#heavy on max mayfield

[lemonheadhatchet]

I woke up not long ago and it feels like they hit the fucking pentagon with these pics. Can we all breathe for a second??

Also me:

DONT FUCKING DO THIS TO ME NOT ANY OF MY GIRLS OH MY GAWWWWDDDD--😭😭😭😭😭

[tellthatbrokebitch]

XX!!!!! i made twenty of these biiiitch!!!

the rammys bro

[h4unted--h0use]

pt 5 of stranger things textposts!

pt 4 - pt 6

[plumsfromyouricebox]

[imsodishy]

He feels scummy for thinking it but he knows this rumor is ultimately good for him. Even if Heather quashes it, like Harrington is sure she will, it's still going to stick in people’s heads as one of the top three things they know about him.

Billy Hargrove: From California. Beat the shit out of Steve Harrington (circumstances remain mysterious). Heard he banged two chicks at the same time (did he really? Probably not, but I heard it once.)

[possessedramblings]

No upside down au but things aren't magically okay

TW! Parental abuse, neglect & abandonment, Racism (Billy Hargrove is a piece of shit) Alcoholism, bullying and sexual harassment

Things aren't just happy and great because the Upside Down doesn't exist, and I want to write about it, so this is my take and my AU.

Will, Jonathan and Joyce are still in poverty, on the brink of nothingness, and it doesn't help that Lonnie is a piece of shit, who still has occasional custody of the boys. Every other weekend, Joyce is alone in her little house, while the boys are with their father, because the three of them are too afraid to speak up.

Mike and Nancy don't get along, plain and simple. It's not because they're siblings and because "siblings fight" but because they're in a broken home. Karen is out some nights seeing her "lover" and Ted is just the worst. He yells at the kids, shames Nancy, belittles her to the point that she leaves Mike alone. He hates her because she can leave, which is why he begs for a bike, or to spend the night somewhere, anywhere but home.

Dustin is the kid of a single mother, who is overbearing on him. She's an anxious woman who fears Dustin's gonna get hurt. He gets bullied at school, and not just insulting words. He gets shoved, his d&d dice, books, hats, and other things get stolen, and sometimes he comes home with bruises from the older kids.

Lucas has it fine at home, but once he leaves it's no longer anything happy. He's afraid to spend time with his friends because of Billy and all of the other assholes. He constantly gets harassed because of his skin, the way he talks, the way he looks, and it gets even worse when he starts talking to Max. His parents worry that one day, he won't come home.

Max couldn't hate life more. She's always angry, and it's all her moms fault. Her mom decided that Neil Hargrove was a good man, but it led to a life of absolute fucking pain. Billy was angry with her, for what - she didn't know. Neil was a drunk, he'd drink and drink for hours, using bottles as weapons against everyone else in the house. She saw the same hatred in Mike Wheeler, which caused her to lash out at him, but she knew it wasn't his fault, it was their parents.

Jane's mom couldn't properly care for her, something about a neurological disease that would get worse as the years passed. So she was given up to a foster home. Poor Jane was young, ad could hardly speak, let alone know her own name, so the man, Brenner, didn't care to know names. Jane, now Eleven, didn't know how she got there, or why, but she grew up believing her mother hated her, until she ran away after the oldest kid there snapped.

Steve never knew what his parents were like. They were always away. They'd bring back snow globes from every state airport in the country, but that's all he knew about them. He started to act out so he could possibly get their attention. He stopped once he finally saw something he hadn't noticed before. Jonathan wasn't flinching when he hit. He was just as bad as any old abuser. He tried to turn himself around, he really did. He had to change, especially after seeing Dustin, Lucas and Mike being thrown around by Billy.

Robin knew she never had it easy. She grew up in the trailer parks after her mom and dad lost their jobs ad had to find somewhere else. Her parents jumped between jobs for a long time, and once Robin was old enough, they gave her an old hand me down bike and set her on her way. She knew life was even harder after she discovered her undeniable crush on Tammy Thompson. She would be a town pariah if anyone found out.

Nancy on the other hand, was a town pariah. Her home was the least of her problems. She was humiliated by a man, by several men. Steve Harrington and Tommy Hagan calling her a slut, her own father accusing her of being a whore, and her employers objectifying her at every chance they could get. Nancy felt just like an object for the pleasure of men, so she started learning to defend herself, wanting to be her own woman, but too afraid to deep down.

