It's Important To Me That Everyone Understands That If You've Got An Autistic Friend Who Periodically

How to write emotions

How to write emotional scenes

How to show emotions Part I

How to show emotions Part II

How to show emotions Part III

How to show emotions Part IV

How to show emotions Part V

How to show emotions Part VI

How to show emotions Part VII

How to show emotions Part VIII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But! Plot twist!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It all comes back to him.

How much he's always loved Eddie Munson.

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

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

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

And when they separate?

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

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

So, tattoo shop AUs are really popping off lately and personally I love it. What’s more romantic than bleeding for art? Nothing!

But as someone married to a tattoo artist, I have been experiencing some mild She Wouldn’t Say That regarding tattoo culture. So here’s a few quick tips that may help inform your AU. With a grain of salt for my mostly-second-hand knowledge:

NO ONE REPUTABLE SHOP WILL TATTOO A DRUNK PERSON. EVER. or even a person they suspect of any kind of inebriation. This is not just for Regret reasons, but also because alcohol is a blood thinner. If someone is on an acute dose of blood thinners, you generally do not want to stab them dozens of times per second.

Maybe this is regional, but in my experience most tattoo places don’t call themselves parlors anymore. It has a kind of seedy vibe. I see shop or studio a lot but rarely parlor.

Most tattoo artists are hot, yes, but none are as hot at my wife

Tattooing janks up your hands. Sometimes in a RSI way but definitely in a changing-gloves-every-five-minutes-fucks-up-your-skin way.

Artists themselves are rarely if ever employees of the shop. They will be independent contractors who pay the shop either a cut of their sales or rent on their station like a hair dresser. They are also (usually) responsible for taking care of their own supplies, tools, etc. except for the stencil printer. What kind of dweeb would have their own stencil printer?

There is always a line for the stencil printer. Always.

Artists generally spend orders of magnitude more time working on art, replying to emails, doing consults, etc compared to time with their needles in skin.

A typical schedule for an artist might be: wake up at noon and guzzle half her body weight in coffee, one appointment from 1-4, and another from 6-9. Home to eat one (1) real meal at 10 pm. Drawing until 5 am. This is good for her actually and good for our marriage and she’s so healthy all the time.

An ideal shop receptionist needs to be friendly, knowledgeable, and encouraging. They also need to be willing to get out the baseball bat that is kept behind the counter.

If a shop has to choose between “good people skills” and “will promptly rebuff Nazis and the obviously inebriated” the later is often a more important consideration.

At any given moment in any given shop there’s going to be at least one apprentice or someone bumming around hoping to be taken on as an apprentice. They spawn on tic and this feature cannot be disabled.

Again I can not overstate how hot my wife is

Teen Dad AU

Part 7!! (??)

I’m losing track.

More Steddie interactions (kinda?)! Plus Steve and Louie and the kids :))

I’m so excited for this one aaahhhhh!!!!!

I’m starting this on my 15th bday lmaoooo

(Update it is now 2 months after my bday, HAPPY pride month everyone!!)

Tag list:

@cam-cat-writer @jackiemonroe5512 @finntheehumaneater @irregular-child @grimmfitzz @fantrash @bookworm0690 @fiddledeedee85 @hunterbow04 @strangeforest @just-a-tiny-void @jaimeweasley13 @thelittleclare @rebellatio-03 @sirsnacksalot @geekyfifi @sapphireoceansoc @salty-h0e @dragonmama76 @mentallyundone-blog @lingeringmirth @moomkin77 @netflixisacopingstrategymom @jaytriesstuff @goodolefashionedloverboi @hellfirebaby-86 @blu3stars @blackpanzy @strawberryyyenthusiast @lololol-1234 @thestarslittleking @silenzioperso @forest-fogg @bebopbabyy @lawrencebshaggoth @stevesbipanic @dauntlessdiva @live0rdive @y4r3luv @jonesn4coffee @sofadofax @sensationalsunburst @scarlet-malfoy @l393ndjean @asspirin-s @fandomz-brainrot @mugloversonly @virginlemontea @littlebluejane @paintsplatteredandimperfect @astrid-nomically-steddie @maferisa-7 @phantomrose17 @thoughtfulbreadpolice @fandomnerd103 @atemisiscursed @croatoan-like-its-hot @myownworstenemyyy

.

