when gerard way sings "the broken, the beaten, and the damned" and when kermit the frog sings "the lovers, the dreamers, and me" they're talking about the same people btw

It Hits Different This Time

Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Rock Star Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

“Steve.” 

He hears Robin knocking on the door, her knuckles tapping firmly against the wood.

“STEVE.”

He’s lying on the bed in Robin’s guest bedroom, limbs starfished across the plush gray comforter, staring at the ceiling fan. Taylor Swift is singing to him, blasting from the Alexa speaker next to him.

Oh my, love is a lie, shit my friends say to get me by 

“Alexa, volume up.”

“Steve – STEVE!”

It hits different, it hits different this time

“Alexa, off,” Robin says as she marches into the room. Taylor’s voice cuts off almost immediately and Steve huffs, frustrated.

“Steve, as much as I love listening to your ‘Sad Taylor Swift’ playlist, you need to eat something. Go for a walk. Take a shower.”

“I’d rather not.”

Sighing, Robin kicks his left leg until he’s made enough room for her to collapse down beside him and gaze up at the spinning fan. 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

They lay in silence.

“It’s just – our three-year anniversary, Robin.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t even text me.”

“I know.”

“And the supermodels at the club! And the tweets!”

“I know, Steve.”

There’s moisture pricking at the inside of his eyes now. “I just – it’s dumb, okay? I thought we could make this work. But I guess I’m not as important to him as he is to me.”

“Dingus,” Robin chides, and he turns his face away so she can’t see that he’s actually crying now. (She still probably knows that he is; Robin always knows. He just doesn’t want anyone to see.) “Okay, is Eddie Munson a huge idiot? Yes, and he has been for as long as we’ve known him. Is he kind of an asshole now that he’s famous? Yes. Do I think this is the end? Not necessarily.”

Steve snorts. “It’s been four days, Robin. Nothing for four days. I think it’s already ended.”

Robin cuddles up to his side so now they’re legitimately snuggling together. “Look, all I’m saying is he’s going to be back in the state in a few days and I think you owe it yourself to at least have a conversation with him. Either you two decide to work things out and start communicating better or you decide that he’s not pulling his weight to make his relationship work and you get closure. Either way, I think you need to talk to him.”

“Yeah,” Steve sniffles. “You’re probably right.”

“Steven, I’m always right.”

“I’m sorry, do you want to talk about the Pixar question you fumbled on trivia night?”

“Dingus, I swear to god if you don’t let it go - ”

/////

Eddie’s groggy and nauseous and fuck the sun is too bright. He pulls at the window-shades as he stumbles into their kitchen, dropping his Louis Vuitton bag on the floor. The fact that he’s managing to walk while coming down from a five day bender that he barely fucking remembers is kind of a miracle. 

“Steve! Stevie, baby, I’m home!”

Silence.

What day is it today, Saturday? He’s probably at the farmer’s market with Robin. Eddie’s a few days early anyways, wanted it to be a surprise. And honestly, it’s probably a good thing Steve’s not home, Eddie needs to keep sobering up.

He pulls a fresh bottle of water out of the fridge and collapses onto the restored dining-room chairs they bought a few months ago. He tips it back and drinks it down greedily, swallowing the cool water down his aching throat. “Oh, that’s good,” he moans to himself, dropping the now empty bottle onto the dining room table.

The empty bottle that clangs against something. Squinting, Eddie opens his eyes and looks down.

There’s a small box sitting at his spot, a card laying haphazardly onto the side. It looks like someone opened it and scribbled all over what they originally wrote.

Eddie frowns and grabs for the card. It’s Steve’s writing. Whatever he’s crossed out is unreadable. Instead, all there is is the following:

I would say Happy Anniversary, but judging by the fact that (1) you didn’t return my call or even text me back and (2) the paps caught you at the club with the guys and a bunch of supermodels instead, I’m going to assume that you’re not interested in celebrating it anymore.