Jonathan always pushed back how he felt for his mom and brother. Joyce was a struggling woman, and Will was so young, he didn't want his brother to feel like the world was so cold and dark, so he took more hits for the both of them. He took hits from Steve and Tommy, he wanted to keep everyone else safe so he took hits.

Things aren't happy in Hawkins, but we can certainly pretend.

[orbi29]

ok ik this is a dead blog but yeah i have a miraculous ladybug x stranger things au that ive been working on with a friend :D i have designs for will(mr.luck), mike(catwalker), lucas(chronoviper), dustin(plastron), max(vixen), eddie(sabertooth) and nancy(bunny miraculous holder i havent given a name for her atm) yeah thats my ted talk see you after another year lol

[hazardworld]

It’s that time again where i haven’t posted gay for awhile so all the bots start following me. Conveniently, it’s also WIP Wednesday, so here’s two WIPs for the world:

-------

1. Graduation

(As HS class of 23 also I claim the modern au kids as HS class of 23 because none of us returned to school after freshman spring break either)

Dustin groaned awake as his alarm blared in his ear. He scrubbed the sleep out of his eyes and squinted at the bright light of his phone screen—9:00 am—pressing the stop button.

He sat up and yawned, then reached for his glasses. The world came into focus as he put them on, both physically and mentally.

Today was May 26, 2023.

High School Graduation.

Dustin leapt out of bed, comforter flying. He put on his pajama pants and swept out of his room to the smell of breakfast food, specifically pancakes (or possibly waffles; the hard yet better option).

He was about to make his way out to grab a plate, but an alarm blaring further down the hallway caught his ear.

He made his way down to Max’s room, careful to open the door quietly. Her alarm was the worst one: the one that sounded like some sort of jail alarm, and it was always at max volume. Dustin plugged his ears (as best he could) and turned it off before shaking Max awake.

“Max, Max get up,”

A groan. Dustin rolled his eyes.

“Max, it’s grad day!!”

No response.

“Max,” Dustin smirked and whispered in her ear, “Lucas is wearing a sexy Sailor Moon costume,” he singsonged, and Max jolted awake.

Quickly, Max settled herself back down with a groan, and Dustin’s heart sank.

“Fucking fuck,”

“Wheelchair?” Dustin asked, resigned. Max had been trying to build up her strength the past few days to maximize the possibility of having an aid-free day. After 2 1/2 years of PT, aid-free days were just as common or crutch or wheelchair days, but planning one was near impossible. It was lucky Max had them in the first place anyway: she’d been told the day she woke from her coma that she’d never walk again.

What the doctors hadn’t realized was the best place for her to stay (one story, not in the middle of the woods, two people) was the Henderson home, and Henderson blood was some of the most stubborn around. Claudia and Dustin (plus Steve when he still lived with them, and the rest of the Party) all made sure Max got as much practice walking as she could get.

Max nodded solemnly, and Dustin grabbed the chair—the Party decorated it ahead, just in case—from the corner of the room. As he did so, Max put on her own glasses and re-sat up slowly.

“So, graduation. You ready?” Max smirked lazily, and Dustin raised his eyebrow.

“What do you think?” Max laughed, and seamlessly scooted herself into her chair.

“Push or no push?” Dustin asked.

“I’d take a chauffeur,” Max responded cooly, and Dustin pulled a section of her hair in retaliation. He was not a chauffeur. “HEY! Okay, okay, jeez. I should be fine,” Dustin nodded and walked towards the door so she could change.

Actually…he probably should too.

Stained pj pants and no shirt wasn’t really a look the school was looking for onstage.

“Call for Ma or me if you need anything,” Max rolled her eyes as she nodded, and Dustin left grinning. He made his way back to his room, shutting and locking the door behind him. He grabbed the dress shirt and pants he’d washed and hung up the previous night from his closet. The dress shirt was a light lavender with small vertical stripes, and was brand new for the occasion. His dress pants were black, and the same dress pants he’d used for choir or any other special event for the past 4 years.

God…4 years. 4 years at Hawkins High and now it was all over.

His thoughts weee interrupted by a heavy bang-bang-bang on his wall.

Dustin rolled his eyes and grinned, zipping up his fly before going back to Max’s room.

“Pants?” He asked immedeately as he opened the door. Sure enough, Max was in her pink floral blouse and pajama pants, with her own pair of black dress pants laid haphazardly on her bed.

She nodded. “Pants.” Dustin nodded in response and shut and locked the door.