Steve didn’t want to leave the kitchen.

“Get the hell out there, Harrington!” George scolded him. “It’s a bunch of middle schoolers!”

Yeah, Steve refused to serve a table of middle schoolers. Because they weren’t /just/ middle schoolers.

They were his middle schoolers.

Accompanied by Miss. Byers and Jonathan.

Steve internally groaned. He had been completely avoiding and refusing to tell any of them where he worked and had sworn Hopper to secrecy. Dramatic? Sure. But valid? Absolutely.

Those kids were menaces. Even Will in his own way, giving Steve one of those sweet smiles of his to get him to give them rides almost whenever. Ugh.

The point is; Steve didn’t want to the Brat Bridge to know where he worked. Because then they’d come just about everyday to harass him.

But a teasing comment about “Scaredy Steve” from Mason had Steve punching Mason in the arm and marching out into the actual diner.

Gwen walked past him into the kitchen with a tray of dirty dishes. She clapped him on the shoulder with a sly smile. “Good luck, they’re a loud bunch.”

Steve sighed. “Trust me, I know.”

Five kids, one teen, and one adult. Steve would be fine. It’d be totally fine. He sees these people like every goddamn day—

“Steve!”

He’s been spotted.

Steve gave a strained smile to Dustin, who was actually bouncing in his chair between Mike and Max, who were both looking at him like a freaky big they’d never seen before.

“What are you doing here?” Lucas chirped, across from Dustin, grinning ear to ear. Will sat quietly next to him but smiled at Steve when they made eye contact.

Steve crossed his arms and popped his hip, a small grin of his own plastering his face. “I work here, Sinclair. Now what does the Brat Pack want?”

A chorus of shouts of different menu items flew at Steve all at once. He chuckled quietly, and then groaned louder— just to be a dramatic shit.

“One at a time! You learned how to take turns in kindergarten, didn’t you? Or are you guys still there?”

Dustin and Mike immediately protested, Max making a dig at Steve’s “elementary school IQ”. While the three of them argued with a not-listening Steve, Steve turned his attention to Will and Lucas.

Orders were placed quickly after. Steve turning to Jonathan and Joyce after the kids.

When he gave the paper to Mason the raised eyebrow he got back held thousands of questions. Questions Steve ignored with a smirk and wave of his hand.

.

His shift that day was rowdy and filled with teasing and laughter. Not much different than usual but it was warmer. More comforting. The kids didn’t leave with Miss. Byers, opting to stay behind with Jonathan and wait until Steve’s shift ended.

Allya and George waved Steve off about closing, insisting they’d get to it themselves.

So, Steve and Jonathan split the brats up between their cars; Lucas, Mike and Dustin with Steve, Max and Will with Jonathan.

“Steve can we go to your house? Please?” Dustin begged, hanging off of Steve’s arm while they all walked to the cars. Steve pretended to think about it, already knowing full well that he’d give in and let them storm his trailer.

He sighed dramatically, just for shits and giggles, before agreeing. Because he’s a giant push over.

Steve and Jonathan split the kids up and Jonathan followed Steve all the way to trailer park.

“Hang on—“ Dustin slapped Steve’s arm from his seat in the passengers side. “Don’t you live in Loch Nora?”

Steve huffed, his irritation flaring at the reminder. He quickly tramped it down, refusing to be angry at Dustin for being curious.

“Used to. Moved out once I got Louie.” He explained, barely even a lie.

Mike and Lucas shared a glance in the back seat. Steve narrowed his eyes at them before quickly returning his gaze to the road. He’d have a talk to them later about trying to play detective.

Jonathan and Steve pulled in side by side in the driveway. The kids got out one by one, rushing to the porch and waiting impatiently for Steve to open it for them.

Steve smiled a small smile at the antics, before catching Jonathan staring at him out of the corner of his eye.

Steve turned to him with a confused raise of his eyebrows. Jonathan raised his own eyebrows and looked pointedly to the trailer before back at Steve.

So it wasn’t Lucas and Mike playing detective, it was Jonathan.

Steve rolled and eyes and made a very pointed and obvious “later” look before pushing through the kids and unlocking the door.

