#steve and erica

[loveinhawkins]

When Lucas Sinclair starts to apologise for missing The Cult of Vecna, Eddie initially thinks that he’s hearing things.

Well, actually, the first thing he thinks is something along the lines of ‘what the fuck are you talking about?’

It takes him almost a solid thirty seconds to even vaguely remember his campaign; the last day of school before Spring Break feels dreamlike, as if it happened to someone else, as if he just watched everything through a fogged-up window.

“Jesus, Sinclair. I’ve got an ongoing list of folks who owe me an apology since, like, sixth grade, and trust me, your name’s not on there. Can pretty confidently say it never will, okay?”

Eddie sees Steve tilt his head ever so slightly from where he’s walking just ahead of them, like he’s listening in. Spots his faint nod of approval.

Eddie can’t decide if he resents it or finds it endearing—kind of gets the ridiculous feeling that Steve’s vetting him on behalf of the kids.

“Okay,” Lucas says, and he’s smiling, but there’s a sort of sombreness to it, too. “Still, I should’ve—”

“Hey, hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” Eddie says, firmly cutting off whatever self-critical bullshit he was about to hear. He knocks his shoulder against Lucas’s, adds a dry, “Like, I would’ve been a dick about it no matter what.”

Lucas laughs, but it’s muted. Then he takes a deep breath, and Eddie suddenly realises that he must’ve been using the apology to get himself started, to work himself up to what he really wanted to say.

“I’m… I’m sorry about… about Jason and… I thought I’d thrown them all off the trail, but—”

“Oh, don’t—don’t worry about it, man,” Eddie says faintly.

There’s a flash of Jason in his mind’s eye, the savage twist of his lip as he ran into the lake; he thinks of Lucas lying to his face, the danger of him being found out, and feels sick.

“Seriously, you could’ve told them… y’know. Wouldn’t have held it against you.”

Eddie doesn’t mention that him getting caught still feels inevitable, like he’s just waiting for the walls to close in.

But right now, at least, he can breathe a little easier. The shire might be burning, but there’s people leading him through it. He’s not alone.

Lucas looks appalled. “What? No, I couldn’t—I couldn’t do that to you.”

It’s said with such conviction that Eddie has to fight through a sudden tightness in his throat—doesn’t really know what to do in the face of such undeserved loyalty.

He settles on saying, “So, how was the game?” which is embarrassingly inadequate, but a genuine question nevertheless; the past few… Jesus, however long it’s been, he’s been in permanent need of a distraction.

Steve slows his walking pace—to anyone else it might’ve seemed subtle, but Eddie’s used to noticing such things. He somehow gets the feeling that Steve is no longer scrutinising him, not exactly; his posture’s relaxed and open, his forehead free of frown lines.

It’s more like he’s simply curious about Eddie’s behaviour. The way his eyes drift over, then down to the forest floor, then back again silently seems to say what are you thinking?

Or maybe Eddie’s projecting because he asks the very same question whenever a muscle jumps in Steve’s jaw.

“Oh, um…” Lucas says hesitantly. “I was on the bench for most of it, so—”

“Quit being modest.” The quiet whir of a tape being rewound; Max Mayfield comes up to Lucas’s side. “He made the winning shot,” she tells Eddie pointedly. “It was a buzzer-beater.”

“Oh, holy shit. Well done, dude.”

From the way Lucas is staring at Max with wide eyes, it’s obvious that he’s barely registered what Eddie’s said.

“How do you know that?” he asks. “You… you weren’t at the game.”

“I, uh.” Max looks down for a moment, fiddling with the headphones around her neck. “I listened to it on the radio.”

Lucas smiles so brightly. There’s an earnestness to him; Eddie spotted it a mile away, ever since that first day back at school, when all the new freshmen were anxiously lining up to get lunch.

Max softens—her arms are still folded, but she drifts a little closer to Lucas as they walk, all studied casualness.

(Oh, Eddie’s been there before: forced to run track in middle school Phys Ed, and the only saving grace was ‘just so happening’ to run at the same pace as any boy who’d smile at him.)

Eddie catches Steve’s eye, and this time Steve gives him a very deliberate expression, nodding fondly at Max and Lucas.

Look at them, he’s saying with his eyes, as if he and Eddie are on the same team, as if Eddie at all deserves to be let in on whatever shared history Steve has with these kids.

Eddie kicks at a stray twig. You’re not going to get a lump in your throat about this, damn it, don’t be stupid.

“S’gonna be historic, Sinclair,” he says. “Last time the Tigers won a championship was, uh, lemme think… twenty-two years ago.”

Lucas stops in his tracks.

“I know that,” he says, eyes shrewd, “but why do you know?”

Eddie raises his hands with a grin, it wasn’t me, officer. “What, I can’t repeat a few years without retaining a little school knowledge?”

“Oh,” Lucas says, and it’s like Eddie can see him mentally replaying every cafeteria speech. He grins back. “So you’re a hypocrite.”

“Maybe,” Eddie says. He glances further afield, where Dustin is animatedly explaining something to Robin and Nancy. “I know you’re not gonna give me shit for it, though.”

“Huh, guess you don’t really know me,” Lucas says, and Max snorts.

Eddie smirks. “And it’s, like, doubly historic since the last person to score a buzzer-beater was—”

He cuts himself off, because Steve abruptly turns to him, like they’re in alliance, and draws a hand sharply across his neck.

But Lucas is already hooked. “What? Who was it?”

Eddie gives Steve a helpless shrug. Sorry, man.

“I’m looking right at him,” he says.

Lucas rounds on Steve. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Steve says, flustered, “that was your thing, Lucas, I didn’t wanna be all…”

He trails off with a vague hand gesture, and Eddie thinks he somehow gets what he means—smiles at the thoughtfulness of it.

“That makes, like, no sense,” Lucas says vehemently. His eyes practically have stars in them. “Damn it, we shoulda got a photo.”

Steve laughs in surprise. “All right, noted.”

“I mean, Wheeler works for the school paper, right?” Eddie says. “They’ve probably got old issues. Hey, Sinclair, you could have, y’know, side-by-side photos. Yours and then…” He waves a hand at Steve. “Ancient history.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Ancient, sure.”