When Max had a moderate amount of pain or more, usually it meant she needed help getting her pants on. Sometimes there were days where she needed help with nothing or everything, but if she needed help usually it was just for pants.

Dustin lifted her out of her chair and squinted his eyes shut while holding her sturdy from behind.

“Done!” Came Max’s voice, and Dustin opened his eyes to help her back into the chair. Dustin snatched her palm gloves from her bedside drawer, and chucked them in her lap.

“Thanks, ass,” Max smirked and slipped on the gloves, and wheeled herself out the door Dustin held open for her.

The scent of heavenly fatty food wafted through Dustin’s nose once again as he followed his sister out to the kitchen. Ma had her back turned, frying up something—sausage or eggs, probably.

“Ma!” Dustin called, before noticing her earbuds in.

“We should not have introduced her to noise cancellation.” Max commented.

“Agreed. She’s deafer than Steve with those things in,” Ma had forced Steve to go see a ear doctor after she noticed him not hearing anything unless he was facing her---something Dustin regretted not noticing sooner. Apparently, all the concussions had lead him to being hard of hearing, which lead to him wearing hearing aids and everyone in the Party learning sign.

------

Sibling Summer Camp!

(A modern summer camp au with an inhuman twist. This excerpt is from the first chapter, where everyone is first arriving at camp.)

They parked and got out, walking to their luggage in the back. A few seconds into opening the van door, and another van raced past them, parking close on their right. Whoever was inside was blaring music, and singing along so loud Suzie could hear every word they said.

"Put your hands up and reach for the sky, CRY FOR ABSOLUTIOOOON!"

Rock music wasn’t Suzie’s fave, but yikes.

Suzie noticed their Florida license plate as the van shook to the song’s beat. 

Typical Floridians. Probably.

There were a bunch of various rainbow magnets and bumper stickers, though, so at least the rockers were safe. Their van was maroon and tan, though Suzie could see hints of washed off paint across the side and back. Had it been graffitied?

“Hey, Suze, a little help?” Oh, shit. Suzie pulled away from her people watching to help Argyle unload their suitcases. He had taken care of the larger few, but the smaller ones were all the way in the back. They were here for a month, after all, and while they were promised laundry service for their clothes, there were many things neither of them wanted to leave behind.

Suzie shuffled a bag sounding like a bunch of glass bottles, and paused, sighing.

“Argyle, how many bongs did you bring?” Argyle smiled and shrugged.

“I didn’t bring my whole collection, if you’re asking.”

She hit him with a glare.

“How many?” 

“…13?”

“YOU BROUGHT 13 BONGS?" Suzie exclaimed, and Argyle shrugged.

"Could be more, could be less, I dunno,"

Just because the two of them got on swimmingly didn’t mean they never got into disagreements. Usually, these disagreements had to do with bongs.

"Why are 13 ish bongs something necessary for camp! I’m sure you won’t even use half of them!” Suzie grumbled angrily. She couldn’t expect Argyle to not bring his stash, but an entire bag of 13 bongs??? In a state where recreational weed wasn’t even legal??

“I heard 13 bongs,” Suzie looked up, and standing at the mouth of the van was a lanky tall boy with the darkest color palette she had ever seen. Seriously, the black hair, band tank, and jeans were so stark against his pale skin, he almost looked like a vampire.

“Who the heck are you?” and “Wanna borrow one?” were said at the exact same time. Unluckily for Suzie, the boy only heard Argyle’s question, and not hers.

"Nah, I packed a few myself, but nice to know I’ll have a smokin’ buddy!" This guy—obviously from Florida—had southern slang with a midwest accent. Weird.

"EDDIE! GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE!" Called another voice, and Suzie’s question was answered. "YOU AREN’T LEAVIN’ ME TO DO ALL THIS WORK, YOU SLIMY SACK OF DICKS!" This was likely Eddie’s sibling, left to do all the work unloading their things. Argyle and Eddie exchanged goodbyes, and Eddie ran off to his sibling.

"I found a weed guy!" Argyle grinned, and Suzie shook her head while smiling. 

"Yes Argyle, you found a weed guy,” Suzie panned to the remaining luggage in the back, “now can we please get the rest of our bags out? Otherwise you won’t be seeing weed guy for a month,” Argyle nodded and started pulling the luggage onto the ground.

[elevenmayfieldz]

what is love?

El takes Max's hand, wraps her fingers around the pretty girl's. Max is beautiful even while she's comatose.

