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queenie-ofthe-void · 2 months

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“Led Zeppelin? Never heard of them,” Steve lies, like a liar. Of course he’s heard of them, thinks maybe Hop’s mentioned them before. Doesn’t really know the band well, and probably definitely couldn’t name a song. But the comment serves its purpose, and the trap is set.

Eddie calls it the Zep Campaign. Every day they’ll listen to one album, and Steve will pick his favorite song from each. Eight days for eight albums. On the last day, they’ll narrow it down to one song to rule them all– because apparently even Led Zeppelin likes the Mordor books Dustin doesn’t shut up about.

Each day, Steve struggles to pick a favorite. Day four isn’t bad– doesn’t mind a song that is actually called Rock and Roll, which is just a lazy title in his opinion– but they’re only half way through and the songs are all starting to sound the same. An endless stream of too-fast guitar melodies and weird, wobbly sounds he’s sure he’s never heard before. The vocals are his favorite part, but the lyrics are vague and confusing.

Long story short, he’s not a fan.

But this growing thing between him and this ridiculous metalhead is new, fragile. So if it’s important to Eddie, it’s important to Steve.

“Stevie, we really don’t have to keep doing this,” Eddie concedes. It’s day eight, the final album, and he thinks even Eddie might be desperate to listen to something different. “You’ve listened to every other album and honestly this one is the worst. They were all on drugs, and this isn’t even their sound ya know? Like it’s not even real metal.”

And honestly, Steve does know. He’s been listening to this band for eight days and yeah, all the songs sound the same. But these ones are different. Softer. He’s made it this far, and he’s nothing if not persistent for the people he loves.

Sprawled out on the floor next to the boy he likes, passing a fading joint back and forth, he thinks he can suffer a bit longer.

“No Eds come on, we’re halfway through anyways. Just flip it over and we’ll smoke while we finish.” Eddie huffs a sigh, but Steve can see the slight uptick of his lips, reminding him of why he’s doing this. He flips the record and crawls back, presses himself flush up against Steve’s side.

The next song is long, too long to keep his attention. They burn down their joint and Steve leans heavily onto Eddie’s open chest. He gets lost staring at the vinyl art. A guy dressed in a fancy white suit sits alone in a dive bar, the only splash of color against a dull background. The bartender looks gruff, like the rest of the bar, making the man stand out even more. He wonders if that’s how he looks posted up at the Hideout during Eddie’s shows. Wonders if he looks just as out of place in Eddie’s life as this man does, even though he looks comfortable there too.

Eddie shifts his arms around Steve, bringing him back to the present. The song has changed and Steve feels the slow melody wash over him.

“Wait,” Steve cries out, flailing up and out of Eddie’s arms as he registers the new song. It’s soft with a steady beat. It’s got synth-- the sound Eddie told him he likes in pop music. This song isn’t loud and chaotic like the rest. The voice is soothing and the lyrics are mostly simple enough. It’s different, and he can’t believe it but–

All of my love, all of my love

all of my love to you, oh

“This one. I like this song. Like actually like it.”

Eddie sits up and stares at him. He can see the dramatic shock and annoyance on Eddie’s face. But it’s doing nothing to hide his broad smile and shining eyes.

“Steven. Stevie. Baby, sweetheart, this absolutely cannot be your favorite Zeppelin song. Out of all the songs on all the albums and all the hours of poetic melodies I’ve forced upon you, you choose the most non-Zep Zeppelin song.” Steve laughs sweetly as he watches Eddie fail to keep the glee out of his supposedly annoyed voice.

The cup is raised, the toast is made yet again

One voice is clear above the din

“This song isn’t even metall!" Eddie screeches. He rants and raves, waiving his arms as he regales Steve with all of the reasons he should absolutely not like this one particular song. He's shining with happiness, dial turned up to a hundred and it's all aimed at Steve. He can't help but to gaze back fondly, enraptured in the adorably obnoxious spectacle.

"It’s all synth, almost no guitar because Page didn’t even write this one! He wrote all of them except two songs, Stevie, and of course that’s the one you chose. No one who knows good music even likes this album. It’s not even metal music and honestly I almost didn’t show it to you, that’s how bad it is!” They're both giggling, leaning falling slowly into the other's space. Facing one another, their feet tangled together, Steve twists and pulls on Eddie's rings. Just to touch.

“Well, maybe that’s why I like it,” Steve snarks, taking his hand. “Plus it’s a love song.” Daring to reach out.

