#future steddie

[fantasticallyfruity4]

Corroded coffin, 80s and 90s metal legend band is seeing a wild resurgence of popularity due to a tik tok trend/ a song of theirs being in a movie/ etc.

This means young people are obsessed with Eddie again. Young people, his og fans. His name is trending on Twitter again. Steve is so happy for him.

One tweet, had 4 photos of Steve and Eddie. One old photo Steve had posted for their 35 year (who could believe that!) anniversary on Facebook of the two of them back in ‘86, one of them in ‘95 from the Grammys, one of them from ‘11 from their wedding, and one of them from a few weeks ago from robins Instagram which Eddie had shared to his story.

The caption reads “who was going to tell me that THIS is who EDDIE MUNSON is married to? He’s literally JUST SOME GUY oh my god this is hilarious this dude could be my English teacher how the fuck did these two even meet” and Eddie thinks it’s so funny, so he retweets it with the caption “high school sweethearts-ish. He’s a social worker BTW, close enough :)”

#steddie #future steddie

[libraryofgage]

A Place Like Steve in a Boy Like This

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually Debbie and Fester Addams One Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One (you're here!)

The Mummy (1999) is one my comfort movies, actually, and I realized Rick and Steve are very alike actually. It's the looks, it's the hair, it's the loyalty and devotion.

Anyway, here's an AU where Rick and Evelyn O'Connell are Steve's parents lol

If there are any other people you think would make good parents for Steve, let me know! I'll take them into consideration and see if inspiration sparks :D

Anyway, if you'd like a tag on any future parts, let me know!

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;P

-----

After being relegated to the open-air portion of some ruins in Crete, Steve entertains himself by slowly moving closer to the cats nearby in the hopes of petting them. His parents said he couldn't go into the ruins, but they didn't say a thing about playing with the ruins' inhabitants. Said inhabitants are gathered in a circle, some standing and some stretching out in the sun, but sticking together as though they're waiting for someone to begin a discussion.

He takes a piece of jerky from his bag, tearing it into small pieces as he peeks around the corner of a column. A few large stones are scattered around it, nearly reaching his shoulders and helping to hide him from the view of the cats on the other side. Though, in all honesty, they're probably only sticking around because they smell the jerky in his hand.

Steve grins and tosses a piece of meat over the stones, watching as it lands in the middle of what he's dubbed the Cat Council. A calico cat jolts, ears perked as she stares at the meat before taking a tentative step forward. She sniffs the meat, decides it's an acceptable offering, and eats it.

When it's gone, Steve tosses more pieces. He feeds a few more of the cats now, and he's practically buzzing with excitement. Deciding they're less likely to scatter, Steve clambers onto the huge boulder in front of him, managing to find little footholds to boost himself up. With a grunt, he makes it to the top and looks down on the Cat Council, ready to throw the last of his jerky when he hears the stone beneath him shift.

In the time it takes to blink, the ground crumbles beneath the rock, scattering the cats and dropping the stone out from under Steve. He falls with it, momentarily and terrifyingly weightless before gravity takes over and he drops. A yelp escapes him, followed by a pained cry as he lands feet-first on the rock, his ankles taking the brunt of the impact and, if not breaking, severely spraining for the effort.

Grit, dirt, and dust coat Steve's tongue and throat, and he coughs up as much as he can while taking in his new surroundings. Thankfully, sunlight filters into the underground space, allowing him to see the tiled floors and walls covered in a carefully carved and painted frieze that has, somehow, survived the centuries since its creation. Several figures wearing togas and carrying baskets line up outside a darkened arch. They don't exactly look happy to be there, but they seem resigned to their fate. Steve can even see the tears meticulously carved into several faces.

When he follows the frieze, he realizes the space he's in is really a hallway, one that seems to stretch forever on either side of him. Amazingly, there's no other sign of aging in it. No spiderwebs crowding the walls, no erosion from wind or water damage, and no sign of people having walked the passageway in centuries. It's the kind of perfectly preserved discovery Steve and his mother lose their heads over while his father waits for something to go wrong.

Steve is about to try standing (if he can stay upright, maybe he can explore a little and find something to show his mother before they realize he's gone missing) when he hears...a snort? Maybe it's more like a heavy puff of air. He tilts his head, twisting around to squint down the corridor to his right. Something glints in the darkness, close to what he assumes is the ceiling, and Steve grabs his flashlight.

He clicks it on, aiming the beam at the ground and slowly moving it down the corridor. He stops when the light shines on cloven hooves, a bad feeling beginning to build in his chest. With a now somewhat shaking hand, Steve slowly raises the beam, that bad feeling growing as it shines over furry hind legs and a furry waist that seamlessly blends into scarred skin just below the navel. Despite everything, he keeps going, only confirming his worst fears when his flashlight finally reaches the top to find the head of a bull staring straight at him, the horns cracked and nearly scraping the ceiling, the black eyes undeniably trained on Steve, and a glimmering golden ring looped through its nose, as untarnished by time as the friezes.

For ten seconds (Steve counts while trying to control his panic), he and the minotaur stare at each other. Then, it puffs out air again, the force strong enough to sway the ring in its nose. Steve grips the flashlight tighter, swallowing around the wariness threatening to choke him and briefly wondering if, maybe, centuries have somehow soothed the minotaur's anger.

And then it roars, deep and loud and powerful enough to shake the corridor and bring more dust and grit raining down on Steve from above. It lowers its head, aiming its horns straight at Steve, and charges with all the fury of a creature that's been denied centuries' worth of sacrifices.

Steve screams as the minotaur's hooves shake the ground with each step, too scared to do anything more than sit there and wonder if there will be enough of his body for his parents to identify when the minotaur is done with him.

He's just about accepted the answer (it's no; the answer is no) when something grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him up just before the minotaur crashes into the boulder. Strong arms wrap around Steve, holding him close as his father's familiar voice says, "I gotcha!"

Steve blinks, his heart still hammering as he clings to his father's neck and looks at his mother over his shoulder. She's staring at the hole, a frown on her face as the minotaur's enraged roar sounds from below. "Rick, I think we should go now," she says, grabbing the back of Rick's shirt and yanking him back just in time to avoid the minotaur's giant hand slamming into the ground next to the hole.

"Great idea, Evie," Steve's father says, his voice a little strained as he passes Steve over and pulls out a gun. "I'll cover you. Get Steve to the car, get it running, and I'll meet you there." The minotaur screams again, and Steve is still close enough to see it realize it can climb the stone to reach the surface.

"You have three minutes, or I'm coming back for you."

Rick looks over his shoulder, flashing a grin at Steve and his mother. "I'll be right behind you," he promises.

And he was. With a minotaur right on his heels and another week added to their time in Crete while they tried to get the whole situation straightened out without too many casualties or Steve's uncle Jonathan ruining more than one good pair of trousers.

-----

Steve doesn't think he'll grow used to the smell and sounds of the hospital. The antiseptic, sterile atmosphere isn't too bad, but the constant background noise has the potential to drive him up the walls. It helps that he, Eddie, and Max were finally moved to a room together, mostly muffling the beeps and PA announcements with each other's chatter, snoring, and other noises.

Right now, everything is drowned out by the kids arguing with Eddie about their next campaign. Eddie wants to do a sequel of their current one while they've been gunning for something sci-fi-themed if Steve is understanding their debate correctly. He's not sure why it's so important, but their voices are creating nice background noise, and Robin's rhythmic, habitual tapping of her fingers on his arm grounds him, so he lets his mind wander.

Honestly, Steve thinks they'd all benefit from a nice trip somewhere. Maybe Paris. They can't possibly run into anything in Paris, right?

Well. The catacombs do exist, and nobody knows what's down there. So they'd have to stay well away.

But still. Paris. The food. The Louvre. The history. And, you know, maybe they could just pop into the catacombs just so Steve can take pictures and show his mother later. Following a strictly regulated guided tour should be perfectly fine.

Steve drops his head back against the pillow, wincing slightly when the action tugs at the stitches along his throat. They hurt, but his worst injuries are on his sides where the demobats bit and feasted. The doctor said they'd scar permanently, looking somewhat apologetic about the fact until Steve waved her off. What's a few more for the collection?

Besides, at the time the doctor was giving him a rundown of his injuries, another had been doing the same for Eddie. His list was pretty similar to Steve's, and it only took him a few seconds to realize something very important: if Steve hadn't been there to share the demobat burden, Eddie would be dead.

That fact had sat with him for a while. Death is no stranger to Steve. In fact, he's intimately familiar with the concept. And all the ways it can be subverted. Steve doesn't want to think he'd be the kind to pull out the Book of the Dead after everything his parents have told him, but he also knows he'd do anything for the people he loves. Like Eddie. Like Robin. Like the kids.

Steve has risked his life for them numerous times, and he'd do it again without a moment's hesitation.

"I can't believe we're only just finding out!"

This statement comes from the hallway on the other side of the room's closed door. The voice is achingly familiar to Steve, one he's only heard over the phone for the past few months, and he sits up straight. The conversation in the room falters for a few seconds before picking up again after the kids decide it's probably not relevant to them.

And then comes hurried, angry footsteps outside the door and a doctor's voice saying, "I'm sorry, but only authorized visitors are allowed to see patients."

"I wouldn't stay in her way," a man's voice says, his tone teetering between amused and genuinely sympathetic toward the doctor.

Apparently, he doesn't heed the warning, and the room is silent enough that everyone hears the following tirade. "Authorized visitors? Authorized visitors?! Are you stopping me from seeing my son? Who on earth do you think you are? If you don't get out of the way, I will make you move, mister."

"I wonder when she'll realize she's got the wrong room," Dustin says, sounding amused.

"Ma'am, I ca--," the doctor's words are cut off by a sudden yelp and the unmistakable sound of a body hitting the floor outside.

The door is thrown up to show a woman, her shoulders heaving and her curly hair in disarray. She's covered in grime like she dragged herself out of a grave and came right away without stopping to clean up. Which, honestly, might be the case. Behind her is a similarly disheveled man, a fond smile on his face as he looks at the woman. "That's my girl," he says, the smile becoming a full-blown grin when the woman smacks his chest without turning around.

The sight is so familiar that Steve nearly tears up. He hasn't seen his parents in months, and their appearance suddenly lifts a weight that he didn't even realize was on his shoulders. Whatever else happens, they'll take care of it.

Finally, Evelyn's eyes land on Steve, and the anger on her face melts away into relief and worry. She rushes over, sliding around Robin before she can move, and cups Steve's face in her hands. "Oh, my poor boy, are you okay? What have the doctors said?" she asks.

Steve's father hovers behind her, giving Steve a once-over with his eyes before determining he's fine. "Better question," he says, placing a hand on Evelyn's shoulder and leaning closer, "Where in the hell were your guns?"

Steve is about to answer when his mother whirls on Rick. "His guns? Our son is in a hospital bed, and you're asking where his guns were?! Are you daft? Have you lost your mind?" she asks, poking her finger into his chest.

He sighs, takes her hand, and wraps his other arm around her waist. "Evie, he's fine. He's awake, and nobody in here looks like they're preparing for a funeral. Clearly, he's gonna be discharged soon. So, I think asking where his guns were is reasonable because maybe he wouldn't be in a hospital bed if he'd had them."

"Dad is right," Steve says, getting his parents' attention. He grins at them. "I'm fine. Doctors said it would just be another scar. Or, well, like three more scars. Doesn't matter. I should get discharged later this week."

Before Evelyn or Rick can say anything else, Dustin asks, "What the fuck is going on here?!"

"Language!" Steve shouts, turning his head to glare at Dustin.

"Did you seriously just call him out on language?" Rick asks. "You?"

"His mom gets upset when he swears, so I've been trying to set a good example," Steve mumbles, slumping down in his bed. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Everybody, these are my parents. Evelyn and Rick O'Connell. Parents, this is, well, everybody."

"Oh, let me see if I can name them," Evelyn says, her eyes lighting up some at the challenge before pulling away from Rick. She points to each child as she correctly names them. "I already know Robin. So nice to see you again dear--"

"Nice to see you, too, Mrs. O'Connell."

"--Now, you must be Dustin. I've heard plenty about you, young man. And based on the haircut, you're Will. You've got to be Mike, and you two are Lucas and Erica. This must be El, and you're Max, right? I'm sure you'll get better soon, dear." When Evelyn turns and sees Eddie, she gets a softer smile. "And you're Eddie. I've heard quite a bit about you, too. All good, I promise. It's so nice to finally meet you."

"Wait," Lucas says, frowning slightly in confusion, "Eddie and Steve have only known each other for, like, a week?"

Everyone looks at Steve, and he shrugs in response. "Eddie was pretty impossible to ignore in high school," he says, brushing off the questioning looks until only Robin and Eddie are left staring, the former with a knowing glint in her eye and the latter with a confused one in his.

"Sorry, I still can't get over Steve having parents," Mike says, his nose scrunched up like this entire thing might be some hallucination.

"Did you think he was an orphan?" Robin asks, shooting him a similar scrunched-nose look.

"I don't know! He's never talked about them! I thought his parents were, like, absent assholes or something," Mike says, his shoulders raising defensively.

"That's our fault, I'm afraid," Evelyn says, smiling apologetically as she moves to stand by Steve again. She places a hand on his head, gently carding her fingers through his hair. The motion is familiar and reassuring, and Steve leans into the touch, unaware of Eddie staring at his mom's hand.