Eddie feels his stomach sink so fast that he’s going to lose all the water he just drank. 

Look, Eds, I am so proud of you for making your dream come true. I would never ask you to give that up or sacrifice your music for me. But I’m tired of feeling alone in this relationship. Of feeling like you don’t love me as much as I love you. Because I would do anything for you, but I think this all proves that you wouldn’t do the same for me.

Anyways, I still want you to have your gift. It wouldn’t make sense to give it to anyone else. 

Your biggest fan, Steve

He can’t see straight and it’s not because of the drugs. He can’t breathe and it’s not because of his asthma or his wicked smoking habit. 

He grabs the small box, flips it open, and chokes back a sob.

It’s a perfect replica of Aragorn’s ring, the ring he’s given that proves he is Isilduir’s heir. He’s wanted it foryears, but it was never something that he thought he could buy for himself. Sure, he could buy whatever random luxury shit without a sweat, but something so meaningful to him? Because reading The Lord of the Rings saved his fucking life in high school? His brain couldn’t deal with him buying it for himself. His therapist says it’s one of his many hang-ups regarding money and fame and his self-esteem issues, but that’s not what matters right now.

What matters is that Steve gave this to him, loved him enough to have it made for him.

And now Steve is gone.

Eddie grabs for his phone with shaking hands and checks the date.

“Fuck.”

Five days. 

He’s five days too fucking late.

He’s dialing Jeff before he can even realize he’s doing it.

“Dude, I really don’t want to be talking to you right now.”

“Jeff,” Eddie barely gets out, his voice choking on a sob. “Steve is gone.”

Jeff’s silent for a moment. 

“I’m on my way.”

(It was based on a take I saw earlier today but I think it got deleted)

"Why don't you like me?" Steve asks, not meeting his eyes.

They were on the new Hopper-Byers's back porch, a little bit after dark. The rest of the party had gone inside a while ago but Steve wanted a smoke and Eddie decided to have one as well. It was quite chilly for a summer night, and the wind made both of them shiever a bit.

"Excuse me?!" Eddie replied, after a half a minute of confusion. "Who said I didn't like you?"

"C'mon, man, I know the kids say it a lot, but I'm not actually an idiot!"

"What the fuck are you talking about, princess?"

"See?! Right there! Look, I just don't get it. I know you overheard that conversation I had with Will last week, but I thought you were all for that non-conformist bullshit, and let me tell you, fucking with someone because of their sexuality is very "the man" of you!" His voice was still hushed, but Steve had turned all the way to Eddie's direction now, glaring at the metalhead with what he tried to make look like defiance on his eyes, but were clearly just hurt.

"Steve-"

"The thing is, you've been treating Will just like always, so maybe that isn't it, wich is so more confusing, because I really thought we were getting closer, but now you keep making these jokes and... I don't get it! Did I do something wrong?"

"What?! No--" the other tried to interrupt, but Steve's rambling just kept on coming.

"Is it because of high school? Is the ‘princess’ thing some kind of payback for the whole King Steve bullshit? Dude, I know I was a douchebag- hmpf!"

Eddie, sensing Steve was about to spiral, clasped his hand on top of the boy's mouth.

"Stevie, I'm going to need you to stop right there, okay?" His voice was calm, but his heart was racing. Steve's eyes were wide, his cheeks pink, and Eddie couldn't help but notice how much closer they were now. "I'm so sorry I made you feel like I was mocking you. That was definitely not the intention. The total opposite, actually.” Steve made a questioning noise behind the ringed hand “The princess thing was me being an idiot, actually. I was just..” Deep breath in, deep breath out. “I was trying to flirt with you, sweetheart. Apparently, I’m really bad at it.”