All of my love, all of my love, yes

All of my love to you

Eddie’s smile dims a bit, softens at the edges as he grows serious. “It’s not a love song Stevie, not like that.” He’s looking at Steve but he isn’t. Looking past him into the back of his thoughts. “The lead singer, he wrote it for his son. His kid died of some kind of bad illness while he was on tour. Didn’t make it back in time.”

He pauses, and Steve waits. Knows Eddie has more to say, hoping his patience will pay off. Eddie’s sight refocuses and he heaves a heavy sigh. His eyes glisten as they lock onto Steve.

“My mom used to sing it all the time. While she was cooking, or putting me to bed, or pulling weeds in the garden. She’d sing it constantly. Hell, she didn’t even know all the words, but she’d still try and sing the interludes– ya know, the music between the lyrics.” He laughs lightly, a stray tear just barely hanging on. Steve tightens his grip around Eddie’s hands and presses a kiss to his knuckles. A silent sign of gentle support and encouragement.

“Sounds like a love song to me,” Steve whispers. Leaning forward, he presses a kiss to his forehead and pulls Eddie into a tight hug.

All of my love, all of my love, to you now

“A love song just for you, from both of us.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I've always headcanoned that Eddie loves Led Zeppelin, because he plays guitar and loves metal and reads Lord of the Rings so of course he would.

#It's 1:30am and life is chaos #I wrote this in two hours after i spent all day at work hyperfixating on one of my favorite bands #This is all wikipedia so if something's wrong no it isn't i'm too fragile for corrections #if you see typos no you didn't #ramble on is eddie's vecna song #change my mind #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #eddie munson #steve harrington #led zeppelin #eddie munson headcanon #steddie headcanon #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 18 days

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Robin: Hey Eddie, isn't Steve the best?! He's funny in a dingus sorta way, and fills out that sweater nice. Right? Riiiiight??? *nudge nudge* Dustin: Hey Eddie, aren't Robin and Steve such a cute couple?? You should hang out with them more, especially Steve, he talks about you all the time. And honestly he could use a little positive male influence in his life. You'd really like them just give them a chance! Steve: Hey Eddie, would you uh *blushing frantically* want to see a movie sometime? Together? Unless that's weird I mean I could totally invite Robin if that's... cool? If you'd want her there too? The three of us... or just us?? *dying internally* Eddie: ... Eddie: Am I being set up for a three way??

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queenie-ofthe-void · 28 days

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Stuck

~1.5k words || rating: teen || cws: dissociation; unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illnesses

He’s never quite sure how it happens, seeming to always sneak up on him. One minute he’s up and moving around, usually cleaning, organizing, or just meandering around the house. The next, he’s lying on the floor in the middle of the living room. He tries to move but can’t. Not because he’s physically restrained, like when the rope from the Russians cut into his wrists or how the vines constricted his neck.

No, Steve’s just lying here on the floor, trapped in his own mind. His eyes are raw, stinging with dryness. Painful tingles pop throughout his right arm from where his head rests heavy on his bicep. His hip and shoulder ache. He can’t move or talk or blink. Can barely think. He’s not in his body.

He’s lost. Stuck.

Getting stuck means losing time, chunks of days lost to a void. It means missing meals and unanswered phone calls. Growing up, it felt like an escape. A safe way to pass the time between eating and sleeping. He’d come back to himself, sometimes hours later, sore and hungry, mustering up energy he didn’t have. Once, his parents discovered him frozen on the ground. Mom’s yelling and Dad’s foot shoving his side brought him jolting back into his body. Like waking from a nightmare, rising from the dead chased by panic.

It happens less now, but still catches up to him when he’s exhausted. He thinks today it was the kids– they were particularly obnoxious. Yelling excitedly about Eddie’s new campaign ideas, trucking in snow from outside after building a demo-snowman. Cooking for them, cleaning after them, getting them home safe.

Yeah, he gets how he maybe overdid it a bit.

But with Eddie here, it’s easier. His sweetheart always knows how to help, usually checking up on him after stressful days. Hopefully he comes to check on him soon.

Because Steve can’t move. Or talk. Or even blink.