"Our work is pretty, uh, need-to-know," Rick says, shrugging as he reaches behind Evelyn and places a hand on Steve's shoulder. "As in, nobody needs to know."

Steve is nodding in agreement when more footsteps sound from the hallway and his uncle slides into the doorway, nearly tripping on his own feet. He clears his throat, adjusts his jacket, and looks up to find a whole room staring at him.

He blinks and tugs on his collar, shifting his gaze to Evelyn and Rick. "Well, after you lot ran off, I got us visitor passes," he says, holding up three stickers.

"You stole them," Steve and Rick say, their voices in synch and nearly indistinguishable.

To his credit, Jonathan doesn't question it. He just scoffs, walking into the room and slapping a sticker on Rick's chest. "I am offended. How could you possibly think I stole them?" he asks.

"Should I remind you how we met?" Rick asks, raising an eyebrow at Jonathan.

"Fair enough. Carry on," Jonathan says, looking away and moving to Steve's side. "Good to see you, old boy. Glad you aren't dead, and sorry it took so long to get your parents here. It's not easy making phone calls to the Amazon Rainforest."

Steve shrugs. "I figured," he says, watching as Evelyn pulls her hand from his hair to place the visitor sticker on her chest.

There are going to be endless questions later. The kids are definitely going to try to grill Evelyn and Rick about their work and about Steve as a child. But there's plenty of time for that later.

For now, Steve is happy to just relax and let his parents take over. He doesn't have to be the responsible one anymore, and he can finally breathe with that weight off his shoulders.

----

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

@badgerburrows

#steddie #steddie fic #the mummy 1999 crossover #steve harrington #rick o'connell #evelyn o'connell #jonathan carnahan #eddie munson #the party #future steddie #here for a good time not a long time #that's the vibe with these crossovers btw #just enjoy the chaos lol

[withacapitalp]

“Okay, so now we add the water, right?”

“No! No water!” Steve practically shouted, grabbing the pot and holding it high above his head so Joyce couldn’t reach it, “Joyce, we’ve talked about this,”

She rolled her eyes, putting the measuring cup on the counter and sighing. Robin and the kids giggled from their spot in the living room, the parade turned down low so they could hear every bit of the clownery going on in the kitchen. Steve turned the evil eye on them and put one hand on his hip. 

“And, peanut gallery, if you want to have food, you’ll want to keep your snark at bay. Unless you want to be the ones in here helping me make an entire Thanksgiving meal for fourteen.”

“Always the mom,” Max sighed, patting her stomach, “I’ll have you know if we’re not eating by five o’clock sharp, Nugget here will be making Lucas drive us to McDonalds,” 

Steve waved her off and turned back to the stove, placing down the pot and stirring his perfectly prepared potatoes. It felt kind of weird to keep thinking of them as kids now that they were all graduating from college. But, to Steve, they would always be kids. No matter how tall, how old, how many nuggets of their own they had, those seven little kids would always be the stupid pre-teens that had given him his life. 

“Now, it’s important to remember to continue to whisk, or else they’ll get clumpy.” Steve instructed in a no nonsense tone. He had eaten enough of her radioactive cooking to know where she would start to lose sight of the final product. 

“Are you torturing my wife?” Hopper asked as he entered into the fray, grabbing another round of beers for him and the boys. Steve could just catch the sound of Jonathan and Wayne yelling at the TV in the bedroom upstairs, calling the referee out on some bullshit play. 

“This is the real question, Hop. Is your wife torturing my husband?” A voice came from behind him, soft and buttery. A voice Steve had desperately missed, even though this trip had only been a short few weeks.

Steve hummed, leaning back into Eddie’s arms and letting his eyes slip shut for a second. Eddie had only been in Chicago for three weeks to re-record something for his newest album, but to Steve it was always too long.  Warm pale arms littered with scars came up around him, fingers playing with the silver chain around his neck. No government would ever recognize it, they couldn’t really tell the world, but the ring on that chain was everything to Steve, just like the man who had given it to him. 

“She is,” Steve fake-whispered into Eddie’s ear, “She’s trying to poison us all with liquid potatoes,”

“Lucky for us, we have you,” Eddie whispered back, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek from behind, “God bless you, Mr. Potato Man.”

Steve snickered, turning around so he could fully face his partner. Eddie’s hair was shorter now than it was when they were young and stupid, and he was starting to get crows feet in the corner of his eyes.

He was more beautiful every time Steve saw him. 

“Quick! Eddie distract him while I put water in the potatoes!” Joyce cried. Eddie immediately went along with it, yanking Steve away from the stove and ignoring his protests as she began to experiment. Steve conceded defeat the second the paprika was pulled out of the cupboard. Some things would just never change. 

Eddie dragged him into the hallway, hiding them ever so slightly from the rest. 

“Glad to be home,” He murmured, hugging Steve close and resting their foreheads together. 

Home. The home Eddie had bought him all those years ago. The carpet in the living room was a soft cream now instead of gaudy orange, and there were boxes filled with mums in each window. The mold problem had been fully eradicated, but the screen door still swung open and shut in the wind. 

Steve didn’t mind it anymore.  It was just a part of the charm of their house. 

Their house. Even now it made his heart fill to the bursting to think of it. Their house.  

But now that Eddie was back, it was really home. 

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #st #st drabble #stranger things headcanons #steddie #stranger things hc #st4 #Liam writes #Joyce byers #Jim hopper #jopper #max mayfield #Lucas Sinclair #lumax #future steddie #steddie ficlet #Liam speaks up #Writing(withacapitalW)

[starrystevie]

severe head trauma can cause memory problems, steve knows this. he knows that he shouldn't be getting upset that at 30 years old, he can't remember his teachers' names from elementary school. he shouldn't be confused as to why he doesn't remember any of his birthday parties that happened before 1983. he shouldn't cry fat ugly tears as he tries so hard to think back to what his field trip to dc was like or how it felt to win that swim meet in middle school or what his first kiss was like.

he knows why. it doesn't make it easier, the knowing why. in fact, it almost makes it worse. he used to be the person that remembered everyone's name or birthday or favorite color but now he considers himself lucky if he can remember his own. steve thinks sometimes in the sad, angry place in his mind that he wishes he could go back in time. if only he'd been more careful or hadn't gotten mixed up with nancy wheeler or-

but that's not it, is it? because if he hadn't gone to jonathan's to apologize, he wouldn't have gotten robin or dustin or max or nancy or eddie, and that would have been much worse, wouldn't it?

he wouldn't be curled up now on his lumpy couch with eddie singing something a little off key in the kitchen as he makes them pancakes for dinner. he wouldn't have their stray cat that somehow migrated to being a spoiled indoor cat purring next to him while he grades papers. he wouldn't have a rolodex full of phone numbers that span across the united states of people he can call when he needs help remembering the fuzzy things. he wouldn't have a family to call his own.

#don't mind me being emo about steve #my writing #steve harrington #also slightly... #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington drabble #steddie headcanon #future steddie #the irony that i made steve 30 in this and it was my 3030th post on this account wow amazing

[hairmetal666]

Steddie Notes BONUS PART

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

Eddie wakes up to an empty bed. He’s a little surprised, honestly, since he had his heart set on first anniversary morning sex. Though, based on the smells wafting through their apartment, Steve’s making breakfast, which is an acceptable alternative (plus, if he has it his way, they aren’t leaving the bed again today).

The digital alarm clock on his bedside table is obscured by a Composition Book he doesn’t remember bringing to bed. He reaches for it before his brain registers the red ink dragon sketched on the cover. His hands tremble as he flips it open, but the first few pages are written in his own scrawl. Steve’s handwriting doesn’t appear until 10 pages in and Eddie’s heart stutters at the sight.

March 28, 1986

God, Eddie, I’m so sorry. So, so fucking sorry. I can’t— I’m sorry. I should have been there, I should’ve protected you, I should’ve kept you safe. 

You wouldn’t be part of this if it weren’t for me. Robin and Dustin keep telling me that's not true, that Chrissy was already cursed but. Robin is here because of me. Erica-fucking Sinclair is here because of me. And now you. And you’re dying. And it’s my fault. 

I don’t even know what I’m doing right now, but I can’t just sit and wait, I’d lose my mind. Anyway. You left this notebook in my trunk, and I hope you don’t mind that I’m using it. 

I don’t think I’ve ever been this terrified in my life, Eds.

Please don’t die on me. I can’t live in this world without you. 

March 29, 1986

Hey Eds

You made it through the night. I can’t fucking believe it. I ripped Robin’s shirt when the doctor came in to tell us that you were out of surgery and stable, and then he dropped the bomb that your chance of surviving the night was 40%. Forty-fucking-percent. I guess you beat the odds, babylove.

I’m with Uncle Wayne at your bedside. He threw a fit to make sure I could be here whenever I wanted, and that everyone could visit.

You’ve missed some wild shit, Munson, you’re going to be so mad when you wake up. 

Come back to me, sweet boy. I can’t take this.

March 30, 1986

Made it through a second night, babe. 

I hope you wake up soon. 

Miss you like crazy. 

I keep looking at you in this hospital bed, and you look so fucking small. I hate it. You’re the loudest voice in the room. You don’t just take up space, you demand it. It’s killing me that I haven’t heard your voice in days. And my brain, it keeps filling in things you would say, and I wait for you to speak up, but of course you don’t. It’s a kick to the balls every single time. 

The thing is. 

The thing is that I need you to wake up, Eddie. You can’t leave me. I made up my mind a long time ago, we’re spending our lives together. And it can’t fucking end now. It can’t end because of this. 

And I need you to open your goddamn beautiful eyes so I can tell you how much I love you. You don’t get to go before you hear me say it, do you understand?

I love you. You’re it for me. I’ve never wanted a forever as much as I want one with you. So, you have to wake up, yeah? You have to wake up so we can grow up, have a family, have a life together. 

Promise you won’t leave me, Eds.

March 31, 1986

You woke up, you motherfucker. The doctors kicked me out to look you over and I cried so hard in the bathroom that Robin made El break down the door with her powers. 

Thank you for coming back. I won’t ever let you go again.

April 7, 1987

I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m giving this to you, babylove. It’s been a year. Look how far we’ve come. 

✏️✏️✏️✏️

September 18, 2015

It’s way too fucking early for Eddie to even be awake and he has the day off. Steve asked him to take vacation months ago, didn’t say why, and now that fucker has the audacity to not even be in the house. And like, sure, they’ve been together for close to thirty years, and Eddie knows that Steve goes for a run at the ass crack of dawn.

Still pisses him off, though. 

Eddie huffs down to the kitchen to get coffee started, doing a double take when he sees a familiar black Composition Book with red dragon on the cover. 

He walks towards it slowly because this has been framed on the wall since their first anniversary, way back in ’87, and Steve isn’t home.

Eddie opens it, re-reads the panicked, lovesick notes Steve wrote in the hospital, doesn't bother to fight back the tears. He gets to the last letter and the paper is stiff and wrinkled, like it took water damage. Eddie flips the page, grief already pumping through his veins.

What he sees instead is college-ruled notebook paper, glued in place. It reads:

“I fucking hate this class.”

“Tell me about it.”

“trig. You?”

“Algebra 2 :(” 

A sound escapes his mouth, something between a laugh and a sob.

“Hey man, I'm pretty sure I fucked things up with us, and I owe you an apology. I've always known who you were, but you had no idea I was me...”

“Anyone ever tell you you’re kind of beautiful, Munson?”

“Watch. The. Movie. This is the last time we get high first if this is how you behave.”

 “What are you gonna win me at the fair, Harrington?” 

 “If you’re nice to me, probably something cute.” 

“Eddie…I think I really like you

You’re my favorite person in the entire world

Some days you’re the only thing I can think about

I want to wake up in bed with you everyday

I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you

Do you like me? Yes or No”

“What are you doing about Hellfire?”

“Huh?”

“If the game is Friday. Lucas can’t do both.”

“He made his choice.”

“You ever been in love?”

No, but I think I’m falling”

“I love you, Eddie”

All the sketches of the sailor boy and the rockstar are there, even the one Eddie stuck to the poster in his room, though how Steve managed to get that is anyone’s guess.

There are pictures too, Eddie and Max still recuperating in the hospital; Corroded Coffin performing at the Hideout; them holding the keys to the bar, Steve shirtless and hammering something while Eddie looks on, with the increasingly popular bands Eddie booked to play their must-see Friday night slots; Steve on his first day of college and one of him jumping into Eddie’s arms in his graduation gown, mortar board slipping off his head; In the hospital cradling their twin girls with Max giving a weary thumbs-up between them. Shot after shot of their family, their life, their dreams coming true. A scrapbook of their lives together, big moments and small; good and bad. 

Eddie’s crying freely as he flips through the rest of the book, still fucking astounded that Steve is the love of his life, that they’re making a forever together.

Eddie flips to the last page. Stops dead. 

In Steve’s looped handwriting, unchanged since high school, it says:

“Eddie, 

         Will you marry me?”

“What the fuck?” He yelps, standing up fast enough that his chair crashes to the floor. 

He turns and Steve— his reason for being, the man that brought him back from the dead—Steve Harrington, is down on one knee, something silver glinting in his outstretched hand.

“Eddie,” he says, his voice a wreck. “Marry me?” 

