anything?”

Without looking away, Eddie grabs his hand. Rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. Whispers it again.

Steve leans in and kisses him.

Eddie kisses back.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #robin buckley #starambles #tw character death #cw character death #I’m imagining Eddie goes to Family Video with Steve that day and eventually puts on a vest another employee had left there #He does more work than Steve #Except for when the old ladies who hate Eddie on principle come in #Eddie finds out Steve can out-bitch them #He falls more in love #He does in fact have to excuse himself to the back after that. Yes they kiss about it later #I literally googled ‘human head getting run over at 40mph’ and I think the FBI agent in my phone is officially Worried #Oh well. He knows I’ve seen worse #Also in case you were wondering. I couldn’t find any concrete answers. But I got Enough #No beta we die like Eddie’s mom apparently????#(Too soon?)

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artiststarme · 1 year ago

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Steve could always see the dead, since his grandma died when he was six and his papa when he was seven. He’d have conversations with them at the side of his pool about his day until the breeze swept them away. He’d always liked the dead more than the living, not that people would understand if he’d told them.

He’d sometimes go out and sit in his pool chairs to talk to Barb, the girl that hated him alive and even more now that she’d died. She never blamed him though. She’d rant and she’d rave about the injustice of it all but unlike Nancy, she never blamed him for her death. She just let him listen to her dreams and hopes that would never occur.

After Vecna and their last encounter with the Upside Down, Steve would talk to Eddie. They’d lay side by side in his bed surrounded by plaid and talk about what could’ve been. Big metal tours, traveling, dreams being made, guys, girls, even the kids on occasion. They’d even talk about what they could’ve been, once upon a time. But when night turned to day, Eddie would fade away and Steve would be left all alone again.

He might be able to see both alive and dead but through it all, he was alone.

#oh dear this was so much more depressing than I thought it would be #I am so sorry!#Eddie comes back every night and Steve’s love along with One’s powers being him back #then he and Steve can be together in real life #After that Steve doesn’t have to worry about being alone #stranger things #steddie #ish #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet

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alwaysurvalentine · 4 months ago

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bad days are meant to be shared - st fic

Written for Day 10 of @steddieangstyaugust - prompt: "Where were you?" - word count: 3.7k - cw: some cussing, mentions of nausea but no vomiting (Steve Harrington centric, but Eddie saves the day)

enjoy! 💛

Working at Family Video is fine. It really is. It can be mindless but Steve doesn’t mind it, or at least he doesn’t mind when he wakes up feeling refreshed. Instead he got to wake up feeling groggy, a heaviness settling in his head that he knows can turn into a migraine if he isn’t careful. His heartbeat is already pulsing through his body but he figures the medicine he took this morning with his coffee should hold off the worst of it until Robin comes in. She’ll be able to talk to the customers and he can just focus on restocking the shelves and rewinding tapes. He’s just got to make it until 2. Only one hour to go until she walks in and so far it’s been pretty quiet for a Friday. Only one more hour and then he won’t have to answer the phone when it rings or-

Speaking of the phone, it starts to ring and he sighs. He wishes he didn’t have to answer, but would rather answer than listen to it continue to ring – acting like an ice pick to his brain.

“Thank you for calling Family Video, how can I help you?”

“Steve! Hey!” Robin’s out of breath on the other end of the line and Steve can picture her wrestling jeans on while talking on the phone. “Can you do me a huuuuge favor? Can you please please cover for me today? Chrissy invited me out to the lake for a picnic!”

He knows he’s going to regret it, especially with how his head already feels, but he also knows she’s covered for him before. Plus, he’s been dying to tell her ‘I told you so’ about the whole Chrissy Situation (TM), since Robin refuses to believe the other girl likes her. Steve’s seen cheerleaders flirt, he knows what it means that Chrissy always finds a way to touch Robin in some way. Examples include bumping shoulders while they walk all the way to brushing Robin’s hair behind her ears – Steve swears she’s hopeless. The girl can figure out Russian in no time, but a girl flirting with her? Might as well be the nuclear codes. Though he thinks Robin could figure that out faster.

“Yeah, Robs. ‘Course I can.” His voice comes out more gruff than he intended, but the light from the front window is just hitting his eyes worse than it was before. The echo of his pounding heartbeat intensifies. There’s a small pause on the other end of the phone, damn Robin and her ability to read him. “Someone’s about to walk in – talk later?”

“Sure, but Ste-” He hangs up. No one’s walking up to the store but Steve stands behind the register for a moment regardless. He crosses his arms on the counter in front of him and leans against them for a couple breaths. Now he’s got four hours to go before he can leave and no one to cover for him if this headache does become a migraine. Hopefully Hawkins will decide to go to the actual movie theater in town rather than coming in for a rental. Four hours until he gets to go home. Where he planned on cooking dinner for Eddie tonight, shit. His head throbs at the idea. No, it’ll be fine. He’ll make it through his shift, make dinner for Eddie, call Robin to ask about her date, clean up dinner, and then go to bed. Imagining his and Eddie’s bed, soft sheets and fluffy pillows gives him some hope; imagining Eddie’s arms around him when he falls asleep brings a small smile to his face.

The bell attached to the front door rings and he sighs before standing straight, his customer service smile already painted on his face when he realizes it’s Dustin that’s walked through the door. As always, his curls are wild under his cap, and he’s wearing his green ‘Camp Know Where’ shirt.

“Steve! Get this! So was messing around with my mom’s radio to see what parts I could use to make my own phonograph -” And the pulsing is back. Steve knows as long as he keeps on nodding every so often and places a couple ‘oh really?’s in there Dustin will carry this whole conversation on his own. Dustin’s mom is a saint, but Steve knows that sometimes her suggestions for ‘Dusty’ to get some air is to give her some time alone in the house. Which usually leads him to wherever Steve is or the rest of the Party – Steve seems to be the lucky winner today.

A family makes their way into the store, Mrs. Dawson and her two boys. Steve doesn’t remember their names but he eyes them as they race off to the cartoon section of the shelves. Mrs. Dawson sets down a couple movies in front of him on the counter, a grimace on her face. Her lipstick is a bright pink that almost hurts to look at.

“Let me just pull up your account to get this squared away. Did you need help finding anything today?” His voice sounds plastic even to him, and distantly he can hear Dustin still talking about the pieces of the camcorder. What the hell is a beam splitter? Anyway – Amelia Dawson’s record shows the two movies on the counter, she’s turning them in on the last day before late fees but that’s fine. He checks that she’s returned them and goes to grab the cases (Robin Hood and Pete’s Dragon smile up at him from their plastic covers); now that he has his hands on them – are very sticky. Like dipped in caramel sticky. Luckily Mrs. Dawson’s attention is back on her boys who have decided to try and play tag in the aisles, uncaring of their elbows catching on movies at the end of shelves and leaving them to clatter on the floor. Steve fights a gag at the feeling and scoots the movies to the side of the counter, he can rewind them later.

“So as I was saying, now I just have to get a couple of parts from Radio Shack and I should be able to record my own waves and see what they look like. If I can do that, then-” Steve tunes him out again, nodding along like he has any idea about what Dustin is talking about. Why does he need to see how words sound?

“Boys, come on now, we don’t want to keep daddy waiting – let’s go. Time for a late lunch.” Luckily, the twins – who he finally remembers are Michael and Matthew – take off towards the door at their mom’s words. Pushing at each other to see who’s going to get there first. The cardboard cut out for the month, Sigourney Weaver’s character from Aliens, falls to the floor in their wake but at least the store is noticeably quieter without them. Dustin asks to use the bathroom and Steve just nods as he rounds the counter. The movies that fell earlier get placed on the shelf and he makes a mental note to move them to the right places before he leaves today. He’s standing the cutout back up when he gets hit with a wave of nausea. He closes his eyes and slowly inhales, knows if he pukes now the rest of his shift will be absolute hell. With his eyes closed it’s a lot easier to hone in on the sounds of the fluorescent lights. Normally it’s a gentle buzz in the background, but today the lights seem to be doing their best impression of a drum line that just won’t quit. The nausea lessens and Steve glances at his watch. Just three hours left to go.

“Steve, what do you think?” Hazel eyes blink and Dustin comes into focus again, his eyes expectant. Steve knows he’s waiting for an answer to something but he genuinely has no idea what was just asked of him. Dustin’s eyebrows furrow slightly as the silence continues. Steve’s head is still throbbing and he can feel his heartbeat all the way down to his fingers.

“What did you say?”

Dustin huffs, rolling his eyes before repeating(?) his question. “I said, do you think that we can record the sound of silence as a sound wave? Because when it’s quiet your ears can make that ringing noise, do you think it’s quantifiable? And if it is, do you think there’s some kind of link to that sound to the part of the ear that is affected by deafness?”

Steve knows all of those words individually, but thinking of them in a sequence that makes sense to him right now is not happening. He even knows what Dustin means by the ringing noise, but he didn’t realize other people heard that too – thought that was just a him thing. Dustin must be able to tell he doesn’t have an answer because he crosses his arms.