Max doesn't move when El does this.

In the movies, their fingers move. El knows this because now that the world is saved, she has been watching movies with Will all night. During the day she stays with Max.

She doesn't know why she stays with Max. It's been years. She doesn't know why she can't let go.

But maybe it's because she loves Max.

Love with a capital L, that is how Will says it. There is a difference between familial and friend and romantic love, and El knows it.

She thinks she might romantically love Max.

She might.

She thinks she wants to kiss Max.

Maybe she is deluded from missing her, but she does not care. Maybe she is going crazy. Maybe she is so lonely without Mike that she craves any tiny bit of romance.

But that is unlikely. El doesn't think she loved Mike like that.

Of course, she loves Mike. She loves Lucas and Dustin; Joyce, Hopper, Jonathan, and Will; Robin and Steve and Nancy; the stray cat she rescued on the side of the street; and Max.

But Max is different.

What is love, anyway? What is the point of loving people?

El doesn't want to be loved anymore, because she failed. She couldn't save the person she loves more than the whole world.

And she hates herself for it.

But sitting here in Max's room, she can not cry. She needs to stay hopeful for Max. She is here to give her support.

And El's fingers hold Max's.

[netflixnormalthings]

rewatched s3 for the 4 year anniversary and god. it's so bittersweet. "one summer can change everything" because change happens regardless. losing friends. having people move on and crushes let you down and relationships end and people die. mall memories die in a fire but the joy was gone before then. billy was already dead from the chemicals and already past redemption but it hurts max all the same. he was brought back with a memory of a kid he no longer is. max is no longer the same kid she was before starcourt. people leave. things change. and it hurts. but "the hurt is good." it means youre growing. even if it means growing past the times when you were happy, you can find another happy time

[tellthatbrokebitch]

st text posts pt xv

i’m deleting my ao3 and only posting these things now i’ve decided

[i-yyzw-cq]

Thanks to you, I'm getting flashbacks of a certain blonde haired woman

10 years later, lucas bringing a cup of tea to max, brain damaged, staring vacantly in a rocking chair, mumbling "i'm real... snowball..... pizza dough.... hey asshole.... piggyback... that's presumptuous... i'm real..."

[loveinhawkins]

For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.

Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.

Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.

One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”

She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.

Claudia opens the door quietly.

It’s not Max who’s in the bed.

She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.

And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.

He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.

She takes one step forward.

Eddie inhales, breath stuttering, and it’s a fragile, heartbreaking sound.

Dustin stirs. “Hmm? Wha’s wrong?” He lifts his head up from Eddie’s shoulder, and his eyes meet Claudia’s, and he’s suddenly wide awake, scrabbling upright. “Mom.”

Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, like he’s desperately searching for words. “I-I’m not—” His breathing catches again, eyes wide; Claudia realises, with a heavy heart, that he’s deeply afraid of her. “It’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”

“Mom,” Dustin says again. Pleading.

And of course, Claudia never once believed the frenzied cries about Satanic rituals. Still, throughout that awful Spring Break, knowing that her son was lying to her, all she could think was that she was once a teenager, too—remembered how easy it could be to get caught up in something scary, something beyond your control.

She looks into Eddie Munson’s eyes, and knows deep in her bones that she has nothing to fear from him.

She beckons Dustin over, hands him the car keys.

“There’s a pillow on your seat, hon,” she says softly, because there’s a sleepy haze returning to his eyes despite his obvious concern for Eddie.

Dustin blinks, so unsure.

She smiles reassuringly. It’s okay. I promise.

“Okay,” Dustin says slowly, and he looks back at Eddie, raising his eyebrows like he wants to convince him of something. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t speak.

He lifts his hand in a weak wave as Dustin leaves. It’s shaking. Claudia sits down by the bed. Puts her hand in his.

Eddie stares at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Claudia shakes her head, too, slowly—prays that he can really hear this. “No, no, please. Listen to me. I’m so sorry.”

It would be an easy thing to say, that the town of Hawkins wronged Eddie Munson. But that would make it sound so impersonal: like it was inevitable, just one of these tragic things that happened, nothing to be done about it. Like earthquakes.

But that wasn’t true. People were behind this, and Claudia knows that they are all the town, every single one of them. And what did it say about them, that the fear and mistrust and cruelty spread like wildfire? That not one adult in the town hall stood up, begged people to stop, to think again?

“Th-thank you,” Eddie says. It sounds so uncertain, almost like a question.

