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trensu · 1 year

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ETA: now on ao3 as Hawkins Halfway House for Homeless Horrors

ETA2: now with an additional snippet

okay, how's this for an AU

We know that Steve wants to be a dad. Like, his literal life dream is to have a minimum of six children. SIX. who wants that?? crazy people, that's who. but we forgive him his insanity because he's sweet and will actually probably be a really good dad and there's not enough of those in the world.

the downer is that it's the late 90s, he's a (still) single guy in his thirties, and every adoption agency on the planet would rather give their children to a heteronormative couple who don't even want kids than to a single dude who would dedicate his heart and soul to giving his kids a happy healthy home.

He's bemoaning his fate to Robin at a bar they recently discovered. It's a weird little joint, kinda tucked away on the outskirts where Steve could've sworn didn't exist just last week. The patrons were kinda weird too but neither he or Robin could put their finger on why or how. If Steve had been a little less miserable, and Robin a little less caught up in comforting him, they might've noticed how everyone else in the bar kept sneaking curious glances at them or how they somehow always kept most of their features hidden.

They didn't though. Even when they were interrupted by a handsome black gentleman who called himself Jeff. Jeff said that he couldn't help but overhear their dilemma and that he's actually part of an agency that is more open minded about potential foster or adoptive parents. Steve's a little deeper in his cups than he intended, and doesn't question that some random guy in a bar is offering him a chance of having children. Robin is not as far in her cups and finds it a bit suspicious.

She was going to say something about it but Jeff looked her in the eye and said, "Everything is fine. There's no reason to worry. I'm only trying to help."

"You're only trying to help," Robin murmured back blearily. "Everything is fine. Yeah. Yeah, 'm not worried."

Jeff gives Steve his card and tells him he can stop by the very next day if he'd like, since his schedule is open.

The next day, Steve is regretting having gotten so drunk. Not really because of the hangover (though holy shit, he is NOT twenty anymore he needs to stop drinking like one). No. It's because Jeff had just finished giving him a tour of the facility full of rambunctious children in need of a home.

Actually, that had been pretty okay even if the other adults in the facility startled at the sight of him and the children kept ducking into other rooms to hide from him.

No. It's because Jeff had just introduced him to a child named Dustin who sneezed unexpectedly and somehow turned into a kitten.

"Um," Steve said. Jeff sighed.

"Dustin hasn't gotten back control over his shapeshifting since his mother's passing, but I assure you he's been improving."

"...shapeshifting," Steve said, numbly.

"Yes. Dustin tends to go for cat shapes, like his mother did." Jeff bends down to pick up the loudly mewing tabby kitten. "We've managed to get him to shift mostly into a domestic shorthair, rather than a cougar cub."

"That's great," Steve squeaked as he tried to tamp down the growing hysteria in him. "Really, really great. Y'know what, Jeff, this whole thing's been great but I think I'm still kind of drunk so I'm just gonna go--"

"No, wait," Jeff says, quickly placing the Dustin kitten on his shoulder before reaching out to grab Steve by the elbow. "Please. Look, you seem like a good guy. I did a quick scan of you and everything, and I really think if you'd take a moment to sit down and--"

"JEFFORD BILLANY JONES."

Jeff's shoulders hunched, nearly dislodging Dustin from his shoulder. He sighed again and turned to face the man storming towards him and Steve.

"Eddy, you know none of that is my name."

"I'll call you whatever I want since for some unfathomable reason, you've brought a human into my sanctuary. Why is there a human in my home, Jeffamy."

"Eddy, let me explain."

"It's Eddie in front of the human," Eddie said.

Steve's brain was experiencing some sort of malfunction because Jeff had been calling this man Eddie, except if he concentrated, the way Jeff said Eddie and the way Eddie had said Eddie sounded very very different except it hadn't because they both sounded like Eddie except for how Jeff's Eddie sounded different from, the same as, different, just like--

A pair of ringed fingers snapped aggressively in front of his face, startling Steve from an impending aneurysm.

"You. Who are you, who sent you, what do you want."

Steve stuttered something incoherent. He's pretty sure he's had a mental break from reality. There was some sort of sentient black sludge creeping across the tiled floor, wrapping a tendril around Jeff's leg.

"What is that?" Steve squawked. Jeff beamed at him.

"Oh, this is El! She's a Monster Under the Bed. She hasn't decided on a form yet, but that's okay, we love her just as she is."

"Jeff," Eddie snapped. Jeff looked at Eddie stubbornly.

"You told me we needed all hands on deck."

"How dare you, I'd never stoop to using boat metaphors."

"Don't distract me with blatant lies. Eddy, you said we needed help. You said you'd take anyone at this point."