Eddie crashes to his knees, shoving at Steve’s shoulder. “You’re such an idiot.”

Steve laughs. “Is that a yes?”

Eddie laughs too, but it quickly morphs into a sob, “Of course it’s a yes, Steve. Of course.”

Hands trembling, Steve slips the ring onto Eddie’s hand. It’s a thin silver band with skeletal hands contorted into an infinity symbol. 

They fall into a kiss that rips the breath from Eddie’s lungs, but then that’s nothing new. When they finally pull apart Eddie asks, “why today?”

Steve blushes and grabs at the back of his neck. “Thirty-one years ago, I walked into Mundy’s class and found a note on the window ledge.” 

“What the fuck.” Eddie’s mouth drops, his heart stuttering. This man.

“Once I figured out you leaving that note was going to be one of the most important moments of my life? I made sure to never forget.”

“Baby.” Eddie pulls Steve in for another kiss. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

Steve tugs at Eddie’s hand. “C’mon.”

“Where we going?” 

“The girls will be here in a couple hours, and I have some things I want to do to you before they’re home.”

“The GIRLS?” Eddie shrieks. “How the hell long have you been planning this? Did they KNOW?”

“Since the end of June,” Steve answers without missing a beat. “And of course they know. Everyone knows. I asked Wayne for his blessing.” 

Eddie can’t speak, his heart crashing in his chest as he, once again, thanks whatever entity made it possible for him to have this.

“I’ve been in love with you for over half my life, Eds. I wanted to do this right. You deserve it. We deserve it.” 

He pulls Steve into his arms, kissing him hard enough that their teeth clack, but neither of them care.

✏️✏️✏️✏️

When they come home from dinner, as Steve reaches in his pocket for his keys to let the entire family in the house to celebrate their engagement, he finds a gum wrapper tucked in with the metal. He unfolds it, the words within unfurling in his heart, his soul.

"Thank you for giving me forever, sweetheart."

Edited: check out the full version on ao3!

This is officially the end! I hope you enjoyed this little (long) bonus part. Thanks for reading! 💜💜💜

@gaysonthefloor @little-gae-shit @ineffablecolors @mojowitchcraft @hiscrimsonangel @thegingerrapunzel @adelicioustragedy @mackdaddyofheimlichcountyy @im-sam-fucking-winchester @rainydays35 @gobbledy-gluk-gluk @gay-stranger-things @sherilitchi @gezell-igg @leather-and-freckles @bornonthesavage @ramyayaya @awkwardgravity1 @chaoticvictorianspirit @thosemessyvibes @beeing-stuupid @silentiumdelirium @freyaforestafay @thatbitchgayasf @sapphirecobalt-1 @sahh-dude @adorkfromnewyork @ollie-in-gray @extralegobrick @snapshotmaestro

@fandomgenderz @nuttychaosface @thatcottagewitch @idoquitelikebread @shinekocreator @savveth @mackfrfr0 @yourebuckingkiddingme @steddieassheg0es @gamerdano @thebig-smoke @questionablequeeries @zerokrox-blog @thegingervulcann @charlies-candid-corner@perpetual-trashcan @sleepy-rainedrop @marvelous-musicals @hoffmannwrites @fromapayphone @courtjestermunson@juicinmyjams @daydreaming-mood @aceflavouredyougurt @emly03 @pille1983 @darcyshandflex @anteaterballs @adankrivervalleynearyou @didntwant2come @kittsu-makes-glass @alienace

@somewhereatdawn @5pac3g1r7 @thequeervibes @paperbackribs @bitchysunflowerr @knitsforthetrail @wrenisflying @plasticcrotches @demoniccorvid @em9515 @savory-babby @loverliner @aceacebaby42

@trainchomp @anaibis

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie notes #THE END #the last part #epilogue #note passing #first anniversary #steve writes to eddie in the hospital #adult steddie #proposal #they're dads #they have twins #max was their surrogate #fluff #domestic fluff #future steddie #steve makes eddie a scrapbook of their relationship #romance #happily ever after #the own the hideout #and steve is a middle school guidance counselor

[steddilly]

More wifeguy Eddie fics please, I want him obsessed with talking about his husband when interviewers are trying to ask him about his band and his music, they want to know what inspires him and he just wants to gush about his husband who he finally convinced to come on tour with him.

#steddie #future steddie #older steddie #eddie munson #wife guy eddie munson #steve harrington #the wife in question steve harrington #steve munson #famous metalhead eddie munson #corroded coffin on tour #corroded coffin love steve

[princessstevemunson]

I just watched Glass Onion, and of course everything relates to Steddie right now.

World renowned detective Benoit Blanc and famous rockstar Eddie Munson meet at a party or something. They both start talking about one of Benoit’s cases, references or “clues” in Eddie’s lyrics, or their shared experiences of growing up queer in the south. They’re in enthralled in their own conversation: meanwhile, Steve and Phillip are having their own little bitchy conversation about being the Just Some Guy ™️ husband of a famous person who the other man couldn’t survive without. Maybe they’re swapping recipes. They’re all just having a great time.

#middle aged Steddie is one of my favorite things #they’d all be around the same age #also southern Eddie is just one of my favorite things #I also feel like Phillip has an inner mean girl #I’ve had Phillip Blanc for a whole second and I love him so much #steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #glass onion #phillip blanc #benoit blanc #future steddie

[bunk12bear]

Steddie Kids

I've been stuck with the random urge to imagine Steve and Eddie's children/future for some reason. These are written with them both being cis but can be adjusted accordingly if you want one or both of them to be trans.

Steve and Eddie both end up being teachers and end up settling in Chicago using government hush money to buy a nice duplex with Robin and her partner( when people ask how they can afford it they just shrug and say that Steve had Rich parents). I fell in love with Jewish eddie so the kids grow up celebrating both Christian and Jewish holidies.

They all have Eddie's last name because I love the idea of Steve not wanting oto taint something as precious as his children with everything the Harrington name represents or contribute to his Dad having any sort of legacy. Does that make sense logistically I don't know and I don't have any particular urge to figure that out at the moment so 🤷‍♀️

Sarah Munson

Born May 11th 1995( did I make their eldest born in 95 because that was the year I was born, yes yes I did)

Born via a surrogate with eddies DNA and a doner egg

Named after the protagonist in The Labyrinth( Steve and Eddie went to see it on their first date)

Lesbian

she/they

Dark curly hair and big brown doe eyes like Eddie but tan skin and a fuller figure from her bio mom

5' 7"

Whether it's nature or nurture she ends up taking after Eddie loving all things fantasy and Dungeons & Dragons. She also falls in love with alt music/style but ends up going more of a punk/Riot grrrl direction much to Eddie's horror( to be clear I don't think Eddie would super buy into the punk metal rivalry but I love the idea of them getting into albeit friendly arguments about the merits of each genre)

Anthropology PhD student(studying the effect of American mass media on global cultures) and activist

ADHD/Autistic but doesn't struggle in school the same way Eddie did because he and Steve pushed to get her diagnosed when she's little so she has an IEP from kindergarten( to be clear I also think Eddie is ADHD autistic and that's why he struggled so much in school)

Daniel "Danny"Munson

Born july 2nd 1998

Born via a surrogate and a donor egg like Sarah but with Steve's DNA this time

Named for Danny Zuko( I have completely fallen in love with the idea that Steve loves Grease)

arro ace

He/him

Ends up looking like a near carbon copy of Steve except for with black hair and gray eyes from his bio mom

5' 11"

Is athletic like Steve but also follows in his aunt Robin's footsteps and joins the marching band so he only plays sports that don't conflict. Despite for taking in to school activities that put him in a bit of a spotlight he's actually rather shy and soft spoken often having to have his big sister stand up for him. Struggles with reading but still loves discussing books with Eddie and his aunt Nancy. Pretty simple style-wise jeans and a t-shirt kind of guy.

Started a program abused neglected under privileged children both to teach them practical life skills like cooking in taxes and applying for a job but also to offer a warm supportive environment( inspired by learning about how his dads grew up)

Dyslexic; was also diagnosed Young

Charlotte and James Munson

Twins born January 31st 2000

Adopted after a younger coworker got pregnant unexpectedly and realized that she couldn't mentally be a mother but wanted them to go to a good home( birth mom is still heavily involved but fills more of an aunt role)

Named my their birth mom

Both Bi( had a crush on the same guy once it was a problem until they realize he wasn't interested in either of them)

she/her and they/them

Both have red hair and freckles( their aunt Max is delighted to have more redheads and the weird family all the upside down crew have formed over the years) but Charlotte has green eyes and James has brown

5'2" and 5'6"

both theater kids( once try to switch rules before realizing that only works with identical twins) and mischievous( yes they've been compared to the Weasley twins yes they were devastated when they found out what happened to Fred) Charlotte falls in love with Fiber Arts after helping their Middle School Drama teacher create the costumes for one of their plays. Mostly designs sew and clothing but and also knit sew and embroider. James is a writer. The twins used to put on little plays and he'd write the scripts but mostly sticks to poetry and prose as he gets older. James is an ideas guy where is Charlotte is more practical and helps him bring the ideas to life. James is more spontaneous where as Charlotte likes to stick with a routine. Charlotte style is rather eclectic and tends to shift around is mostly comprised of clothing she made or altered herself. James is one of those people that went full vintage day to day he looks like he stepped straight out of the 1920s

costume designer( Charlotte) Author/retail until his career takes off

I considered adding two more kids but I figured four was a big family while being a bit more manageable then six. However the absolutely do road trip like Steve was imagining. I could probably do a bit more to separate the twins but to avoid cliche I didn't want to make them complete opposites or exactly the same so I tried to balance the two.

Also none of them are straight because that's just how I roll is it statistically likely no do I care also no.

#stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #steve harrington #future steddie #steddie kids #steddie dads #steddie parents #steve x eddie #autisic eddie munson #adhd eddie munson #dyslexic steve harrington #jewish eddie munson #eddie munson lives #eddie x steve

[iwritelmao]

Hawkins Indiana, 2012

Steve: hey, we should watch that new Tom Cruise movie.

Eddie: *obnoxiously rolling his eyes* Tom Cruise? Seriously?

Steve: Yeah, It’s a jukebox musical. I think you’ll like it!

Eddie: *scoffs* yeah okay.

(2 hours and one Pour Some Sugar On Me cover later)

Steve: Eddie?

…

Steve: Eddie… you okay?

Eddie: sShhH! I’m having a gay moment.

#steve: pls don’t leave me for Tom cruise #he’s a scientologist #eddie: I can fix him #st future au #steddie #future steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson

[graysmiles-world]

Not Everything is As it Seems

"I'm leaving to join the monastery," Steve told the congregation, ignoring the shock that spread throughout the church. He could feel his father staring at a hole in the side of his head, which is why Steve didn't tell him. Not that he had the chance; he made the decision moments before he opened his mouth.

Bishop O'Donnel's popping vein was visible even halfway through the church, face going the color of the devil. It was no secret that he despised monks, constantly murmuring how all the money going to the monk's community was better spent at the church.

Steve now stood there, frozen and unknowing of how to proceed. His father and mother stood beside him, planning to announce his engagement with him and Tammy Thompson to the court. The same Tammy Thompson he refused to look at now. Either she'll be crying or bursting with anger - Steve knew she's had a crush on him since they were children.

"I just want to thank everyone for supporting me and helping me realize my true purpose," Steve said, laying it on a little thick. But they believed it, based on the large eyes of many men and women around the chapel. "I just want to journey to find my inner peace in the eyes of God."

Every sermon was pressed together into some scrappily crafted sentences, but it was enough. Someone started to clap, and then another, and soon, the chapel was bursting with applause. Steve supposed he would be clapping too, if some other chump was announcing he was giving up all earthly pleasures to go live in a dank temple.

But this was his only choice, and he knows it.

"When are you leaving?" Joyce Byers asked. Johnathon and Nancy were sitting next to her, both staring at him with wide eyes. He quickly pulled his gaze away and spoke to everyone.

"Immediately," he smiled. "I just wished to thank anyone one last time."

Bishop O'Donnel's withering expression had settled down to a glare, so he was able to speak without blowing up.

"We will miss you, Mr. Harrington," the Bishop said, voice echoing through the chapel. Steve resisted the urge to snort, sure. O'Donnell's hated him ever since he was a kid and was caught with his daughter out at night. They weren't even doing anything, but it was enough for him to be on his shit list.

As Steve stepped out of the pew and into the aisle, many from the town came up to shake his hand and wish him luck on his journey. Steve thanked each one, ignoring the stare of his father and mother on his retreating back.

He'd just made it out the doors and into the fresh air when he heard someone come out after him. His shoulders tightened, preparing to go toe-to-toe with his father.

But it was Senior Harrington, but Nancy Wheeler - now Byers. Steve and her stared at each other for a moment before she actually said anything.

"What are you doing, Steve?" she asked like they were friends. Like she didn't reject his marriage proposal and called him bullshit. "You don't want to become a monk?"

"How do you know?" Steve snapped. He wasn't a monk yet, he could still be a dick for a little bit.

Nancy didn't look taken aback by his temper. In fact, her own shoulders loosened a bit. "You'd hate being a monk, and you know it."

"Well," Steve shrugged. "There isn't anything for me here. This is my only chance to escape Nancy."

This is what seemed to get through to her. Her mouth opened but before she uttered another word, the doors of the church opened once more. Johnathon stepped out, eyes flitting between the two.