The sun is starting to set.

~~~

The Party were extra chaotic today, pushing him to the fringes of patience. He’s thrilled they’re excited about his newest campaign ideas, but god, did they have to be so unbearably loud about it? Dustin’s screeches are still rattling between his ears. Not to mention the soreness he feels from helping the kids build a snowman demo-thing and the ensuing snowball fight.

The idea of an occult campaign has been percolating in Eddie’s brain for weeks, and after the day he’s had, he’s lost to the research. Perched on a chair upstairs in their bedroom, books are scattered across the desk and onto their bed next to him. Typically, creative deep-dives restore his energy after a long day. But when he’s well and truly exhausted, he’ll lose hours at a time to the work. Getting stuck, according to Steve. And yeah, Eddie can see how that fits.

Growing up, Eddie would lose hours throwing himself into his latest and greatest project, whether it be drawing, playing guitar, writing campaigns, reading or even the time he tried juggling. Entranced by his newest obsession, his surroundings would fade into the background. He’d forget to do his homework, to eat or drink. Hell, sometimes he’d forget to pee. Wayne’d drop a gentle hand to his shoulder– pulling him back to reality– and he’d take off like a shot to the bathroom. Every sensation hitting all at once: bladder about to burst, stomach rumbling, dry mouth, headache, body stiff and achy.

As he gets older, it’s still a frequent occurrence. So Robin had given him the idea of setting alarms, saying it helps her remember to take breaks while studying. And he’s thankful, because it works like a charm when he actually remembers. But when he forgets, his Stevie takes care of him.

He’ll find Eddie crouched awkwardly by the desk, eyes manic, only seeing what’s in front of him. Eddie will eat or drink anything Steve gives him, barely tasting whatever it is, just as long as he can see it. And Steve lets him be for at least a few hours so he can burn energy into whatever project he's lost himself in. All Steve cares is that he’s fed and hydrated. Usually, Eddie comes to slowly, with Steve’s fingers gently carding through his hair, or soft strokes up and down his spine.

Now Eddie breaks his own musings, eyes strained, hungry, and needing to stretch. He can’t help but wonder why his sweetheart hasn’t checked on him.

Moonlight is shining through the window.

~~~

It’s eerily quiet as Eddie makes his way down the stairs. He half expects to find Steve stress-baking, but the kitchen is dark.

So he checks the garage– the car is still here. And the backyard– he never sits by the pool alone. Then the front porch– maybe he went out for a smoke.

Guilt eats at Eddie as he finds his beautiful boy on the living room floor, curled into himself.

Stuck.

He hates finding Steve like this– stuck and lost like Eddie’s engrossed fantasies. Yet so, so different.

The first time Eddie found him, unresponsive and immovable, he spiraled into a panic so strong Steve had broken free of his own melancholy, finding Eddie hyperventilating and sobbing in the midst of a flashback. Too much like Chrissy. Like Patrick and Nancy.

They'd talked about it. And Eddie had appreciated afterwards how Steve struggled to describe what being stuck feels like, why it happens, what to do about it. It'd helped.

So on grey days, long nights, the holidays, or when the kids are extra rowdy, Eddie looks for the signs. He's been good about getting Steve to slow down before it's too late.

But on rare occasions, there will be a day like today. When it’s too much for both of them.

Eddie doesn't know how long his baby’s been lying here. Doesn't know when he ate or drank or even blinked. Because he’d holed himself up, desperate for time alone to just think. To be with himself after spending all day surrounded by people. But he forgot to set an alarm, assuming Steve would be there.

He focuses on his sweetheart, slowly kneeling down next to him so as not to startle him. Remembers all of the tips and tricks Steve needs.

"Hey honey," Eddie whispers, close enough to be present but not overwhelming. "Don't worry baby we'll get you unstuck I promise. I'm going to reach out and grab your hand now ok?"

He continues to whisper gentle praises and reassurances as he holds Steve's hand. It's limp for a time, and Eddie is hungry, but he doesn't stop. Time is lost to them both again, until he feels a slight squeeze on his fingers. Steve finally blinks, slow and hard.

"Hey big boy, love to see those pretty, long eyelashes.” He smiles down at his baby, honeyed hazel eyes slowly refocusing. “Alright, once for no and two for yes: do you want me to help you onto the couch?"

A full minute passes before Eddie feels two gentle squeezes to his fingers.

"That's great sweetheart. I'm gonna tilt you to sit up and we'll get you settled. Then I'm going to ask if you want anything. Ready?" Two squeezes.

They finally get to the couch, and Eddie can already feel a strong sense of relief at just seeing his baby move off the floor. He hears Steve's back pop as they stand, decides he'll give him a massage later.

It goes on. And on and on. Eddie follows the process of squeezes until Steve is unstuck and back in his body.

"Water?" Two squeezes.

"Food?" One squeeze.

"Blanket?" Two squeezes.