Steve has not been able to stop staring at the sludge creature (El?). He's beginning to realize that he can't quite remember what Jeff looked like, or any of the adults they had seen. He's noticing that some of the children that have been scampering about had looked off. Like the boy with the bowl-cut they had passed by earlier who had looked...frosty around the edges. Or the girl he thought had had red feathers in her hair but is now suspecting the feathers were something more than decorative.

Ringed fingers snap in front of his face again. Steve finally focused on the man named Eddie who was actually named Eddie which was different from Eddie somehow. Now that he's able to shove away the confusion that is this man's name, he's struck by the fact that Eddie was quite possibly the most gorgeous man Steve's ever seen. He had wide, dark eyes that made Steve think of seabeds in the deepest of waters. His hair was a riot of dark brown curls that for some reason brought to mind swirling schools of fish.

"Answer my questions," Eddie demanded. Steve blinked and, with some difficulty, remembered the previous interrogation.

"Uh, I'm Steve. Jeff invited me because I want to be a dad."

Eddie barked out a laugh.

"Oh, is that right? In that case, welcome to Hawkins' Halfway House for Homeless Horrors! I'm sure Jeff would love to finish introducing you to the rest of our children. Have you met Mike? He's a ghoul! Or Lucas! He's a werewolf and his dream is to become a basketball star. They both have very sharp teeth so watch out for their tantrums."

Jeff scowls at Eddie before turning back to Steve. Steve was starting to feel faint and he was no longer sure if he regretted drinking the night before or regretted not drinking more.

"Steve, it's okay. Eddy is making it sound scarier than it actually is. You said you wanted to be a dad, and we need foster parents that can help these kids learn how to blend in with humans. That's what the halfway house is for, but there's only so much they can learn while living in sanctuary. We need a way to have them experience the human world more directly while still keeping them safe, and I think you're the solution we've been looking for. What do you think?"

"I think I need to sit down," Steve said thinly. Eddie snorted derisively. Steve was slightly offended but honestly everything was a bit too much right now and he really would like to sit down for a moment just to process. Because monsters are real, apparently, and some of them need parents. Which was terrifying to think about but also not so much? Because all kids were little monsters some of the time right? If Steve could have a moment to get his bearings...

"This was a terrible idea, Jeffathan."

"I think it was a great idea, actually. I really think this could work."

"No. I forbid it. Don't do this again."

Then there was a sweet and beautiful humming. It made the edges of Steve's mind go fuzzy and soft. He blinked slowly and looked for the source of the sound. Eddie stared at him intently and when he spoke, his voice was like music.

"Steve," Eddie said. "Steve, do you want to make me happy?"

Steve nodded dumbly. He wanted that more than anything in the whole world. He wanted to make Eddie smile. He wanted Eddie to never stop singing.

"It would make me very happy if you went home and forgot everything you saw here today," Eddie continued.

Steve made a sad sound. He didn't want to forget. He didn't want to forget beautiful, gorgeous Eddie and this place that could make his dream come true.

"Please, Steve," Eddie's lyrical voice took on an aching mournful tone. "If you don't, you'll break my heart. I'll never be happy again."

The sadness in the song made Steve feel like the world was ending. Eddie couldn't be sad! Steve would rather die than make Eddie sad!

"I forget," Steve mumbled through the fog in his mind. "And you'll be happy?"

"So happy. I'd be the happiest man alive if you do that one little thing for me, my sweet Steve."

Steve nods again. "Okay."

"Good boy," Eddie croons. Steve felt like he swallowed the sun at those words. He followed Eddie as Eddie guided him through the halfway house. Eddie hummed his lovely song the entire way.

"Go home and forget," Eddie sang one last time as he helped Steve get behind the wheel of his car.

"Yeah," Steve replied dreamily and drove away.

The telephone rang shrilly through his apartment. Steve stumbled out of bed and picked up, only fumbling it a little bit.

"H'llo?"

"Steve, what the hell, I've been trying to get a hold of you all day! Where have you been?" Robin's voice rang out, making Steve flinch. He scrubbed his free hand over his face tiredly.

"Home? I just woke up," Steve said. It was weird that he was fully dressed, he thought dazedly, but it wouldn't be the first time he's passed out drunk in his street clothes. Was he wearing this shirt yesterday? He could've sworn he'd worn the navy one.

"What? Just now? It's like five in the evening!"

"Huh. That'd explain the weird dream," Steve mumbled.

"Was it the one where you get seduced by a giant squid? Because I don't need to know more about your weird tentacle fetish."

"I don't have a tentacle fetish! I had the dream ONE time, and I wasn't being seduced, I was getting drowned and it was terrifying!"

"To-may-to, to-mah-to."

"Whatever, this one was weirder anyway."

"I find that hard to believe but now I'm morbidly curious. Hit me with it."