"Go home, Nancy," Steve said, turning and walking away before anyone else came after him.

Steve was able to sneak back into his house to grab some new clothes and some food for the journey. Monks were allowed anything of monetary value, so he just let his gaze and fingers linger over the softness of his bedsheets and books, let the old plush he's gotten from Dustin fall back onto the covers.

He was able to get out before Church let out, and thank the lord for that. He knew the second his father had him alone, Steve would pay for potentially ruining their chances to get in bed with the Thompsons. He could see his mother's wobbly lip now, quivering as she asks tearfully why he isn't thinking of his family.

Steve got out into the path before his house before realizing he had no idea where to go. He's heard rumors of one being out east, but the forest was dangerous. He wasn't very keen on wandering around on hope.

But there was no one else around, and Steve wasn't sure that there was anyone who knew where it would be, so he went with his gut. He headed out east.

The forest was dark and windy. Thankfully, spring had yet to melt into summer, so Steve wasn't suffocating in the humid heat. He traveled for a few days, resting when the sun set in between tree roots.

He ate through his rations quickly, wishing that he knew more about the wildlife so that he could actually know what's safe to eat or not.

Sometimes at night, Steve heard rustling in the bushes or footsteps against the dry dirt. There's never been anything there, until now.

Steve had found a little nook in a hill to rest for the night, curled up with his arms under his head as a makeshift pillow. He woke up to people talking.

He's woken up before to noises, but nothing as loud or clear as this. And when Steve slowly opened his eyes, it was to firelight. Someone was carrying lanterns - splashing light against the brush. Steve sat up, back pressed against the hill.

He had a quick second to debate whether or not to run for it when the man holding the lantern appeared. Steve couldn't see his face well with the darkness and the hood he was wearing, but he was able to see the widening of the man's eyes.

"I found something!" he called back, persumingly to the others. Moments later, more lanterns appeared, swinging from the hands of at least six other young men.

Steve slowly rose to his feet, rocking back and forth on his heels just in case he needed to make a break for it. The man who initially found him set down the lantern and held up his hands, approaching Steve like one would a wild animal.

Growing closer, Steve could see him more clearly. He was covered in freckles with dark eyes and hair, and something in him settled at the sight.

His cloak was a rough brown, and Steve knew he'd found the monks.

The man, Thomas, led him back to the monastery. The others followed. They were all silent in their movements, almost unnervingly so. Steve felt like an idiot trampling the underbrush alongside him, but no one mentioned anything.

The monastery was small and made of dark stone. There was a cross hanging above the entrance. Thomas led him down several corridors to a door that swung open to reveal a small room. It was only a few paces long, with a cot shoved in the corner. There was a tiny window perched above it.

Steve entered and sat down on the bed. The mattress was thin, and he could feel the wooden planks beneath it. Thomas was the only one left in the doorway when he looked up; the rest must have retreated to their own quarters for the evening.

"Feel okay?" Thomas asked, leaning against the door.

Steve cleared his throat. "Yeah, thanks."

Thomas nodded at him once before shutting the door. Steve laid back on the cot, laying his head on the thin, limp pillow. He watched the shadows move across the ceiling briefly before falling fast asleep.

He woke up the next morning to someone unlocking the door. Steve sat up, breathing heavily as he remembered where exactly he was. He didn't even realize the door had been locked the night before. He wondered if that was normal for a monastery.

The man who opened it was not one of the men Steve had seen the night before. His hood was down, so Steve could see his face clearly in the early morning light.

"Breakfast," the man said gruffly, looking Steve up and down once before turning and walking out into the corridor.

Steve stood up and hurried after him. This place was almost like a maze, and it wouldn't do any good to get lost.

The man led him to a great hall of sorts. Long wooden tables stretched out the room's length, with various monks milling around. Portraits hung on the wall. Paintings of the devil and suffering. Of children dying and men growing sick.

Steve was a bit disturbed by the images, but he knew the Bible was very dark. It probably is just a reminder of why they're monks, of how earthly pleasures can lead you to the devil.

Steve sat down next to Thomas, who gave him a toothy grin before turning to the other man, who sat opposite him.

"Billy!" he crowed. "We on for tonight?"

Billy glanced over to Steve quickly before nodding at Thomas. "Yup," he told him. "The usual stuff."

Steve furrowed his brow, running his spoon through the bowl of porridge some had dropped in front of it. "What's tonight?" he asked Thomas.

"Mass," Thomas said quietly. "Billy's the leader here; he always makes 'em interesting." Thomas winked at him before returning to his own porridge, shoveling it down like it was a delicacy. It wasn't.

But Steve was starving, so he scarfed his down, too. It was filling, at least, sitting heavy in his stomach. He sipped at the water he was also given, washing away the oats that caked in the back of his throat.

He wasn't really sure on what to do afterwards, so he just sat and listened to the conversations happening around him. A lot of people were excited about tonight, nudging each other and cracking jokes.

Steve relaxed a little bit. Maybe he'll fit in here easier than he thought. No one seemed to be the uptight monks everyone thought they would be.

After a few minutes, Thomas had scrapped the bottom of his bowl. He threw an arm around Steve's shoulder and jostled him a bit, standing up from the bench seat.

"Come on, let's get you changed."

Steve sighed in relief. He hadn't wanted to ask, but his clothes were caked in mud and brush, and he felt gross. He followed Thomas out of the hall, ignoring the whispers and stares from the other monks. He felt like he was back at church, like he was getting ogled and judged all at once.

Thomas led him to another room with only a desk in it. Across the old desk laid a long white tunic. Steve looked back at him, confused, but Thomas just gestured him forward.

He rubbed the fabric in between two fingers and was awed at the feeling. This was silk, smooth and chilled against his finger tips.

Steve looked back at Thomas again, but he was looking out the door - probably to give Steve some form of privacy. He looked back at the clothing and started to strip.

The silk tunic made gooseflesh appear on his arms and the back of his neck. It fell halfway down his thighs, but there was no trousers to go with it. He looked over to Thomas's long robe.

"Why do I have to wear this?" Steve asked, wrapping his arms around his middle to combat the chill that all stone buildings seem to bring.

Thomas looked him up and down, something flashing in his eyes. But it was gone when he met Steve's gaze.

"I'm not sure, something about being bare before God," he shrugged. "All new converts do it."

Steve stared at him for a moment. "How do you know I want to join?"

Thomas snorted a bit. "There's nothing else around here. There's no other place you would have been going."

Steve shrugged, finding no thought in the logic. "Now what?"

Thomas grinned, "Now is solitude."

"Solitude?" Steve asked. Thomas had exited the room, Steve following.

"Yeah, it's when we all go to our chambers and pray to God for a couple hours. Happens once a week."

"Oh," Steve furrowed his brow. "That's..." He couldn't find the right word to describe it.

Thomas had led him back to the chamber from the night before. "Have fun!" he said, closing the door behind him and locking it.

Steve looked around the room, at a loss for what to do. Finally, he just went to lie down on the cot. He's prayed before, but never on his own. Only in church or before meals, so he doesn't even know what'd he say to God.

While debating it, Steve fell asleep.

Steve woke up to the door unlocking for the second time that day. He sprang to his feet, hoping it looked like he was doing something productive instead of napping. But the guy who opened the door didn't even seem to care.

"Hey, I'm supposed to bring you to Mass," he told Steve in a rather monotone voice. Steve nodded, willing his heart to stop racing.

Steve followed the guy down various corridors, almost dizzy with the number of turns. He's sure he'll get it eventually, though. The man didn't say a word to him, so Steve stayed silent. They were both barefoot, so they made no sound as they walked through the monastery.

Steve wondered what time it was. He knows it was mid-morning when he ate and returned to his room, and it must have been a couple of hours since then. But there were no windows to show the sunlight and his stomach was starting to pain from hunger.

Finally, the man opened up a door at the end of a hallway and let Steve through. The man quickly joined the others who knelt before a great stone altar, lit up with candles that were spread throughout the room.

Steve caught Thomas's eye, who grinned and winked at him before returning to the altar. He wondered if he was supposed to kneel down too or if he had to do something else because he was new.

The door opened again, Billy strolling in with the same air of confidence as that morning. He grabbed Steve's arm, bringing him up to the dais where the altar sat.

Steve looked around, very confused by what was happening. Maybe there was an initiation or something. No one would meet his eyes, all staring straight forward.

Billy placed one hand on Steve's back, shoving him forward a bit so his stomach dug into the altar. Steve gasped a sound of pain, preparing to ask what the hell was going on.

Before he could, however, someone was grabbing his middle. He struggled, trying to kick back at the guy, but someone else held tight onto his arms and another to his legs.

He was set on the altar, heading banging back against the stone. His wrists and ankles were strapped to the edges, Steve eagle-spread across the top.

Steve looked around, wondering what was happening. Something thudded heavily in his gut as he realized all the weird things that had occurred since he arrived.

No one asked his name, he was given strange clothing, he was locked in the chamber for most of the day, and how everyone looked at him like he was a piece of meat.

Steve wasn't becoming one of the monks, he was their sacrifice.

#steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #future steddie #steddie #demon au #part one

[redlegumes]

Little Monster Chapter 2:

On AO3

"His identity was secure. Not only secure but envied. However, Steve was beginning to feel deeply lonely. The past few years of high school he'd been propelled by goals to further his transition, remain stealth. Now that he'd secured what anyone could describe as success, there wasn't even a friend he could celebrate with. There was no one in his life he could share his fears or worries with let alone the successes."

Steve Harrington finds and loses love, finishes high school stealth, and is pulled into the mysteries and horrors of the Upside Down. (Transpires over the events of Stranger Things Seasons 1-3)

CHAPTER AFTER THE CUT IS MATURE 18+

Notes:

A lot of CW's for this chapter, trying to cover my bases.

I'd say I hope the warnings don't discourage you from reading, but they're literally here so people can make informed choices about the entertainment they're consuming. So please read the warnings.

CW: Mild homophobia, parental transphobia, mild internalized transphobia, canon based underaged sexual history discussed as well as high school aged Steve and Nancy sex talk (mature but not explicit), brief bully Billy Hargrove appearance, high school locker room verbal bullying/homophobia, Steve Harrington has bad parents, verbal abuse, disownment

Turning sixteen meant Steve secured a driver's license with his gender and name, thanks to his birth certificate being handled when it was. It also meant testosterone, thanks to his doctor in Chicago that he checked in with virtually. Steve was set up with a prescription and tracked down an online pharmacy that would ship it directly to the house. He didn't mind the needle aspect, it felt like a small price to pay for what he received in exchange. The bottom growth alone was so satisfying. Packers were fine and all, his prosthetics helped immensely, but having his own body shift closer to what he knew it should be was gratifying in ways he couldn't express. But of course there wasn't anyone to share his euphoria with either.

Steve was grateful for what his parent’s money afforded him and his access to medication, but he couldn't tell them that. They only wanted to see him in a tidy little gender box. He was their son, and he 'should be able to manage and maintain that identity' without slipping in the slightest. If anything, as soon as he received the car keys to the BMW it felt as though they were pulling away. Chip and Mitzi Harrington spent more and more time in Indianapolis, and when they were home, the pressure on Steve to present as the perfect son had a whiplash effect on him. One moment he was meant not to care about their frequent abandonment and the next he was expected to treat them as though they'd hung the moon.

Steve started to feel it wasn't his parent's good opinion of him that he needed, it'd never truly been. They weren't going to suddenly love and support him, no matter what hurdles he overcame, the hoops he jumped through. They weren't going to give him more of their time or consideration.

Steve's priorities shifted.

He could use his money and lack of supervision to his advantage. Steve's life alone, at home when his folks were away, didn't need to be a living mausoleum. He could get love and attention from his friends. While he couldn't completely squash that desire to get his parent's acceptance, this would do, and once he started, they didn't even seem to notice. He was fully integrated in the Hawkins High School power dynamic. Whether or not he passed was no longer worry number one. He now had to worry about other incidents. For example, how fast an ambitious sophomore, Cynthia Evans, tried to get her hand down his pants after baseball practice.

Steve liked girls. They were soft. He'd never noticed, before going on T, just how much softer they felt. They smelled lovely too. He found femininity on someone else wasn't a turn off at all. There was something affirming in the differences he clearly saw and felt between himself and female partners. They were foreign yet familiar, the paradox lightly plaguing him as he began to date around. Dating was part of the popularity deal. It also afforded him a little more leeway with his own identity. Steve cared about his hair and clothes obviously because he was a lady killer, not a 'homo' with feminine tendencies that he feared would one day be some sort of smoking gun that outed him.

Though, he still noticed guys.

Men were exciting in a different way. Certain traits, a muscle or light pattern of chest hair, these things drew Steve in beyond just gender envy. But even if he could keep his trans status secret while coming out as bisexual, there'd be no understanding from his folks. Despite the internet and TV show representations becoming more frequent, being bisexual wasn't much of an option around Hawkins. Steve knew if he dated a dude he'd be seen as gay with all the casual homophobia that came with it. He hadn't encountered a girl he wanted to reveal his genital situation to. Being bisexual and having to reveal his bottom bits to a guy? It seemed like a reality he wasn't going to live. General consensus was that it was easier to be a straight, cis dude, and Steve was inclined to agree.