Claudia squeezes his hand. “You were with Dustin, weren’t you?” she asks. “When the earthquake…”

His hand is shaking again.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I-I’m sorry, I—” He swallows. “I didn’t want a-anything to happen to him.”

“Oh, honey.” She reaches out cautiously, and when he doesn’t freeze up, she cups his cheek; her heart breaks at the rough indent of a scar beneath her palm. “You’re not God.”

Eddie reaches up, pressing her hand further against his cheek. He’s crying.

Claudia wipes his tears away as much as she can. She keeps up a steady murmur: “Shh, shh. I know you kept him as safe as you could. I know, I know. Shh.”

When he starts to calm, she thanks him again, but for something lighter.

“Dusty… he was so nervous, starting high school. But his first day, when I picked him up, all he could talk about was getting invited to have lunch with… well, a club.” Claudia smiles. “Oh, he was talking a mile a minute, I could hardly keep up. But I… oh, Eddie, I understand now. That was you.”

Eddie grins back. His cheeks are still wet.

“I didn’t do much,” he says. “You’ve…” For a moment, his eyes fill up again, but they look like happy tears. “You’ve got some kid, Mrs Henderson. He’s—he’s a real gem.”

She laughs. “Oh, I know.”

It’s one of the many things she loves about Dustin: that he’s always been so unashamedly, so joyously himself.

And Eddie had clearly seen that in him, had taken him in and nurtured everything that made him so.

The door abruptly slams open.

Steve’s in the doorway; he must’ve been running, is still gasping for breath as he says, panicked, “Claudia, I can—”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and that’s all.

But it’s clearly enough, because Steve’s shoulders drop in relief, and then he’s shutting the door, coming to Eddie’s bedside like he belongs there, and Eddie’s smiling at him, so tenderly…

And oh, she was young, once. She knows what she’s looking at.

Of course, she doesn’t mention it, can still sense some residual anxiety radiating from them.

Instead she looks around the room, spots a pile of laundry in the corner. It’s been stuffed into a bag; she recognises that as belonging to Steve, but there’s some shirts in there that are definitely Eddie’s, entwined with Steve’s things.

She stands, but before she can even pick up the bag, it seems like Steve’s read her mind, because he’s stepping forward, stopping her with a touch to her forearm.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’m taking care of it, Claudia.”

She pats his cheek, lingers there until he smiles. “I know, sweetheart. But… would you let me? It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie reaches up from the bed, squeezes Steve’s elbow. Steve sighs, briefly leaning into him.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s… thank you.”

“As long as you do one thing for me.”

“Of course,” Steve says immediately. “Anything.”

Claudia brings out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Write me a list? Anything you’d like, I’ll be shopping anyway.” She looks Steve in the eyes, adds firmly but with a smile, “It’s no trouble.”

Steve takes the notepad, twirls the pen hesitantly.

“Anything you’d like,” Claudia repeats. She glances at Eddie, says, “You know, if you want a different shampoo than what they have here, things like that, or—”

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “Whatever’s on sale is—”

“I know, honey,” Claudia says patiently, “but what would you actually like?”

The last extended hospital stay she’d had was fifteen years ago; Dustin had been a preemie, and one of the few things that kept her calm was the familiar: scents, food, people…

Steve chuckles. “I’ve got it.” He writes on the notepad, and Eddie must be able to read it, because he suddenly turns a little pink.

“How did you know that?”

Steve shrugs, smiles. “I notice things.” He writes down just a couple more things, then hands the list back. “Thank you so much, Claudia.”

“Any time, sweetie, I mean it.” She hugs Steve goodbye, then reaches one last time for Eddie’s hand on the bedspread. “It was lovely to meet you, Eddie. Hope you can go home soon.”

“Yeah, me—me too. Thank you, Mrs Hend—” Steve squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie stops. Smiles. “Thank you, Claudia.”

She looks back once to shut the door behind her. Steve’s pulling up a chair, as close as he can get, and as the door closes, she hears him tut softly, gently swiping at the remaining trail of tears on Eddie’s face: “Hey, what—?”

They look like they belong together. Dustin’s boys.

Dustin’s asleep in the car, pillow pressed against the window. Claudia puts the bag of laundry in the trunk before quietly slipping into her seat.

Dustin wakes anyway as they drive out of the parking lot. “Eddie… okay?”

“He is, honey. Steve’s with him.”