"...I don't remember."

"There goes my entertainment for the evening."

"Was there a reason you called, Robin?"

"Yes! I met this girl named Chrissy and I swear Steve, she's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen..."

Beautiful. Steve had the faint impression of dark eyes and silver rings, but it was quickly washed away like a child's sandcastle in the tide under the onslaught of Robin's ramblings. As he listened to his best friend, he couldn't help but feel there was something he'd forgotten. There was something he'd been planning on doing today, wasn't there...?

...oh, well. If it was really important, he'd remember eventually.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #trensu tells stories #jeff doesn't understand why eddie hates humans so much #the man who raised eddie was human after all and eddie loved him #eddie: uncle wayne is a god among men how dare you compare him to a human #jeff: well i think uncle wayne would've liked steve and he'd totally agree that my idea was awesome #eddie: BLASPHEMY #jeff sighs the sigh of someone who has unfortunately grown used to the nonsensical dramatics of sirens #look guys i just want steve to adopt a horde of monster children #and for eddie to slowly fall in love with single dad steve #is that too much to ask for?#hawkins halfway house for homeless horrors

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incorrectbatfam · 8 months

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Duke decides to join the family tradition and date a superhero. That's why Virgil Hawkins (Static) came to dinner

He has two hands and a lovable personality. He can easily one-up everyone with Virgil Hawkins on the left and Jaime Reyes on the right

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dentdechien · 5 months

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your x drake art is so hot, like so fucking sexy, you’re the best artist to ever draw him, hands down 🙌

I follow you on your twitter as well as here, and if it’s no problem, do you have any x drake art pieces you haven’t uploaded to here yet? If not, that’s cool! You’re stuff is just so incredible I had to tell you!!!

Yoooo thank you haha I’m glad you like how I draw him !! Happy to hear that

I have stuff I never shared yeah, so i’m just going to put them below, because I didn’t intend on uploading them specifically 💀 it’s doodles there and there from this summer, and the first one was the first Drake i’ve drawn!

#ask #x drake #smoker #hina #basil hawkins #rob lucci #ITS LITERALLY JUST DUMB STUFF IM 😭😭😭💀💀💀💀💀#when i said hina smoker drake was my roman empire i was not lying

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itsalinh · 4 months

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Ladies and gentlemen, it is the famous one and only Hawkins Fuller.

#fellow travelers #hawkins fuller thirst trap no one asks for #but i love him your honor #this made me giggle #he’s so pretty #myedits

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chirpsythismorning · 1 year

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For the last 24 hrs I’ve been trying to find the real motel from that production assistant’s s4 bts pic…

#byler #stranger things #would you guys laugh if I said this is the most fun part of theorizing during hiatus to me #I feel like a private investigator #no leads yet #but I’m living my truth #the truth of delusion #what happens when I find the motel you ask?#probably nothing #but I’ll have my answer #and I’ll search through all the pictures on the website and imagine scenarios that could go down in a flashback #from from s4 but intended to be put in early s5 #related to whatever happened during that two day time jump…#technically the drive from Nevada to Hawkins would have been about 26 hrs #I did the math #which means we’ve got about 22 hrs of missing time give or take…#the implications of a motel stop for one night to rest are high…#especially if they thought they won against vecna at the time after the monologue…..#👀👀👀#technically the monologue happened late at night?#so maybe that night they slept at a motel?#and then they left early the next morning?#drove all day and not and got back to Hawkins the following morning…?

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missingexaltation · 1 year

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In 1995 Steve gets the invite to his first high school reunion. He and Eddie talk about it and decide to go. After all, Steve hasn't seen any of his former school friends in years and wants to know how they're all doing...but more importantly he wants to see their faces when they see who he's unlawfully married to. Because he's a snarky lil' shit when he wants to be.

Eddie agrees to tag along as his plus one, promising he'll behave. Steve doesn't promise a thing though. They meet up with a lot of people they'd both forgotten about, making genuinely pleasant small talk for a while, and after Eddie makes a break for drinks, Steve suddenly comes face to face with Tommy and Carol.

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

Tommy's been working in some high flying banking job since he left college, courtesy of his dad, and he's not ashamed to say that he makes the big bucks now. Carol's pregnant with their second, and is now at the stage where she's constantly exhausted, but the funny thing is that they both rake their eyes over Steve like they want to devour him. He looks good. Happy.

It's at this point that Munson, of all people, make his entrance, interrupting with a 'sorry Stevie, all they have is this weird punch thing and I'm like mostly sure it's not even alcoholic'.

Tommy gives him a look. 'Munson,' He says, 'didn't think you graduated with us.'