The kids discarded their shoes haphazardly and spread out in the living room, looking at everything.

“I’ll be right back. Break anything and I’ll break your asses.”

Max and Mike rolled their eyes, disappearing with Will down the hall to no doubt look around more. Dustin and Lucas stayed in the living room.

“Where are you going? And where’s Louie?” Lucas asked suspiciously.

Steve rolled his eyes fondly. “Wow ok. More interested in my kid than me, Sinclair?” Lucas spluttered a reply, but Steve waved him off with a chuckle. “I’m kidding, doofus. Louie’s up at Gran— er, Margaret’s, because I had work.”

Lucas deemed this an ok answer and let Steve go.

He knocked on Gran’a door three times before she opened, Louie on her hip and the twins right behind her. Noah and Casey immediately ran out the door to hug Steve on the small porch, each hanging off of a different leg as Steve reached out to take Louie from Gran.

“Heya, baby!” Steve greeted the now teething infant. Teething, as Louie immediately stuck Steve’s shirt collar in his mouth to chew on.

Steve smiled at Gran, letting her know the brats were over but that they could still have dinner together that night if she was ok with an extra five kids (and Jonathan).

Grab waved him off. “The more the merrier, dear.”

Noah and Casey followed Steve home, Gran having to go run some errands and taking advantage of Steve finally being home. Steve didn’t mind.

He’d just made it to the bottom of his porch when something caught his eye across the street; leaving his own trailer was Eddie Munson, his hair thrown half-up-half-down and his shirt and jeans ripped to basically scraps. He was grinning and talking while walking backwards, supposedly to the old man standing in the doorway.

Eddie turned around just in time to make eye contact with Steve, raise an eyebrow, and grin devilishly. He stuck out his tongue, and Steve and Louie both giggled.

Steve broke the tension-filled eye contact to look down at little baby Louie, who was still chewing on his shirt. Louie grinned back at him, his little teeth nubs shiny. When Steve looked back to Eddie, the van was gone and the pretty metalhead was nowhere in sight.

“Steve! Why are you withholding the child?” Max demanded.

Steve snapped back to reality just enough to glare over his shoulder at her.

.

IM SO SORRY FOR THE SLOW ASS UPDATES BUT I CANT PROMISE ILL DO BETTER WITH MY ADHD AND HYPER-FIXATIONS EVERYWHERE 😭😭

Steve had spent his entire life trying to be perfect. He tried to be the perfect son with sports and popularity, he even tried his best with his grades which was evident until his first major concussion. He tried to be the perfect friend to Carol and Tommy H., even the basketball teams and other jocks, by providing free rides, parties in his house, and being a listening ear for their teenage drama. He even tried to be the best Steve he could be after the popularity faded and the demons from the shadows of Hawkins emerged. Nothing was ever enough.

He wasn’t a good enough son that deserved not to be ignored or neglected by his parents. He wasn’t a good enough student to be allowed to get into a good college or even a local community one. He wasn’t a good enough friend to the people in High School and that’s why they left him.

Through everything though, he thought he was a good person afterwards. He helped the kids the best he could, he protected them with his life, and he would do anything to ensure the survival of everyone in the Party. He knew he was good at that.

Or he thought so until he saw Eddie wasting away in a hospital bed with handcuffs on his wrists and blood soaking through the bandages on the mauled skin of his chest. He tried his best to be a good friend that could support the Party until Dustin broke his heart into splinters for something he couldn’t predict.

“You were so jealous of Eddie that you gave him the most dangerous job?! You knew how harmful the demobats were and you sent him there for a reason! That’s why you didn’t let him go with you, you wanted Eddie to die!”

After all he’d done to be good, to be the person people could count on, to be perfect; he still wasn’t enough. The kids still looked at him as the mean boy of the town and if the kids did, what did the others think?

Did Mrs. Byers still see him as the teenage dirtbag that got into a fight with her son and got him arrested?

Did Hopper still see him as the scoundrel that drank underage and threw parties that upset the neighbors in Loch Nora?

How did Nancy see him? She was the person who actually saw him at his worst, the one who opened his eyes to his failures. Did she still see him as the guy that he never wanted to be?

Steve had worked so hard his entire life to be what everyone else always wanted him to be. He hid so deeply beneath fake masks and facades that he didn’t even know who he truly was anymore, he didn’t know if he ever had.