“Mm… good.” There’s a pause, and Claudia thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then he says, tentative, “Mom?”

“Yes, Dusty?”

“If I tell you something… d’you promise to keep it private?”

“As long as it’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s not,” Dustin says firmly. “Um. Steve and Eddie, I think… I think they’re…”

Claudia smiles, nods encouragingly. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

Dustin hums in agreement. “They’ve not told me. Did I… do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Claudia feels a lump in her throat. “You’re a good friend.”

Dustin makes an uncertain noise.

“You are, baby. They love you very much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Dustin sighs. “I know.” His eyes are closing.

“Sorry, baby, just before you sleep—are there any candies Steve and Eddie like?”

Dustin nods. “Eddie likes anything sweet. An’ Steve…” He yawns. “Anything w’peanut butter.”

“Great. Thank you, honey.”

Dustin’s already asleep.

Claudia knows that even with what she’s learned today, she still only has half a story, if that. That there’s something more to Dustin’s exhaustion, to just how Eddie ended up in a hospital bed.

Today, she’ll do all she can. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Laundry and shopping, reading the brand of shampoo Steve wrote with a careful eye. She’ll fill her cart up with treats, things that won’t solve anything; they might make staying in that hospital room just a little easier, though. Make it feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

But first, she’ll take her boy home; she’ll park the car as close to the front door as she can get, and when he doesn’t stir, she’ll run a hand through his hair, gently put him to bed.

[lovebugism]

the combo "they have to work together and they hit a realization on how its not too bad" + "fuck you" "when" w eddie pleeeasseeee

ty for requesting :D — the kids hatch a plan to get their favorite arcade workers to stop hating each other. it works out a lot better than they thought (enemies to lovers, 1.5k)

You wipe down a few grimy tables — all of which seem to be perpetually sticky at The Palace Arcade — with nothing but a damp cloth and a stubborn determination. You’re interrupted by a finger poking you expectantly in the back. 

You look slowly over your shoulder to find Max Mayfield standing behind you. Her auburn hair is parted into two plaits, and her freckled arms are crossed firmly over her chest. She leads the pack of regular teenage boys that typically accompany her here, obviously meaning business.

“Street fighter?” she wonders vaguely, in the place of any actual greeting.

“Out of commission,” you answer in a monotone before turning back to the table in front of you. You keep scrubbing at the stubborn ring of dried soda until she taps you on the shoulder again. “What?” you say with a dramatic huff.

“I know you got it working again,” Max insists with an arched brow. “Just like I know Keith’s keeping it hostage in the back so no one else can play.”

Both statements are only partially true. 

Eddie Munson and his self-proclaimed magic fingers (which you’ve begged him to stop referring to) managed to bring the dead machine back to life. Mostly. It lives primarily in the back room now, because there’s no use in bringing it out if it’s hardly alive. Keeping it to yourself, and away from the sticky fingers of middle school kids, is just a bonus.

You blink at the kids with a deadpanned stare.

Dustin Henderson, getting the sense that you’re about to shut them down again, decides to blurt, “We’ll help you wipe down the tables!” You meet his offer with an unwavering squint, wondering how far you can push him. He caves immediately. “And… clean the bathrooms.”

Lucas whips his head to the side. “Dustin!” he shouts.

“What?” the curly-haired boy cowers.

“It’s a deal,” you hum with a proud grin. Abandoning your bleach-stained cloth on the wiped-down table, you walk through the group of teenagers and towards the back hallway. “Follow me,” you usher unenthusiastically.

You find that the dead machine is still, in fact, dead when you burst into the back room with a gaggle of high schoolers behind you. 

Eddie’s popped open the bottom compartment to try and bring it to life again. He lies on his back with the top half of his body swallowed in the machine, working on the inside wires with lanky, tattooed arms. The hem of his shirt rides slightly upward, revealing the softness of his stomach and the trail of hair sprinkled there.

With your senses partially delayed by the strangely pretty sight, you don’t catch the kids running out of the room until they slam the door in your face. You rattle the metal knob with an aggressive hand. It refuses to budge.

“Ugh— You little shits!” you shout at the closed door.

Eddie, startled by the sudden chaos, bangs his head on the machine when he sits up. “Shit,” he grimaces once he’s fully in view again. He rubs at the top of his skull and squints over at you. “What the hell’s going on?”

“They locked us in here,” you grouse.

“Who?” the boy wonders with his face twisted in confusion and very distant disgust. “Why?”