The tone is sly and bitchy, but Eddie just waves him off, completely unbothered. It's Steve that reaches for Eddie's hand, beams a smile at him and says 'He's my plus one, man. Been together 9 years now, crazy how time flies, huh? '

It's only a barest moment of a second where Tommy's face crumples in on itself, but he regains composure quickly. 'Oh, right.' He says, trying for even footing in the conversation because what the fuck, Steven, 'So what do you guys do for work then?'

'I don't.' Steve said, cheerfully. 'Eddie's band more than pays the bills though, we've just gotten back from the European leg of the tour. So this...' he gestures to the room, '- is great timing for us.'

Munson's lost interest already, too busy scanning the room for whatever losers he used to hang out with. He's never liked Tommy, so it tracks. Tommy's never liked him either, the weird freak that he is...was. He has more tattoos though, Tommy can see one winding up and around his neck, and on the back of his hands. He briefly wonders whether he's got more, but tables that thought for never.

Tommy's brain was already working overtime. He didn't think that Steve had changed that much, but he's one of them? Munson, sure. That was pretty standard, even before everyone thought he was a serial killer. Hell, there was probably still graffiti with his name and the services he 'offered' on it somewhere in the building. But Steve? He times back into the conversation, hoping he's not missed much.

'-the same band, different name.' Munson's saying. 'Probably not your sort of music though, Hagans-'

'Yeah but loads of people have heard the new single, Eds. It's in the top ten.' Steve interjects, all fucking heart eyes. He turns back to them and sings the tune of something that sounds actually kind of familiar.

'Wait that's you?' Carol squeaks. 'Tyler, my brother Tyler, is like obsessed with that song, I swear on my life.'

Munson just shrugs, like her opinion is beneath him, and Tommy's blood boils. Munson's always been able to get under everyone's skin, without even trying, but Carol's his wife and there's no way he's standing for that.

But Munson's not paying him any attention, he's scribbling on a piece of paper and handing it over. 'If he wants it,' He says, 'your brother I mean.'

Then he's looking across the room and his face lights up. 'Danny P!' He yells, making a break for it and grabbing some unsuspecting guy around the shoulders, spinning him like he's a ballroom dancer. Steve's left holding his drink, but doesn't seem to mind. He just laughs, and gives Tommy an absent kind of nod. And that hurts more than anything.

'Good to see you man.' Steve says, and that's that. He follows Munson across the room and watches as he's introduced to some guy Tommy doesn't even remember.

Carol's left holding Munson's signature, his fucking autograph, like she's been frozen stiff.

'Holy shit.' She says, not even looking up at her husband. 'Tyler's gonna freak.'

Tommy doesn't even think about it for days later, until he's at work of all places. He's sitting in his office, scanning through the newspaper while he waits for his next meeting. He's certainly not expecting to see Munson's face taking up half a page in the entertainment section, with a couple of vaguely familiar faces.

CORRODED CONSCIENCE RETURN FOR ONE-OFF GIG ON HOME TURF!

He scans through the article, the usual bullshit of talking the band up, how it's good to be home, yada yada yada, but it's the caption under the picture that makes him pause.

CC (left to right): Gareth Jones (drums), Jeff Springer (guitar), Violet Cooper (vocals), Dani Jackson (bass) and Eddie Harrington (guitar).

#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things ficlet #Tommy Hagan #Carol Perkins #Steddie attending Steve's reunion first because Eddie didn't graduate until '86 #third person views into their relationship is so much fun #rockstar!eddie #Hawkins not acknowledging Eddie's career (and the rest of the band) as a success story is so funny to me...the feeling is mutual tho 😂#HC that Eddie changed his name when he and Steve got 'married' in '91...because people kept asking him about 'the Munson murders' of '86 #also i think it's canon that Tommy had a crush on Steve? isn't that what the actor said? i love that for him...but he's still a dick #also...they changed the band name (vaguely) because of similar reasons...fucking satanic panic bullshit 😂

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cuepickle · 2 years

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california dreaming

#Billy so fucking scared to ask #but knowing he has to #because there’s so much shit in Hawkins that he can’t live with anymore #and one person he can’t live without #my art #harringrove #harringrove art #it’s been far too long since I’ve drawn these two together

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squishablesunbeam · 1 month

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Waitttttt okay okay so maybe this deserves its own ask instead of in the replies but what’s Thompson/Hawkins’ whole thing? Is it just sub/dom dynamics? It shocks me that anyone would get into a relationship with HAWKINS of all people lol

I KNOW!!! 😂

Look, I was just as surprised!! I did not see that coming!

Mentions of both consensual sex and noncon all mixed up under the cut-

Thompson is more enamored with Hawkins than anything. He seemed to realize it during one of the times the crew had dragged Quinn out of his cage and took turns. He found himself watching Hawkins more than Quinn and he was incredibly turned on by the sheer unapologetic pleasure Hawkins was taking from hurting Quinn. Also, not for nothing, but Hawkins is actually quite attractive and very fit. Thompson had never been more turned on in his life.