So instead, there was some closeted experimentation. A few cocks sucked in a few locker rooms. Steve found his hookups perfectly content when he asked them not to reciprocate or touch him.

Girls worked similarly. Steve knew all the spots to park in or walk to with a picnic blanket. Sometimes it was just the sweet intimacy in kissing, feeling so adored, desired. But often there was a push for more, and Steve obliged if they did things his way. Nowhere else in his life did he feel as 'in control' then he did in the back seat of his car, with a pair of thighs trembling around his head.

He cycled through dates, getting off the prettiest girls in school, and he did it well enough that the rumors were all praise. No one brought up his avoidance to press his partners for his own climax, and Steve encouraged any whispers that implied he had gotten it. He wasn't struggling with a complete lack of self satisfaction. He found a select few packers that allowed him to really benefit just by rutting against another's body.

It all worked. His identity was secure. Not only secure but envied. However, Steve was beginning to feel deeply lonely. The past few years of high school he'd been propelled by goals to further his transition, remain stealth. Now that he'd secured what anyone could describe as success, there wasn't even a friend he could celebrate with. There was no one in his life he could share his fears or worries with let alone the successes. He had a community, but it began to remind him of paper mache. There was no solid core, only pretty paper that could all melt away.

...

Then came Nancy Wheeler.

Steve was seventeen and he finally felt secure enough. Ready. Ready to let someone see him, know him, perhaps even his story. Nancy was thoughtful and kind. And Steve wanted to… he wanted to do more with her than what he'd done with others. She was so smart. So much smarter than Steve, and yet he could get her flustered, make her blush, and make her smile.

He started to let his guard down around Nancy. He let a lot of the persona he'd developed fade while hanging with her. He didn't need to keep it up like he did with Tommy, his 'best' friend. The bitchy quips and asshole brush offs were designed to keep people from getting too comfortable, to keep himself a little superior, separated, safe. With Nance, he wanted her to press, to touch, and ask. He was ready to answer.

…

He ended up being the one with questions.

Steve climbed up the front of the Wheeler house and in, through the window of Nancy's room, one night. Predictably, she was studying. They'd been not quite 'dating' for a little while… and unlike his other relationships, Steve wanted this one to go further. He wanted more. He wanted it to last.

The night started with helping Nancy study. Steve soon shook his head with laughter as it became clear she knew the subject matter, front and back. Nance was more than prepared for her test the next morning. They were both reclined on either ends of her bed and it struck Steve as though everything was comforting, soft. The lighting, the furnishings, even Nancy's shrewd yet shy smile…

"You know I want to do more with you, Nance," he said, not quite sure how else to word it.

"More than study?" She giggled, raising a manicured eyebrow.

"I normally..." He fidgeted with the flashcards before setting them down. Steve thought he'd mastered moving past nervousness. Guess this situation is different. Well, no reward without risk. "I don't open myself up to a lot of people. I don't actually, um do more than what we've been up to."

Nancy moved a hand out towards him. "Steve, it's okay… you don't have to-"

"-No. I really do. I want for it to be us. For there to be an us? You're not like the other girls."

Nancy's lips twisted into a small, curt smile as she looked away from him, the blush on her cheeks deepening. "Oh my God. Don't say it like that."

"Hah." Steve felt a grin spread over his own face, and he leaned toward her. "I mean you're really special. You Nancy, you make me want more, make me feel like we could have more."

"I think. I think I'd like that." Her eyes snapped back to him as her smile grew wider. "Could be really nice, being an 'us.'"

Steve breathed out a big sigh of relief. His happiness, over Nancy seemingly being on the same page, barely tempered his anxiety transferring to his next confession. Steve swallowed and looked into her sharp blue eyes. "Hey. So, I feel like there's something you ought to know. Something only my parents know about, but I trust you. I don't… believe that you would hurt me with it, if I tell you."

"Steve?" Nancy reached out and this time took his hand. She squeezed it lightly. "I would never knowingly try to hurt you. Sometimes you can be sort of an asshole jock." Steve laughed nervously. "But I wouldn't turn your secrets against you."

He nodded. She truly had such beautiful eyes. Steve stared at the shifting, gentle waters of her gaze and found his center.

"Nancy, I'm trans." The words sounded distant when he spoke them.

Nancy's eyes widened. They flashed over his body and then back up to his face. Her brow furrowed, but she didn't let go of his hand. "Steve, I. Thank you I. I really appreciate that you told me."

Woah, I did it. Wow, okay. "Now you know," he said meekly, building back up the courage to say what he'd wanted to. "I'm serious about you Nancy. If this is a deal breaker... I need to know."

"No!" She looked as surprised as he assumed he did at the speed of her reply. "No, actually I'm good with this. I, I said I was ready to do more. I don't have an issue with the fact that you're, you," she said, squeezing his hand again and glancing down his body. "I mean, seems like some of your parts might just be more familiar to me than what I was expecting."

His mind went blank with the unexpected acceptance. He was so awestruck he couldn't think but to ask, "how would you… would you want to?" He trailed off in a daze, and Nancy leaned forward to give him a sweet kiss on the lips. Steve had thought it out before but now it was real. "I've got the means to do it the y'know, 'classic' way. If you want."

"The classic way Steve? That makes it sound like I'm ordering a burger."

They laughed together and Steve felt lighter. "We can talk more later if you need time, it's no rush."

"Maybe. I think right now I'd like to kiss you again."

…

The days that followed their first time were confusing to say the least. Steve saw Nancy repeatedly with Jonathan. He took stalker shots of her from the woods behind his house! Steve tried not to even think about what could have happened if he had stood in his window that night. Byers didn't strike him as the type to 'out' somebody, but Steve was angry, scared. He finally opened up, just for it to all come crumbling down? Had Nancy been so disgusted by him that she had to run out and get biodick to erase the memory of his store bought member? Jealousy filled his head and hurt grew in his chest. Tommy and Carol were gleefully ready to turn on Nancy Wheeler after hearing that Steve may have been cheated on. It felt like friendship when they defaced buildings downtown, when they encouraged Steve and Jonathan to fight.

But even in the face of Steve's petty friends, magnifying his hurt, Nancy was true to her word. She didn't reveal his secret and she denied wrongdoing.

Would anyone in his life take that level of character assault and not lash back at him? Use any perceivable weakness to wound him? Later, Steve only wished that Jonathan hadn't had to beat his face in for him to get it. All his fears of discovery, betrayal, loss of the popularity that he'd clung to, believing it was his shield. Those relationships weren't an ounce of what he could have with Nancy. And someday maybe with others? He could have people in his life who really cared for him.

Steve broke with his old friends, cleaned graffiti, and sought after Nancy Wheeler.

The demogorgon adequately summed up why she'd acted so odd.

...

He and Nancy were good for a while after that, finding comfort in one another, and then it began to fall apart. Steve loved her, and she couldn't say it back. He tried to cope with her over Barb's death, but their methods weren't the same. Steve wanted to swallow the sadness and try to move on. Nancy wanted retribution, and a small vengeance. When she set out to find that closure, she didn't seek Steve's aid.

Steve wished that was the summary of his senior year troubles, but then Billy Hargrove came to town.

…

Hargrove had joined the basketball team. He was fresh from California, one of those high school guys who was plainly built like a full adult. His play style was aggressive, and the first practice he joined after making the team he dedicated to shoving Steve around. Steve's game on the court wasn't what it had been. Swimming and his swing at the batting cages were fine, but basketball… Steve now shied from contact heavy plays. His doctor had warned him about concussions after he mentioned a few 'falls' he'd taken that past year during his last check in.

However, Billy seemed determined. It was typical 'prison yard' mentality: establish dominance by beating the best. Steve had been the 'king,' and Billy appeared to hunger for the discarded crown.

After that practice, Steve changed into his swim suit in the locker room handicap stall like he normally did. He was ready for a couple laps in the pool after the mild humiliation on the court.

The locker room was still fairly full when Steve headed toward the pool exit; unfortunately, the crowd included Billy. He was showering and called out loudly enough that it echoed on the tiles, over the shower's spray. "So this 'king Steve' I've been hearing so much about is fucking allowed, flaunting even, that weird ass, full body thing." Billy sneered and shut off the shower head, stalking nude right up to Steve. "How'd you even swim like that man?"

"What, have you never seen a full body speedo? You wanna Google 'men's fastsuit' or do you just never watch Olympic coverage." Steve had defended himself before, but then it had always come with a degree of expectation. Naked Billy ranked high in unnerving and unexpected. He was far too close. Power move bullshit, Steve realized, grimacing. "Man, you don't have to like it and my performance proves it's not an issue, so." Steve moved to sidestep Billy but found himself blocked.

"Sure. You knoooow I'm wondering if you aren't just too self conscious Steve-o. Maybe you just need help with it, huh?" Billy snapped Steve's shoulder strap to punctuate his point.

Steve's skin began to buzz. There was definitely an undercurrent to the hostility in Billy's voice. One he didn't like.

Fuck.

Before he could truly panic, his teammate Brian spoke up, cutting the tension. "Dude, lay off. We need Steve. He's a solid player. Don't fuck with him like that."

"Really?" Billy stepped away, and grabbed a towel. "You pussies all agree?"

Steve was grateful to see the team members still in the locker shoot Billy looks that confirmed just that. Billy's gaze eventually landed on Tommy who had excitedly become Billy's bootlicker since the start of the school year.

For the first time since their friendship's explosive ending in the parking lot, Tommy didn't dig at Steve. He shrugged and mostly mumbled his reply. "We've all got our shit. Besides, I'm not gonna force a dude out of his swimsuit with a bunch of other guys in the locker room showers man. No one's gonna buy that's not some gay shit right there."

"No homo," another player called out from in back to a smattering of laughter. Billy dropped it.

Apart from the harassment 'dick looking ' at the urinals received, Steve found few instances where he was grateful for homophobia. That moment ranked.

...

His parents never asked him about the injuries, the bruising, or the scars that formed after. Though his mother once stopped him, offering cryptic advice concerning vitamin E, shirts that covered arms for all seasons, and make up tips for covering sections of 'damaged' skin.

Steve often wondered just what they thought had happened to him. Not that he volunteered any information. Not like he really could. Steve could tell it made them uncomfortable, even more adverse to his company. He only had the vague outlines of what they expected him to do after high school, but he'd begun to grow anxious about it after college rejection letters started to show up in the mail.

Nance had tried her best to help him, but his sports achievements weren't enough to balance out his piss poor grades. Steve graduated without any acceptance offers from a four year university. He absently wondered if the hits to the head over the years had anything to do with it, or worse (in his own opinion), his mental health.

Steve resigned himself to the fact that there would be no Harrington graduation party. After he walked across the stage and pulled his tassel to one side, he followed his parent's car home. Once the door to the house shut behind them all, his father began a tirade.

"This is ridiculous! The trouble, the cost, to keep your reckless 'identity choice' from scandalizing every friend and colleague our family has and now, no real college would take you?" The indignation was rich coming from his father. He'd never even suggested a specific school Steve should aim for, let alone help with applications. "Do you expect us to stay here another year? Hawkins," he spat out the name. "No. We're leaving this pointless little town. You are taking any office job I can get for you at the firm. This is what I get for giving you carte blanche you ungrateful shit," his father muttered. "I'm done being 'Mr. Nice Guy.'"

Steve's hand clenched as the words bounced around his mind like a pinball machine. "...that's what the last 18 years were? Nice? You barely speak to me. Here I've been grateful you rarely misgender me. No wonder. When was the last time you actually talked to me? If we don't count screaming, I can't remember. The move here was always about you. I would've stayed in Chicago. I wasn't the one who needed to hide who I am. That was always you two!" His eyes fluttered over his mother, including her in his address. He didn't raise his voice. He couldn't bear the thought of mimicking his father that way. "You signed my name change and gender indicator paperwork so others would think you didn't have some freak for a son. I look every inch like your son, so I better at least play that role for you? Look at the car you bought so you didn't have to drive me to practices or pick me up. You're moving?" Steve pushed out another clipped question. "When's the last time you were living here?"

"You're done." Chip Harrington's fist shook, his index finger pointing at Steve. "We're done. You're cut off. This is the last straw. You've rejected all we've tried to give you from your first name to a chance at a future. You disgust me. I want you gone by the time I'm done with work tomorrow."

The declarations and demand didn't fill him with anger. It only made him feel drained. It dawned on Steve that he'd fought to hold up his parents' approval of him and now he couldn't do it anymore. He let it slip away. His care for their opinion was gone. It wasn't a triumphant moment but it sure as hell wasn't a sad one.

…

Steve packed his things.

He didn't want to call Nancy, but he wasn't really sure what he was going to do. Hawkins was too small to have too much in the way of homeless youth resources, and he genuinely didn't want to leave Hawkins; it'd become home. His kids were still there, and he'd learned that they rarely stayed safe. He couldn't abandon them…

So he loaded the beamer with the documents and possessions he could claim entirely as his and got a job at the new mall. He pawned and sold clothes, shoes, and watches to scrounge up enough for rent and a deposit. Steve realized there was a new problem. Who would rent to him? Eighteen years old, no credit score, working minimum wage… disowned…

Steve finally broke down and called the only adult he thought could help: Jim Hopper.

He hadn't known what to expect when what was essentially a gruff acquaintance answered after three rings.

Hopper's first question was if Steve was safe.

"I move the car around to different spots each night. I know the public pool staff, so I go in early to shower there."