Eddie's patience always pays off. He's got Steve set up on the couch, hydrated and relaxed, with his favorite movie playing softly. He’s managed to grab a bowl of cereal for himself. They're cuddled and warm with Steve’s head in his lap. Eddie glides his fingers up and down the sore side of Steve’s body, gently squeezing as he goes.

~~~

Steve comes back to himself surrounded by love.

His eyes sting and his mouth is dry. He doesn't know what time it is, but notices the sun has long set, moonlight shining through the curtains. The bones in his neck crack and his joints pop as he stretches.

But he's warm under the blankets, tucked into his boyfriend's chest as they watch the teddy bear Star Wars. Eddie's loosely twirling the hairs at the nape of his neck, lightly tugging and sending tingles down his spine. There's a glass of water and crackers on the table in front of him.

Getting stuck inside his head terrifies him, something he dreads as much as the night terrors.

But with Eddie, it's easier, happens less often. And when it does, he always wakes up to love.

This was a pure self-indulgence fic. An exact recreation of my relationship with my partner. It fits my headcanon for the boys perfectly (though I'm obviously biased haha)

#steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve harrington #steve harrington whump #hurt/comfort #steve harrington does not feel his feelings it's practically canon #steve harrington is my favorite self insert and i will continue to do so until i get so sick of writing myself i go back to canon #rinse and repeat #eddie munson #eddie munson is the personification of adhd #have you seen that man's bedroom? it's definitely canon #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things ficlet #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 15 days

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A Desperate Fool

written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: 'fool' | wc: 454 | rated: T | cw: hurt/no comfort, break-up

~~~

“Stevie, baby, please answer the door,” Eddie begs just as the front door bursts open to reveal Robin Buckely in all her righteous fury.

“You need to leave,” she says, and god, he’s never heard her sound so cold before.

“No Robin, please, you don’t understand. I’ve been a complete f-”

“Fucking asshole?” Robin spits.

“Well,” Eddie sheepishly replies, “I was going to say fool, but, yeah.”

“Fool is a bit of an understatement, don’t you think? It’s been almost a year, and you just show up?" Her hands are white-knuckled and shaking, like she’s physically restraining herself from attacking him. Eddie’s pretty sure he'd deserve it. "How did you even find our new place?”

Up and coming rockstar money certainly has its perks, so he hired a PI.

“I asked Dustin,” he lies.

“No,” Robin cuts him off, “no you didn’t. The kids would never betray his trust.”

Not like you did rings unspoken.

Months worth of tears finally spill over, a small sob wrenching his body forward. He harshly rubs his face in an attempt to ground himself. Gathering his breath, he looks up again to find Robin glaring, hard and unyielding.

“Robin please,” he sobs, leaning to glance around her, desperate to catch a glimpse of the boy he left behind. “I just want to talk to him. I need to tell him how sorry I am. I regret everything. All of it. I never should’ve said what I said or did what I did.”

“Oh!” she rages. “Do you mean when you celebrated your first big show by ditching Steve and hooking up with some rando in the bathroom?”

She’s yelling now, stepping out onto the front stoop to crowd his space. People are starting to gather on the sidewalk, among them a group of girls with their phones out, recording everything.

This could ruin him. His reputation, future gigs, possibly the band as a whole.

He doesn’t care. It’s his reckoning.

“Or, was it after he moved out and you threw a massive drunken doxxing bitchfest on TikTok and said– how did it go again?”

Her voice drops to mock his own ”’a rockstar can’t be seen dating a normie, suburban, ex-high school jock who’s only bullshit dream is to raise kids. That’s just bad for business.’”

“I didn’t mean any of it,” he whispers.

“I don’t care,” Robin says, voice hard and resigned. “You cheated. You embarrassed him publicly. Then you left without a word. Now I need to you to get off my porch and kindly fuck off.”

Robin steps backwards into the townhome, and just as she’s slamming the door in his face, Eddie swears he sees a flash of chestnut hair and wet hazel eyes.

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queenie-ofthe-void · 1 month

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written for @steddiemicrofic

Prompt: 'pin' | wc: 388 | rated: T | cw: sexual innuendo

Pin the tail on the donkey is, in theory, an obvious game. Wear a blind fold and tack a plastic tail onto a picture of a donkey. Like Henderson said: Easy.

But he’s still siding with Steve. It just seems… wrong.

“Henderson,” Eddie interjects their arguing, throwing his arm around Steve’s shoulders, “I think our darling Steve here has a point.”

He looks at the man, nose brushing against Steve’s cheek, triggering a flush across his jawline. Steve turns and their noses touch. His eyes blow wide, flicking down to Eddie’s mouth. Steve’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and oh god is Steve leaning in?

Before Eddie can get carried away– in front of Robin and the Party and Chief fucking Hopper– he forces himself to turn back to Dustin, whose mouth is hanging open, flopping around a word that looks like darling.

“Pin the tail on the donkey is one thing, Henderson. Pin the bloody nail bat on the hellbeast is a bit poignant.”