So he approached him later.

Hawkins ordered him on his knees right in the doorway to his room and Thompson damn near came right then and there. He complied immediately.

They came to terms they could both live with after that. They fucked a few times and became somewhat fond of each other but Hawkins would not say they are in a relationship by any means.

They fuck, he slaps Thompson around a bit and they have a drink after, but they are nothing more. (if pressed, he'd begrudgingly admit he does enjoy Thompson's company- especially after they fuck Quinn together. Quinn wasn't wrong about them bonding over hurting him 🥺 it's damn near all they talk about.)

Thompson doesn't fully trust that Hawkins wouldn't whip him bloody if given the chance, but he still very much gets off on the insane risk he's taking by being with Hawkins at all.

And as for Thompson, he mostly gets off on watching Hawkins hurt Quinn or even just knowing his potential for that sort of violence, but he absolutely likes to be bossed around and controlled.

Hawkins doesn't hurt Thompson in the same way though. Thompson would NOT enjoy that.

Hawkins gets most of his darker tendencies out with Quinn (unfortunately), so he is able to abide by Thompson's rules of stopping when he says stop and no tying him up in a way he couldn't get free on his own.

It's so fucked up, but with Quinn being used as an outlet for Hawkins, they could almost make it work. But if Quinn wasn't available to him, Hawkins would lose control sooner rather than later and he would 100% cross a line that he couldn't come back from and really hurt Thompson.

These two certainly play with s/d, and also sadomasochism, but they've twisted it all up and the respect for one another just isn't there. Even though Hawkins likes Thompson well enough, if/when he crossed that line with him, he sure as hell wouldn't have felt bad about it after.

The world is so much safer with Hawkins floating out in space where he belongs!

#sometimes ocs throw you a curve ball!#they are not in love #but they are definitely twisting up an already twisted thing lol #s/d mention in fiction #sadomasochism mention in fiction #not proper representation!!#i love that community so it has to be said! lol #coa asks #hawkins asks #thompson asks #wtf are they doing!?

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avadaniels · 4 months

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FELLOW TRAVELERS 1x07 “White Nights”

#fellow travelers #matt bomer #jonathan bailey #hawkins fuller #tim laughlin #hawk x tim #tim x hawk #fellowtravelersedit #*#the fear in hawk's eyes as he tries not to laugh dfhsjfds #i love the wide shot with the candles and lights so pretty #something something tim asking hawk to make a promise he know he'll break...

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rustic-space-fiddle · 2 months

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Heyo I just re-read your rant about Sarah Hawkins and it gave me an idea. Can you draw her deep-cleaning Doppler’s mansion and/or Doppler coming home and he can’t find anything because Sarah deep-cleaned his house? She had nothing else to do while waiting for Jim and it would be really funny XD

(U don’t have to i know ur a busy gal I just thought u might want to draw this)

#this made me laugh #kind asks #sketch #treasure planet #Sarah Hawkins

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cuoredimuschio · 11 months

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a little start of something that may end up being Something, expanding on this post about eddie teaching steve to play guitar

(3.1k - no upside down, but still set in the spring of '86)

now on ao3 | part two

---

Jenna Burke is the girl of Steve’s dreams.

Yeah, yeah, he’s made that claim before. A few times.

About Nancy. About Robin (he was half-right that time). About a dozen girls in between.

But Jenna’s different. Jenna’s the real deal.

They haven’t even been out on a date yet, but he knows. He can tell. He can feel it in the air every time she comes in to bring back her rentals. Which she always does when he’s working. Never on Tuesday when he’s off.

And let him just say, real quick: he knows how crazy that sounds. How crazy he sounds. But there’s something there, some kind of connection that sparks every time their eyes meet, something just waiting for the right moment to happen. And honestly, he’d have to be even crazier than crazy not to be completely mad about her.

Because she’s everything anyone could ever want. She’s everything that Steve has ever wanted, and more. Intelligent, funny, sincere, kind, movie-star cool but still firmly planted down on Earth, confident, artistic, athletic, a heavenly laugh, a knockout smile, sun-kissed freckles, hair like caramel honey, gorgeous enough to blow Phoebe Cates clear out of the water: he could go on.

And he has.

He’s talked Robin’s ear off about her, shift after shift after shift, until she threatened to cut his tongue out, julienne it, and feed it to her cat if she had to hear one more time about Jenna’s dimples and how the left one is just the slightest bit bigger than the right one—as if she wasn’t ten times worse when she was crushing on Vickie. Steve was once treated to an entire sermon about the way the fluorescent lights of the band hall reflected off her pearl barrette. But anyway, that’s beside the point. The point being that, threats of violence aside, even Robin’s had to admit that Jenna is—by all accounts and in every way—perfect.