@pscentral event 13: tropes ↳ steve harrington

the real rhys montrose was really going about his days having no clue that some psycho was having a deeply homoerotic relationship with a murderous version of him

— Lalah Deliah

*me plugging in my phone in the dark* dont think about it dont think about it dont think about it dont think abotu it dont thinka botu it donmt think aboiut it dont think about it dont think abotu it dont thihnk about it dont think about it dont think about it dojnt think abtiou it dont thi

nature is healing

— Blythe Baird, from "Sad Girls Club," Sweet, Young, & Worried

part two of angsty soulmate things, a continuation of this

There's an after.

It's not that Eddie isn't grateful that there is one. He's like most people only in the sense that he would rather be alive than dead. And while being eaten by demonic bats is a very metal way to go, it's slow, and it hurt like hell.

Not worse than cutting the string, but it still hurt.

Eddie isn't ungrateful for the after. He's just confused as to how he got here in the first place, and he's scared because there isn't supposed to be one.

But he doesn't want to think about that. That train of thought makes him nauseous, and he's barely been able to eat anything as it is.

Hospital lights, he thinks instead, are a constant. They're the same everywhere, that bright, sterile white that makes people look sicker in a place that's supposed to make them healthy. In the chair next to his bed, for example, Steve looks like he should be admitted himself.

His skin is paler than Eddie's ever seen it, the bags under his eyes could more aptly be called suitcases, and, most concerningly, his hair is flat.

Steve "the Hair" Harrington's hair looks lifeless. Eddie really screwed this up, didn't he?

Steve had thought he already knew what delirium meant—remembers laughing hysterically in a Russian bunker with little say as to what bullshit came streaming out of his mouth.

But this is different. At least back then, the haze of the drugs made the pain temporarily float away, let him drift off into some form of blissful ignorance.

Now he feels it all. He’s hyperaware, can pinpoint each and every source of agony lancing through him; can even pick out the fact that the cut on his hand still throbs, the tar-like mud of The Upside Down stuck under his fingernails.

Sometime after he had fallen, the bats stopped coming. He doesn’t know why. Maybe they’ve had their fill. Maybe there’s nothing more of him left to take.

Sound comes to him as if filtered through a megaphone, loud and echoing. He hears a series of swears, yelling. Panting. The crash of a bicycle being thrown to the ground.

Eddie.

The words come pouring out, quicker even than the blood leaving him, a desperate chanting.

“Dustin, Dustin, Dustin—”

“He’s okay,” Eddie says. His face comes into view, pale and drawn, slick with sweat. No blood though, Steve thinks. No blood on him. That’s good. “He’s okay, you hear me? I didn’t leave him alone; the girls, they’ve—they’ve got him. Hey. Hey, Harrington, eyes on me. Dustin—he’s gonna be all right, man, I stopped the bleeding.”

“Good,” Steve gets out. I knew you could, I knew you could, you’re fucking incredible. “S’good. Hey, Eddie, he’s—think he’s gonna be really upset, ‘kay?”

after eddie introduces a demogorgon to one of his hellfire campaigns, the kids get a little squirmy. they're nervously looking at each other and aren't engaging as excitedly as they usually do. when he calls time, he watches dustin rummage through his backpack and produce a walkie talkie.

he watches, a bit dumbfounded, as the kid demands a 'check-in'. all at once, multiple different voices come over the channel. stating a name and then saying 'safe.' ("nancy, safe." "robin, safe." "max, safe.")

"steve?" dustin demands. there's only static. "steve!" a little more frantic this time.

"he left to pick you up." a female voice replies, "he's probably fine. you'll see him soon."

none of the kids look particularly pleased, and pack up hastily. eddie and the other hellfire members all share confused glances. he, more morbidly curious than anything else, follows the little sheep as they hurry out of the school.

dustin is fucking restless as they all stand in the empty parking lot. he won't stay still and none of them are answering any of eddie's questions. and he only gets more confused when a brown beemer pulls in, windows down and playing depeche mode through the speakers. dustin goes to sprint towards it, and he has to hold him by the collar to stop him getting run over.

the beemer pulls up and steve harrington, in all his glory, steps out, frowning. dustin wrenches out of eddie's grip and all but bodies the guy, wrapping arms tightly around his midsection. steve, still looking puzzled, hugs back. lucas and mike trail after dustin.