“Oh, Lucas,” Max says, batting her eyes excessively, “I’d frame a picture of you. Pray to it every night.”

Lucas blushes. “Shut up,” he says, elbowing her gently; Eddie thinks that it’s the first time he’s heard Max Mayfield laugh.

Steve’s watching over them again, and his eyes go pensive when Lucas mumbles something like, “I wouldn’t mind a frame.”

The expression Steve has is something Eddie’s only seen once before, and it was on Wayne’s face. Eddie had privately dubbed it the ‘found something for your birthday’ look when he’d noticed it: him and Wayne on a road trip, Eddie not so secretly mooning over the secondhand acoustic guitar in the shop window.

“Your picture should be bigger, Sinclair,” Steve says, sounding both teasing and sincere. “My shot didn’t win a Championship Game.” In an undertone, he adds, “As Brenda so helpfully reminded me.”

Oh, Eddie’s not letting that go.

“Do mine ears deceive me? Did you take a date to a high school basketball game?” Eddie cackles. “You sure know how to woo ‘em, Harrington.”

“Hey,” Steve says defensively, “she could only make that day. Told her I had non-negotiable plans: it was either the game or it was a bust.”

Huh, Eddie thinks, that’s actually… really sweet.

Lucas looks torn between being embarrassed or touched. “You didn’t need to do that, Steve.”

“Sure I did. C’mon, you thought I was gonna go to every match and then miss the Championship?” Steve’s eyebrows furrow. “Where was Erica, anyway?”

… Ah.

“Mea culpa,” Eddie says. “She was, uh, at Hellfire.”

Lucas scoffs. “It’s fine,” he says. “Last time she was at a game, she kept shouting that she loved my tactics.” He looks out into the middle distance. “I was on the bench the whole time.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah, I missed her being there.” He’s sporting a smile that’s somehow the perfect balance of fond and mischievous; it, quite frankly, has no business looking as attractive as it does. “We had, um, alternative commentary for every game. That kid should have a radio show.” He comes closer, adds in another aside, “Would’ve made the date more bearable if she was there.”

Eddie stifles a laugh, has a moment of respectful silence for Brenda.

Max and Lucas cut in front, keep walking until they’re almost out of earshot; Eddie hears Lucas faintly say something that sounds like, “Was I totally tubular?”, soon drowned out by Max’s laughter.

There’s a short silence.

“Thanks, Eddie,” Steve says suddenly.

Eddie blinks at him, quickly turns his genuine confusion into a bit. “What for, Harrington? My devastating wit? Devilish good looks?”

Steve shakes his head. He smiles for a moment, in on the joke, but then he looks over at Lucas and Max again, and… there.

A muscle jumps in his jaw.

“It’s just… they’ve got a lot to carry, y’know? So…” He shrugs. “Thanks.”

It’s said so quietly, so without fanfare.

Eddie’s hit with the realisation between one footstep and the next: that he’s earned Steve Harrington’s trust.

It feels… weighty.

But Eddie doesn’t mind it; he doesn’t think it’s going to crush his ribs. If anything it feels like they’re sharing a load.

“Don’t gotta thank me for that, Harrington.”

Steve smiles, pushing back his hair; Eddie’s brought back to the moment he did the very same on the basketball court, just as the ball sunk through the net, and Eddie decided fuck it, wholeheartedly embracing his hypocrisy as he jumped up and down with the band kids.

I cheered so goddamn loud for you, Eddie thinks.

He doesn’t say it.

But he keeps walking next to Steve. Feels a little young, a little bit like he’s running track—checking his pace just so he could see a boy smile at him.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for a @astrangersummer.

Just The Facts

Week #14 Prompt: "Can you hear me?" | Word Count: 813 | Rating: T | POV: Erica | Characters: Erica, Steve | CW: Language, Minor Allusions to Period-Typical Microaggressions | Tags: S4 "The Piggyback" Missing Scene, Scoops Troop Forever

Erica runs.

She hurries, just like Lucas asked. 

Her knee hurts, her back, her ankle. 

She feels sprung, in a way she never has before. Not crawling through the ductwork of the mall. Not in the elevator, surging down, down, down. That had been an adventure. 

Scoops Troop, solving the mystery. Taking down the big bad. 

It had been fun.

This isn't fun.

Not anymore. 

She barrels down the staircase, and out the front door, and straight across the street to the run-down park. She picks up her abandoned walkie, and presses the button down, holding it tight.

"Can you hear me? Code red. Code red! Over," she says, letting up on the button. And there's no response, just static. "Dustin?"

"Robin?"

"Steve?"

"Anyone?"

There's no one, "Code red. I need an ambulance. Hang on. I'm going for help."

And she runs down the street. Runs to the nearest house on the block that has any lights on, and bangs on the door. When it opens, she holds up her hands. Just the facts. That's all she needs to give.

"I'm Erica Sinclair. I live on Maple. My brother's hurt, and we need an ambulance."

Erica is running up the sidewalk when she sees it, the house ripping apart and she stutters, stopping, waiting to see where she'll be able to go from here. 

She's not even sure she can get back in the house. Not sure if there's anything left to get back to, not in there. Not now.

Lucas. Max.

She called for help. 

Lucas told her to, and she did.

Sirens are wailing in the distance, but she can't be sure if they're headed her way or not. Not now. There's a jagged line ripped through the earth, and the damage must be bad. Really, bad. All over.

Erica wants to go home. She wants her mom. She wants her dad. She wants Lucas.

Right now, she has none of those things.

So, she sits on the grass, and holds her leg. It hurts in several places, and she's scared. She won't cry, though. She won't.

And she doesn't cry, and she's proud of herself as she finally hears a car coming up the street, moving fast, and she hopes it's the ambulance.

It's not. 

But it might be better.

"What happened?" Steve screams as soon as his head pops up out of the car, then he's barreling towards her from down the road, where'd he'd parked as close as he could get to the falling apart house.

"I got tackled!" she screams, and she doesn't know why. That's not important. Max is hurt. Lucas too, probably.

Her stupid knee doesn't matter.

"By who?!" Steve screams back, falling to his knees, face twisted into a grimace as he hits the ground, sitting back on his haunches. "How hurt are you?" he asks, his hands touching her arms, her face, looking over her.