Hopper exhaled heavily. "How long have you been living out of the car?"

"Just a couple of weeks..."

"Moving the car regularly, that was smart kid." He sighed again. "Okay, we're gonna get you set up to find some section eight housing. You're going to qualify…" Hopper began before detailing all the assistance Steve did have available to him.

…

Hopper met him later that day to look at places with him. He cosigned on an apartment and helped Steve out with his truck, thrifting necessary furniture and basic cookware. Hopper asked once if Steve wanted the others to know, mentioning they'd want to help. Steve insisted Hopper's help was enough. Beyond enough. Steve had no idea how he could begin to thank him. The apartment rental had required a background check. The background check required Steve's previous name. Hopper saw. He knew and nothing changed.

After Steve was set up with necessities, Hop hugged him, and they never spoke of it again.

...

Steve's job slinging ice cream at Scoops Ahoy was going fine, but he hadn't really 'bounced back.' His flirting attempts fell flat. He was grateful that his slump hadn't affected his relationships with the kids. At least he still kept in touch with them. He even had a co-worker who, for the first time since Nancy, would make him feel safe. He realized he could be himself with her, without having to guard any part of his identity. Unfortunately, this breakthrough came after more Upside Down fuckery and the Russian military. Literally the Russian military in Hawkins, IN.

Robin Buckley aided their ever-growing trauma-family and was rewarded the same way they all were: psychological and physical injury and eventually a non-disclosure agreement from the government.

She'd revealed her closeted truth to him. They were still loopy, on the public bathroom floor nearest the mall's movie theater, but no longer in an actively drugged state. Whatever 'truth serum,' chemical cocktail the Russian doctors injected them with, in an attempt to get them to reveal that they worked for someone other than Scoops Ahoy, had been yacked out. Robin told him of her frustration at Steve in high school. Girls fawned over him, and she felt she'd never have even one notice her.

Steve was in awe of Robin, supporting him, fighting to keep the kids safe, and now that trust. In return, Steve worked to make her smile, make her laugh. He'd definitely fallen for Robin but even he knew, could feel, that it was a different love than what he'd known for Nancy. Closer to what he felt for the kids.

I know there are supposed to be different types of love. I just dunno what this one is supposed to be called.

A 'mall fire' was the cover story for the Mindflayer's victims, the Russian madness, and, to everyone's horror, Hopper's death. Robin's parents picked her up from the emergency vehicles as did the rest of the kids' families, after being checked out by government agents. Even El bittersweetly had someone to take her home. A contingency plan few had known about made it so Joyce Byers now had custody of 'Jane Hopper.'

Hop was gone and everyone else had homes… families to return to. Steve was almost grateful that the EMTs said he needed to stay a night at the hospital under supervision. They'd determined he'd suffered another concussion. The news was practically a relief. Steve didn't have to haul himself back to his empty, one bedroom apartment yet.

'Hawkins lab' took care of the bill for Steve's treatment. He absently realized if they hadn't been aware of his medical history, they probably were now. Hopefully, there'd be no ramifications from the sketchy government types if he came to deal with them in the future. It seemed likely. The terrors of the Upside Down didn't feel far away. The scale of the Mindflayer gripped Steve's heart with an icy fear for the future villains they might face, seeping up from the 'other Hawkins.' Beings that seemed to be increasing in intelligence and purpose.

When Steve was released from Hawkins Memorial Hospital, he plugged his phone into his car charger. After he'd been cleared to drive, Steve had found the beamer waiting for him in the visitor parking lot. He decided that it was one of those things not worth questioning. Messages flooded in on his device, including repeated missed calls from Robin.

He'd given her a ride or two to work before, so he knew exactly where he needed to go. Steve drove directly to her house and parked on the street. The Buckleys lived in a one story, ranch style home, and Steve silently thanked the powers that be he didn't have to climb to get to Robin's window. It was about ten pm and he really didn't want to bother with the questions her parents might have. He carefully skirted the house before locating her room. The curtains were parted, revealing the warm glow of a lamp on a nightstand, illuminating Robin curled up on the bed inside. She was wrapped around a large plush shark. A laptop was on the bed, a few inches from her, playing what he vaguely recognized as the Trolls movie. Steve tapped on the window as cautiously as he could.

Robin jolted immediately, turning toward the sound. She let out a sort of garbled 'Steve,' and raced over to open the window, pulling him in.

They hugged each other tightly. "Dingus, you didn't answer your phone," she said, sounding choked as her head shook against his shoulder.

"Phone died."

Robin pulled back, her nose crinkled. "Steve, oh my god. They couldn't give you anything else to wear?"

"Didn't want to come over in the hospital gown," he replied, shrugging. He could have gone to his place first, but then again he couldn't've. He needed to see Robin again, know she was alright. The others had been through some degree of it all before (except for Erica, but she had Lucas to help her). The kids had their phones but also the walkies for unmonitored discussion of the events from the past week. He figured Robin would need him about as much as he needed her.

She grabbed the barely charged phone from his limp grip and plugged it into her charger. "Okay. That'll help some. Dustin's freaking out about you. The others too, but y'know."

"I know."

Dustin's sweet 'you die, I die,' declaration from the elevator hadn't left Steve's mind. But Dustin and the others had been updated on Steve's condition before his phone died. Robin seemed to already understand that 'worry' would be everyone's default for a while.

"Here. I've got to have some clothes that'll fit you." Robin turned toward her closet.

He'd already decided. Robin had been completely open with him, Steve felt he owed it to her to do the same. If he was being honest with himself, he craved a friendship where he wouldn't worry that slipping off his shirt would ruin it.

"Robin, wait. I need to tell you something."

She gave him her full attention while joking. "Can't it wait until after we burn that uniform?"

"Uh no. Actually not, uh, not really." Like a bandaid? Steve let out a steadying breath. "Robs, I'm… I'm trans."

He eyebrows shot up and then down. Her jaw dropped. "What? No." She shook her head. "What?"

"Yeah, ha, uh. Surprise? Is that…" He bit his lip, hating the shame and uncertainty beginning to boil in his stomach like a deep indigestion. "Is it um-"

Robin cut him off, arms wrapped around him in another hug. "You're okay," she said. "We're okay."

"Yeah?" He whispered the question, needing to hear the acceptance again but feeling ashamed to be so... needy.

"Yeah," Robin replied in a kind but firm tone. She pulled back slightly. "Though I still… Seriously 'king' Steve is lgb't?'" Questions began to pour out. "That's mind blowing. Who else knows? Oh gosh, who do you want to know? And why did you tell me? I mean I'd never out you… but this is a big deal right? Just, wow."

Steve kissed the top of her head and sort of grimaced. "I know, and you know. It wasn't something I was allowed to talk about and now, I dunno."

She cocked her head to the side and lightly rested her hand against his injured face. "Thanks for letting me in. Steve, really. Is it weird to tell you I think you might be my best friend?"

Steve's heart felt fit to burst. "Really?" His voice dropped to a whisper again.

"Really. You're my schmuck, remember?" She leaned up a little and kissed his less beaten cheek before turning back to her dresser.

Robin pulled out a large shirt that had a faded image of the Great Lakes on it and a pair of sweatpants she assured Steve were giant on her. He nodded and was about to remove his shirt when she suddenly stopped rambling about the clothes. He raised an eyebrow at her.

Robin took in a deep breath and spoke carefully. "Can I see…?" She moved her hand over her chest in a manner that looked almost as if she had failed to properly cross herself.

Steve thought about it. He wasn't ashamed of his chest. In fact, he loved it. The faded jagged scars next to the surgical ones. They were an emancipation, and, he loved the way his torso looked. But…

"No one's really seen it."

Robin's eyes were wide though her brow was pinched. "I'm sorry. Honestly, just curious. I want to hear your whole story. But I'm not gonna demand to know everything. You telling me in the first place is… huge. Just. I wanna be your person. So share whatever you're comfortable with. Know I'm interested and I care." She shrugged.

Steve chuckled. "My platonic person?" Platonic. That's it, the type of love I couldn't name.

She snorted. "Obviously. You forget?" She shoved his shoulder without any real force. "Not into dudes like that."

Steve took off the bloodied Scoops uniform, toed into the sweatpants, and then turned around so Robin could see.

"Wow," she gasped. She reached out but stopped halfway as though mentally schooling herself. "Can I um…"

"Yeah. Sure." He thought he might flinch or suddenly feel dysphoric with her hand on the left scar, but instead he was simply reminded his body was littered with other scars. His new bruises and cuts were sensitive, but they would heal like the others. Like the one Robin curiously starred at now.

Robin was mindful of the fresh damage, lightly tracing over his skin. "Steve… Did the first top surgery, uh, not take?"

He laughed and finished dressing.

They lay in Robin's bed that night. Steve started talking about his top surgery and, before he knew it, spilled his whole life story to her. Robin took it all in stride. It was difficult but liberating. She shared too, thoughts, feelings, reactions. It felt inaugural, like the first sleepover of many with his best friend. His person.

#trans steve harrington #steveharrington #steve Harrington #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #platonic stobin #a tiny splash of stancy #trans masc steve #trans masc #trans mlm #future steddie #modern au #stealth #angst #platonic soulmates #my person #i write things #robin Buckley #nancy wheeler #jim hopper & steve harrington

[fantasticallyfruity4]

Famous Eddie decides to start a podcast. The music career rlly slowed down, the guys are all living comfortably on 30 years of roaring success these days to only play festivals for fun and tour if they feel like it. (Jeff even started acting. Who would have guessed it).

This little podcast of his is pretty all over the place. He doesn’t even market it as anything, just him and his family & friends talking shit.

Of corse it’s his and Steve’s podcast. Because they do everything together.

Dustin is a very very regular guest. Probably 9/10th of every episode. He’s fucking Dustin you know? And oh my god are the three of them fucking hilarious.

The rest of the party often makes appearances.

Max and Dustin screaming at each other about the exact details of what song was playing at a hopper-byers family Chanukah part the first time will and Mike kissed, lunging across the table about it while el just has the most wide eyed slacked jawed smile in the corner and Eddie is laughing his heart out, clinging to Steve’s shoulder just mumbling “babe, babe, babe this is- this isn’t happening” while Steve grins and is like “you two have not grown up since I met you in ‘85. You’re fucking unreal”

(It was hounds of love, by the way. Max was right. And she knows this because Kate Bush is the best song writer and singer ever, Dustin. The viewers don’t have to know why Steve’s face dropped for a moment before he agreed vehement. They (El) called Will while on air to ask, and he needed about two minutes to stop laughing before he said “yeah it was hounds of love, duh. That was the year Max got us all hooked on Kate Bush, don’t tell me you somehow forgot that Dustin” “buddy thousands of dollars of therapy and I still can’t forget it”)

There was a few episodes of a hellfire club reunited D&D game, which is of corse also wildly hilarious because it’s this super famous rock band and then Mike and Dustin and Lucas and Will who are just some guys- while the girls™ + Jonathan, Steve and argyle spectate and commentate.

They tried ASMR once. Just Steve and Eddie. It was a disaster.

They got high with Argyle and Jonathan on one episode and that was just… fascinating conversation.

Robins frequent appearances are just so pure and amazing because Steve never laughs as much as he does with ‘Robbie’. She knows exactly how to wind him up.

They’ve played the most volatile game of Uno with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan and Argyle.

They had a little Christmas special with Wayne and Hopper and Joyce. The parents edition. It was very very sweet.

I have so many ideas for this.

They literally talk about anything and everything and do the dumbest shit on mic and camera.

#steddie #future steddie #I want them to live the longest happiest healthiest lives

[libraryofgage]

The Prince and the Metalhead

Part of: Steve Deserves Good Parents, Actually

Debbie and Fester Addams One | Two | Three | Four Rick and Evelyn O'Connell One | Two | Three Harley Quinn One 10th Doctor and Rose One | Two (on the way!) Scooby Gang (there are plans for this one lmao, so plz be patient with me orz) Jedidiah and Octavius (from Night at the Museum) One Queen Clarisse One (you're here!)

Despite the title, this series will focus a little more on Steve growing up in Genovia for the first few parts. That being said, there will be Steddie because this whole thing was inspired by my desire to write a modern royalty AU.

So, ya know, it's coming lol

For now, just enjoy Steve being raised by our favorite queen.

As always, if you see any typos, no you didn't ;)

------

Clarisse stares at the two-story house from the driveway. It looks incredibly...American. It's American in a way that Amelia's home and city aren't. This house is the Ideal American Home, the kind people are told is the goal in life, the kind with no personality and no distinguishing features compared to other houses on its street. It's the kind of house she'd never see in Genovia, and she's glad for it.

"Your Majesty," Joe says, pulling her attention from the house to her driver. "If you are nervous, may I suggest returning another day?"

She knows exactly what he's doing. It still works. She still pulls herself together, rolls her shoulders back, and raises her chin. "A queen is never nervous. She is simply calculating her approach."

With that, she opens the door and gracefully (the kind of grace that comes with years of practice) steps out of the car. She smooths down her clothes, takes one more deep breath, and strides to the front door. Joe is just a step behind her, always a step behind her, as she rings the doorbell and waits.

A few moments pass, the blinds in the window next to the door shift, and then the door is pulled open. A young boy, certainly no more than ten, stands before her, looking nervously between Clarisse and Joe.