"we called a check-in." dustin says, a bit muffled from where his face is smushed into steve's shirt. steve goes sort of pale, and- and presses a goddamn kiss to the top of henderson's head before tightening the hug.

"shit, i'm sorry." and eddie believes him. he sounds so guilty. "i meant to replace the batteries before i left. sorry, i'm okay." dustin pulls back and scrubs at his eyes. lucas takes his place, though the hug he gives is more like one of those bro-hugs jocks seem to love. steve smiles regardless. he just ruffles mike's hair, who pouts in response but looks relieved nonetheless.

"asshole." he mutters. "rule four, walkies on at all times." steve nods as the kid half-heartedly waves goodbye to eddie and hops in the backseat of the beemer. lucas follows. dustin seems reluctant to walk around the car, to take his eyes off steve for even a second.

"you wanna stay over tonight?" steve asks, warm and gentle. he folds his arms and in that moment eddie thinks they look sort of like brothers. "robin and me were gonna watch some films. we can call your mom from mine."

the kid nods, looking a bit happier. steve slaps him on the back and motions him to get in the car. dustin swivels to hug and say goodbye to eddie (who sort of forgot he was physically present in this moment) before doing as he was told.

steve turns to eddie. which- whew! hi pretty eyes.

"sorry." he smiles and eddie can't for the life of him figure out what he's apologising for. "they, uh- yeah. them." he gestures vaguely at the car and eddie just chuckles.

"hey, man, no worries." he says, a little breathless that he's having a conversation with the steve harrington. "they okay? never seen henderson look so rattled." steve nods, then seems to think better of it and just shrugs. cocks his hip to the side (stop fucking staring at his hips, munson, lord!)

"they will be." he glances back at the beemer, which is now full of childish bickering. pauses to think and then asks, "you using demogorgons in your campaign right now?"

eddie blinks at him. "yes? yeah. what the fuck- how do you know what that is? what-" steve just laughs.

"long story." there's a haunted look in his eyes before he continues, "just, uh- that's probably what upset them. demogorgons and us- them, i mean-" he waves his hand. "bad memories. hard to explain, but... if you could..." he doesn't need to ask, seems like he doesn't know how or even if he's allowed.

"got it, ill tweak the campaign." harrington smiles at him, something small and genuine, and murmurs a thanks. offers him a fucking lift, which eddie declines, motioning to his van. harrington just nods, tells him to get home safe and then clambers back into the car, yells at the kids to put seatbelts on with all the exasperation of a single dad, and pulls away.

eddie watches them go, having seen a side of harrington he'd thought dustin had been lying about. steve harrington, the caring babysitter, everyone's older brother, a changed man.

he starts escorting the kids to the parking lot more often.

Hellfire is currently a dingy little hole in the wall, wedged between an abandoned, partially deconstructed apartment complex and a shoe shop that's long been out of business. Without intentional attentiveness, it's all too easy to miss. They've spent the larger part of their evening seeking it out, fully aware of its tendency to shift locations every few hours.

No sound penetrates the single metal door, and even when a set of large bloodshot eyes appear through the old fashioned peephole, the noise that escapes the sliver of open space is a distant thrum.

"Password?" The gruff voice behind it asks, eyes narrowing into thin slits that give away an immediate dislike for the present company. But Steve's gotten enough of that kind of reaction to brush it aside.

it really is so fucking funny that like halfway thru the show, breaking bad was like u dumb fucks really thought that jesse dutifully accepted thousands of dollars from his crusty old high school teacher and bought an RV like he was supposed to in the pilot?? no, he drove away and immediately spent the whole bag on him and his boys at the club. no hesitation. it was only through a series of shenanigans and coincidences that jesse pulled up with an RV. at least we can take solace in the fact that for all the horrible, life-ruining shit walt put jesse through over the course of the show, jesse took walt's literal life-savings and used it to have a wolf of wall street night with his homies

— Unknown

Every single year since 1983, Steve Harrington has shown up to school with his face worryingly bruised to shit, and I feel that'd eventually catch Eddie's attention, whether he likes it or not. Because Eddie might not have it in him, but that doesn't mean he didn't learn his fair share of things along the way.