She thinks maybe she should ask him the same thing.

"I don't know. Some basketball goon. I'm okay. Max. Max is upstairs. With Lucas. It happened," she says, and Steve looks up. 

"Shit," he says.

"My thoughts exactly," she echoes.

The ambulance finally pulls up behind Steve's car, and Steve takes over, making her sit there, demanding that she not move. 

For once, she listens.

The ambulance takes Max, and Lucas crawls in with her after a small argument, but Steve vouches for him, and they seem to take his word when they wouldn't believe Lucas saying the same, exact thing.

She wants to think it's because Steve's older, because he's a Harrington, but she knows that's not all of the whole story, and she pushes it out of her mind. She got help. She did what Lucas asked her to do, and Steve's here now.

She doesn't have Lucas, or her mom or dad. But she has Steve.

And Steve's moving as if he's gonna pick her up, holding out his hands, like he expects her to be lifted onto his hip. Like she's a baby.

"What do you think you're doing, nerd?" she asks, but there's no heat, not tonight, "I'm eleven, not five."

Steve laughs, "Of course you are. Piggyback?"

Well, her body does hurt from being tackled by an overgrown horse's ass of a basketball player.

She nods, and Steve squats, letting her climb up. He moves stiffly, and winces as she wraps her legs around his sides, and she thinks maybe she should have declined his offer, just to keep from hurting him worse than he clearly already is.

"I'm eleven," she says softly, more to herself than him.

"I know you are, and none of this was cool," he says, hoisting her higher onto his back.

And that's what does it. It's embarrassing, and she couldn't explain it if she tried, but she buries her face in Steve's back, and finally cries.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!

[withacapitalp]

Root Beer

Happy birthday @stevesbipanic !!! I had an idea for this so long ago, but then your birthday gave me the perfect excuse to write it. I'm so honored we are friends, I am still so shocked about it (Flashback to my OG post about Tumblr royalty liking one of my posts) and I cannot wait to get to spend even more time with you <333

“Remind me again why you always pay for Erica’s ice cream?” Eddie wondered as Steve dug into his wallet and forked over the dollar eighty five required for Erica’s scoop of cotton candy with rainbow sprinkles. 

“It’s reparations for child endangerment,” Erica replied immediately, sticking her tongue out briefly as Steve rolled his eyes. 

Eddie automatically stuck his tongue out right back at her, making her laugh as she skipped off to the other side of the counter and waited for her treat. The kids had asked for a ride to the ice cream shop, but in a rare display of discipline, Steve had refused to pay for any of them except Erica, and, shockingly, no one had complained. They had all pooled their money, ordered three sundaes to split, and were now sitting in the corner digging into their treats. 

“I’ll tell you about it some other time,” Steve promised, keeping his wallet open as he turned towards his boyfriend, “Are you gonna get anything?” 

“Still deciding,” Eddie said, bouncing on his heels. 

The shop was no Scoops Ahoy, but it did have a wide array of different options, all with wonderful punny names. He was currently between getting a ‘Bloody Sundae’, which was a vanilla scoop with cherry syrup and chocolate sprinkles, or a ‘Mint to be’, which was mint chocolate chip with whipped cream and bright green sprinkles. 

Maybe he could get both if he gave Steve the right amount of puppy eyes. That usually worked for other things. Dates, getting to pick the movie they watched at night…..other….things. 

Eddie was still thinking through his strategy as Steve stepped up to order. 

“Can I get a large root beer float with soft serve twist and a cone on the side?” Steve asked, using his customer service voice with a charming smile, making the girl behind the counter twitter and twirl her hair as she rang him up and walked off to make his float. 

Eddie blinked a few times trying to register what Steve had just said, before groaning loudly and pulling a disgusted face. 

“What?” Steve wondered, bewildered by Eddie’s vehement reaction. 

“Root beer,” Eddie said with a grimace, waggling his tongue. 

“What’s wrong with root beer?” 

“It’s so…sweet,” Eddie finally got out, trying and failing to find the exact words to explain his complete disdain for root beer. He had given root beer a real try, multiple attempts and everything, but every time he had spat it out, unable to enjoy the taste. 

“Eddie, I have seen you eat a frosting sandwich,” Steve said in a complete deadpan, giving Eddie a raised brow look, “Just frosting and white bread,”

“Don’t judge my trailer park cuisine, rich boy!” Eddie cried in an overdramatic tone, clutching his chest and shaking his head with his eyes shut tight, “I’m not the one having nasty icky sarsaparilla nonsense, making future kisses completely impossible until you have purged yourself of the disgusting concoction.”

Steve burst into bright loud laughter, lighting up the entire store like he was the goddamn sun. Eddie paused in his diatribe, watching Steve with lovesick eyes as he giggled uncontrollably. 

“Sarsaparilla concoction,” Steve huffed out, continuing to chuckle, “God, I love you, you big dork.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

Both of them paused, staring at each other with wide eyes as they took in what Steve had just let slip out. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t both know. They had been dating for three months, crushing on each other for two before that, and every minute had been pure bliss. There was no doubt that Steve was the love of his life, and Eddie had been pretty sure Steve felt the same. 

Now he knew for a fact, and that was a lot to take in standing in the middle of a subpar ice cream shop. 

“I- um- I,” Steve stopped trying to stutter, giving Eddie a nervous little look, letting his eyes drop to his shoes as he shuffled in place. Eddie’s surprise faded into unbearably warm affection. He reached over and quickly squeezed Steve’s hand, knowing he wasn’t able to do more in public, but wishing he could kiss Steve until they were both drunk and delirious on their love. 

“I’ll have a black raspberry shake with chocolate sprinkles, whipped cream, and hot fudge,” Eddie called out as the cashier walked back over with Steve’s float, delivering it with a flirty little smile. Steve didn't even look at her as he took his ice cream, and she rang them up lightning fast, clearly jilted by his non-response. Eddie couldn't care less, dragging Steve over to their tables and waiting for his order to be called. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” Eddie said softly as they sat down, the words being overshadowed by the sound of their kids happily screaming at each other. He looked around and risked a quick kiss on the cheek, getting Steve buttered up and happy before he finished his sentence. 