“Do you even listen to me when I’m talking?” Steve shouldn’t, especially with how riled up Dustin already appears to be, but he tunes him out again. Choosing instead to focus on the man walking through the door behind his friend.

“Welcome to Family Video!”

Distantly Steve wonders if Robin and Chrissy are having a good time at the lake, it’s been a sunny day. Probably hot enough to swim honestly. He feels bad for thinking it, but he hopes that Eddie’s bandmates are gone by the time he gets home. Normally he’d be fine with them at the apartment since they help bring out the best in Eddie, but he knows that they can also get pretty loud, especially if they’re messing with their instruments. He still needs to reorganize the shelves and rewind a couple films before the end of his shift. The thought of dinner makes his stomach turn and he wishes he could just go to bed once he gets home. But tonight’s his turn to cook, him and Eddie switching off days to make sure no one’s cooking all of the time.

“Excuse me?” A hand snaps in front of his face, bringing his attention to Mr. Jameson’s annoyed face. “Can you check me out or not? I don’t see anyone else here.” His words bite and Steve silently nods. Glancing at the title before looking up his name in the system. The screen is blurry and all the words look like one long dark line across the screen.

“Sorry, sir. Your total is-” before Steve could finish a five dollar bill was placed on the counter. “Okay, your change is $3.50. Here you-”

“No, you owe me four dollars back. Not $3.50. This is why I normally have that girl check me out. You’d think you’d know how much to charge by now.”

“No sir, it’s 50 cents per day, and typical rental time is three days. So that’s $1.50 which makes your change $3.50.” The change sits in Steve’s hand, two quarters pinched between his index finger and thumb. Mr. Jameson stares him down, eyes filled with anger, and Steve’s over it. Whatever, he’s got 5o cents in his car that he can put in the drawer to make it balanced later. He pops open the drawer and pulls out another dollar, dropping the quarters back into their slot. Four dollar bills are snatched from his hand and Mr. Jameson grunts before stomping out the door.

“Steve? What the hell? You’re just going to let him talk to you like that?” Dustin’s voice is shrill when he talks, getting higher near the end, and Steve just breaks.

“Please shut up.” Dustin’s mouth closes with a snap, a look of hurt on his face. Steve wants to say more, explain that having his eyes opens hurts and that he can’t be bothered with customers who don’t know how to be decent; can’t be bothered with remembering what parts of the radio and camcorder and VCR player Dustin took apart for his personal project. He wants to explain that he really needs to put a cold compress on his head and lay down in the pitch black silence of his room for a few hours to be human again.

None of this makes its way out of his tense jaw though and Dustin must decide he’s done with Steve for the day because he says nothing before turning and making his way towards the door. Fuck.

The last two hours of Steve’s shift passes in a blur. Someone tries to call the phone and instead of answering he covers his ears until the ringing stops and then unhooks it from the receiver. A couple of girls try fluttering their eyes at him to see what his weekend plans are but all he can think about is how he’s going to get through dinner with Eddie, and they finally leave with a disappointed glance at each other.

Finally, he’s able to turn the open sign around – and then he remembers he never organized the movies from earlier. He fixes the shelves by dwindling sunlight, having shut off the overhead lights as soon as he could. It takes him about 30 minutes to fix it all, pausing every so often to just stand with his eyes closed. The words have lost their meanings and he hopes that basing his sorting off of the cover pictures is good enough.

Sitting in his car is the most relief Steve’s gotten all day. Eyes closed behind sunglasses he had clipped on his visor and the engine off he takes the time to breathe; the nausea has been coming and going on its own in waves and he almost wishes he could just go to sleep in his car. Getting back to the apartment is only possible through muscle memory and the knowledge that dinner still has to be made. He waits another few minutes in the car, trying to decide if any of the cars outside are of the band’s, or if he’s officially got Eddie all to himself. For the first time today he feels lucky when he doesn’t see Jeff’s car.

Living on the second floor has its benefits, like not having upstairs neighbors and getting lots of natural sunlight for the apartment. It also has its downsides, like carrying heavy groceries in the heat and getting up to their door in one piece when a migraine has him by the throat. Even his key turning in the lock makes him cringe, clenching his teeth together as he steps in. It’s quiet in the apartment, a certain stillness in the air that Steve appreciates. He toes off his shoes, setting his keys in the little ceramic bowl El gifted him and Eddie when they moved, and then bends to straighten his shoes to the wall. Bending does not help his nausea and he swallows down a gag.

“Stevie, honey? You make it home?” Eddie rounds the corner, a grin already on his face. His hair rests on his shoulders, frizzy curls around his head like a halo. Steve musters a small smile at Eddie, closing the distance between them with a few steps. The shirt Eddie’s wearing is well worn, old enough now that the words on the front have faded into the black around them and the collar is stretched out enough that Steve can almost see the top of a spider’s leg.

“Hey, hungry?” Normally Steve matches Eddie’s energy as best he can, but he can already feel his energy draining again. Should’ve sat in the car for a little while longer. He presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s cheek and continues his path to the kitchen.

“You read my mind. You okay with cooking while I finish up some stuff before dinner? I promise you’ll have me all to yourself once food is ready. Just have some chords to figure out after talking with Gareth about some timing stuff.” Steve hopes Eddie’s looking when he nods because all of the movement from the stairs has caught up to him and he doesn’t think he has it in him to speak right now.

Alone in the kitchen Steve just breathes. Almost done. Just have to brown the meat, toss it into some sauce and make the noodles. Easy.

All of the ingredients are sitting on the counter when Steve finally loses the battle with his nausea and darts to the bathroom. He keeps the lights off, more focused on kneeling on the tile and trying to breathe through his gagging. A few minutes go by and he’s able to take a full breath in – just sitting down has taken the edge off. The darkness of the bathroom is more than welcome, he just wishes he wasn’t crouched over in his jeans still. Soft footsteps sound from the hallway heading towards the kitchen, guess Eddie finished his stuff.

“Stevie? Where’d you go?” As much as he’d love to answer, the effort it would take to yell for Eddie isn’t worth it right now so instead Steve leans against the tub, coolness spreading across his back. Another moment passes and Eddie rounds the corner to the bathroom, confusion on his face.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Three words and the dam holding Steve together just, breaks. His head pounds worse when the tears start but he can’t stop now that he’s started. Today sucked. And now his night’s going just as poorly. Can’t even get dinner made. Eddie’s still looking at him but he can’t make out his expression through the tears blurring his vision.

“Okay, alright, come here.” And then Eddie’s kneeling on the ground, arms outstretched for Steve to lean in to. As soon as he leans in, he’s crumpling into Eddie’s arms.

Steve’s not sure how long they sit there, him crying into Eddie’s shirt, but the collar is nice and damp by the time he pulls away.Disgusting.

“As much as I love this surprise cuddle session, wanna tell me what’s going on?” He knows Eddie doesn’t mean to, but the sound of his boyfriend’s voice almost seems to echo in the bathroom. Steve shakes his head and whines, tries to burrow further into Eddie – done with pretending. His head hurts and his whole body feels heavy like concrete. Right now the best thing in the world is having his eyes shut, head tucked into Eddie’s neck, and having his back rubbed. Without an answer though, Eddie leans back, staring at Steve hard like he’s going to hear the answer if he thinks at Steve hard enough.

“Head.” Just one word takes a herculean effort and Steve watches as recognition lights in Eddie’s eyes. Finally. And then Steve blinks long and slow.

When Steve cracks his eyes open again he’s greeted by the wall of his and Eddie’s bedroom instead of the white of the bathroom. His head is still pounding but at least it’s dark in here, the curtains are drawn and he has a feeling even if they were open only the moon would greet him. He knows Eddie’s not currently in the room because the air feels still, and distantly he thinks he can hear movement in the kitchen.

Shit, dinner. He was supposed to cook dinner tonight. He hears the small creak of the door opening and he shuts his eyes again – he’s not ready to see or talk to Eddie yet. Embarrassment heats his face remembering how much he cried earlier, not that Eddie hasn’t seen him in worse states. But Steve Harrington taken down by a simple headache? Stupid. Can’t even contribute to the house like Eddie. Can’t keep up with Dustin when he talks. Can’t be happy for his best friend when she lands a date.

“Hey, baby. Gotta wake up, I want you to take some medicine and drink some water.” A gentle hand is on Steve’s calf, rubbing slightly to ‘wake’ him. He burrows deeper into the blankets instead of rolling over.

“Baby…” And now Eddie just sounds disheartened, another person Steve needs to apologize to. Eddie first, for crying for no reason. Then Dustin for not listening to his rant. Then Robin for not being more excited for her. “Medicine and then water, then you can sleep some more. Come on.”

“I’m sorry.” Steve rolls over, tugging the blanket with him . He’s miserable and can’t think of anything better than sleep. Tomorrow he can make it up to Eddie; make him breakfast, do the laundry, make a grocery list, ask him how handing out with the guys went, check in about -

“-vie, I need you to focus for just a couple minutes. Where do you keep going? Get out of that head of yours, can’t imagine it’s helping your migraine.” The words are whispered and Steve blinks at Eddie. Brown eyes meet his and he manages a small smile.

“Sorry.”