“See,” Steve shouts. “Eds agrees and he didn’t even have to fight the stupid demodogs!”

“It’s Will’s birthday, Steve,” Dustin screeches, “and he drew this himself so–”

“Those things almost ate me, Dustin!”

“YOU WANTED THEM TO EAT YOU STEVE!”

Eddie glances over at the game in question, hung up outside the Byers' shed. The juxtaposition of Will’s blue and yellow birthday decorations as a backdrop for the hyper realistic monster drawing isn’t lost on anyone. The nail bats may have been overkill, even for him.

“Alright boys break it up let’s go,” Eddie claps his hands, startling them to attention. “Stevie, you’re with me. Dusty, indulge in some cake with the other tiny tots”

Dustin guffaws but before he can respond, Eddie grabs Steve’s hand, towing him inside the empty house, away from the commotion.

“We’ll make our returns when they conclude their little hellspawn game.”

“Well then,” Steve asks, “what game will we play while we wait?” Tone heavy, his lips curve into a predatory smile. He squeezes their joined hands, crowding into Eddie’s space.

Eddie steps back automatically, but Steve only follows until he’s backed against the wall. He swallows, and Steve clocks the movement, pushing in even closer.

“Because, darling” Steve purrs, “I can think of a few things in here I’d like to pin you to.”

#steddiemicroficmarch #steddie microfic #steddie ficlet #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #Dustin Henderson #Stranger Things #stranger things ficlet #steve & dustin #steddie #steddie prompt #steddie fic #QueenieWritesStories #I've never done a challenge so hopefully this works!#Obsessively rechecking the word count

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queenie-ofthe-void · 3 months

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Immortal Vampire Eddie Munson (bittersweet)

Inspired by a Steddie post by @steviewashere where Eddie is an immortal vampire and Steve is just a normal regular guy. This pushed me out of my writer's block so THANK YOU!!

Find the hurt/no comfort version of this fic here!

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

Steve's there to help Eddie through every death, starting with Wayne and ending with El. Each one is as hard as the last. Every funeral, Eddie notices just a few more wrinkles on Steve's face: crows feet and laugh lines, the furrow between his eyebrows.

But as he continues on, and his loved ones leave him, he's always reminded he's not alone. Over the years, the Party's gotten bigger. Dustin and Suzie alone had 5 kids, plus Mike and El's twin girls, Nancy and Jonathan's son, Will and Gareth are working on another adoption. Eddie's family has grown larger than he could've imagined. He's going to have nieces and nephews through generations.

Their watchful protector, their Gandalf. But it still won't be Steve.

The Party are celebrating Robin's 38th birthday when Vickie pulls Eddie into the kitchen where Robin and Steve are waiting. They hand Eddie a printout. He doesn't know what he's looking at.

He understands what a sonogram is, but why is Steve the one giving it to him? Why is Robin crying? They're hugging him and everyone's crying except Eddie because he won't let himself believe what they're desperately trying to explain.

Steve knows he can't be with Eddie forever. He's always wanted to be a father, and who could ever be a better mother to his children than his soulmate. They had the doctor's appointment months ago. Vickie was practically bursting at the seams to tell Eddie, but the three decided to wait just to make sure.

It hits him like a train.

Steve and Robin are having a baby. Steve and Robin and Vickie and... and a baby.

Because now it won't just be descendants of The Party. It'll be Birdie and Steve. His Stevie and their child and grandchildren and great grandchildren. The man he loves has given him the gift of life, his own piece of immortality. Now he'll never be alone, living through the ages surrounded by love.

#the inspiration for this hit so hard I dropped everything at work yesterday to yank it out of my head #I've got an idea for a hurt/no comfort too that I'll post later #no beta no spell check no edits #just thoughts on a page #vampire eddie munson #immortal eddie munson #steve harrington #bittersweet fluff #steddie ficlet #platonic stobin #robin x vickie #steddie #pregnancy ficlet #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 2 days

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Last Sentence Tag Game

tagged by @finntheehumaneater (ahhh my first ever WIP tag tysm)

rules: in a rb or separate post, post the last sentence you wrote in any of your wips (original, fanfic, etc), and tag as many people as there are words. (Let's pretend there's three words lol)

This is a Rockstar!Eddie Steddie AU based on the ficlet A Desperate Fool I submitted to the steddiemicrofic April prompt. Never would've guessed this is what my first multi-chapter fic would be, but here I am adding a little more hurt before the comfort.

Reeking of alcohol and a stranger's cologne, Eddie opened the front door to find a hollowed-out home, with no evidence of Steve left behind except for a single house key placed atop a note on the coffee table with the words "Don't call" scribbled in Robin's looped handwriting.