“Even if your taste is trash,” 

[findafight]

So, Mr Sinclair seems like a guy who enjoys being a dad. A father. Having kids that love and trust him and look to him for guidance, and being able to provide that. And dad jokes, and dispensing WisdomTM whether they asked for it or not. And he’s so proud of his kids. He’s quiet about it around them bc he thinks it’s funny, but he absolutely brags about them to the other people.

All this Charles Sinclair appreciation to say; Erica at some point begins trying to use Steve as a sacrifice/meat shield (look, Pop, a clueless sap on desperate need of fatherly advice who hasn’t heard *any* of your stories before-).

God he really does get him a best dad ever mug!! under appreciated king! wife stan too! Lucas asks him for love advice and he and his wife joke about it a little!! the whole package! what a man!!

one dayErica sees her dad opening up a book on the history of the running shoe and is like oh no oh god category five dad moment incoming t minus two days once he finishes it and starts to figure out how to place steve in front of him before she has to listen to her dad talk about SHOE HISTORY for an hour.

But see steve is legit interested in it and he and Charles talk for like two hours after dinner (that erica "invited" him to [she mentioned to her mom that Steve hadn't been over for a bit] for this reason) and asks questions and he and Charles end up with a little inside joke about running shoes. Sue just raises a singular eyebrow at her daughter but Erica goes "did you want to engage in that conversation? plus, they're both so happy!"

Charles is clapping steve on the back and calling him son and tells him he's going to show him how to use a band saw. Mission complete.

he is reaching towards a baseball biography, though... oh no!

[formosusiniquis]

“There's a goblin, crouched over a large stone table. He's got long greasy hair that probably hasn't ever been washed and his clothes are ripped and ugly. He smells like pipe smoke and mutters to himself as you approach.”

Steve sighs and bravely stops himself from beating his head repeatedly against the table, “Erica.”

“What?” she’s even less affected by his chiding when she’s behind her DM screen, and she wasn’t that affected to begin with. “I'm just describing the character.”

“I'm sorry I said it was adorable, okay! Is that what you want to hear?”

Robin abandons her dice tower to glare at him, “Dingus, what'd you do?”

“Opened his big mouth when he shouldn't have.” A true if mostly inaccurate description of what happened, but he should have known better than to try to speak when Erica actually opened up a little.

“Dude, you know when you annoy Erica the rest of us suffer.” Now Dustin is whining, as if Steve weren’t being punished enough.

“I don't see how anyone is suffering,” but him. Steve definitely feels like he is suffering .

Robin leans in close and whispers, “You'll tell me later?” It’s a Robin whisper though, and it doesn’t go unheard by their temperamental pre-teen DM.

“The goblin is oblivious to the party too busy fooling around with poorly painted figurines-”

“That's out of line.” He’s got his dad voice out now, this was supposed to be a fun session and now he’s parenting.

“That's where you're gonna draw it?” She actually seems surprised by that, eyebrow arched at the idea that she found Steve’s line in the sand.

“Nobody has insulted the things you've worked on.”

“Fine, he's fooling around with his perfectly fine figurines, but he won't shut up about changed princes.”

He can feel it click for Robin, she shoves him almost off of the Sinclair’s overstuffed couch. He won’t look at her, he doesn’t want to look at her stupid I’m gonna mock you face. “Stephan!”

“I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings,” he apologizes, “I really do think it's cute.” But he’s not ready to grovel yet.

“Can dish it out but you can't take it, Harrington.” he rubs a hand down his face, pushing the impending headache this whole thing is causing back into his brain as best he can, and when he looks back up he sees an eleven year old.

“I wasn't dishing anything,” he says, remembering how awful and uncomfortable it was to be eleven. To have crushes and feelings that you didn’t know what to do about, and how much worse it was to not have anyone to help you figure them all out.

“Promise,” her lip doesn’t wobble and her tone doesn’t shake because she’s Erica Sinclair future president of the world, but the youth and the nerves are there all the same.

“Promise.”

“Fine, don't ever try to talk to me about this again.”

“Again, I was agreeing with you.” Because he’s still him and she’s still her and if he let it go too easily there would be just as much hell to pay. “I was saying you have good taste.”

“Stop, I have seen where your current tastes are. Don't align me with you.”

“Fine, fine. Are you going to be nicer?”

“I guess. As you walk into the cave you pass through a powerful illusion, you see that the goblin is really an average looking human man who probably washes his hair at least sometimes.” It’s really the best he could hope for, he figures.

“Wait, is this Eddie?” Dustin’s shrieking as he finally catches up with the interpersonal drama happening at the table is liable to send them back to the start.

“No, and he's not average looking.” He’s not sure who that comment is meant for. Erica for suggesting it or Dustin for finally catching up because of it.

“Mind your business,” Erica shoots back, just as done with the conversation as Steve is, “or your spell components are gonna get harder to find. And he’s not exactly anything to write home about.”

“Can we get back to it,” Robin interrupts, the true love of his life and the jealous hoarder of all opportunities to bully him about his love life, “I was promised a fight for my new dagger and I will use it on this gremlin man who seems like he needs to expand his music tastes if I have to.”

“Robin!” She deserves to get her punches in, he guesses, and if it’s his turn to get mocked by the Scoops Troop at least it’s not happening on a bathroom floor.

[stobinesque]

For microfic: Steve & Lucas bonding (maybe a lil Erica too?) and your word is ‘imply’ 💗

oh no, I got all up in my Lucas feels 😭

prompt: 'imply' | wc: 250 | rating: G | tags: banter, basketball | Steve & Sinclair Sibs

"Are you implying I'm not cool, Sinclair?"

"He might be," Erica called from the stands. "But I'm not. I'm stating it outright: you're not cool, Steve!”

"Thanks, little Sinclair."

"Don't call me that, asshole!”

"Can you stop antagonizing her," Lucas asked, arms crossed over his chest.

Steve threw his arms in the air. "I'm antagonizing her?"

"Well what am I supposed to do, tell her to stop antagonizing people?”

"Fair point." Steve gestured to Lucas, indicating he pass the basketball. "Okay, if you're not going to take my advice to avoid the basketball team, then let me at least make sure your form is up to par."