“No need for all that. If you’d listened the first time you’d know I don’t mind. I love getting to take care of you. I love you. Stop worrying about whatever it is, there’s nothing you need to make up for – so no more apologies.” Eddie’s so earnest when he talks, a smile on his face causing small dimples to form. He’s holding a glass of water in one hand and a couple of pills in the other, but it’s the damp washcloth Steve can see draped on his wrist that brings a tear to his eye. Doesn’t matter if Eddie never said those three words again, his actions say them enough. Damp wash cloths when Steve’s head hurts, standing up for Steve when one of the kid’s decides they don’t want to explain a reference they make, or even when he flashes him a knowing smile behind Robin’s head when she’s talking about Chrissy. He’s full of love, and no matter how much Steve might feel like he’s messed up – he knows Eddie’s got enough love for him too.

“Hey, why are we crying? Sit up and take these.” With a small sniffle Steve nods, sits up, and takes the medicine. The washcloth is cool on his skin where Eddie rests it, letting him burrow back into the blankets – and the last thing he feels is a gentle kiss to his cheek before sleep takes him again.

#everyone say thank you to a new friend helping me with this idea and looking this over for me 💛#steve harrington #Steve harrington has migraines #I just gave him the same migraines I have #eddie munson #is a sweetheart #don't worry guys #robin and Chrissy had a great picnic date and Chrissy def kissed her finally #robin tells Steve all about it on Sunday bc he DEF does not go to work on Saturday #too busy cuddling with eddie #ANYWAY #steddieangstyaugust #hurt/comfort #stranger things #speaking Saturday #valentine writes

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missjashin · 2 years ago

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It’s been some time and Dustin and Steve go to see Wayne. Maybe he is moving out of Hawkins and they go to help with packing or maybe they just wanna check on him and he is reminiscing Eddie. Either way he has punch of old photos out. School photos, birthdays, first concerts, various different types from different ages.

One photo really catches Steve’s eye tho. It’s a group photo from the early 70s, taken in the summer. Steve asks Wayne “Why do you have this?”, seemingly little shocked and bewildered by the photo. Wayne looks at the photo and smiles telling it was taken in a summer camp Eddie once went. “That’s my boy” Wayne tells pointing one kid among the others. Dustin also looks at the photo and smiles. It seems like a good and happy memory.

So Wayne and Dustin get little puzzled when they hear choked sob coming from Steve. He is trying to hold it together but not really succeeding, his hands in his hair pulling so hard it can’t be comfortable. Just walking away from them now, fighting the tears. Rather weird and strong reaction for a mere summer camp photo, especially coming from Steve… Till you take a little closer look at the photo.

Because yes, with his buzz cut hair and thousand watt smile there’s little Eddie. Little Eddie who has his arm over another kid’s shoulder, pulling closer a little boy with a sweet smile, chestnut hair and tiny moles dotted on his face.

#steve harrington #dustin henderson #eddie munson #wayne munson #stranger things #steddie #it’s Steddie cuz they my star crossed lovers #used all the tissues while crying over this hc sorry about that #feel free to end me 💖✨#sad headcanon #I have something sweeter too guys don’t worry I’ve just been lazy and need to write it down #it’s just all in my brain atm #also if you don’t understand this one : Steve was in the photo with Eddie #childhood friends AU #kinda #Steve owns the same photo #remembers the summer camp and the boy he had so much fun with but didn’t realize it was Eddie until now #angst

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heart-of-the-morningstar · 1 year ago

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"His name is William Afton. He's my father..."

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alea-says · 2 months ago

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Danny running 'cos his BF's on the phone

#I know it's a serious scene #and Danny is running 'cos they don't know where Steve is #and it's actually Jenna on the phone #but all that he's worried about is asking her where Steve is #multiple times #but I also like to think that's how excited he gets every time Steve calls him #I am weak for mcdanno #h50 #hawaii five-0 #danny williams #h50 gifs #my h50 gifs #danny williams gifs #my danny williams gifs #h50 2x10 #h50 2x10 gifs #my h50 2x10 gifs #alea-gifs

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 9 months ago

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Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 96

Part 1 Part 95

Mom makes him go home when he starts dosing on Steve’s hospital bed. But it’s okay because she kisses Steve’s cheek before she leaves, and Eddie and Wayne stay parked by his side.

The connection’s easier now. It’s like all that time straining for Steve has snapped something into place. He can feel them all the time, a warm buzzing in his chest. He wonders if he runs hot now. If the warmth will diffuse through his whole being, make coats obsolete even in the dead of winter.

Hopper is waiting for them in the waiting room, El burrowed into his side. She looks wan, and tired, drooping into her extravagant coat, eyeliner running down her cheeks like she’s been crying. Something inside him twists when he looks at her.

Before he can untangle that knot of emotion, Hopper stands up, both hands slapping against his knees first the same way Mike’s dad does before he gets up from his recliner. “You ready to go?” he asks, not looking away from Mom.

When Will glances up, Mom’s smiling up at Hopper in a way he doesn’t want to think about. The adults talk quietly in front, leaving El to stumble tiredly along beside Will. She’s staring at the side of his face. Will can’t bring himself to look back.

“Steve,” she says, sounding the word out and making it longer like it still tastes foreign on her tongue. “He is okay?”

When Will gets up the courage to look over, her eyes are big and worried. He smiles at her helplessly. It’s almost funny how innocent she looks; like she’s a bunny dressed up in punk clothes. “He’ll be okay.”

She smiles, small and close lipped, but it still beams out of her like the sun. Will tilts his head to the side and tries to see what Mike sees in her. He wants to hide her in Castle Byers, build a fortress around her, and keep her away from all the lab people for the rest of her life.

Is that howMike felt, hiding her in his basement, giving her frozen eggos and keeping his mouth shut?

But then her lips thin and she looks forward again. The feelings vanishes. It’s just El, hia friend, despite how much of Mike’s attention she’d snapped up just by being herself.

“I’m glad,” she says, looking at Hopper’s broad back as she takes two steps for each one of his.

It’s quiet after that, the way it always is after; all of them too brittle and bruised and bone-deep tired for conversation.

Hopper’s truck rat-a tat-tats itself to life in the hospital parking lot. The radio croons out something quiet and thrumming until Hopper reaches over to shut it off.

El’s heads smushed into the window, vibrating against the pot-holed roads of Hawkins.

Will’s so tired he’s wide awake.

He watches the familiar buildings of Hawkins flicker by. It's been a long time since knowing his surroundings brought any comfort.

Monsters could live behind every door, every tree, every smiling face.

He’s not sure any of them will ever feel safe again.

Will closes his eyes, locking the scenery out so he can focus on the bundle of warmth in his chest. They’re still huddled together, two sparks merging in his chest.

The past couple days have been a necessary violation of Eddie’s private feelings. He’d bared them all with love confessions and grasping hands, trying to pull Steve back from the edge of immolation.

He’s not even sure Steve knows, hopes he does. Steve deserves to hold that love delicately between his palms and choose what to do with it.

He won’t crush it, even if it’s unreturned. He’ll hold it gently like he always does.

Will doesn’t realize he fell asleep, or that they’d arrived home until he’s in free-fall. It feels like one of those falling dreams where you wake up solidly in the middle of your bed, but this time he really is tumbling, only Jonathan’s arms keeping him from hitting the gravel.

“Are you okay?” he asks shakily as he pulls Will into his chest, holding him tight enough to hurt. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom murmurs, wrapping them both up in her arms, chin landing solidly on Jonathan’s shoulder, sandwiching Will between their bodies. “Everyone’s fine, right Will?”

Will murmurs his affirmation, feeling groggy and confused in the light of day.

“I was with Nancy,” Jonathan whispers. “I was just with Nancy, and you were–I almost–”

“Shh,” Mom cuts him off, reaching up to cradle his face and smile up at him. Will barely catches the edge of his watering eyes from his restricted vantage point between them. “Everyone’s fine.”

“I should have been he–”

“Jonathan,” Mom interrupts again, sharper this time. “Everyone is fine. You deserve a normal life.”

“But Will–”

“I’m fine!” Will cuts in this time.

Jonathan pulls back, looking down at him with worried, droopy eyes. “And Steve? Mike said he was possessed.”

Will feels that bundle of warmth in his heart, lets it shine through his smile as he looks up at his brother. “He’ll be okay.” As Jonathan droops with relief, Will feels his smile turn cheeky. “Eddie will never let you forget that you were on a date while we were fighting monsters, though.”

Jonathan closes his eyes, pained while Mom laughs.

It’s not until they’re walking toward the front door that Will notices the lack of demo-dog bodies. There’s still puddles of black oil-slick blood, but everything else looks normal. Who covered their tracks? The lab? Hopper?

He settles down for the debrief, pillowing his head on Jonathan’s shoulder as Hopper’s even tones flit through his brain.

Maybe familiar places no longer hold any comfort, but Jonathan’s bony frame is enough to lull him into a peaceful sleep.