There’s just one problem.

Steve is not the guy of her dreams.

She’s always flirted back with him—or at least, she’d always seemed amused by his attempts to flirt. Always met him halfway, played along and giggled at all his jokes and lame lines, definitely checked out his arms when he leaned on the counter, even twirled her hair a few times. He could’ve sworn it was all there, every sign lit up green and pointing to ‘go’. But when he’d finally laid it all on the line and asked her if he could take her out for dinner and a movie on Friday, she’d hit him with the worst eight words in the English language: you’re really sweet, but you’re not my type.

And what is her type? Springsteen, Bon Jovi, rockstars and their wannabes, apparently.

“There’s just something about a man with a guitar,” she’d said, her sea-shine eyes dancing with starry mischief. “Drives a girl wild.”

Then, she’d taken her movie, dropped a smile and a twiddly wave over her shoulder, and swept out the door with Steve’s heart stuck to the bottom of her Keds, leaving squelchy, sappy stains on the sidewalk with every step. And that was that. A beautiful flower, nipped before it could even bud. He couldn’t even really be surprised, shouldn’t have expected anything different given his recent track record.

It wasn’t until he was locking up that night, ready to go home and wallow, chalk up another failure in the books and look for comfort at the bottom of a beer or two, that it had hit him: the obvious solution, the one she’d handed right to him, with a wink and a nudge.

He’s not the guy of her dreams, but he could be.

All it’d take is just one little change. And he’s more than willing to make it.

Which is why he’s now slinking back to his old stomping grounds, picking his way through the grey, gnarled trees huddled behind the track, and hoping with all he’s got that Eddie Munson didn’t get busted at some point in the last year and move to another neck of the woods. And that he’s in a generous mood.

Steve should probably explain. Because ‘obvious solution’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ don’t often belong in the same metaphorical sentence. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

There’s just no way Steve can teach himself to play guitar. He wouldn’t even know where to start, and he’s always learned better when he has someone to watch anyway, when he can see, step by step, what he needs to do before he does it. And Munson…Still doesn’t seem like the obvious choice, granted. But he was always hanging up those messy, handmade posters for his weird band, plastering them all over the school, talking big about their gig at The Hideout every Tuesday; even though Steve had never caught one of their shows, never heard Munson play a single note, he figures if an actual bar hired them and let them keep coming back, week after week, he must be pretty good.

Plus, with that whole rock-n-roll, long-hair-denim-and-leather thing he’s got going, he’s honestly not too far off from Bon Jovi. Steve’s not sure either party would appreciate that comparison, but the fact is, Eddie Munson is the closest thing to a rockstar that Hawkins has to offer. If he’s going to learn from anyone, Munson’s his best bet.

It’s quiet as Steve approaches the clearing—nothing but the birds squawking up in the branches and the weak crunch of the leaves under his feet. It’s so quiet, too quiet, and all wrong. Because ‘quiet’ and ‘Eddie Munson’ have never belonged in the same sentence either; they don’t even belong on the same planet. If he was here, Steve probably would have heard him before he even got out of his car. So he must’ve switched spots or maybe he’s busy with his nerdy club. This was always a pretty damn long shot, but preemptive disappointment closes around Steve’s stomach anyway.

He almost turns around. It’s a good thing he didn’t.

Because he steps out into the clearing and there Munson is: holed up at that same rotting picnic table, squatting on the bench, hunched like a gargoyle as he scribbles into an old, tattered notebook, stopping every few seconds to gnaw on the end of his pen, twisting his hair around and around his finger. It’s warm enough that he’s ditched his signature vest and jacket, thrown them down on the table and pushed his sleeves up, showing off a select few of his ghoulish collection of tattoos. Steve can hear now that his watch—the same dorky kind Dustin wears—is beeping, softly, incessantly, but Munson doesn’t seem to hear it. And he doesn’t seem to realize Steve is there either, too absorbed in whatever he’s cooking up in his notebook, mouthing something to himself over and over again.

Steve clears his throat. “Hey, Munson—”

“Fucking sh—” is all the further Munson gets before he topples; he flails, arms striking out, trying to keep his balance and save himself, but gravity wins this round, and he lands, hard, on his on his back in the dirt.

Not off to a great start.

Steve steps forward, a hand ready to help him up, an apology brewing on his tongue, but Munson pops right back up, breezily brushing dead forest junk from his shirt. His eyes widen slightly when they land on Steve, a brow starts to twitch up, but he tosses on that smarmy, showman smile and slips into his usual act seamlessly.