All he knew was that after their latest run-in with the Upside Down, he went home to an empty house. He ignored the broken glass and the damage caused by the earthquake. He only focused on the fact that everyone else was currently with their families. His parents were who knows where doing who knows what but they were together, the only family they had ever wanted.

Robin was at her place with her family, her parents probably doting on her after worrying for so many days. They’d let Steve in but he didn’t want to intrude more than he’d already had. Nancy and Mike were with their parents, Jonathan, Will, and El were with Joyce and Hopper, Lucas and Erica were with the Sinclairs and Max, and Dustin was with Mrs. Henderson and Mews II. Even Eddie in a pain-induced state of unconsciousness was with Mr. Munson.

Despite all of his efforts to be perfect, to be deserving of love and pride, Steve was still alone. He’d worked for years to be someone worth loving, hell, someone worth tolerating, and it still wasn’t enough. All he had were his friends in the Party and after his talk, nay the lecture, from Dustin, he wasn’t even sure he had them. If he didn’t have them, what did he have?

Depression, PTSD, chronic debilitating migraines, night terrors, and scars?

What was the point of anything if that’s all he had? Did he really want to stick around to find out just for things to worsen like they always did?

After years and years of trying to be perfect, Steve realized he never truly would be. The night he got back to his house after watching the rest of his friends reconnect with their families, he packed up the Beemer and left Hawkins in the rear view.

He was sick of the expectations, the disappointments, and trying to reach a standard he could never sustain.

He left his heart behind wrought with guilt at leaving the Party without any notice and leaving before he knew Munson would be alright but he had no choice. If he didn’t have the kids, he had nothing and that was something he couldn’t face.

invented a game called “I throw dice at the cat”

Funniest (fantasy) way to find out you're trans I think. Assigned male by ancient prophecy

Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me)

Short steddie idea I had about what if they’d met somewhere around end of s1-s2 | kinda angsty | R: G | 2580 words | could be canon if the writers weren’t cowards (nowhere does it say this doesn’t happen)

————————————————————————

Steve was tired. It was a Saturday night and there were people at his house. People he didn’t know, some who knew him. Somebody brought beer, it was Saturday night and there were people drinking beer at his house and Steve was tired. Exhausted.

 He thought he would be done with house parties when he had his fall from popularity, when he was no longer King Steve but he had a big house and crowds liked space. He didn’t want them here, only recently recovered from the nightmare fuel that went down at the Byer’s house. He wanted to spend his night alone, in his bed, maybe watching a movie. He didn’t want to spend it cleaning up after high schoolers and playing messenger between a fighting Tommy and Carol who had stopped talking to him three months ago. 

“Steeeeeve!” There was a girl calling his name, tripping over her feet on her way to reach him. He fell back further into the crowd.

Somebody was pulling him onto the designated dance floor. He didn’t want to dance, he didn’t want people calling his name from across the house. Get out, please just get out.

He just wanted these people out of his house but the music was too loud and he couldn’t find it in him to send a gaggle of drunk kids out into the public unsupervised.

So he was going to block it out and let them have their fun until people started passing out on his floor and then he was going to go to bed. This was the last, last, party that would ever be held at his house so he could rub his temples and toughen up for one night. Always were too whiny, Steven. Never could toughen up, don’t bother now. His father’s voice, always his father’s voice.

Steve was trying to keep it together but he was getting a headache and the music was too loud. He distracted himself by picking up crushed solo cups and taking cans from people who were a little too drunk already, dodging Tommy when he tried to clap a hand on his shoulder. The music got louder. He was done, done with Tommy Hagan and his romantic troubles, done being Carol's personal coat rack and gossip boy.

“Steeeve,” he heard Carol shout over the music—was somebody turning it up?—from his left, “Tell Tommy-!”

“Don’t listen to that bitch, Harrington. No good cheater!” Tommy spat, coming up on his right.

Steve was so focused on getting away from the nagging voices that he didn’t notice he was marching into a denim clad shoulder. 

“Hey, man, watch where you’re going-” the guy said, he stopped when he turned around, coming face to face with Steve. If Steve were a girl he’d say the guy was gorgeous—but he wasn’t a girl so the guy wasn’t gorgeous. Steve thought he’d seen him around school, they might’ve been in the same grade.