Eddie knows how to hotwire a car; he knows the faces of the faceless people you can get a stash of drugs from to sell later, deep in the woods. Eddie knows where to legally buy guns and the Morse code for SOS. Eddie will run the first chance he gets, but if cornered, he knows how to smash a bottle and where to press the sharp edge. "It's finally my year," he will say at the end, like his luck running out sooner than later was a long time coming. So yeah, Eddie can tell where there's bad blood running. And Steve? Well, he looks exactly the type to have a groundbreaking talent to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, if his black eyes and split lip are anything to go by. But the problem is, well... It becomes a pattern, so to speak, and one that doesn't explain shit at that.

Steve was flipping through a magazine on Eddie’s bed when the thought came to him.

He looked over at Eddie where he was sitting cross-legged on the floor playing around on his guitar. He’d been working out some part of a song while Steve half-listened. He said Steve “helped him think,” whatever that meant.

Steve had realized he didn’t know Eddie’s name. Or at least, what it was short for. He’d become quite close with the older boy since the spring, since he carried his lifeless body out of the upside down, since El closed the gate and burned Vecna and the entire second world to the ground.

Steve didn’t quite understand how he felt about Eddie yet. He knew he really liked him, felt drawn to him, enjoyed his presence, his personality, his appearance.

Okay so maybe Steve knew more than he was willing to admit to himself.

Eddie’s guitar made an unsatisfactory noise and Eddie shook his head, rubbed his forehead in frustration, and looked up at Steve. He smirked when he saw Steve already looking back, and raised an eyebrow. “Can I help you?”

Steve rolled his eyes, letting the snark roll off his back. “Yeah, actually. I’ve been wondering something.”

Eddie raised both eyebrows this time. “Oh? I never pegged you as the curious type.”

“Alright, keep the sass to yourself, Munson.”

Eddie threw his head back and laughed, his curls falling behind his shoulders to expose his long neck.

Focus, Steve.

“What’s Eddie short for?”

Eddie’s light smile turned into a wolfish grin. “Trying to fill out the marriage license?”

Steve groaned and threw the magazine at Eddie, hitting him on the knee.

“Whoa whoa Steve, watch the baby.”

“See you’re clearly already married to that stupid guitar.”

Eddie gasped theatrically, folding himself around the guitar as if to protect it from harm. “He doesn’t mean that dear, you’re a very smart guitar.”

“Booooooo”

Eddie almost fell backwards with laughter. Steve couldn’t help but giggle a bit himself, charmed by Eddie being so proud of his own joke.

“Eddie.”

“Steve.”

“You avoided the question.”

Eddie chuckled, resting his forearms on the guitar. “Clever boy.”

Steve would be lying if he said his breath didn’t catch, if his heartbeat didn’t quicken, his entire body didn’t feel a bit warmer.

Yes, Steve would continue lying for today.

He shook his head. “Eddie. Just tell me. Is it embarrassing?”

Eddie smiled up at Steve, revealing nothing. “Absolutely not.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

“Now where is the mystery in that?”

Steve groaned again and fell back on the bed. “You’re so difficult. You know that?”

Eddie threw the magazine back at Steve. “I’ve been told a few times.”

—

Movie night at Steve’s, waiting for Robin to return with her popcorn:

“Edward?”

Eddie let out a sharp laugh. “No.”

—

Family Video, rewinding tapes while Eddie sewed a W.A.S.P. patch onto his new, non-blood-stained battle vest:

“Edison?”

Eddie recoiled. “What? Oh. No.”