"Isn't par a golf thing?"

"The nerd does know sports things!”

"Hey, I know basketball!"

"Funny, I've never heard you bring it up before now."

"Because he gets embarrassed that his little friends aren't gonna like him anymore if he becomes a jock."

Steve squinted. "Is that true?”

"No.” Lucas glared at Erica. "I just…it's not something they care about, so I don't bring it up."

"Oh. That's dumb."

"What?"

"What's the point of being friends if you don't talk about the stuff you like?”

"We talk about science and D&D all the time!"

"Yeah, but that’s stuff they like too. What about like—? Will’s art. D’you listen to him talk about that?"

"I mean, yeah…”

"And Max’s skateboarding? You listen to her talk about that?"

“Of course!”

“So are you the only person who doesn't talk about your interests?”

Oh.

I’m celebrating 250 followers with 250 word microfics! Requests are closed, but previous fills can be found here.

[hairmetal666]

No one knows who writes the Hawkins High Tattler. It comes out every week, without fail, has for almost two decades. Everyone reads it, even teachers, even parents. It's caused more the one suspension, grounding, and even--famously--a shipping off to boarding school.

Steve's never let the Tattler get to him much. He's in it, of course, practically a new story every week. But it's just silly gossip.

Of course, Steve is also, currently, the titular Tattler, so. It's not like he's surprised when his name shows up.

It's his third year, his last year, and he knows everything that ever goes on at Hawkins High. It's pretty easy, honestly. Everyone thinks he's ditzy and vapid; nothing more than hairspray and polos. People will say anything around him, assuming he's not listening or not interested, and then bam. It's in next week's Tattler. No one even suspects him.

The confessions locker probably helps. Down by the theater, busted and unusable, the perfect place for people to leave tips, to tattle on their friends (or enemies, as the case may be).

That's what he's doing right now, checking the confessions locker. After 9:30 on a Friday night, the place silent as the tomb, perfect time for it. Pretty standard fare this week. The only thing of interest is that Eddie Munson was the person who broke all Ms. Click's pencils and left the stubs on her desk. This one, he laughs at, can't wait to publish it; can't wait to talk to Munson about it.

He gets a lot of stuff about Eddie. Most of it he doesn't publish because it's bullshit about satanic rituals--the nerdy kids he babysits play dnd, and there's no way Karen Wheeler is letting anything satanic happen in her basement--or about his sexuality, and one thing Steve doesn't do is out people.

Gathering up this week's submissions, he closes the locker with a soft clink, and he swears, swears he hears the squeak of a tennis shoe on the polished tile of the floor. He freezes, heart in his throat. Nobody has been here this late before.

Seconds pass but there's only silence. Confident he's only hearing things, he heads out, the parking lot just as empty as when he arrived.

---

He sees Eddie a few days later, when he's picking up the kids from the arcade. They typically exchange casual greetings, but as Steve waits, Eddie stands with him, offers him a cigarette.

"Read that was you who messed with Click's pencils. Good one."

Eddie shrugs, gives a little bow and a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"It was my class, when she found them. Never seen her so mad."

"No way," Eddie laughs. "Not even when Hagan drew dicks on all the textbooks?"

"Not even then, man. She was throwing pencil stubs everywhere."

"Fuck, sad I missed it." Eddie takes a drag, Steve's eyes following the movement, lingering on his mouth. Something warm and tingling builds at the base of his spine and he forces his gaze away.

"How long you in detention for?"

"I'm not. Swore it wasn't me, and Click doesn't want to admit she reads the Tattler, so. Not much they could do. "

"I've seen it sitting on her desk!"

"I know! She reads it when she has detention duty!"

They lean against Steve's car, laughing, and Steve feels good. This is good. He likes Eddie. He's funny and dramatic and smart and kind. He's not deserving of any of the mean things that get submitted to the Tattler.

The kids come streaming into the parking lot then, and Eddie stubs out his cigarette, says "see you around, Harrington," and Steve finds himself flushing for reasons he can't quite explain.

---

He starts seeing Eddie around way more. He's in school most days, smoking in the parking lot after the last bell, chatting with Steve in the hallways.

It shows up in the Tattler; big news that the King and the Freak are hanging out. Most of the submissions are about it, increasingly elaborate rumors about their supposedly deep, close friendship.

He wishes he could tell Eddie.

Eventually, Eddie invites him to smoke at the quarry. He doesn't hesitate to say yes, doesn't even bother to try ignoring the swoop in his stomach, the speed of his heart.

They sprawl out in the back of the van, Eddie's loud, raucous music pounding around them, sharing a joint back and forth.

Steve gets hazy, boneless, can't stop watching Eddie, the way his lips purse around the joint, his long hair glinting gold in the weak light of the camping lanterns, the pleased shine of his eyes every time he makes Steve laughs.

He likes Eddie so much. Everything about him, honestly. Butterflies ping in his stomach, happy and slow, and he thinks how nice Eddie's lips are, wonders how soft they must be. And he thinks--he's read the submissions, right--he knows the things they say about Eddie, and he wishes it was true, he wants--he wants--

He wants

---

Steve's running late to check the locker. Lost track of time at the diner with Eddie, and it's making him panic.

He stuffs the submissions haphazardly into the pocket of his hoodie, dancing with nerves, willing himself to grab them all and get out.

Locker emptied, he sprints towards the exit. He has a second to process someone barreling towards him in the dark, but he's going too fast to stop, can only brace himself as they collide.

It sends him sliding across the floor, Tattler submissions spilling out of his pocket like snow. He hits the ground, scrabbling for the papers, praying that whoever is here with him can't see them in the low light.

Hands grips his biceps. "Stevie, Steve, we have to get out of here" and there's a second where he's comforted by the familiar rasp of Eddie's voice before terror spikes again.

He pulls himself from Eddie's grasp, searching for any dropped submissions in easy reach. "Wha--why--what's--"

"I ran into Jason Carver and his band of idiots at the gas station. They're on their way to here to try to catch the Tattler in action."

Steve freezes. "I don't--that's not--I--"

In the deep silence of the empty school, they both hear the slamming of a door, a bitten off giggle. Eddie grabs his wrist and they run. Into the theater room, through a door Steve didn't know existed, to the backstage area of the auditorium.