Steve barely heard him—who was turning up the goddam music—“Watch where you’re going.” He snapped.

The guy scoffed, mumbling a quick asshole under his breath before turning back around. Steve was faced with tangled, curly hair instead of big, brown eyes.

“No, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” Steve was trying to be a better person these days, he didn’t much like who he was before Byers beat him around the head. Step one was apologizing.

“Yeah well I didn’t mean to be here tonight. Guess neither of us are happy.”

Okay rude, here Steve was trying to apologize and the guy was complaining about his party—a party he hadn’t even thrown!

“Why don’t you leave if you hate it so much?” Steve questioned, again trying to sound open and nice and like a good host instead of taking the guy by the shoulders and shaking him around, you think I want to be here either?

“My friends need a ride. I came here to deal. I’m actually really enjoying myself but I didn’t want to say that to your face. Take your pick, King Steve.” God, Steve hated that name. Even when he was popular it made his skin crawl.

“I hate it here too.” It was too quiet, he wasn’t sure Brown Eyes heard him. Steve didn’t know why he said it, didn’t know why it came across as more than being done with a shitty party, why it came across as if he meant—

He didn’t know the guy, “They keep turning the music up.” There definitely wasn’t any reason to say that, Brown Eyes didn’t care that he was a baby who couldn’t handle loud music anymore.

The boy stared at him for a second and Steve wondered if this was his way of politely telling him to fuck off, but then he was being dragged through the crowd by a hand on his wrist. Carol tried to latch on to his other arm but he shook her off, he supposed he could shake off Brown Eyes too but he didn’t want to. He didn’t know where Brown Eyes was dragging him to, it could be a quiet corner to kill him for all he knew about the guy. Maybe—maybe Steve would let him, maybe he would show him where the knives were tucked away in the kitchen and tell him which ones were too dull to get the job done. But Brown Eyes didn’t look like the type to kill on first meeting.

“Where are we going?” Steve managed to ask, only after Brown Eyes opened the patio door.

“Outside.” Brown Eyes grinned.

“No shit, you don’t say.” Steve grumbled.

“You said you hated it in there so I brought us out here. It’s not like you can leave your own house party so this is the next best thing.”

 The boy plopped down at the edge of the pool. Steve hadn’t sat so close to it since Barb died, he hadn’t even opened it since Barb died but some asshole found their way out here and tripped into the switch. It screamed when it opened, a horrible sound Steve had been trying to forget since being dragged into the mess that was the Upside Down, and he’d nearly stopped breathing when the guy who opened it almost fell in. 

He sat down, keeping his legs far from the water, unlike Brown Eyes who’d already gotten his shoes off and dunked his feet. Steve had to sit on his hands to stop from grabbing him by the back of his collar and dragging them both back inside, away from the pool. He had bite the inside of his lip until he tasted blood to stop from saying something stupid, something like please don’t sit so close to the water don’t get in don’t let it touch you because the last person who sat like this never made it past graduation. 

In his search for a distraction, anything to keep words sure to get him a look from tumbling out, Steve noticed that the guy had a metal lunch box with him when he lifted the lid, bringing out weed. Oh. They were here to smoke. Something Steve hadn’t done since, well a long time.

“It’s not mine.” Steve mumbled in the silence. 

Brown Eyes raised an eyebrow from where he was bent over a lighter.

“The party. It’s not—I didn’t throw it.” Steve felt silly saying that, it was his house after all so he was responsible.

Brown Eyes just hummed, didn’t question it, only asking, “Who did?”

Steve took the joint when Brown Eyes handed it to him—out of habit, he’d say later. He’d say a lot of things later.

“Tommy. Or Carol. They’re the only ones who know where the spare key is and I sure as hell didn’t unlock my door for a dozen people.” Steve sighed, blowing out the smoke.

“Shit.” Brown Eyes took the joint, exhaling his own drag before he spoke—Steve would say, later, that it didn’t make his stomach swirl like the smoke between them— “You know you could get them arrested, right? That’s technically breaking in. Think I even saw some kid break a fancy little vase. Breaking and entering right there.”