Part 97

Taglist: @deany-baby @estrellami-1 @altocumulustranslucidus @evillittleguy @carlprocastinator1000 @hallucinatedjosten @goodolefashionedloverboi @newtstabber @lunabyrd @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @manda-panda-monium @disrespectedgoatman @finntheehumaneater @ive-been-bamboozled @harringrieve @grimmfitzz @is-emily-real @dontstealmycake @angeldreamsoffanfic @a-couchpotato @5ammi90 @mac-attack19 @genderless-spoon @kas-eddie-munson @louismeds @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @pansexuality-activated @ellietheasexylibrarian @nebulainajar @mightbeasleep @neonfruitbowl @beth--b @silenzioperso @best-selling-show @v3lv3tf0x @bookworm0690 @paintsplatteredandimperfect @wonderland-girl143-blog @nerdsconquerall @sharingisntkaren @canmargesimpson @bananahoneycomb @rainwaterapothecary @practicallybegging

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #will byers #steddie upsidedown au #my fic #Steve pov: I'm a wretch and a monster and everything is my fault #will pov: steve's so comforting :)#also Jonathan freaking out because he missed everything is something that is so fun to me. He's like. I'm a terrible brother!#Meanwhile Nancy only has low stakes in the whole thing. And she never got involved so by the time she knew to worry about Mike.#She already knew he was fine. so her main reaction is feeling left out.#Nancy is so fun in this AU because her inciting character incident (Barb's death) shapes so much of who she is #that we have like maybe one episode of characterization to work off of wrt what she was like before #anyway I'm sick so we'll see how much writing I can actually get done while feverish!

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flowercrowngods · 1 year ago

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⚔️ bard!eddie/knight!steve part 2 (~6k)

After the confrontation with Lord Harrington, Eddie is riddled with feelings of anger, guilt, and shame. At a lavish banquet, he finds his world turned on its head once more and he begins to understand just who his love really is.

⚔️ read part 1 here (~4k)

Eddie spends a maudlin few days wallowing in newly found misery and dramatically bemoaning the lack of inspiration and muse, to which his uncle merely instructs him to help him in the smithy, claiming that physical exertion would help with the wretched guilt.

Eddie is loath to let go of his feelings just yet, though, hoping they would turn into self-righteous anger at the Lord after all. But he has no such luck. Night after night of pondering the Lord’s words and the hurt expression Eddie was met with not even a fortnight ago leave not a shred of doubt as to who is at fault. For years, unwittingly or not.

But wit is not what will get him out of this mess, no. It can only be cleared by sincerity and vulnerability — something that Eddie has sworn to never show this town again, only worsening his predicament.

It tears away at him for days upon days, leaving him unable to sing, unable to play, unable even to sleep, cooped up though he is in the room of his childhood. It is a time he longs for with an aching heart, if only to take back his promise to never be vulnerable within these walls again, if only to be sure he doesn’t betray himself more than he betrayed Lord Harrington and both of their hearts.

Time, seemingly done with Eddie’s mental back and forth, eventually pulls the floor from beneath his feet one night when he finds a written invitation from Princess Chrissy to attend her banquet tomorrow night as both highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest.

At the banquet, Eddie knows, he will see Lord Harrington again, and there will be no way to avoid him any longer. He imagines there will be more scalding glances, more sharp words from a sharper tongue, and more of his honour questioned.

And the Lord would very well be in his right to do so.

With a deep sigh and an even deeper pit in his stomach, Eddie goes on his pitiful journey to find some rest beneath the sheets.

~*~*~

It is always a lavish affair when Princess Chrissy decides there is something to celebrate, and despite his nerves and a horrible anxiety that has been his steady but unwelcome companion all day, Eddie finds himself smiling at the view of the ballroom.

It occurs to him how far he has come as he takes it all in, his eyes surely wide as saucers at the display of grandeur and opulence before him. Men and women alike dressed in finest fabrics and the brightest of colours, servants bustling about with wine and delicacies for the Princess and her guests.

Years ago, the people of Hawkins took it upon themselves to chase him out of the city, and not even the Princess’s grace and friendship were enough to make him stay where clearly he was not wanted. And now here he is — highly esteemed bard and dearly welcome guest. He cannot help but feel vindicated and proud, having spited Hawkins and her people like this; he has sailed with pirates and travelled with adventurers, learned from master craftsmen and sung for emperors.

All of it to show this city that he is more. That he is better.

And yet, he reminds himself with a heavy heart, he cannot sing today, and Hawkins will be the victor once more.

Eddie reaches for a goblet of wine offered to him by a most curteous girl flashing him a shy but charming smile, and it is almost enough to improve his mood, almost enough yet for him to gain the courage to approach the Princess about his predicament. He follows the servant with his eyes as he brings the wine to his lips, stalling the inevitable just a second longer, when suddenly they fall on a familiar, tragically glorious figure clad in the deep blue colours of his family.

Lord Harrington, tinged in hues of gold more than anything else as the light of the flames dancing along the walls and ceiling alike catches in his hair in a way that Eddie has heard will make kings succumb to madness, is laughing along to the excited gesturing of a woman Eddie cannot seem to recognise. But it is not she who has caught his eye. It is Lord Harrington, standing there with a look so impossibly gentle and a dress so regal that it makes Eddie’s legs weak and his heart ache.

Where is that pompous air that Eddie remembers so well? When was it replaced with elegance and beauty so blinding, accompanied so wonderfully with that smile on his lips? And how can a man who has been wronged so endlessly still smile like this, look like this, hold himself like this? Like the world is but an old friend he likes to carry on his shoulders so it can have a better look at what is ahead.

Like the kindest songs must always have been about him, wittingly or not. Like he is more, so much more than what Eddie thought him to be. Like he is exactly who Eddie needs him to be. Wants him to be. Has dreamed him to be.

And still, despite the fondness in his eyes and the lavish joy displayed by everyone in the opulent room, Lord Harrington has a steady hand on the sword by his hip. It is only for display of his rank as a knight and as a Lord, likely blunt and too light for proper defence, let alone offensive strikes against a sudden enemy.

But Harrington’s hand is woven around the hilt. Clinging to it, as though reassured by its presence. As though anxious were he not to feel it by his side, cold metal and leather resting against his palm.

His words echo in Eddie’s head again. Making a mockery of me, stealing from me every chance to tell my tale in my own voice, in my own tempo. Entire kingdoms will know before I will have had the chance to wake up from a nightmare, and they sing about it, sing about pain they did not have the misfortune to suffer, sing with a smile, with booming voices because you make them. And yet the only one without a voice remains the one who slew the beast.

Stealing a man's right to flee from the horrors he lived through, acquainting every tavern in this kingdom and the next with his horrific and desperate deeds.

Can he not flee? Can he not lay down that feeling of horror even on a night like this? Need he cling to his sword, any sword, like that, even unconsciously? Did he forgt about the sword on his hip before the Knightmærs? Was it Eddie who made him cling, who kept him from forgetting, even for one night, that dangers tend not to lurk in the well-lit corners of a golden ballroom?

The guilt threatens to devour him wholly, and Eddie might just let it if only some of the weight were taken from Lord Harrington’s shoulders. Desperately, Eddie tears his gaze away from the Lord’s hand and back up again, travelling over ocean blue and sunset gold, drinking him in more hungrily than the wine in his hand.

As though summoned by Eddie’s pathetically beating heart, Lord Harrington chooses that exact moment to look up and away from his partner, and by some cruel twist of fate, out of the hundreds of eyes in this room, he meets Eddie’s. The gentleness fades, the smile paling into something tinged with regret, and it takes every ounce of strength Eddie has not to cross the room and fall to his knees to beg forgiveness.

He swallows and lifts the goblet to his lips once more, his breath hitching as Lord Harrington mirrors him, and they both take a slow, excruciating sip, their gazes never once wavering.

I will not sing tonight, Eddie promises, wondering if it is at all possible that Lord Harrington has the gift of clairvoyance and knows exactly what Eddie is thinking. I will do right by you, even if it is too late. Even if it costs everything.

In the end it is Lord Harrington who looks away first, his attention caught once more by his companion, and Eddie withers as he sees the gentleness returning to his gaze. He is not quick enough in tearing away his eyes, however, because Harrington’s companion, another bard, he assumes fom the look of her, turns towards him just a second later — and if looks could kill, Eddie would find himself dead six times over.

Fate does not possess the grace to let him die on the spot, however, the daggers in the bard’s eyes not sharp enough to end his life, but more than sufficient to snuff out any sense of bravery he could have possessed to approach Harrington anytime soon. Eddie finds himself almost grateful for the admittedly rather lame excuse that only comes to prove his cowardice, but he decides not to dwell on it for now.

Or he tries, as he downs the wine in one go and lets his eyes travel in search for familiar, friendly faces, and finding the Princess already approaching him with a smile so bright and warm it alleviates the anxiety thrumming through him.

“Eddie!” she says, smiling even wider when he remembers to bow before her — something they had to practice a lot when they were children and she would sneak away from her lessons and appearances to play with him instead. It feels like a lifetime ago; she is the prettiest person he knows — always has been, but she kept the spark of glee even as an adult. It makes him weak in the knees with happiness, having her friendship so deeply ingrained in his soul even after all this time.