"You should be safe here," Eddie says.

Panic spirals through him. "I can explain. I was just--I forgot a--I needed--"

"Harrington! I know, okay? I already know."

Steve can only blink at him, swallows rough in his throat. "What--Eddie, I--"

"I saw you. Weeks ago. Forgot my notebook in the theater room after Hellfire and had to run back for it. You were there, at the locker."

"You can't tell anyone."

"I'm not going to."

"No, Munson, you really can't. Nobody can know. Nobody--"

"Swe--Stevie, I promise. The secret's safe with me." He rocks back on his heels, chewing on his lip for a second before he continues. " I--I couldn't figure you out, you know? I saw you around with those kids and it didn't make any sense. King Steve, babysitting tiny nerds? But I saw you at the locker and..."

"You're giving me too much credit, man."

"I don't think so. You're never--fuck, Harrington--you're never mean. At least, not in the last couple years. You spread gossip, but you don't punch down, and you're funny as hell. Mean as shit too, but only to the people who deserve it."

His ears burn and he looks down. "Just because I have fucking--fucking editorial standards doesn't mean that I'm anything special."

Eddie scoffs. "Remember, Stevie, I was reading it a year before you were here. Cruel, vapid garbage. Always the most vile, pointless stories about people who couldn't defend themselves. And how many submissions have you gotten about me, for instance, that you've never used?"

Steve clenches his fists. "I would never--"

"I know. Sweetheart, I know. That's why I li--You're so fucking good, Stevie."

He laughs, ears burning. "I'm really not, Eddie. I try to write about fun gossip that can't hurt anyone too much, and nobody's found me out because they think I'm too dumb--"

Eddie reaches out then, fingers connecting softly with the edge of Steve's jaw. He can't help but lean into the touch, eyes flickering closed.

"You don't want to hurt people because you're fucking kind. You know how I know for sure? You must get submissions every week about me, and you've never once printed that I'm--" Eddie stops then, swallowing hard.

Steve's throat goes tight. He rests his hand over Eddie's, still holding his face. "Me too," he whispers. "Kind of. I like--it's both. For me."

"Oh," Eddie breathes, mouth lifting in a bright, beautiful smile that Steve can't help but return.

He's watching, sees when Eddie's gaze drifts his lips, making his breath hitch. He doesn't really think about closing the distance between them, slotting their mouths together in a tentative, gentle kiss.

"You're just full of surprises aren't you, Steve Harrington? Eddie asks when they part.

Steve blushes. "That's sort of the last of them."

"Sure. Next you'll be telling me you've played dnd."

"I have a character."

"What???"

"Human paladin. Dustin worked on it with me. Ready to get out of here?"

"Human paladin," Eddie gapes. "You know--you said--what's happening?"

Steve twines their fingers together, leading Eddie towards the auditorium exit. "Well, first we're going to walk out to my car and then we're going to my house, and we're going to look through Tattler submissions. Maybe makeout a little bit."

Eddie giggles. "What the fuck? Like. What the fuck, sweetheart?"

He turns to face Eddie, smile big and pure and bright with happiness. "If you're really nice to me, I'll let you help write this week's issue."

"Oh, oh. You're going to wreck me." Eddie mumbles, almost to himself.

"If you're lucky." Steve beams.

[mollymurakami]

were we just kids, just starting out

[letterstomichelangelo]

GUYS THIS IS NOT A DRILL

[will80sbyers]

STRANGER THINGS 5 PREVIEW

[samgelina-jolie]

[loveinhawkins]

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 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 ao3

Steve doesn’t exactly dispute Eddie’s words, but he does manage to smile and laugh again (“Oh, God, huh?”), a little dance out of sincerity that Eddie lets him get away with—because it’s late, and for a moment, Steve had pressed his forehead against Eddie’s before drawing back, and it felt something close to a thank you.

Steve leads the conversation into how hilarious Dustin had been, how he took the bait every single time Robin had tried to rile him up. Eddie follows easily, quips back with meandering movie commentary so that it doesn’t really matter if either of them loses the thread of it, doesn’t matter if their conversation dissolves into softly spoken, unfinished sentences and the occasional yawn…

He doesn’t know which one of them falls asleep first.

Just knows that at some point, he seems to wake at random.

The room is still dark, but they’d left a lamp on at the side of the couch, so Eddie blinks through the temptation to just shut his eyes again. Looks over to see Steve’s face twitching in sleep, mouthing something soundlessly.

His eyebrows are knitted in quiet distress: not a full blown nightmare, not yet, but it could turn into one.

“Not…” Steve says, and even as the weight of dreaming dulls his voice, Eddie can hear the determination in it.

“Hey,” Eddie murmurs.

Steve’s eyes are moving underneath his eyelids. “Not… Max. Not Max.”

It sounds like a promise. A litany.

“Hey,” Eddie repeats. He shuffles a little closer. Hopes that even in an awful memory, Steve can sense that he’s not alone. “Steve.”

Steve’s hand moves, and then he’s pinching the skin just before his thumb. Eddie knows that technique, has used it himself while getting tattoos done—pinching there to try and stop himself from feeling pain coming from anywhere else.

“Not…” Steve’s breathing catches. “You won’t… touch them.”

“You’re not there anymore,” Eddie says quickly. He strokes a finger along Steve’s knuckles, reassured when Steve’s hand starts to go lax—it doesn’t look like he’ll need to wake him up.

“it’s over, Steve, it’s all over. You’re safe, so’s Max. Everyone’s fine, okay?”

He has to say it a few times, but eventually Steve begins to settle.

His hair is falling into his eyes again. Eddie lightly moves the strands away without a thought—keeps his thumb there, smoothing across Steve’s brow until the frown lines gradually disappear.

And then Steve stirs at the touch. Sighs in his sleep. “Eddie.”

Eddie holds his breath. But Steve doesn’t wake up, just turns his cheek further into a cushion. His breathing is calm and deep.

God, you’re beautiful, Eddie thinks. The thought seems to rise from somewhere in his chest. He holds it close, aches with it.

He doesn’t want to let it go.