No pressure on the tags!

@paperbackribs @doublecherrypiediscosuperfly @lingeringmirth @cuips-not-cute @chaosgremlinmunson @sourw0lfs

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie rockstar au #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 2 months

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I've been having Eddie-related dreams off and on all month and, even though I don't read them, I'm considering turning them into reader insert fics. Just to weed them out of my brain.

🖤Thoughts and opinions always welcome 🖤

#x reader #eddie x reader #they arent even all smut #some are just fucking weird lol #some are steddie related because obviously #stranger things #eddie munson #steddie #eddie munson fic #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 1 month

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Making a giant spreadsheet of every fic I've read and thinking about posting recs as I go. But I'm considering reaching out to the authors (if possible) to get permission.

Thoughts?

#QueenieDoesRecs #QueenieWritesStories #stranger things fic recs #steddie fic recs

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queenie-ofthe-void · 3 months

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Gentle Noise

Steve knows his house is quiet, even though all he can hear is the ringing in his ears and the pulse throbbing behind his eyes. It's been less than a week since the dogs. Less than a week since they saved the world again. And less than a week since Billy Hargrove almost killed him.

The pain is less than before, slowly waning each day. He can finally drag himself out of bed and into the kitchen without exhausting himself. He's hungry and hasn't had a decent meal since before he became the babysitter. Diet mostly water, painkillers, and whatever snack he could scrounge up in his room.

They'd tried their best to convince him he needed a hospital. "Another concussion could be dangerous". Like he doesn't know that already.

But Steve's parents weren't home -- still aren't, won't be for a while -- and he didn't want them coming home early because of another fight. Another excuse to show their disappointment. The pinch of his mother’s brow and the tone his dad took up to explain how “real men win fights” is not something he’s eager to repeat. So no hospital.

His house is always quiet. It's not like it's the first time he's noticing the silence. No, Steve first noticed his house was quiet the day of his fourteenth birthday. Then again the next year for Thanksgiving. Months and months of silence would pass by, broken up only by his parents’ brief layovers between business trips. Even when they were home, it was quiet, but a stronger, more oppressive silence. Not the neutral sounds of absence he was used to. Which Steve definitely prefers.

Now, for the first time, he's wondering what a house would sound like if it was loud. If maybe he got lucky like everyone always told him, but not because of the money. Maybe because, with bad parents, it’s better to have a quiet house than a loud house.

He's trying to imagine what it would be like, living in that kind of noise. The yelling. The screaming between people who've screamed at each other for years. Crying and name calling. Never ending strings of curses so thoughtlessly thrown together that it sounds a little ridiculous and juvenile. Music blaring, fists pounding on doors, cupboards slamming closed. The smell of stale cigarettes and spilt alcohol is too loud. Hair in the shower and stains on the toilet. An unbalanced washing machine, forgotten white noise on the TV, the sink dripping. It's all too loud.

Can’t imagine her living in a place like that with nowhere to hide.

How can someone find quiet when their home is only noise?

Steve pulls up outside of a house that looks like he expected. Took him a while to find it. Took him a bit to realize it was listed under a different last name.

He notices the yard is yellowed, and as he gets closer, that there's a tear in the screen door. The sounds and smells seep from the edges of the house, everything he imagined leaking from its pores. He can't help but pause to consider that maybe this is a mistake. If he can handle the volume.

He knocks anyway.

Steve knew what would happen once he did, guessed it by the car in the driveway. Yet it still didn't keep him from tensing as Billy Hargrove opened the door.

House listed under Hargrove, not Mayfield.

A flicker of shock flashes across Billy's face before he quickly fashions it into casual hatred, disdain hidden behind a cocky smile. He’s shirtless and sweating, reeking of body odor and stale cigarettes. Behind him Steve glimpses the kitchen, littered with beer cans and unwashed dishes. The TV has been left on, white noise struggling for space against metal music drowning out the rest of the house.

"What are you doing here, Harrington?" He sounds tough, aggressive. But he crosses his arms, taking a small step backwards into the house and rakes his gaze over Steve's face. He realizes that Billy seems nervous.

Maybe Billy does take threats seriously. Even when he's high on tranquilizers.

"Where is she?" Steve asks, more akin to a demand. He straightens his shoulders. Braces himself just in case. Tightens his grip on the handle just out of sight.

"I'm babysitting the brat until they get back. She's grounded after all that shit and she's not going anywhere with you--"

"Go get her. Now. I wanna talk to her." Steve pulls the baseball bat into view from where it’s casually propped next to the door. Billy's eyes widen as he takes another larger step back.