And could you blame Steve? The only visitors he gets when his parents are gone are secretaries that sweep into the home, make sure he's alive, and leave right after. Nobody rings the doorbell, nobody knocks, and nobody knows he's alone in the big house, just like his parents told him it should be.

"Hello," the lady says, her accent vaguely European and similar to his father's. "Are you Steve Harrington?"

If she knows his name, maybe she's been sent by his parents. She looks fancy enough, and the guy with her looks scary enough. Steve grips the door tighter and nods once. "Yes, ma'am," he says, his voice soft and barely a whisper so he doesn't upset her.

"Good. Is your father home?"

"No, ma'am."

That makes her pause, her lips tugging down in a frown, and Steve wonders if he's already failed whatever test this must be. His father will give them sometimes, in the rare moments he's home, and it's always to measure how polite Steve his, how proper, how cultured. This must be a new kind of test, a way for his father to further measure him. He gathers himself, takes a subtle breath, and asks, "Would you like to come in?"

"You don't know who we are," the man suddenly says. "Why are you inviting us in?"

Oh. He's failing this test already. Steve bites his lip, ducking his head. "It's polite to invite people in," he says. "But, um, could you tell me your names first?"

He glances up to see that frown on the lady's face deepen, and his stomach starts to churn. "Yes, of course," she says, clearing her throat before continuing, "I am Clarisse Renaldi, and this is Joe."

Steve looks between the two of them before slowly nodding. "Please, come in," he says, holding the door open. The two adults are hesitant but enter the home anyway, watching Steve as he shuts the door silently and locks it. "This way, please."

He leads them to the living room, looks at the books and papers spread on the coffee table, and blushes. "I'm sorry for the mess," he says, quickly sweeping everything off the coffee table and holding it close to his chest. "I was doing homework and didn't expect visitors. Please, sit. I'll get some tea."

With that, he turns on his heel and hurries out of the living room. He presses his back against the wall, eyes closed and heart racing as he listens to the man and woman talk. "He's very polite," the woman says, sounding pleased and surprised.

"Too polite," the man replies, "What ten year old says things like expecting visitors and offers to make tea?"

Steve swallows around the lump in his throat and hurries to the kitchen. He puts his papers and books on the small table there, climbs the stool in front of the sink to fill a kettle with water, and then climbs the stool in front of the stove to place it down. He turns on the burner, watching the flames jump before getting cups, a teapot, tea leaves, and a tray to place it all on.

In total, the process from heating the water to pouring it over the leaves in the pot and carrying that to the living room is no more than eight minutes. It still feels like an eternity, though, when Steve knows each second is a mark against him. "I'm sorry for making you wait," he says as he enters the living room, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. He pours a cup for the woman first, then the man, and then himself, careful not to spill a drop.

"Did you make this yourself?" the woman asks, picking up her teacup and taking a polite sip.

When Steve nods, he gets a tiny smile in return. And then the man says, "Aren't you a little young to do these things?"

Steve has been taught how to answer questions like this, ones that imply his parents aren’t doing enough to raise him. He picks up his teacup, holding it in his hands and letting the warmth transfer to his palms. “I like making tea,” he says, keeping his voice steady, “so Mother taught me how to use the stove safely.”

Joe looks ready to say more, but Clarisse clears her throat. He shuts his mouth, picking up his own cup just to do something. “When should we expect your father, Steve?” Clarisse asks, placing her teacup back on its plate. She’s seated on the edge of the couch, her ankles tucked together so her legs are at a slant and her back perfectly straight. 

He can’t lie. If they stay, they’ll know he’s lying when his father doesn’t return. Maybe they just want to see his father, and Steve can let them think his mother will be home soon and convince them to leave before she is. He decides this is a good plan and says the extremely familiar words, “He’s away on a business trip.”

That earns him a frown, but before he can try to fix his mistake, Clarisse nods once and asks, “What about your mother, then?”

Steve tenses, dropping his gaze to his teacup and scrambling to find an answer. He swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, takes a sip of his tea, and feels his stomach twist when he still doesn’t have anything to say in response. 

“How long have your parents been gone?” Joe asks. 

The question pierces through him so harshly that Steve’s hands twitch, tea splashing over the edges of the cup and onto his fingers. He hisses at the temperature, quickly setting the cup down and getting a tissue to wipe the tea away. 

“What do you mean gone?” Clarisse asks.

“There are no cars in the driveway and no adult shoes by the door. We passed the kitchen on the way here, and only one set of dishes is in the drying rack. Stools have been placed wherever a child might need to reach something too high for them otherwise. Dust is on the shelf with adult books, but the smaller shelf with movies appropriate for children is clean, implying regular use. Finally, my men have informed me that Mr. and Mrs. Harrington boarded a plane headed for Hong Kong from London.”

Steve’s eyes widen as Joe speaks, his stomach twisting ever tighter with each word. When Clarisse looks back at him, his eyes begin to sting and he looks down at his lap. “I’m sorry,” he says, his voice quiet as he clenches the hem of his shirt. 

“What on Earth are you apologizing for?” Clarisse asks, sounding so insulted that Steve shrinks in on himself. “You are not to blame for your parents’ incompetence and negligence. Of all the things your father has done, abandoning you to fend for yourself is unforgivable.”

Oh. She’s…angry for him? Steve looks up, meeting Clarisse’s eyes and wondering why she cares. And then, because he thinks she can’t possibly be any angrier, he takes a risk by asking, “Why are you here?”

Clarisse pauses, blinks twice, and then gathers herself. Her shoulders relax some, but her back remains straight. “I am Clarisse Renaldi, Queen of Genovia, and your grandmother.”

Steve stares at her, glances at Joe to see if this is some kind of joke, and then looks back when all he gets in return is a blank stare. “My…grandmother?” he asks, his voice quiet.

“Yes. Your father, Richard Harrington, is my son. He was…well, he involved himself in troublesome schemes and had to leave Genovia and the line of succession. We keep tabs on him, of course, but all contact is otherwise restricted.”

None of that surprises Steve. He’s heard his father complaining when he has a bit too much whiskey, muttering under his breath about betrayal and being forced from his home and that it was only a few million he took. 

“I…still don’t know why you’re here.”

“Yes, well, the Crown Prince of Genovia has recently passed, and you are next in the line of succession. So, I traveled here to meet you and bring you back to Genovia for a proper education befitting a Crown Prince.”

Steve is staring at his lap again, his mind turning. So much information has been given to him, and he can only focus on the part that makes his heart speed up with hesitant hope. “Would…would my parents go with us?” he asks.

“Your father is still barred from Genovia. Your mother is welcome, though.”

“Does she have to go with us?”

He looks up in time to see Clarisse pause, tilting her head as she considers him for a moment. “No, Steve, neither of your parents must accompany us,” she says.

“Will I ever be alone?”

“The royal family employs upwards of 300 staff to keep the palace running smoothly,” Joe says, nodding once to confirm that number when Steve gives him an incredulous look. 

“Members of staff will be assigned to you as well,” Clarisse adds, smiling softly when Steve returns his attention to her. “At least three maids, several private tutors, at least one playmate for social development, and a personal team of security to keep you safe.”

Something lifts from Steve’s shoulders then. He’s not stupid. He knows his parents aren’t good. He learned that last year when he realized that other kids’ parents picked them up from school and gave them hugs and surprised them with pizza nights and just smiled at them. Steve looked at those parents, thought of his own, and quietly accepted that they either sucked or he just hasn’t figured out what will make them love him yet.

A tiny part of him knows that nothing will.

“Will you be my new mother, then?” Steve asks.

He watches Clarisse’s surprised expression morph into something unsure. “I will certainly be taking on a parental role,” she says, the words slow.

Steve looks down again, trying to ignore the disappointment that stirs in him when he realizes she’s just trying to spare his feelings. She won’t be a mother; she’ll be like his teacher. She’ll be someone who makes sure he learns what he should, eats when he should, and passes him along to the appropriate person when there’s a problem. 

Still, she’s nicer than his own parents, and Steve won’t be alone if he goes to Genovia. If nothing else, it will be better than this empty house and his absent parents. “If I packed right now, can we leave?” he asks.

When Clarisse agrees, Steve excuses himself and goes to his room. 

Once he’s out of sight, Clarisse looks at Joe and says, “He’s a very mature child.”

“He shouldn’t be.”

Clarisse nods once in agreement, looking down at the teapot in front of them and wondering if Steve has ever burned himself on it. “I believe he’ll take to being royalty well,” she says.

When she looks up, Joe is frowning. “If I may speak freely, Your Majesty?” he asks. When Clarisse nods, he clears his throat. “Before he can be royalty, he needs to be a child. For his own good, he needs a parent, not someone taking on a parental role. You may not be his mother, Your Majesty, but you are his grandmother. You have the ability to give him the unconditional care and love he’s been deprived of so far.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Clarisse admits, frowning slightly in thought. “I just…”

“You are worried he will be like his father.”

“Yes.”

“He is not his father. You cannot project the wrongdoings of Richard onto Steve. It is unfair to him and you. He deserves a fresh start, one that is not burdened by his father.”

“I will think on it,” Clarisse says, already knowing she’s going to do as Joe has suggested. “In the meantime, look into parenting books. If nothing else, Steve’s maids and tutors can review their contents as he grows.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

--------------

Genovia is small, but the palace is huge. It towers over Steve like something out of a Disney movie, and he almost falls behind during the brief tour through its halls. He manages to catch up, though, meeting Clarisse’s stride just in time for her to gesture at a set of double-doors and say, “Beyond these will be your rooms.”

“Rooms?”

“Yes, more than one,” Clarisse says, smiling down at Steve as she leads him past the doors and into a sitting room. A group of people are already gathered there. Most of them are adults, but a few younger children are playing with a Lego set in the corner and a girl and boy his age are standing with the adults. “These are your personal staff members.”

Before Steve can say anything, one of the women steps forward, her smile warm and her face framed by her brown hair. “It’s nice to meet you, Your Highness. My name is Joyce. I’ll coordinate your schedule and make sure your rooms are taken care of. My husband, Jim, will be the head of your security team, and my eldest son, Jonathan, will be one of your playmates,” she says, pointing to her husband and then the boy his age.

“Feel free to call me Hopper, Your Highness,” her husband says.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Jonathan adds, smiling politely in a way that Steve painfully understands as fake and forced.

Joyce steps back, and a black woman steps forward. “My name is Sue. I’ll be in charge of your education. That means I’ll be arranging your tutors, making sure your lessons match what a child your age should be learning, and overseeing your Royal Education with Her Majesty. My husband, Charles, will be your science tutor.”

Steve glances at Charles when he waves and nods in greeting. His smile, at least, seems more genuine than Jonathan’s was, and Sue is so straightforward that Steve finds it refreshing. 

The last woman steps forward. She’s a little heavier than the other two, and she’s wearing an apron that has stains smeared across it. “Wonderful to meet you, Your Highness. I’m Claudia. I’ll be in charge of your diet and medical needs. If you’re allergic to anything or just plain hate certain foods, let me know.”

She steps back, leaving only the young girl. With a grin, she moves to stand in front of Steve and holds her hand out. “Name’s Robin,” she says, “I’m supposed to be your friend, but Her Majesty and I’ve got an agreement that I can ditch you if you suck. If I stick around, I’ll be trained by Hopper to be your personal guard.”

It’s so sudden and blunt that Steve can’t stop his grin as he takes Robin’s hand and shakes once. “To make things fair,” he says, “I should get to ditch you, too.”

Her eyes light up, and Steve thinks he’s done something right, which is an odd but welcome feeling. She lets go of his hand but stays by his side, standing close enough that their shoulders brush as Clarisse gestures for Joyce to take over the tour. He’s introduced to the children playing with Legos first, bombarded with their names (Dustin, Will, El, Lucas, and Erica) and which parents they belong to, before moving on to the rooms. 

In total, he has five: the sitting room, a classroom, a small library, an empty room that he can do whatever he’d like with, and his bedroom. The bedroom has its own bathroom with a shower attached, but there are extra bathrooms in the other rooms, too. He’d count his closet as another room entirely, but he’s not ready to admit he really has six rooms. 

He’s still too overwhelmed by the giant bed and the rooms that all belong to him and this group of people that will always be around him. He turns to Clarisse, ready to thank her, when she smiles at him and says, “There is one more thing.”

Something else? There’s more? What more could there possibly be? What else could he be given? Steve watches as she walks to the door that leads into the bathroom, steps inside, and comes back out holding something that squirms slightly in her arms. 

She quickly deposits the thing in Steve’s arms, and he stares wide-eyed at the Rottweiler puppy that starts sniffing at his hands and neck. “What?” he asks.

“She’s yours, Steve. Rottweilers are very loyal dogs, so she’ll stay by your side. They’re also loyal and protective. Once she’s grown, she’ll keep you safe, too.”

“What am I then, chopped liver?” Robin asks, pouting slightly as she looks at the dog. She leans closer to it and yelps when she gets licked. 

Steve can’t help laughing, holding the dog closer to his chest. “Does she have a name?” he asks.

“Yeah! It’s Dart!”

Steve looks over his shoulder at Dustin, meeting his curly hair and slightly gummy smile. Next to him, Claudia flushes slightly and hurriedly says, “You don’t need to listen to him, Your Highness. You can name her whatever you’d like.”