Her eyes travel over his doublet made of silk so deeply red it appears black if the light plays a trick on your eyes. It is one of his finest possessions, and it takes everything within him not to preen in front of her.

“And to think of the way you scoffed so offhandedly when I told you ages ago that silk would suit you. You have grown to be so very handsome, my dearest friend, I can hardly take my eyes off you lest I have to fear your untimely disappearance once more.”

Eddie smiles, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, entirely aware that he had not yet enough wine to solely blame it on that.

“I am here to stay for the time being, Your Highness, so fret not. If only to show Hawkins how right you were, my dear, for I do look fabulous in silk.”

Chrissy laughs, a joyful sound echoing through the hall and pulling many a pair of eyes toward them, but Eddie pays them no mind even as nervousness makes an eerie reappearance in the forefront of his mind.

“I cannot wait to hear you play tonight,” the Princess continues, unaware of Eddie’s dilemma. There must be something in his face, though, for she reaches out to take hold of his hand. “You will, right? Tell me you will, Eddie. What reason have you to look so filled with gloom?”

Eddie turns his hand to hold onto hers, propriety be damned even as he hears a gasp or two followed by scandalised whispering. For Hawkins, everything he does is scandalous, even merely existing. Holding the Princess’s hand is but another item on the list.

“Forgive me, my Princess, but I cannot play tonight.”

“But—“

“It is the Knightmærs that you long to hear, and it was always a dream to fill these halls with song sprung from my own feather, believe me. But it seems I am a fraud, and I need to do right by someone first before I will ever take to my lute again.” After a moment of silence he adds, “If you should like me to leave, I understand. But I will not sing.”

The Princess looks at him for a long time, reading something that might be written behind his eyes, but she keeps a hold of his hand.

“He sought you out, then.”

Eddie’s heart falls as he grasps the meaning of her words. She knows about Lord Harrington and his involuntary ties to Eddie’s renown. Everyone in this room might know, might have heard of his deeds, might have seen his wounds as he returned from the battlefield that seems to follow his every step, while Eddie was out in the world living a lavish life with the title he earned from another man’s tales of valour and agony.

“He did,” Eddie whispers. “And I need to make things right. He never deserved that.”

She frowns, a crease appearing between her brows that does nothing to hide her gentleness and beauty. “Never deserved that? But Eddie, you made a hero of him! You wove battles he fought out of he goodness of his heart and the bravery in his bones, wove them into tales grand enough to outlast even the passing of time itself! I know many a knight who would kill to be made into that kind of a hero.”

Even as she speaks, Eddie shakes his head, vehement to contradict her and make her see what he himself took so long to understand.

“It is not I who turned that man into a hero, my Princess, that was his own doing. What I did was turn him into a legend, turn him into something untouchable by real emotion when he… seems to be so full of them! I took his story, all of his stories, and made them my own, stole the words out of the deepest dungeons of his heart and wrote epic ballads about pain that is strong enough to bring the bravest man to his knees with sorrow and— I took from him what was only his to give. The right to grieve. The right to be his own person. The right to his story, his pain, his own consequences to come from actions he was forced into.”

Eddie swallows, beginning to understand, really, the scope of his actions as he speaks the words for the first time, and his throat rapidly closes up on him.

“I took all of that and made it my own, and in the end it was only I who gained something. And worst of all, he never complained to me. Never exploded in my face or, or exposed me for the fraud that I am. In fact, it was I who confronted him about disappearing whenever I would sing my Knightmærs, because I found myself with hurt pride and—“

A breath, forced into his lungs to keep the tears welling in his eyes from spilling.

“That man,” Eddie finishes with unsteady voice but iron conviction. “He deserves the world. He deserves better. He is a hero and he deserves to have a choice, but he is too good to make it. So I am making it for him.”

He tears his wandering gaze away from the silhouette that seems to always pull him in, no matter how hard he tries to stray, and lays them on the Princess.

“I am not playing tonight.”

Chrissy, too, has tears in her eyes after his speech, and she reaches up to cradle his face with both of her hands. Warmth floods Eddie where before he was bereft, and it takes everything in his power not to lean into her hold. Not when people are watching them. Gentleness like that is reserved for quiet, dark corners on stormy days long since past.

“Oh, Eddie,” she says, her laugh a little wet. “See how much you have grown. You are the best person I know; always have been. You are forgiven, my dearest, loveliest friend. I shall not make you play, and I shall not stand it if people disapprove of it.”

Relief washes over him, his body still trembling ever so slightly from his passionate outburst and fear of rejection, and he smiles as he casts his eyes down.

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

She hums and wipes at the wetness beneath his eyes before retrieving her hands.

“Anything for you, Eddie. Anything in my power.” She turns to leave and Eddie has not the strength to ask her to stay, not when he knows she has royal etiquette to follow. But before leaving him to his heart still heavy with guilt, she speaks again, “It will be fine. I know it will.”

God, I hope so.

Eddie doesn’t dare to look and see if Lord Harrington and his bard were in earshot just now. Instead, he turns swiftly and retreats to one of the lavish balconies to clear his head with some fresh air. He finds it blissfully empty as he takes a trembling breath.

It will be fine. I know it will.

Eddie breathes, crisp air flooding his lungs that he does not feel all that deserving of, but he is grateful for it nonetheless. He cannot blink away the image of Lord Harrington’s downturned eyes, the smile that adorned his lips but a moment before fading in the face of Eddie’s presence. He cannot keep his heart from racing, hammering away rapidly at his ribcage, mimicking a spooked bird’s fluttering wings. Aiming to get out. Out, out, out, away from its hold and back where it belongs. Back to the man dressed in the blues of his family, the colour of his name, like armour against any sorts of attempts dared by lowly boys who think themselves to be bards of great renown.

It aches, his heart. And with every beat against his chest, the pain only carries further until it reaches his eyes with stinging force. It is a pain of guilt and sorrow, mixing with a longing so deep that it cuts him in half, torn though he is.

Just one more breath and the air will be enough to tear him apart down the middle, right through his heart that is long past saving. The feelings he has been harbouring for years for a love unknown have not disappeared with Lord Harrington’s accusations. Instead, they merely gained a face and a name, turned into something real. Shifted, just so, to make room for the reality of Lord Harrington and every tidbit of information Eddie can learn about him, even when he tries not to listen, even when he tries to let go of misguided emotion for a man whose heart he has broken and abused already.

But everyone talks about him. Now that Eddie knows where to look, he sees the respect for Lord Harrington in everyone’s faces. Sees the gratitude, sees the fondness, sees the reverence.

Eddie closes his eyes against it, but it only serves to make the images more vivid. Lord Harrington positively gleaming in that ballroom, shining as golden as the sun right before she bids the day farewell, looking so fondly upon his friend. His bard. His companion. Looking so regretfully upon Eddie. Looking until he could no longer bear it.

He needs to leave. It is sudden, that urge, filling the cracks of his being and glueing him back together with that all too familiar feeling that he’d thought himself to have moved past on the same day that he left Hawkins all those years ago. But it is back now, getting stronger by the second, urging him to leave, leave, leave.

He will talk to Lord Harrington and beg for his forgiveness later. Tomorrow, surely, or the day after. In a fortnight at the latest, or in a month. But for now, he has to leave. Needs to leave. Must.

On unsteady feet, and with an unsteadier heart yet, Eddie turns abruptly and all but stumbles his way back through the large doors and into the ballroom, which has filled with even more guests and even more servants and even more people who will steal the air from right beneath his nose.

It leaves him frazzled and shaking, and his heart falls anew when he realises that he needs to cross the room to leave.

As if pulled in by string or higher power, Eddie finds Lord Harrington immediately, the man’s broad back turned toward him. His hand still rests on his sword as he watches his friend — the bard with daggers in her eyes — approach the dais, lute in one hand and flute in the other. It’s a thin one, and made not of wood but of some kind of metal, and Eddie feels a flash of jealousy at her blatant display of talent and proficiency in more instruments than one. Even greater jealousy still when Lord Harrington keeps his attention on her — oh, and how well Eddie is acquainted with his attention, heavy and intense and leaving him hungry for more. Starving.

He yearns for it. Longs to approach the stage and join the other bard as she begins to play, if only to be in the vicinity of that attention. That affection. All that gentle intensity.

But he can’t.

So he turns, twisting away from the mirage he so longs to touch, feeling phantom tingles on his palms where he imagines strongly enough. Entangled in the web of guilt, longing and imagination, though, he twists a little too far and nearly falls over his feet in his haste to get away. And then he quite factually runs into a figure he’d hoped to never see again, much less share the same breath as them.

Before Eddie can utter an apology and continue on his way out of the ballroom and back to the safety of his childhood bedroom where the ceiling is a little closer to him and the air won’t feel quite as stuffy, Jason Carver’s voice cuts through the room and his patience alike.

“Munson,” Carver sneers, somehow managing to look down on Eddie even though they are of the same height. “So the rumours are proven true at last! I did not think you possessed the gall to show your face here again. But you seem to be a lot stupider than you let on — and you do let on a lot.”