He can feel a migraine coming on. He hadn't eaten anything before leaving and was due for meds. At this point Steve was using the bat more as a crutch than as a threat, but Billy didn't need to know that.

"Maxine! Get your ass out here," Billy shouts over his shoulder. He walks backwards further into the living room, still keeping his eyes on the bat. He fumbles his hand around on top of the end table next to him, blindly grabbing a crushed pack of smokes. Steve watches Billy stick a cigarette between his lips, glimpsing yellow-stained teeth behind chapped lips.

Steve thinks maybe he’ll never smoke again.

He's finally able to turn away as he catches sight of unruly red hair. She stares up at him, surprised and maybe a little curious, if Steve had to guess. He doesn't know her very well, doesn't know how to read her yet. But he sees she's wearing a headset around her neck, plugged into the Walkman in her pocket.

Yeah, he supposes that would help with the noise. She makes her own.

"Steve," she says, and yes, he's sure now. It's surprise. She sneaks a glance back at Billy, who hasn't moved, then turns back to him and asks, not unkindly "what are you doing here?"

"I'm hungry," Steve replies. It’s not what he meant to say. But he’s not really sure what he’s doing here either. Just making it up as he goes.

Max scrunches her face, confusion flickering through her features. "Umm ok..."

"Are you hungry? I was gonna make some lunch or something. I'll probably have extra " he states, as if commenting on the weather. A casual invitation, to keep from spooking her. So it doesn’t come off as pity. So she won’t feel like a burden.

He gets it.

He sees the moment she understands his invitation. But again, she looks back at Billy. "Oh," she sounds unsure, tense, her shoulders hunched. "Billy's supposed to be babysitting me until my mom and Neil get back, so I don't think–"

"I'm the babysitter." It comes out strong and sure, and maybe a little too forceful.

Max stills. She glances at the bat in his hand, then back up at him with something there behind her eyes. He hopes it’s something good. God, he hopes he’s doing this right.

"Max," Steve says softly, crouching down and slowly telegraphing his movements. He gently places his free hand on her shoulder. "I'm your babysitter, Random Girl, and I'm asking if you want to eat lunch with me."

Because at the end of the day, he's not Billy. He'll never force Max to do anything she doesn't want. Even as he suppresses the urge to bundle her away from this place, this house. Away from the noise.

"You're such a dork," she bites, half-hearted with a smirk and wet eyes. He quirks his eyebrows in question and she laughs, a quick but true thing. "Let me grab my stuff."

Steve looks back to Billy as she runs off, and finds him sitting on the couch now, resigned.

"Who's gonna be there, Harrington?" Billy kicks his feet up on the coffee table, aiming for casual again and just missing the mark. "It's not those little shitbags is it? Sinclair, right?"

Steve stands again, swings the bat over his shoulder, and plants his feet as he holds Billy's glare. He feels the quick beat of his pulse and a tremor in his hands. Can’t believe he’s here really. Because, for some reason, inter-dimensional dog monsters are ok. But his nightmares are of Lucas pinned to a wall and a plate to his own head.

Billy finally gives it up, turning his attention to the TV.

Steve doesn't relax until he sees Max round the corner, weighted backpack on one shoulder and a skateboard tucked under the other. She's smiling, so full it takes up her whole face, and then Billy's forgotten by both of them.

The ride back is quiet. Max turns the radio on– the pop station Steve normally listens to– but the volume is turned low. She rolls the windows down letting the cold November wind wrap around her curls. Steve huffs, trying to fix his coif, which gains him a giggle. But she rolls it back up, just so it's cracked.

It's quiet as he cooks. She's set up on a high top at the kitchen counter, backpack open and schoolwork spread out. Soft music floats through the headphones around her neck, and he can catch her small hums, whispering along with the lyrics.

He hopes he was right, that Max likes it here where it's quiet. Because now there's sounds of life in Steve's home.

And if she can be his gentle noise, then he will be her peace and quiet.

#Holy shit you guys I wrote something!#if you see typos no you didn't #steve & max #Steve harrington #max mayfield #stranger things ficlet #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 2 months

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Maybe if I guilt myself just a little bit harder, I'll finally be able to do The Thing.

#writing is hard #all ideas and no motivation #QueenieWritesStories #or at least I'm trying to

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queenie-ofthe-void · 3 months

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If Steve dies in s5, and it's handled in the same narrative way as his injuries, he will be completely wiped from the collective memory of The Party never to be mentioned again.