“Ah, salutations, your majesty.” He doffs an imaginary cap and tucks his arm in against his stomach, bowing so deep the tips of his frizzy hair brush the leaf litter. It’s a damn shame, to have a killer mane like that and not even know how to take care of it; he clearly overwashes it and uses the exact wrong shampoo for whatever his hair type is; his curls are so limp he looks like a cocker spaniel after a night left out in the rain. “Long time, no see. To what do I owe such an auspicious honor? What brings you back to my humble shop on this fine afternoon?”

Alright, here goes nothing.

“I need a favor,” Steve says. Short, simple, and to the point.

That brow inches up a bit higher. “Well, unless ‘a favor’ is what the cool kids are calling an eighth these days, I regret to inform you that you’re a bit S-O-L, sire. My supply—” He raps his knuckles on top of his battered lunchbox “—ain’t what she usually is at the moment. Had a bit of a Spring Break blowout sale on Friday, everything must go, you know how it is. But…” He wedges his hands in his back pockets and sighs, as if Steve’s really busting his balls and twisting his arm here. “If you know what you want, I can try and get it for you, but I make no guarantees, and it probably won’t be ‘til next week.” His eyes pick their way up and over Steve, all the way up from his shoes, and a smirk spreads, like a fungal infection, across his lips. “Usually don’t take special orders, but I can make an exception for the king.”

He says ‘king’, but it’s pretty obvious he means something more in the realm of ‘jackass’ or ‘douchebag’. And that the offer’s not exactly coming out of the kindness of his heart. So, things aren’t boding well for Steve.

But whatever, he doesn’t need Munson to like him; he just needs Munson to teach him. And besides, he can’t really blame him for being less than enthusiastic about helping Steve out; it’s not like he would be Steve’s first choice either, if he had a better option. Or any other option, really. The guy’s weird. And loud. And abrasive. And a lot. Not to mention, they have next to nothing in common, and he means ‘next to’ as in ‘on the negative side of’.

“I’m not here for drugs,” he says.

Munson’s face darkens, something hardened in his eyes that almost makes him look as dangerous as concerned parents say he is.

“Then you’re in the wrong place.” He drops back down on the bench and picks up his pen again, pulling his notebook close. “Despite what your lovely friends like to say about me, I don’t offer those kinds of services. I’m not that desperate.”

It takes a second for Steve to realize exactly which friends and which services Munson’s referring to, but when it clicks, a bucket of gooey heat dumps over his head, searing his ears and turning his stomach. “Jesus Christ, you really think I’d—No. God no. Believe me, if that’s what I wanted, I wouldn’t be coming to you of all people. I wouldn’t need to.”

Munson props his chin in his palm, and now his eyes literally twinkle, catching a shard of the patchwork light that falls through the scraggly canopy, as he leers up at Steve. “Tell me, Harrington, have you ever asked somebody for a favor before? ‘Cause I gotta say, this is a unique approach.”

Right. Probably shouldn’t be insulting the guy who he’s throwing himself at the mercy of.

If only Munson weren’t so damn good at being so damn annoying.

“Look,” Steve says, gingerly sliding onto the bench across from Munson, praying his jeans will protect him from getting a splinter up the ass, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let me try again: you play guitar, right?”

“Yeah?” Munson narrows his eyes and slams his notebook shut before Steve can spot much more than a few choppy doodles. “What, does his majesty require entertainment for one of his soirees?”

“No, I want you to teach me.”

That brow disappears up behind his bangs. “How to tie your shoelaces or…?”

Steve pauses, takes a deep breath, pictures Jenna’s beautiful, smiling face. She’s worth it, he reminds himself, do it for her. “No,” he says again, nice and calm and level. “How to play guitar, asshole.”

“Why?”

“Uh, because you know how to play and I don’t?” He’s totally doing this on purpose, being deliberately contuse or whatever the word is. And Steve can’t help himself. “I would’ve thought someone who’s been in school as long as you would understand the concept of teaching by now, but I guess maybe that explains why you still haven’t graduated.”

“Get fucked,” Munson snaps, but it’s dull, all bark and no bite, more of a reflex than anything. “I meant why do you wanna play guitar, dickhead.”

“Oh.” Yeah, okay, Steve deserved that one. He’s burning bridges, and fast, but Munson hasn’t walked away yet, which means he’s still got a shot. And he’s gonna take it. “Jenna Burke.”

He can’t even say her name without cracking a smile. That’s how he knows it’s real.

Munson is decidedly less enchanted. He twirls his pen once, twice between his fingers and starts sketching a spider web around his knuckle. “Care to elaborate?”

“I’m into her. She’s into guys who play guitar.” Steve pauses, letting that information sink in. “Can you put those pieces together on your own or do I need to spell it out for you?”