The throng of people around Carver make themselves known with a vile chuckle at Eddie’s expense, and if he were a stronger man, if he were a more vicious man tonight and not hung up on guilt and longing, he’d have a snide comment on the tip of his tongue.

As it is, though, he stands no chance but to let Carver speak on. He seems to have climbed in rank, moved on from being a simple guardsman to someone wearing white silk and a decorative sword on his hip. It is more imposing than Harrington’s, the hand around the handle more like a threat to Eddie than anything else. Especially accompanied by that sneer. That godawful, entirely too punchable curl of his lips.

“Though the good Princess proves her taste in music and people once more, servicing her people and not letting you play on an occasion such as this. What a shame it would be for all of Hawkins to have your… talent… be showcased like that. What humiliation for you. I’m glad she chose a bard who can sing. And play. And entertain Her Majesty’s guests accordingly.”

Carver’s words cut deep, and there seems to be no end to them. It shows on his face, Eddie knows, but he can’t… Suddenly he’s young again, suddenly he knows no longer who he is, who he wants to be in this world and how we will get there. Suddenly the urge to run away is no longer gluing him together but tearing him apart, tearing him in every possible direction just to get away from Carver and his lackeys, until he will shred himself into a million pieces.

And still he has no words to retort the venom leaving Carver’s lips. He is shaking, fuming, something boiling inside him, and yet he has no words.

Just as Carver opens his mouth to spit yet more lies about Eddie and his craft that leave his ears ringing, something behind Eddie makes Carver’s big mouth snap shut with a loud clack.

Before Eddie can regain control over his mind and body to turn around and see what happened, a familiar voice fills the silence so blatantly left by Jason Carver.

“Such vile words from someone who knows neither talent nor skill himself, and who displays an utter lack of craftsmanship and tact.”

Lord Harrington speaks in such condescending tones with Carver that it makes Eddie freeze all over again, not daring to move lest he pull that condescension toward himself. And still he aches to turn around and drink him in.

He stands so close. Eddie can almost breathe him in, and it’s almost enough.

Before him, Jason flushes an angry red, unprepared to be confronted thusly by Lord Harrington, who outranks him in both title and popularity — and, perchance more importantly, in eloquence and intelligence.

Carver’s mouth remains firmly shut, but Lord Harrington is not done yet, it seems, as he moves from behind Eddie to his side, the hand on his sword so dangerously close to Eddie’s hip. It takes all his might not to sway and lean to the side just briefly, just to feel the warmth of his hand through his clothes.

“You know, Carver, I found myself pondering whether upon the arrival of Eddie the Bard you would find yourself starving for his attention once more, the same way that you did when you and your band chased him away.”

The blood freezes in Eddie’s veins and yet he feels flushed with heat, especially when people turn toward them with curious and scandalised eyes.

Lord Harrington is not perturbed, however. “And here you are indeed, yearning for his words directed at you, aching for his attention, and wishing at least one of his songs were dedicated to you, written in your honour. Unfortunately still, you wouldn’t know honour if it spat you in the face. And you have miscalculated, good man, for you are irrelevant to a muse such as his, and too much of a coward for heroic tales of valour and sacrifice. The only thing you know to sacrifice is my patience. You are of no greater importance to this world, this kingdom, and even this very moment, Jason, than an overgrown roach in a dead man’s kitchen.”

The noise that leaves Eddie’s throat is not as embarrassing as the one Carver makes, and covered, too, by several gasps sounding around them. Lord Harrington has drawn quite the crowd — and for once he doesn’t seem uncomfortable with it, smirking as he is, regarding Carver like he means every last word of what he just said.

It makes Eddie weak in the knees.

And Lord Harrington takes yet another step forwards, placing himself between Eddie and Carver, shielding him not only from the man’s words and presence, but directing the attention of those around them away from Eddie. Pulling it towards his own person and Jason’s form, trembling with anger and humiliation.

Eddie blinks, heart racing again, his mind running faster than a spooked race horse. Why would Harrington come to his rescue? Why would he pull all the attention toward himself when he should be rejoicing in seeing Eddie humiliated and beaten with his own weapon of choice? Why, when all the good Lord should want is to see Eddie fall from grace and from his high horse alike?

Jason is sputtering some kind of response, but Eddie is transfixed by ocean blue and sunset gold so close to him that he could melt into him if only he had the right. So transfixed, indeed, that he doesn’t hear what Jason has to say. It is only when Lord Harrington speaks again that the world returns to him.

“Leave the bard alone, Carver, you humiliate yourself with the way you’re leeching off his attention like a schoolboy with his first bout of attraction.” And then, closing the gap between them and speaking into Carver’s ear, just loud enough for Eddie to hear, Lord Harrington says, “Leave him alone. Speak of him again anything but praise, and I will have you emasculated per royal decree, and I shall see to it myself.”

Where before his face was flushed red, all the colour now leaves Carver’s face as he blanches and swallows heavily. He looks between Harrington and Eddie, confusion and fear so clear on his features that Eddie would grin if he weren’t so shaken by the Lord’s actions and words.

Carver takes flight the very moment Lord Harrington steps back, and suddenly Eddie finds himself alone with him.

And words have not yet returned to him, especially when Harrington turns and lets down the smirking mask of condescension and instead regards him with an expression of worry and gentleness.

“Are you all right?”

Eddie blinks, all but feeling the confusion and wonderment spill out of his big, dumb eyes, unable to hide it from Harrington and his golden skin.

This is the man who has slain the man possessed by the Devil himself and took in his younger sister to live with him and get an education. This is the man who protected the Princess and this whole kingdom so many times, slaying foes and beasts alike and returning home a hero who refused his own celebrations. This is the man who would be King if the world were anything like Eddie wants it to be.

The man who smiles so fondly, so gently, upon the people dear to him. The man who opens his estate in the winter to those whose houses stand no chance against the cold bitterness of the season, and thus defeats both lonesomeness and bleakness in one graceful gesture of kindness and compassion.

And still, this is the man who had his life twisted and glorified in song and poetry, the man who had the floor pulled from beneath his feet when his pain was made into something desirable. The man who stands in a ballroom filled with joyous laughter, wine, and dance, and keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. The man who was wronged so endlessly by the ingenious bard who claimed to love him.

And yet. He stakes his claim. He stakes his claim on Eddie. Protects him. Rather publicly, too, and now everyone knows of a connection between them that doesn’t exist, a connection that Eddie snuffed out before it had the chance to spark because he was so obsessed with the notion of grandeur and drama and love. A love that would survive it all. A love that would slay beasts and brothers possessed, a love that would be immortalised in song and poem, a love that…

Would look at him the way Lord Harrington does.

But it’s not love. Eddie knows nothing about love. How could he, when he hurt the man so? How could he, when he cannot find even the simplest apology, when he cannot utter a single word with the way his throat is closing up on him so rapidly in the face of that tenderness.

“Eddie,” Harrington gathers him out of his reverie, a hand on his forearm. “Would you step outside with me?”

Another claim staked right through Eddie’s fluttering heart. He cannot bear it. Stands frozen to the ground.

“You need not have done that,” he says at last, his voice no louder than a whisper. It makes the Lord lean in closer, as though he has difficulty to hear Eddie otherwise, though he’d like to imagine that Harrington is just as drawn in by Eddie, and is powerless against it.

The man smiles, though there is no fondness in it, and Eddie wants to recoil.

“Jason wouldn’t know talent if it spat in his face. Which,” he adds as an afterthought, “is not a suggestion.”

Despite himself, Eddie smiles genuinely, feeling a bit of the ever-present tension lift from his shoulders. “Do my ears deceive me, or am I right in my understanding that you think I have talent, milord?”

The smile fades a little, leaving behind some hidden trace of genuineness that weighs so heavy in the air between them even as Harrington inclines his head politely. As though Eddie deserves politeness. As though he were of a higher standing than he is. And higher yet than Lord Harrington himself.

“I would have to call myself both fool and liar to claim otherwise,” he says, his tone shifted to match his posture. Reverent, almost. Eddie wants him to straighten those shoulders and look down on him again, to do everything in his power to stop the wild beating of his heart that still cuts the words right from his tongue. “You have a way with words that is yet to be matched.”

He looks up again when Eddie says nothing, and their eyes meet. Lord Harrington’s beauty is unmatched, and Eddie finds himself willing to look at him forever. Wanting. Longing.

Whatever spell the Lord found himself to be under until just a second ago, it shatters now, dissipates into thin air as his expression shutters. And where before it was Eddie’s words that dealt nothing but damage, now it is his silence, for Lord Harrington steps away from him with a regretful expression and inclines his head once more.

“Forgive me, I overstepped. I am aware of your opinion of me, believe me, I just… I simply… Forgive me. Please. Good night.”

He turns, his hand wrapped around the hilt of his sword as though he were drowning in the ocean blue of his family name and the sword were keeping him afloat. Not a trace of pompous air emanates from him, and Eddie finally feels himself tearing in two as in that gold-sparked moment his knight and Lord Harrington become one right before Eddie’s eyes.

And the bard is helpless when he calls out, “My Lord.” Nothing, as Lord Harrington steps away from him. “Steve.”

He stops.

And so does time.