-

“You’ve got a call,” Steve says around a mouthful of cereal, when Eddie heads back downstairs after a shower.

“Ooh, I’ve got a call,” he says smirking, “you sound like a secretary.”

And that’s how he finds out that Steve had just left the phone dangling so that whoever’s on the other end can listen in on everything. Because when he picks it up with a, “Hello?”, he hears—

“Turn my back for one minute, and you’ve got a secretary,” Wayne says, amused. “Ain’t you going up in the world?”

“S’the company I’m keeping, Wayne.”

He catches Steve’s eye as he says it, laughs when Steve mouths, Don’t make me sound like a dick.

“That so?”

And while the smile in Wayne’s voice is still there, Eddie can also hear him trailing off in thought.

“Wayne?”

“We’ve got a new place.”

-

They’ve been given a condo—not too out of the way from Forest Hills so the surrounding area still feels reassuringly familiar. The size of the rooms doesn’t differ all that much, either: larger than the trailer’s rooms had been, sure, but not so big that it’s daunting, none of that eerie, echoey feel.

The layout of the kitchen and living room is different enough—the walls white, the fridge slightly to the left—so Eddie dares to think he might not keep seeing Chrissy out of the corner of his eye.

And his new bedroom has that freshly aired smell of a space that’s recently been painted; the blankness of it means that the memory of Steve sitting right on the carpet, eyes rolling back, is no longer quite as close.

But it also means…

“It doesn’t feel ours yet,” he says, turning back to look at Wayne leaning in the doorway.

Wayne hums thoughtfully, a sound that’s more an acknowledgement rather than a point blank agreement. He knocks on the doorframe, runs his hand down the wood.

“We’ll make it work.”

Wayne’s brought the electric guitar over, and seeing it propped against the wall helps reduce the blankness of the place a little—it’s then that Eddie realises he’d left the acoustic over at Steve’s, unplayed since the hospital.

But there are a couple of things he has remembered.

Wayne chuckles when Eddie brings out Robin’s mugs.

“What in God’s name are those?”

“Housewarming gift, Wayne, don’t be rude.”

Wayne nods at the neon polkadots. “Think I’ll need sunglasses to use that one.”

But his eyes soften when Eddie explains where the mugs came from, and he picks up the homemade ones, makes their first coffee in them.

Eddie smiles at Wayne clinking their mugs together. As toasts go, it’s more of an unusual one.

They don’t say anything; they don’t need to.

-

They go on a grocery store run, and the woman on the register only does a double take without uttering a word, which Eddie counts as a success.

After lunch, they watch T.V, old reruns of quiz shows where whenever Wayne cuts in with the right answer, Eddie accuses him of cheating: “You’ve seen this one before.”

It feels weird, to not have to intermittently hit the top of the T.V so the picture stays clear. Feels weird to be able to do this at all, almost like they’ve picked up from how Spring Break should’ve rightfully begun.

Almost.

Wayne gives Eddie a pointed look before he leaves for work, says that he can drop him off ‘somewhere.’ The offer would be easy to take, but Eddie shakes his head, insists that he’s fine. He’s honestly not completely sure why he does. Maybe he’s trying to prove something to himself. He lasts just over an hour after Wayne leaves, and then the silence starts to get to him. There’s a wall mounted phone in the kitchen. He picks it up and dials before his brain can play any sort of flashback on repeat.

“Just thought I’d check the line’s working,” he says, and Steve’s answering laugh seems to banish some of the shadows he’s watching creep up the wall.

“Yeah. Well, it works,” Steve says. “Hey, it’s, um… it’s quiet without you.”

It’s not true; Eddie can hear a definite ruckus going on in the background, what sounds like Dustin and Erica ragging on each other. But he thinks he already knows that’s not what Steve means.

That what he’s really saying is Come back.

-

“New place is good,” Eddie says evasively, as Robin takes competing takeout orders from Dustin and Erica. “And I, uh.” He gestures at the acoustic guitar in his arms. “Realised I forgot this, so.”

Steve smiles. When he speaks, his voice is low, like this is just for them. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”

A shrug. “You know. Come up with, like… an excuse or something. ‘Cause I…” He looks right into Eddie’s eyes, honesty shining through. “I like having you here.”

Eddie is saved from answering when he strums the guitar strings almost without thinking, winces at the sound.

“Sorry, baby. Been neglecting you.”

Erica snorts, comes to sit astride the top of the couch by Eddie’s shoulder. “Wow. Should we leave you two alone?” she says archly.

“Oh, gross,” Dustin says.

“Hey, pipe down,” Steve says. “Maybe I woke up ‘cause Eddie was so…” He tilts his head questioningly. “Flat?”

Mid-tuning, Eddie fights a smile. “I was sharp, but sure, I’ll take it. Whatever got us there, y’know?”

For a moment, Steve looks touched. “Yup. First thought I had was man, I’ve gotta tell him how incredibly bad he is at that.” But his tone is just on the cusp of being too soft to really pull off the insult.

“If out of tune stuff worked,” Erica says, “we would’ve just had Dustin sing at you.”

Robin’s hiccuping laughter drowns out Dustin’s protests. And then Eddie hears both Steve and Erica launch into…

“Okay, seriously.” Eddie grins. “What is it with that song?”

Dustin glowers. “If any of you say shit, you’re dead to me.”

Robin ruffles his hair. “Ooh, I’m scared.”

“Okay, relax, Henderson,” Steve says. “Talent or, uh, lack of aside, I don’t think singing your own favourite song would’ve—”

“NeverEnding Story is not my favourite song.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Dude. You don’t need to pretend to be cool, or—”

“It’s not!”

“It’s Take On Me,” Erica says.

Dustin points at her. “Thank you.”

Erica shrugs. “It’s probably mine, too.”

Eddie gives a final strum, satisfied with the results. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Steve echoes. He sounds genuinely curious.

Dustin’s expression so perfectly says You’re being stupid, you’re lucky I love you that Eddie has to cough a laugh into his sleeve.

“Steve. Hello? Last summer.”

“What?”

“When you tried to sing every high note. Tried.”

“Surprised all the neighbourhood dogs didn’t start chasing after your car,” Erica says.