Something surprisingly bitter curls up in the corner of Munson’s mouth. He laughs, but it’s not really a laugh at all. “Nah, I hear ya, loud and clear, your majesty. And the answer to your humble request,” he says, “is no.”

Steve blinks. “What? What do you mean no?”

He hates—a little bit, a lot—how much he sounds like a spoiled child, but this isn’t just not getting some stupid toy he wanted on Christmas; it’s potentially missing out on the love of his life. He needs this.

“I mean no,” Munson repeats, nice and slow, dragging out the ‘o’ and puckering it off. “N-O? Commonly known as the opposite of yes? As in ‘not fucking happening’?” He tilts his head to the side. “Huh, I would’ve thought somebody with a brain in their thick skull would be able to understand such a simple concept.”

Steve crosses his arms; definitely not helping himself on the ‘spoiled child’ front, but it’s the best way to stop himself from punching—or strangling—that smug smirk off Munson’s smug face. “Why not?”

“How many reasons you want? ‘Cause I can give you a few.” He sticks up his middle finger, adorned with a flying pig’s head. “One: learning guitar takes a shitton of practice, patience, and passion. It’s not something you just pick up one day to impress a chick. It’s serious shit. If you’re not doing it for the pure, honest love of the music, then you have no business even breathing in the same room as a guitar. And it’s my sworn duty as a defender of the faith to hold the line and keep the rabble—” He jabs his middle finger in Steve’s direction, in case it was unclear who the ‘rabble’ was in this scenario “—back from the gates.”

“Jesus, who do you think you are? Some kind of musical messiah?” Steve scoffs. He shouldn’t, he needs Munson on his side, but something about the guy just gets under his skin and itches. “How about you get off your fucking high horse for two seconds?”

“Hey, man, you came to me. If you wanted sympathy, you should’ve knocked on a different door. And I wasn’t finished, alright? Two,” he says, lifting his other middle finger, “I have no interest in helping you get your rocks off. I, frankly, don’t give a fuck about the state of your rocks. And call me uncharitable or inhumane or whatever you like, but I think your little fella will survive if he has to stay in your pants this one time. Three—” He raises his left pinky “—I don’t fucking want to. It may not have occurred to you, my liege, but I have better things to do than listen to you butcher Hot Cross Buns over and over again until you inevitably give up because you’ve never actually had to work for anything in your life.”

Again, Steve probably deserves that, but still. “Jesus, man, you don’t have to—”

“And four,” Munson says, even louder. He lifts his right pinky, opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again. “No, actually, that pretty much covers it. So if you’re done wasting my precious time—” He pushes up from the table and sweeps his arm toward the tree line, his smile more plastic than Barbie’s “—you can kindly return to the Hell from whence you came, your majesty.”

“Munson, come on. I’m sor—”

“Buh-bye! Thanks for coming!” He turns his back, as if not being able to see Steve will make him disappear faster. “Don’t let the door kick you in the ass on the way out!”

Fuck.

Steve blew this.

He blew this so hard. In every way he possibly could’ve.

But there has to be something he can say, something he can do—

“I’ll pay you,” he blurts, before his brain can catch up and think better of it.

Munson stills. Just for a second before his I-don’t-give-a-shit act kicks back in, but it’s enough. Steve knows he’s got him on the hook. Now he just has to reel him in.

“Twenty bucks a week,” he offers, wincing even as he says it. “I just need you to teach me the basics and help me learn one song. That’s all you gotta do. And after that, we go our separate ways, and we never have to talk to each other again.”

Munson mulls that over for a second, a long second, fingers fiddling at his split ends, before he spins around. There’s something almost hungry in his eyes: the kind of hunger you see on a stray dog waiting by the dumpster behind a butcher shop. “Make it thirty.”

Two years ago, Steve wouldn’t have blinked at that number, would have forked it over happily. Now, it hurts, physically. Now, he can barely get the word past his gritted teeth, but he finds a gap and shoves it out. For Jenna.

“Done.”

He can’t, technically, afford it. Not on his skimpy paycheck. But he’s been saving up, squirreling away whatever cash he could spare so he can put this town in his rearview someday; it’ll set him back a few months, maybe a year, but he can dip into his savings a bit, maybe pick up a few shifts to cover the extra. It’ll be fine. Jenna’s worth it. More than.

“Well, shit, Harrington.” Munson shakes his head, and he doesn’t look or sound any more enthusiastic about the whole situation—he actually looks kind of seasick—but he sticks his hand out. “I guess you’ve got yourself a deal.”

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #this is in really rough shape but thought i'd post it anyway #my writing #(also just to clarify: eddie's 'i'm not that desperate' is meant to be disdain towards the men of hawkins not the concept of sex work)#(don't ask me about my other au idea where eddie does offer those services and steve does partake)

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