But Eddie didn’t think this far ahead, knows not what to say, how to make sense of the words trapped inside him that leave his hands trembling and his legs shaking, words that he needs to bring in the right order yet, lest he ruins everything again.

There is only the rapid thump-thump-thump of his heart against his ribcage and the eyes of their unwilling audience turned towards them. The eyes of people who want to see Eddie fail. Who want to see him flail and fall and crawl back into the winter’s night months after his birth, left outside his uncle’s doorstep as his father lost his life over years of debt he had no means to pay off.

“I…”

Words fail him. When he needs them most, when he needs them not as a weapon nor as a caress, they deceive him. And Eddie watches as his time runs out, like sand pouring between his fingers no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He watches, desperately, as Lord Harrington tears himself away. As he weaves through the groups of people, reaching for a goblet of wine as he does, and downs it in one go before he reaches his bard where she is standing off to the side for a short break. He watches as she takes the Lord’s hands in hers and pulls him into a quiet corner and then through a large door onto one of the balconies.

He watches until his vision blurs with tears unshed. He watches until he can no longer stand it, and flees from the ballroom as more of a coward than ever before.

tagging: @itsall-taken @pukner @mugloversonly @devondespresso @hellion-child @fairytalesreality @maya-custodios-dionach @awkwardgravity1 @bubblemixer @paperbackribs @the-redthread @stevesbipanic @gregre369 @chaoticvictorianspirit @cuoredimuschio thank you for reading, i hope this was okay 🤍

#steddie fic #steddie #bard/knight #steve harrington #eddie munson #knight!steve harrington #bardknight #bard!eddie munson #i feel like this is more of a 6k words intermission but hear me out the bard is pathetic and needs to stew a little bit #live with the consequences of his actions and realise just what he has done and how he feels about his knight and lord harrington #skjdfsk i hope this is okay i really really hope so i am so worried that it's gonna disappoint y'all who've been waiting #dio words

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morganbritton132 · 2 years ago

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Eddie post a Tiktok that’s like, “Steve’s away for the weekend at a teacher conference so you know what that means…”

He flips the camera around to zoom in and out on the fire truck parked in their driveway, making club music noises with his mouth. You can hear him yell goodbye to Fireman Dave before flipping the camera back around on himself. He’s a little burnt around the edges, a little manic looking as he asked, “Seriously though, let’s not mention this to Steve.”

TMZ picks up the story and obviously post something about it because the fire department had to come to a celebrity’s house. Eddie wakes up the next morning to four missed calls and seventeen unread text messages from Steve.

<- Last Post | Next Post ->

#Eddie’s got real ‘I’m going to cut all the sleeves off my shirts because Steve is 90% of my impulse control’ vibes #Steve just wants to know if he’s alright and what did he burn and Eddie’s like don’t worry about it and then spends the rest of the weekend #trying to figure out where the hell Steve bought their curtains from #eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #eddie munson tiktok saga

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corrodedcoughin · 2 years ago

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They’ve been seeing each other for just under a year when Steve points out that they’ve never actually made a meal together. He doesn’t think mucb of it, just a passing comment but Eddie sees it as a ‘couple activity’ and declares that It Must Be Done. And what better reason than to celebrate Wayne’s upcoming birthday?

Now the meal they plan is one of Wayne’s favourites, hearty chilli that takes hours of low heat simmering and ingredient preparation. The pair of them head out to get the groceries the weekend of Wayne’s birthday and start cooking as soon as they get home, hoping to be finished before Wayne’s shift ends. Eddie has dug out an old scrap of paper with a recipe neatly writing along the fading lines detailing the step by step instructions. It’s covered in various stains, the writing has run in places, the condition of the paper is a testament to the love this meal has in the munson household and it makes Steve smile to see something so care-worn.

Side by side they start on the vegetables, Eddie wearing goggles to protect himself from onion attack as he calls it and Steve with sunglasses at Eddie’s insistence ‘Steve this guy is going to be firing stray tear bullets and I won’t let you be a casualty’. The pair of them looking a sight for sore eyes. Fully kitted up in ‘Protective Gear’ Eddie is chopping the onion, letting out little screams of pain and terror as he sentences the vegetable to its frying pan death, acting as executioner. Honestly he’s having a great time role playing as an onion.

In between his tiny screams he hears Steve’s own mutterings timed with his own cutting motions. A notable and iconic ‘vooooosh, vooosh’ clear lightsaber sound effects as he decapitates a chilli pepper, clearly lost in his own little world. Eddie can’t help himself, or more accurately, doesn’t even think it through. He drops his knife and turns to Steve, grabs him by the face and solemnly states ‘I love you’. They haven’t said it before, both thinking it of each other but too jumbled up in their own thoughts to say it out loud, not wanting to shatter what they have.

There’s no hesitation now as Steve lets a slow smile spread across his face and leans into Eddie. ‘I know. I mean….I love you too, sorry tried to do the Han and Leia Thing and uhh I just… I love you’ Eddie leans in to kiss him, intends to keep kissing him goggles be damned but feels a wetness on his finger tips where he’s holding Steve’s face.

Pulling back, he begins to say ‘hey, you okay? Sorry to spring this on you, I-‘

The sentence isn’t finished before Steve is ripping off his sunglasses. ‘Dude. The onions. FUCK they’re strong. Oh my god. Shit shit shit!’ Eyes streaming and furiously rubbing at them. Then? Screaming as the chilli sets in.

Wayne comes home that night to find a chilli half way through being cooked and two very happy boys. ‘Sorry it isn’t ready yet, had bit of a delay.’ Eddie reports from his place on the couch, goggles pushing his hair back and feet on Steve’s lap. Wayne glances over to steve who is sitting back with a wet cloth over his eyes and held in place by sunglasses. Wayne would ask questions but he knows better than that by now. Instead he just takes his jacket off, grabs a beer and waits for his chilli with his family, sometimes ignorance is bliss.

#the chilli was good btw wayne had a great birthday #eddie got him a ccr shirt and tape knowing that ccr gets wayne through hard times #steve got him a framed photo of Wayne and eddie that Wayne has a copy of in his wallet #it was from the first year of the pair living together and means the world to Wayne. he was worried about his own wallet copy getting worn #and tattered. he thanks them both and let’s them know without fuss that he loves them #the gifts and the boys #they sit together and eat chilli. even freeze some for special occasions.#Steve buys his own pair of cooking Goggles #Eddie thinks he could just use his swimming pair but apparently smelling of onions and garlic doesn’t help to focus you before a race #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #wayne munson

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meraki-yao · 1 month ago

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Watching Agatha All Along again after giving up on Marvel for three years made me think about why I gave it up in the first place.

I was so deep in the MCU. I cried so much during Infinity War that I struggled to walk out of the cinema. I watched Endgame on the first day that it was released. My diary was a CACW notebook. Part of the reason I took up STEM subjects was because of Marvel.

And then after watching MoM in theatres, I stopped.

I'm trying to phrase and figure out what made me give up something I was so invested in, something I loved so much. I think I know why.

The MCU period I was active in gave me characters that I ended up loving, and the later period took them away.

My two favourite characters were ruined. Their character arcs and core characters undone. I'm worried about my favourite too.

I hate it when the sequel undermines the previous works.

When I think of Steve Rogers, I don't think of the guy who chose to either fuck up the entire timeline of the MCU or sat quietly and watch the world in turmoil, his allies die tragically, and his best friend left to a fate worst than dead to get with a girl he wasn't even dating, a woman who had a life of her own and moved on.

I think of Steve from CATWS, the guy from Brooklyn who still does the right thing in a time when morals are blurred. The Steve who is kind, compassionate and brave. The Steve who inspired the base-level employees of SHEILD to follow his example and not bow down in the face of tyranny. The Steve who just had one mission, and that was standing up to bullies.

When I think of Wanda, I don't think of the insane, manic witch/evil goddess who killed thousands mercilessly even though there was a harmless solution, who after all she lost, somehow only wanted her children who she had for three days instead of also her love and her twin.

I think of Wanda, the girl who lost it all, who's family was all killed, who was denied a burial for Vision, who was left alone and abandoned in the world, with so much love in her heart that no longer had a place, a person to go to. The girl who feels so much so deeply that it bended reality. The girl who had to learn, who had to give up her dream, but did so, because at the end of the day, she is a kind person, who doesn't want to hurt people. She was wrong, she takes time to understand and accept the harm she's caused (as we all do), and then makes it right. She tries to be good. Despite everything, she tries.

The later stages of MCU took these two characters that mean so much to me personally, and ruined them.

And I'm fucking mad at them, because it disrespected all the work that made me love them in the first place, and it was preventable. (The original script for MoM where Wanda helps Strange but repeatedly gets tempted by the Darkhold is a much more convincing narrative.)

And I'd say the same applies to others: Natasha, Thor, Bruce, even Strange (although I feel like they never really figured out what they wanted to do with Strange's character)

I miss my characters, I miss my MCU.

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idiopath-fic-smile · 2 months ago

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hello again! for those of you just tuning in, @greenlikethesea and i have an ongoing project wherein we write songs for every listed track title in the appendix of @greatunironic's epic Steddie fic "the most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway is that it’s you." this one is inspired specifically by this companion piece to the fic, about writing the second album.

album art courtesy of @bienmoreau.