“Oh.” Steve looks like he’s both moved and embarrassed at the same time.

Robin laughs. “Yeah, that’s right!” She looks at Eddie says, “It was, like, what, a few weeks? Yeah. A few weeks after Starcourt, um, was no more, and Steve, he just pulls up at my house, wearing sunglasses, and goes.” She mimes tilting said glasses down her nose. “He goes, ‘Hop in. We’re going on a wild ride.’ Which, like, turned it to be a ride to the nearest ice-cream parlour out of town with these two schmucks, so—”

“Hey, it was.” Steve clicks his fingers. “What’s it called? Exposure therapy.”

“Yeah, because it was the ice-cream that was traumatic,” Erica says.

“The hot fudge at that place was lukewarm,” Dustin points out. “That was pretty traumatic.”

Eddie plucks out a few notes to Take On Me, and Steve laughs, shakes his head.

“Nope, not singing.”

“Leaving the dogs in peace, Harrington?” Eddie asks.

Erica giggles, and Dustin and Robin both boisterously start impersonating Steve singing anyway—and Eddie thinks about how something as simple as all of this says so much.

-

Robin, Dustin and Erica don’t stay that long—Erica’s parents want her back before eight, and that prompts Robin to offer her a ride home, which Dustin accepts too, as he’s also staying over with Lucas.

Technically, Eddie could’ve gone with them, got a ride back to the condo. Hell, he could’ve ordered a cab with just the prospect of sitting in uncomfortable silence for ten minutes.

He doesn’t.

Because while Robin was corralling the kids into their jackets, Steve had tapped Eddie on the wrist, just once. Murmured casually, “Hey, you’re staying, right?”, like he was expecting it.

Still.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Eddie finds himself saying when they’re alone. “It’s just—”

“Shut up,” Steve says, so obviously fond that Eddie is immediately set at ease. “I meant what I said. Besides, I can be—like, if I really didn’t want you here, you’d know about it, trust me.”

Eddie smirks. “Yeah, forgot that you could be a passive-aggressive bitch when you wanted to be.”

“God, I wish that had been my title at school.”

“Oh, it was—in my head, at least. You got plenty, actually, there was a mental list.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“Well, since you’re asking…”

But Eddie drops the list barely halfway through. Clears his throat and says, “Hey. Thanks. It’s just… the new place, man, I’m fucking grateful to have it, don’t get me… It just.” He bites back a sigh. “Doesn’t feel like home right now.”

Steve nods. “You don’t need to… I get it, Eddie.”

And oh, Eddie thinks, you really do, don’t you?

[lavenderstobins]

stranger tweets part 12

[previous] [next]

all previous parts: [part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 5.5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8] [part 9] [part 10]

[lulalulens]

Boyfrems...

[findafight]

I don’t know enough about basketball, so I’m gonna “Yes and!”

Sue also played basketball in college (Lucas takes after her!) - Charles was her loudest supporter. Steve finds it all very romantic, even more so when asking Charles why he doesn’t join them at the games; “What would be the point? I’m married to the best”.

Okay, so; the whole fam (and Steve) go to an all day equestrian event (or maybe a fair that has like a day of horse events? Don’t know how this works in the US in the 1980s). There’s show-jumping, dressage, the works. They all enjoy the show jumping (although Sue is throwing Significant Looks whenever any of the horses stumble, or knock down one of the hurdles). Erica is the only one who enjoys the dressage; Lucas finds it boring and Charles…respects the skill(?), but the heated conversation the two men sitting front of them are having about the “blood rule” is making him a little uneasy. Meanwhile, Steve briefly drops into a fugue state upon realising that he recognises one of the rider’s coaches as That Bastard who was briefly engaged his aunt (one of the ones that he *likes*) and was two-timing her the entire time and spends the rest of the event relaying the story to Sue.

It is every bit as juicy and scandalous as she hoped, although she is a little perturbed that all the details that Steve has isn’t stuff that he was filled on when he was older, but stuff he knew as it was happening when he was like seven or eight (“my family doesn’t believe in talking down to children”).

Later when they’re going to get dinner Lucas is complaining that the dressage was boring (Sue is giving Charles the Cliff Notes, promising to fill in the details later), Steve remarks that maybe the3y should see a polo game some time. This gets him roundly mocked by the whole family, Lucas informing him that “That is the richest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth”.

Erica initially joins in, but has to have clarification on what it actually is (she was thinking of Lacrosse). Upon hearing that there is a sport in which she could ride a horse while wielding a mallet, Erica Knows what she wants to do with her life (or at least her next D&D character). She is *gutted* to hear that it in fact is not a contact sport.

(Last time, I promise. X)

College basketball legend Sue Sinclair!!! wait wait i got something

I like the hc that people around town knew who Steve was (like the party in s1 who have no reason to know who he is) is that he was a little sports star in his early high school career. Let's give that to Sue too! Hers was in college but it locked her in as a legend for her tenure at the school. Sporty little guys!! Sue being so excited to play with Lucas and sometimes Steve and chatting to Steve about how their teams are doing or what position Lucas would be best suited for!! Charles is watching and going 🥰

Steve just. Dishing Harrington family gossip to Sue is so good. He probably knows half of it because his family "doesn't believe in talking down to children" as you said but also the other half is because either his mom talked all about it over the phone and had forgotten little twelve year old Steve was sitting in the same room OR he hid and eavesdropped. And a few years later his Aunt got drunk and gave him more deets.

(Sue is eating UP the weird rich people gossip. keeps her mind off the fact there are large animals that are capable of severely hurting the people around them easily. She cannot wait to tell Charlie!)

Suggesting polo is such a rich person thing and Steve would make the logical leap of horse sports and more exciting than watching horses move slowly around. Polo becoming a silly little inside joke suggestion between Lucas and Steve and Erica. like "Hmm why don't we try...polo?" >:3

"Yuck it up sinclair..." they are so funny.

Erica thinking for a moment Polo is a sport on horses in which you use mallets to both hit a ball and beat up the other players....... incorporating that into another dnd character...... she's so powerful. no one should ever let her ride a horse anywhere near anything resembling a hammer or mallet.

[smalltownrobin]

Scoops troop being made of two pairs of 100% platonic besties is so important to me