“No, I think Dart is good,” Steve replies, looking down at the dog and gently scratching behind her ears. She perks up, her entire body wiggling with excitement, and Steve feels something hopeful and optimistic settle in his chest.

--------

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added to future parts!)

@y4r3luv

#congrats #stranger things fic #princess diaries crossover #steve harrington #queen clarisse renaldi #future steddie #modern royalty au #robin buckley #the party stranger things #the party's parents too #my writing #Clarisse gives Steve a dog specifically so he'll never be alone btw cuz she doesn't want him to feel alone again #also please imagine dick harrington just getting home to one of Joe's security team being like also you're still banned

[ima-ghost-art]

Steddie kids

,

Here’s my Steddie’s six little nuggets!! (including an older Lorelei from a previous post lol) all named after different songs! 

(lowkey inspired by the “Six kids and a Winnebago” series by Oddree13 on ao3) 

*song list:

Lorelei - Styx, Lucy in the sky with diamonds - Beatles, Charlie don’t surf - the Clash, Elenore - The Turtles, Josie - blink 182, Hey Mickey -  Toni Basil* 

#steddie #steddie kids #steve and eddie named their kids after different songs #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #future steddie #future stranger things #kids au

[withacapitalp]

Stranger Things Daily Drabble- Safe. Read on ao3 instead

“I’m gonna getcha. I’m gonna getcha!” 

His daughter lets out a delighted squeal, running as fast as her little chubby legs will allow on the wet sand. Cora stumbles and falls to her hands and knees, and Steve’s heart drops for a single second, but she pops back up like she always does, still giggling. At three years old she’s fast enough to be able to go at a steady clip, but not graceful enough to manage to get very far without tripping and falling flat on her face. 

“Please be careful while you’re terrorizing our child,” Steve calls from where he’s sitting on a blanket in the shade of an umbrella, and Eddie pauses in his chase long enough to send him a thumbs up before growling like a monster and restarting the game. 

After hearing her Daddy, Cora decides that Steve must be in the safe zone. She changes course to scurry towards him instead. Eddie ‘runs’ behind her, staying intentionally slow so their little girl gets to win. 

“Daddy Safe! Daddy safe!” Cora calls over and over when she reaches their blanket, climbing up into Steve’s arms and burying her face into his chest with breathless glee. 

Her hair is sticky stiff from the ocean water, falling in messy curls that are going to be such a pain to brush out later. Steve doesn’t let himself worry about that just yet, pressing a kiss into her sandy mop of beautiful dark hair and snuggling her close. 

“All safe,” Steve replies, his heart growing heavy and happy in his chest. 

#stranger things #stranger things ficlet #Steve harrington #Eddie munson #steddie #future steddie #Steve x eddie #steddie lovechildren #my writing #st #st4 #Liam writes #Liam loves his blorbos #Liam speaks up #Writing(withacapitalW)

[that-ineffable-devil]

Rainbow in the Dark | Prologue & Chapter 1

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Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Author's Note: I haven't written creatively in over 10 years and I was a different person then, so I hope this isn't completely terrible. Chapters will alternate between characters' POVs, but will stick mostly with Eddie and Steve. There will be smut, but it'll be a while--I'll be sure to leave a note on those particular chapters...for science. All readers, likes, comments, and shares are deeply appreciated!

Fic Summary: An exploration into our favorite disaster-dorks, what makes them tick, why they are who they are, and how they fall head over heels for each other. We'll dive into their early parental relationships and then likely skip to S4 to add some "missing scenes" and motivations. There will be angst, but there will be a happy ending, because our boys deserve happy and soft and smutty things.

Prologue

Every child’s first lesson is in what not to do. Don’t touch the stove when it’s hot. Don’t run into the street. Don’t hold your cup that way. Don’t. Don’t. Don’t. Most of these lessons are given with love, with the safety of the child in mind. Touching a hot stove burns you; a car may run into you on the street; you may spill your drink on yourself if you mishandle your cup.

But not all lessons are taught out of love. Some come from a darker, less kind place.

Chapter One: The Punching Bag

Eddie’s first lesson was simple: “Don’t be yourself.”

Don’t fidget—even if your body feels like it will combust if you don’t move. Don’t speak—unless an adult asks you a direct question. Don’t make noise—even if it brings you solace. Don’t exist unless we want you to, and only how we want you to.

Eddie’s father was his first teacher, and he never let Eddie forget that there was something fundamentally flawed in him. Deficient. Unworthy. He truly tried to follow his father’s instruction, but he struggled to identify when behaviors were good or bad—especially when it could depend on specific circumstances.

For example, speaking to his father without being asked a question was bad behavior, and resulted in punishment. But if his father asked a question he didn’t actually want Eddie to answer, and he did—more punishment. It could even be a question he’d asked and wanted an answer to before. It wasn’t until he started school that he learned there was more to language than the words people spoke.

Social cues and body language were a mystery to him, though he eventually started picking it up out of self-preservation. And then he was expected to decode the tone of voice a person was using. Why couldn’t people just say what they meant, instead of expecting him to recognize and interpret this secret code no one had ever taught him? It was hard enough for him to process words as they were spoken, why did he have to devote so much energy into picking up things said without words? Most people—including his father—were fluent in these coded messages. When Eddie asked his father to help him understand them, he learned another lesson—do not, under any circumstances, ask that man for help.

Another of his father’s lessons was that “children should be seen and not heard;” he said it often when Eddie was being punished for speaking out of turn. Through experience, he learned that sometimes he shouldn’t even be seen—even if his father specifically called his name. But if his father expected him to be somewhere and he wasn’t—also unacceptable. Eddie often wondered how anyone could do anything while navigating this absolute minefield of expectations. It seemed unfair—impossible, even.

Eddie’s mother taught him something as well—people leave. Even the ones that are supposed to love you. He didn’t have any real memories of her—just flashes of dark curly hair and warm smiles—but his father often acted as though it were Eddie’s fault she had gone. Eddie couldn’t even defend himself since he didn’t even remember her leaving—only her absence in his life.

So, Eddie reasoned, it must be his fault. She had been with his father until he came along, so he must have driven her away somehow. He would cry late at night, remembering every mistake he’d ever made, trying to tally up all the reasons his mother couldn’t love him enough to stay.

But crying, it turned out, was yet another bad behavior. Tears resulted in harsh punishment, and the more he cried, the longer it lasted. His father told him that it was the only way to “fix” him—that he wouldn’t have a “queer” in his house. In an act that Eddie could only describe as desperate stupidity, he once asked once what he meant by “queer.” The resulting punishment convinced him he didn’t need to know. Eventually, Eddie stopped crying altogether.

School wasn’t much better than home for Eddie. He often felt that everyone else had met and become friends before he came along, making him the unwelcome outsider. He was wary and reserved—unable to hide the unnervingly haunted look behind his brown eyes. He couldn’t understand how all the other kids got away with being so loud and disrespectful, how the teachers would give only a mild tut when notes passed hands and giggles went unstifled. This world was alien to him, and he was alien to it.

Though he was typically quiet, his teachers often reprimanded him for his “lack of focus,” and removed points from his grades if he doodled in the margins of his papers. He’d tried to explain that the doodles helped him listen, but no one believed him. After one too many altercations with his father over his poor grades, he stopped doodling, but then he found it too difficult to pay attention with still hands.

He started drumming his fingers to the beat of whatever song came to mind during class, which somehow helped sharpen his focus, but his teachers found that disruptive as well. He was sent to the principal’s office for “class misconduct” and “distracting behavior.”

Eddie nodded along with the principal; his eyes unfocused with the effort of preventing the tears threatening to well up. Why was everything so difficult for him? What was wrong with him? What would his father do when he found out he’d been sent to the principal? Well, he knew the answer to that one.

Eventually, he withdrew into himself during class, wrapping his arms around his torso to prevent any inadvertent movement from drawing a teacher’s ire. Forcing his eyes to follow the teachers as they lectured, he would play music in his head until given an assignment to complete. It seemed to work, since he was no longer sent out of class and his teachers left him alone, but it left him vulnerable when called on unexpectedly. It was the best he could muster.

The other students weren’t any kinder. Though he tried to ignore it, he knew they whispered about him behind his back. They snickered at his ill-fitting clothing, his beat-up backpack, his nearly-bald buzzcut performed at home by unskilled hands. His father wouldn’t shell out his hard-earned money for Eddie to get “some girly-boy haircut” by a professional. Eddie just thought if the kids would take a moment to get to know him, maybe they’d stop talking about him and talk to him instead. Maybe they’d even become friends.

But making friends didn’t come easy to Eddie. Any time he tried, the girls would either ignore him or talk loudly about him as if he weren’t there, and the boys hurled words so sharp and pointed, they felt like stinging barbs hooking into his flesh. Sometimes, they’d trip him on the playground or throw rocks at him from afar. But he kept trying, hoping someone would see him, and not the stories everyone told about him.

One fateful day, he approached a group of boys from the school’s peewee football league as they stood in a loose circle beside the main building. They weren’t wearing their uniforms, but Eddie recognized their ringleader—taller and bulkier than the rest, as though he grew twice as fast. Eddie tried to join in as they burst into laughter at something one of them said, but the laughter died as suddenly as it had erupted—the group staring blankly at him.

“Hey freak, who invited a fag like you to the conversation?” the ringleader asked.

“Oh…uh,” Eddie spluttered, “n…no one invited me, I just…I thought that was a funny joke…a…and…”

“Oh, you did, huh?”

The boy’s toothy grin was so sharp, Eddie imagined his teeth as tiny daggers preparing to shred him to ribbons.

“Want to see something else funny?”

Eddie’s ears burned as he felt the air grow hot, the tension rising rapidly among the group. Several of them flicked their eyes at each other, all adopting the same sharp grin, while two glanced furtively outside the group, looking for any watchful adults. There were none.

Eddie hesitated, slowly lifting his heel as he prepared to back away. “N…” he started, but before he could finish the word, one of them had kicked his legs out from under him, sending him face first into the hard cement.

Without hesitation, the entire pack dove in to claim their pound of flesh. Though every instinct in him told him to cry out, only a few grunts escaped him as a dozen fists and feet slammed into his stomach and back, already flowered with unseen purple and blue bruising from home. He tried to keep his face covered, knowing that he’d face far worse at home if his father found out he’d lost a fight. Not that this is a fight, he thought. It’s an execution.

He didn’t know how long he'd been on the ground when he heard something big crack heavily into bone before one of his tormentors joined him on the ground with a loud thud. He slowly realized the attacks against him had stopped, too. Eyes bleary with unshed tears and his breath hitched and pained, Eddie dared to uncover his face to look at the scene above.

Another group of boys had seemingly come to his rescue, menacingly brandishing wooden bats, switchblades, and what Eddie thought looked like a tire iron. His tormentors fled, leaving their fallen comrade to his fate. No loyalty amongst jocks, he thought idly as he watched them run. The boy with the tire iron bent over Eddie, his amber eyes alive with concern.

“Are you all right? Can you get up?” the boy said quietly while holding out his hand.

Eddie’s eyes traced down the boy’s arm to his open hand, blinking slowly.

“B…both good questions,” he murmured, holding one hand to his aching head and wincing when his sides screamed as he started to sit up. “But I think the answer to both is yes,” he continued before grasping the hand of the other boy.

“I’m Luke,” the boy said.

His long, dark hair hung like a curtain over the left side of his face, a kind smile warming his otherwise pale features. He gently pulled Eddie to his feet.

“I’m…Eddie,” he replied, staring stoically at the ground, still fighting the threat of tears and not wanting to appear even weaker in front of the other boys. “I…thank you…but…why?”

Luke chuckled a bit, causing Eddie to look up at his now bittersweet smile—like the sun on a cloudy day.

“Us freaks have got to stick together, right?”

Eddie huffed a small laugh and nodded—immediately regretting it as his head rang with the movement. After that day, Eddie was never completely alone. The boys were inseparable—if you spotted one, it was likely at least two more were somewhere nearby. These were his people, his freaks, and he’d never been more thankful for a beatdown in his life.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7

Post Notes: Poor Eddie--he deserves so much better. It'll get better before it gets worse, then better again. This is Eddie we're talking about--dude is on an unending rollercoaster he didn't volunteer for but ended up riding anyway.

I know this Eddie seems far too reserved and quiet for our boy, but give him a chance to experience his first taste of freedom in Hawkins--where, for once, someone just lets him be.

Chapter 2 Preview: The "picture-perfect" Harringtons are anything but, with a father who sees his son as a means to an end, a mother who has long forgotten what it's like to give comfort or be comforted, and a son who just wants his parents to love him. Despite his best efforts, Steve Harrington can't seem to live up to his father's exceedingly high standards. He struggles with his schoolwork and reading, but at least he has sports--and his best friend, Tommy Hagan.

But when Steve needs help with a literature assignment, he finds help in the unlikeliest of people.

Thank you to all readers who have made it this far! Likes, comments, and shares are deeply appreciated! I, like Steve, am heavily motivated by praise.

Credits

Bat dividers courtesy of StrayWords.

Fic title courtesy of Rainbow in the Dark by Dio.

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #stranger things #future steddie #eddie munson backstory #i do not know what i'm doing #bullying #childhood trauma #abuse cw #i promise it won't all be this angsty #but a lot of angst at first #let's face it #steddie comes with angst #homophobia cw #fic: rainbow in the dark #eddie needs a hug #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #read on ao3