“You’re not coming out until you kiss and make up,” you hear Dustin Henderson instruct, though his lisp is mostly muffled through the shut door.

“When I get out of here, you guys are dead,” you threaten in a monotone to the out-of-sight teens. “You know that, right?”

“We’ll take that risk,” Lucas snickers.

You huff when you hear them shuffle down the hall again, leaning your weight on the locked door with your eyes fluttered shut. Eddie just watches you, still sitting in the same position on the vibrantly patterned carpet. “I’m confused…” he mumbles after a few seconds of heavy silence.

“Unsurprising,” you scoff.

Eddie laughs to himself. The boyish sound strikes nothing short of inhuman rage in your chest. An impossible fire to breathe through. “Well, you’re particularly bitchy this morning,” he lilts and rises from the ground.

“I’m supposed to be working, but instead, I’m stuck in here with you,” you deadpan. “So I think I’m allowed to be a little bitchy right now, Munson.”

“Well… I’m on break, so…” He flashes you a stupid pink grin as he reaches for the outdated Pacman machine, which has conveniently plated his PB&J. He plucks the sandwich from the napkin it sits on and takes a sloppy bite. Jelly smears along the corner of his mouth. Your face swirls with disgust at the sight.

You turn back around and bang at the door with a closed fist. “Alright! You can let us out now!” you yell, hoping someone can hear you. “This isn’t funny anymore!”

“Stop trying. It’s too late,” Eddie mumbles with his mouth full. “They’re long gone. Probably for the next several hours… Either until Dustin beats his Dragon’s Lair high score or until one of them gets home and thinks to themselves… ‘Wait. I feel like I forgot something…’”

He rambles mindlessly to himself while he tugs the brown crust off his sandwich. He pops the piece of bread into his mouth and flits his gaze back to you. He finds you swallowing down a smile. ‘Cause you refuse to let the freak make you laugh.

“Whatever. I’m not taking the fall for this,” you huff and shake your head. 

You sit on the cracked pleather stool across the room from Eddie, in front of a deconstructed machine. The boy scoffs at your dramatics. “Shut up. Keith loves you. We both know I’m gonna be the one getting blamed for this shit.”

“Good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug. “This is your fault somehow.”

“Trust me, sweetheart. This isn’t any better for me than it is for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Shut up.”

Eddie downs the rest of his sandwich in another too big bite. “Getting locked in a room with the Princess of Hawkins High isn’t exactly a bucket list item for me,” he says through the mouthful, then licks peanut butter off the pad of his thumb. “It’s more of a waking nightmare, honestly.”

You try hard to stay composed. You know he’s just fishing for a response. He wants you to be angry, and the problem is it’s working. You break before you mean to. “Fuck you, Eddie,” you bite, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint.

The boy approaches you with a tightlipped smile. He peers at you beneath his lashes, half-hidden in his hair as he flashes you an innocent look. “When?” he quips.

He towers over you while you stay sitting, scowling up at him with an emotionless glare. “You’re insufferable,” you deadpan after a few long moments.

Eddie’s grin widens. “I know.”

“And I hate you,” you press, just to really drive it home. 

You might be overcompensating. Just a little. Almost like you’re prefacing what you know you’re about to do. ‘Cause he’s close enough to kiss and too pretty for his own good. The proximity is maddening.

“Wanna makeout about it?” Eddie smirks.

You don’t humor him with a response. You just grab him by the neck of his Palace Arcade tee and drag his mouth down to yours. The kiss is full of tongue and teeth, passionate with hate and a lingering fury. 

His lips are softer than flower petals and taste faintly of sweet jelly. He kisses you with his delicate mouth, hard enough to knock you into the broken machine behind you. He holds the wooden edge of it with one ringed hand and cradles the back of your neck with the other. The thing hits the wall every time his tongue swipes against your own. 

His touch is achingly loud. The rattling of the door knob across the room almost goes unheard. You hear the comically loud squeal of rusted hinges and push apart from each other like you’ve suddenly caught the plague. 

You swipe Eddie’s spit from your mouth with the back of your hand as Keith bursts into the room — with wide-eyed teenagers standing behind him.

“What the hell!” Eddie gapes, lips rosy and softly swollen.

“Sorry…” Lucas winces. “We thought we heard banging.”

“I told them not to bother you,” Max chirps knowingly from behind him.

“We were scared you guys we’re, like, actually fist fighting or something,” Mike confesses.