LYRICS:

“No heathens in a foxhole” but I’ve been to the trenches tell the snow-white flocks, “No heathens in a foxhole” So strike me from the Earth

They stole my name and my hometown Now I’m howling like a bloodhound Stole my name and my hometown The pains of this rebirth

No gods, no masters So we’re to blame for this disaster no gods no masters No promise, your next breath

No gods no masters No hope for greener pastures No gods no masters No promise, past your death

Used to make my altars but my whole body falters used to make my altars a peace that I can’t find

I don’t believe I’ll beat this Can’t outwit or cheat this I don’t believe I’ll beat this senseless, toothless, blind

No gods, no masters so scream it past the rafters no gods, no masters a breakdown, no breakthrough

No gods no masters so sing it louder, play it faster no gods no masters there’s no escape from you

#the most remarkable thing #the most remarkable thing fansongs #for the record i'm aware the saying is more popularly 'no atheists in a foxhole'#but that didn't scan and also i worried about erasing ed levy's canonical-to-the-fic Jewish background #also: hi! i know it's been a while #but i recently found myself working through some Stuff and realized i could try to do it in someone else's voice.#specifically the incarnation of Eddie Munson wherein he is a famous grunge musician secretly in love with Steve Harrington.#i stand by all my decisions and choices #that's a Smile guarantee.

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artiststarme · 7 months ago

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The Gift of Not Dying Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

It's been awhile but hopefully this will get me back in the groove of things. I hope you like it and please leave your thoughts in the comments!

~*~*~*~ Steve watched as the dazzling smile on Eddie’s face dropped to reveal absolute, unadulterated horror. He clearly wasn’t expecting his best friend/tomorrow’s date/future boyfriend to show up at fuck past two in the morning with a bruised face and blood covered sailor’s uniform. Steve could only imagine how he would respond if Eddie had shown up to Hopper's cabin looking like death the way Steve must right now.

“Oh my god, Steve?! What the fuck happened? Are you alright?” Eddie ushered him into the trailer and gently pushed him to a seat on the couch.

Steve didn't know how to respond to him. On the one hand, he didn't want Eddie to worry. On the other hand, nothing would ever be alright again. Hop was dead, his body still stuck in the Russian base under Starcourt where he himself had died multiple times. Steve could feel the throbbing of his broken heart's beats pulsating in his face still. He definitely had a concussion if the double vision and underwater hearing were indicative of anything. Worst of all, it was all Steve's fault. This entire situation never would have happened had he not tempted the universe. He was too happy, he knew everything would fall into catastrophe eventually and he hadn't warned anyone.

So instead of answering his best friend, he pulled at Eddie's shoulders until the man got the message and wrapped him in a warm embrace that smelled of Honeybunches, motor oil, and marijuana. All of Steve's favorite smells that usually calmed him down. But not this time.

He sobbed into Eddie's chest, tears and blood mixing together on his face and soaking into the thin black fabric of Eddie's shirt. Steve just couldn't stop. He cried for the pain he'd gone through in the Russian base and the incessant battery he'd endured at the hands of sadists. He cried for the loss of Robin's normal life and the fact that she would probably hate him now since he'd dragged her into the absolute shit-show that was his life. Most of all though, he cried for Hopper. He cried for his dad that adopted him into his little family and gave him a little sister, the dad that dropped everything to help Steve whenever he needed it.

Poor Eddie just hugged him through it all. He didn't know why Steve had woken him up from a dead sleep at an ungodly hour in the morning only to unveil a face more recognizable as ground beef. He didn't know who had beaten him up or why Hopper wasn't behind him in his truck ready to drag him back to the overprotected cabin in the woods. He didn't need to understand because his best friend was in need of help and a good hug which Eddie could provide.

After what felt like hours of crying, Steve rasped, “Eds, Hop is gone. He died tonight.”

Eddie’s hands stopped their soothing circles on his back and he pulled back to look him in the eyes. There was no joking there, just complete and utter dread and hopelessness in the eye that wasn't swollen shut.

“Chief Hopper died tonight? Are you okay, where are you going to go?” He backtracked for a moment and pulled Steve’s battered body to his gently once more. “I’m sorry for your loss, man. I know the Chief was like a father to you. What’s going to happen now?”

Steve wanted to cry, to scream at the world for being so unfair as to take one of the only people that had ever cared for him. But his eyes were dry and his heart was bone tired after such an arduous night. So instead of sobbing some more or breaking down, Steve shrugged. “I’m going to have to go back to my parent’s house. I can’t stay in Hop’s cabin without him there. And El is going to live with Mrs. Byers. I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

Eddie shook his head and placed a weary hand on Steve's face. He wanted to give him comfort but with all the blood and bruises on his face, he didn't know where to touch without causing more pain. “You can stay here. Wayne won’t mind as long as we don’t mess with his mug or cap collections. He’s got a habit for taking in strays. Hell, just look at me. You’ll always have a place here.”

Steve couldn’t move in though. Everywhere he went, misfortune followed. He was like a plague, sucking the life out of everything he touched. It started with his parents and he sucked the joy right out of their lives leaving nothing but bitterness and sorrow, certainly not enough love for the disappointment he became. It broke Nancy by killing her best friend and tainting their relationship. Steve should’ve kept his distance from Hop and El but his selfishness won out in the end. And now Hopper was gone. Steve’s plague had struck once again and had stolen his happiness with it. He couldn’t do that to Eddie and Wayne, they’d been through far too much already. They didn’t deserve to deal with him on top of it all.

“Thanks but I don’t want you guys to get sick of me. I’ll just stay at my parent’s house and crash here when they come home. If that’s okay with you and Wayne.”

Eddie shook his head before entwining his fingers with Steve’s. “Of course it is. We’ll worry about that tomorrow. For now, let’s deal with your face. Did you go to the hospital? I can literally see the bruises swelling in front of my eyes. There’s no way you don’t have a concussion right now, why would they let you drive like this?”

“They didn’t, I walked,” Steve corrected distractedly. His mind was reeling over grief and pain, too distracted to abide by the story he was supposed to use.

“Walked from where?”

“Starcourt,” his mouth just kept talking despite his eyes seeing the alarm on Eddie’s face. “The Russians stole my car keys so I couldn’t drive. It’s fine though, I have an extra set in the kitchen of my parent’s house. It was only four miles or so, not too bad in the grand scheme of things. I’ve had worse.”

Eddie just looked at him blankly, too indecisive to decide on concern, horror, or anger at whoever had done this to his friend. He was pretty positive he loved this weirdo, who the fuck had the audacity to keep beating him to a pulp? Couldn't these monsters see how lovable he was?!

“Um, I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m getting my keys and we’re going to the hospital. I don’t need to know what happened, especially since I’m pretty positive that you’re concussed and not making sense. I just need to know you’re okay so we’re going to the ER. Let me just call Wayne and we can go.” Eddie motioned with both hands for Steve to stay still and he did. Even when he heard crashing in Eddie’s room while he looked for his keys and panicked whispers when he finally reached Wayne on the phone, Steve remained in his seat on the old couch.

He knew he didn’t have to go to the hospital, the worst that could happen already had, but he couldn’t reveal that to Eddie. So, he’d bite his tongue and go through the motions. That was his specialty after all. For now, he’d let Eddie take care of him. He would ignore the grief that blackened his soul and the pain that accompanied the thought of his found family breaking apart. He'd deal with the trauma of loss and pain and death sometime later when he could handle a breakdown alone. At this very moment, Steve would hold himself together and lie to his friend and the doctors he was forced to see to keep the Party's secret. He had already dragged Robin into this mess and had probably lost her in the process, he didn't think he could survive losing Eddie too.

Tag list: @doubleb11 @nburkhardt @counting-dollars-counting-stars @newtstabber @estrellami-1 @thegoblinboy @manda-panda-monium @i-less-than-three-you @joruni @swimmingbirdrunningrock @mentalcyborg @vampireinthesun @spectrum-spectre @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @nam-draws @anaibis @zerokrox-blog @renaissan-vvitch @a-huge-nerdy-nerd @labels-are-for-the-weak @amoris-no-smut-allowed @5ammi90 @precursorandthedragon @i-must-potato @valinwonderland @lololol-1234 @wonderland-girl143-blog @tailsfromthecrypt @trippypancakes @ghosttotheparty @thing-a-ling @bleach-the-kitten @pyrohonk @carlyv @gregre369 @lololol-1234

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#Eddie knows something is going on but he only cares about Steve's wellbeing for the moment #Steve thinks he lost Robin but she's just trying to escape the worry of her parents so she can find him wherever he ended up #Poor El just wants to stay with her brother but Joyce is 'protecting' her from the boy she'd only heard bad things about #that doesn't mean she can't stalk him in his head however and she's going to pull a Hopper and give that Eddie boy a talk #wayne is trying to leave work early because good god that Harrington kid has been through enough and he needs him #the gift of not dying #stranger things #steddie #fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #chief jim hopper

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