Steve winced, his mom loved those vases more than him—not exactly a difficult thing to do but he was sure to be skinned alive if she found out, “Like Hopper would believe I wasn’t just saying that to get rid of the blame. He’s busted my parties one too many times and he’s not exactly up to date on the high school drama that is my fall from grace.”

“Well you have one eye witness if you decide to go to the cops. Though I can’t say how reliable they’ll find me.” Brown Eyes turned to him with a grin. 

They passed the weed back and forth for a while. Steve didn’t like being high much, this felt different, every other time he'd had to keep up the image. Sitting and talking high with Brown Eyes was easier than talking to Carol and Tommy sober. Steve would decide that was the weed talking when he got his brain back. Easy conversation about nothing, probably classes they had together, led to Brown Eyes asking what had caused Steve’s downfall.

If Steve hadn’t stopped breathing that moment he might’ve spilled his guts about the Upside Down. If his heart hadn’t stopped and he didn’t need to get away from the pool immediately, he would’ve just kept talking. The real answer to Brown Eyes’ question was Barb’s death. The real reason he lost his popularity was the night Nancy’s best friend died in his pool and everything had gone to shit.

Brown Eyes noticed his panic, “Woah there, okay that’s enough weed for tonight. You okay, dude? You’re, like, super spooked.”

“I-yeah, I’m fine. Just, there’s more to the story than high school drama. Stuff I’d really rather not relive.” Steve scooted away from the pool a little further and hoped, pleaded with every bone in his body, that Brown Eyes wouldn’t press.

He didn’t, thankfully, just sat back with Steve—out of the water Steve realized, “We’ve all got ghosts in our closets.” He said.

Steve huffed out a laugh, “Isn’t it skeletons?”

“That would mean somebody sees them, Stevie. Ghosts are much more invisible.”

“You have ghosts?” Steve asked, quiet.

“Oh, loads.” Brown Eyes shrugged, “I’m basically a haunted house, man.” That made Steve laugh, “What about you? The ones you can talk about anyway.”

“You mean other than the fact that my house is a ghost town in and of itself? Try parents that are never around to watch you at sports you joined for their attention or friends who only like you when you’re rich.” Steve sighed, “God that’s so fucked up, I should be grateful for the money. Not complaining like an asshole.”

“You know I might’ve agreed with you a few months ago. I don’t think it’s actually the money you’re talking about, though. It’s the life, right?”

Steve felt himself nodding.

“You’re not an asshole for being lonely, Harrington.”

Steve almost remembered he never asked Brown Eyes’ name. Almost remembered to ask it now, but he didn’t, just let them lapse into silence. Steve didn’t look up for a few minutes, but when he did Brown Eyes was looking at him. Steve felt his breath hitch for a second time, not out of a panic like before. When had they gotten so close? Were their pinkies always just barely brushing?

Steve would make a dozen excuses later. Maybe he was just too high, maybe his hand slipped and he accidentally fell forward. He was lonely, Brown Eyes had said it himself. Maybe he was imagining a girl in Brown Eyes’ place. But when Brown Eyes leaned closer, a question in his eyes, Steve didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want to be the one to break this, he wanted to see how far Brown Eyes would go. 

He told himself he only closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see when it happened, only pushed forward that last inch because—maybe he didn’t have an excuse for that but it didn’t matter because Brown Eyes didn’t pull away and he didn’t pull away. He felt the foreign feather light brush against his own lips distantly, an out of body sensation that left him tipping forward when Brown Eyes scrambled back.

“Oh shit.” Brown Eyes muttered, pushing a finger to his lips, “Oh fuck this is-this isn’t—”

“We’re just high, right?” Steve pushed off the concrete, standing probably a little closer to Brown Eyes than necessary. 

Brown Eyes was avoiding Steve’s gaze. He knew Steve was grasping at excuses he didn’t even believe himself. Brown Eyes seemed to deflate, hunching in on himself and Steve would think it looked almost disappointed if he could think anything at all right now.

“Yeah. Yeah, one joint split between us and we’re both high enough to kiss, right King Steve?” Sarcasm dripping through his words but it didn’t feel mean, it felt desperate.

It was then Steve realized he never asked the guy’s name. He needed-he wanted to know now. Before he could ask, though, Brown Eyes was backing away.