#why are they never mentioned??#Punched beaten up plate smash torture drugs car crash drowned strangled eaten road rash bare feet strangled #am i forgetting anything???#steve harrington #protect steve harrington at all costs #stranger things s5 #stranger things #QueenieWritesStories

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queenie-ofthe-void · 3 months

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NSFW 18+ minors DNI. I will not stand for bullshit. No fighting. No kink shaming. No ship shaming.

#QueenieWritesStories

All of My Love: Steddie || ~1.1k words || rating M || cws: getting high || It's my boys being soft and falling in love over a week of Led Zeppelin.

Gentle Noise: Steve & Max || ~1.6k words || rating T || cws: implied child neglect and abuse || Steve can't help but wonder what it's like being a kid in Max's home compared to his own.

Immortal Eddie Munson (bittersweet): Steddie || 373 words || rating G || cws: none || As the Party ages around him, Eddie's reminded of how much he's loved.

Immortal Eddie Munson (hurt/no comfort): Steddie || ~1.6k words || rating E || cws: DEAD DOVE. All CWs are listed at the top of the fic PLEASE do not ignore them || Eddie watches his loved ones age and eventually leave him behind. This is an alternative telling to bittersweet.

Pin: Steddie (Prompt) || 388 words || rating T || cws: innuendos || Steve and Dustin argue the appropriateness of their chosen game and Eddie intervenes.

Stuck: Steddie || ~1.5k words || rating T || cws: dissociation, unlabeled neurodivergencies and mental illness || Steve and Eddie struggle to recover after a chaotic day with The Party

A Desperate Fool: Steddie (Prompt) || 454 words || rating: T || cws: hurt/no comfort, break-up || A year after a messy public break-up, Eddie shows up begging for forgiveness, and Robin's not having it.

Current brain soup ingredients include…

#queenie's void brain

Steve Harrington (Steddie)

Formula One (Carlando)

Lord of the Rings

The Locked Tomb trilogy (Griddlehark)

The Clone Wars (501st shenanigans)

Stormlight Archives (shakadolin)

Percy Jackson

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Over the Garden Wall

Arcane

What We do in the Shadows

Our Flag Means Death

Anything N.K. Jemisin writes EVER

10 random facts about me

(Below the cut)

I'm from Minnesota / Wisconsin, USA. Yes it's cold and I'm not a fan. I'll wear all black and lay out like a lizard when it's +90F outside. Trying to store the warmth like a god damn solar battery.

My only sibling is my brother who's 15 years younger than me. We have nothing in common beyond both being queer (and even that's not the same). He is the other half of my soul.

I'm an amateur florist. I do all of my friends and families weddings for free. It's my "What if everyone got paid a living wage and I wasn't enslaved to capitalism" dream

I love punk and metal music, but I also listen to classical, movie scores, blues, and alternative indie pop. I discover bands super late, way after they're famous. So late it's embarrassing lol

Ao3 > TV Shows > Books > Movies >>> Video games. I've tried playing so many video games and all I like are Mario Bros, Donkey Kong Country, Stardew Valley, and Cult of the Lamb.

I've got two cats: Kitty Harrington (aka Harri aka BeBe aka Stinky Bones) and Stardust (aka Monster aka Dusty). Kitty Harrington was a play on Kit Harrington, while Stardust is for the new FOB album So Much For Stardust. My partner is slightly concerned I've secretly concocted a plan to name our cats Harrington and Dustin... who can say??

Out of all the pop culture nerd geek shit I get hyperfixated on, I'm weirdly obsessed with F1 right now. Drive to Survive on Netflix hooked the shit out of me and now my partner has to listen to me bitch about driver trades, team dynamics, and proper tire selection. I love him for it.

I'm learning embroidery!! I'm trying to make my own heat-on patches so I can start making my own battle vest and I'm so excited about it. I've got like five different denim jackets to practice on.

My dreams are weird and intense. Usually they're about whatever I'm in to at the moment, or some amalgamation of insanity. I've considered turning some of them into stories, like my spicy dreams into reader insert fics. I used to write a lot of horror based on my nightmares and they were always my best stories.

I'm scared shitless to write. I used to write all the time in high school and early college. My mom still tells me she's disappointed I got a Biology degree instead of Creative Writing and editing. So here I am, writing Steddie fics in secret. Proving to myself I can enjoy doing something I used to love without all the pressure of doing it well or holding myself to the idealized version of potential my mom has built me up to be. I'm just out here doing it for me. I'm publishing it. And it doesn't have to be good. It's just about me enjoying myself!

#finally introducing myself #come say hi!#I swear I'm nice I only bite if prompted #QueenieWritesStories #queenie's void brain

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