You rise from the stool, keeping several conspicuous inches between you and Eddie. You nod and pull your shirt down from where it had ridden up. “Well, we were actually, so…”

“Fist fighting?” Dustin echoes.

“Yep.”

“With… your mouths?”

You swallow hard. “…Uh-huh.”

Silence lulls over the tiny backroom, making it feel that much more suffocating. You decide to make your escape with a heavy sigh, shoving past the bodies in the doorway without so much as a look their way. 

Eddie follows behind you — not because he’s on the same mission, but because your ass looks really good in those jeans.

“God…” Keith grumbles behind him, in his signature slurred monotone. “This is so coming out of your paychecks.”

[acowardinmordor]

I think when Steve gets Vecna'd, Eddie adds together what he knows about the situation and comes to a logical conclusion. To him at least. He knows that Steve came here asking for heavy drugs and high quantities. He knows that Steve was sounding a hell of a lot like 'sleep' meant something worse.

He knows that Steve is X, and that means all of the horrible things that Eddie knows X thinks about himself, the guy in front of him thinks that too. He knows that Steve, ever since the letters stopped, has been upsetting the freshmen by being distant and cold.

The only assumption he can come up with is that Steve already took something, and it's hit. Or it's causing a reaction. Or its a bad trip.

He has no hesitation about touching him, immediately checks his breathing and his heart rate. It sorta, kinda seems like an overdose, a little bit could be an allergic reaction, but Steve is trembling like he's scared, and his body is stiff. Those explanations don't make perfect sense, so he watches for something that would mean it IS medical, and heads towards his better guess.

Bad Trip.

Steve is high, and is in a bad brain place, and that means he needs to be grounded. Music helps, right? When he was on that bad trip with Rick after his first senior year, Rick put on one of Eddie's tapes, and talked to him. Calm shit. Encouraging shit.

Eddie fully ignores the flickering lights - electrical gets weird in the trailer sometimes - and grabs the mixtape he made for X, and shoves it into his sorta fucky boombox. It's a mix of X's favorite songs, and the ones he mentioned in his own letters. He doesn't know if Steve ever listened to them, but that tape is the only thought he has.

Gets it playing, and grabs hold of Steve's arms. He knows that Steve stopped talking to him. Since Steve knew who he was, and Eddie didn't know who X was, it means Steve probably doesn't care if Eddie wants him to be okay.

Eddie talks about how everyone else feels.

He tells him about how protective Dustin is. How angry Lucas gets anytime anyone says a bad word about Steve. How Eddie has never seen Robin smile so much. How no one judges him for needing to repeat a year. Everyone knows about how hurt he got, and everyone gets it. No one thinks worse of him for it.

He knows his voice isn't exactly calm and soothing, but the longer this insane eye-flutter, non responsive thing goes, the more terrified Eddie is.

"Steve, please, please, it's okay. Just find your way back. try to breathe, try to feel your body, and you'll be okay. I know - I know I've been an asshole to you. I know, okay. But the boys, Robin, shit, fuck, Steve, I need to apologize for shit, so you gotta slow down your breathing. Whatever you're seeing, it isn't real. I promise it's not real, okay? Come back to the real world and I can get you feeling better, I promise. Steve? Steve?"

He doesn't notice at first that Steve is starting to float. He's too focused on his face, the way his eyes are still rolled back. He lets go before he can notice his own hands rising with him. Shits too real, this isn't just a bad trip, he needs help, he needs an ambulance, a cop, anyone that can actually help Steve.

He has the phone in hand, and is about to dial when he turns back, needing to keep looking at him while he begs someone to come fast. He sees Steve in the air.

One step closer, then another. He keeps trying, another whispered sentence or three. But the lights are going crazy, and the music is staticky, the dialtone is screaming, and suddenly Steve is flattened to the ceiling, arms pulling slowly to the sides.

Eddie runs.

Leaves the door swung open as he throws himself into his van. His hands are shaking and he's hyperventilating too hard to notice Max Mayfield sprinting across the road, up the stairs and into the trailer. He's pulling away, when Max screams as Steve falls.

He hears the scream, he hears and feels the heavy thump of a weight hitting the ground. He knows what that sound must mean.

Eddie runs.

Behind him with the tape still playing, Max holds onto a terrified Steve, who has trickles of blood on his cheeks, and bruises blooming on his arms.

Steve, alive, cursed, who immediately asks if Eddie is safe.