“I-I’ve got to go. I… I’ll see you around, Harrington.” 

“Wait-I never—” never got to finish his sentence. Never got to ask Brown Eyes for his name. Because Brown Eyes was through the door and disappearing in the crowd inside before Steve could get a word out and he was alone. 

Steve stayed by the pool for a long time, the longest he’d been out there even before Barb’s death. The air turned cold, leaving him littered with goosebumps, but Steve just stood there. He wanted to scream, wanted to kick and cry and throw a tantrum. That’s not how Harrington’s act, Steven, don’t be such a big baby, Steven. He could practically hear his fathers voice digging its way into his ears. God, he was a dead man if his dad found out about this, he was a dead man and there wasn’t a thing his mom could do—if she would even still stick up for him now. 

He wanted to believe she would, wanted to think she would tell him it was going to be okay but she’d just stand back and start planning for his funeral. Maybe she’d remember the time they sat in the garden years and years ago and Steve told her his favorite flowers were the daisies she would tuck into her hair on summer afternoons, maybe she would remember sliding them into his hair and then picking them out before they went inside as she told him it would be their secret and maybe she would lay them over his coffin.

In his panicked state, he noticed the guy left his shoes behind, black converse coming apart at the seams. There were little drawings scattered around the bottoms, Steve saw, smudged and dirty. He should return them. He doesn’t know who they belong to but he should return them. He couldn’t just leave them outside, at least that’s what he told himself as he trudged through his now empty house, hours later. It was the weekend anyway so he couldn’t even return them, that’s why he found a place for them in his closet. He didn’t know who they belonged to, that’s why he kept them there until summer bled into fall bled into winter. 

———————————————————————— Part 2??

Fun fact: I was listening to acolyte by slaughter beach, dog when I finished writing this

german fanfiction writers of tumblr

please reblog this with your age (if you're comfortable!), the platform you started publishing fics on, and what the name Anne-Rose means to you.

I only had Steve repeating his senior year because I wanted the kids to know Eddie already, but thinking about it? This messes Steve up so so much more. He obviously met Robin, who asked a few pointed questions that made him go oh. about his life and his identity.

He’s back for another year in high school because of post concussion symptoms. His parents are probably pissed. He’s trying to rebuild his own sense of self without defining it with popularity, but he’s stuck in the place where he was the most popular before. And is now one of those loser super seniors.

Enter Eddie, who had been on Steve’s radar as a vague awareness of maybe-attraction in previous years. And the guy is protecting his kids. Encouraging them. He’s also as close to Out as he can be in Hawkins. He knows who he is. He’s unapologetic and doesn’t let trends define him. He’s who he wants to be. Of course there’s hearteyes.

But Steve isn’t comfortable with himself enough to talk to him directly. Hence the letters.

And maybe at first he wasn’t even sure that Eddie liked getting them. Or was even reading them. Probably wrote about how he was anonymous because he didn’t think Eddie would actually like him if he knew. It’s been a theme from the start, and it was probably the first thing that Eddie talked about when he could finally write back.

Eddie totally said that anyone who wrote letters like that, who was that kind and clever and generous and funny, would always be someone Eddie liked. Loved. That it wouldn’t matter if X was ugly, that it wouldn’t even matter if X was a girl. That Eddie would still want to know them.

And that’s when you have those insults. When Steve was finally finally brave enough to be around Eddie. To come to Hellfire. Because Eddie had promised in the letters to teach X how to play, that he’d be so so patient because X told him that he probably wasn’t smart enough to play.

Eddie has to betray everything he’s said.

And it is specifically because Steve Harrington is anathema to Eddie.

Proof that who Steve wants to be, tries to be, is wanted, but who he is in real life, not on paper, isn’t good enough.

(Yes, Robin had to be hugged into submission to keep her from slashing Eddie’s tires)

But, tag writer whose user name I can’t recall, Steve didn’t write his last letter in the car. He dropped off the boys, went home, and wrote something longer at first. He tried to find a way to explain to Eddie that he’s trying. That he wants to be a better person who Eddie would be happy to discover is X. He writes it, and he doesn’t believe that it will ever happen. That he can ever be better.

Anyway, Steve totally gets Vecna’d in this AU, and Eddie is one of the focal points.