—

Picking up the rugrats from Hellfire, leaning on Eddie’s van:

“Edmund?”

“Steve. Gross. No.”

—

Laying on the hood of Steve’s car at Lover’s Lake, stoned and looking up at the stars:

“Edwise?”

“What?”

“Edwise? Edwise Gamgee?”

Eddie cackled out into the night sky, echoes of his joy calling back at them from the trees. “Okay, who gave you access to Lord of the Rings?”

Steve shrugged. “I had to call in backup.”

Eddie rolled onto his side to face Steve, propping up his head on his hand. “You asked the kids what my name was?”

“Yeah.”

“And the best thing those little geniuses could come up with was goddamn Edwise Gamgee???”

Steve giggled. “They’re such nerds.”

“Absolute fucking losers, Harrington.”

They both laughed until they were out of breath, panting out steam in the fall Indiana night.

“No but seriously, Eddie? What is it?”

Eddie sighed, straining a smile as he stared up at the night sky. “It’s pretty fucking lame.”

“Lamer than Edwise Gamgee??”

That made Eddie giggle again. “No, I guess not.”

They sat in silence a moment, Steve patiently waiting, and Eddie gathering courage.

“It’s just Eddie.”

Steve turned to look at Eddie’s profile. He was beautiful in the cool near-darkness, the moon hitting his face at just the right angle to sharpen his features.

“Just Eddie?”

Eddie nodded. “Just Eddie. Nothing special or interesting or exciting. It’s just plain, boring old Eddie.”

Steve blinked.

Steve blinked again.

And before Steve knew it, he was taking Eddie’s hand in his own.

Eddie’s breath caught and he continued to look up at the sky, too afraid to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Eddie. I hate to break this to you, but I am pretty sure you are physically incapable of being boring.”

Eddie snickered and stopped himself.

“I mean it. You might be the craziest person I’ve ever met. You refuse to fit in to a box you’ve outgrown. You’re too goddamn stubborn to do what people expect of you. You stand up for yourself and people who need you. You’re kind and gentle with the people you love.”

Steve took Eddie’s cheek with the hand not holding his and turned Eddie to face him. “You are the most exciting, interesting, and special person I’ve ever met.”

And with that, Eddie had heard enough.

Eddie kissed Steve.

And Eddie did not stop kissing Steve until he was bent over him, knees straddling his waist and hands in his hair.

Steve gripped Eddie’s hips and pushed him back, pausing to catch his breath. Eddie panted above him and laughed down at him, his lips reddened and his eyes blown wide. He looked absolutely insane. Absolutely gorgeous.

“Hey Eds?”

“Yeah, Steve?”

“You never asked me what Steve was short for.”

Eddie’s eyes narrowed. “What is Steve short for?”

Steve panted a light laugh. “It’s just Steve.”

Eddie paused.

And Eddie laughed.

And Eddie couldn’t stop laughing for a very long time.

—

The next year, Eddie signed a Valentine card “To: Just Steve.” and “Love: Just Eddie.”

—

That winter, Steve arranged restaurant reservations under the name of “Just Eddie”

—

The following summer, Eddie got down on one knee and asked “Just Steve” to marry him, and when Steve asked “What about the law?” Eddie said “it’s Just the law.”

—

The spring after, Steve read his vows in front of his entire chosen family. His voice faltered as he said “You’re Just Eddie the way the sun is Just a star. The way the moon is Just a rock. The way the earth is Just a planet. You are my home. You are where I belong.”

Three years after Steve carried Eddie out of the Upside Down, Eddie carried Steve across the threshold of their tiny apartment in Indianapolis.

And on signing the marriage license Eddie see to his horror he should have probed more… Cos there is black and white it says he’s married to

Stephan the third Munson

Steve doesn’t notice the answering machine for several weeks.

His time is split between the hospital and donating food and clothes; and when he’s not doing that, he’s helping put up missing posters for people’s loved ones.

It’s only when both Max and Eddie are discharged that he has a moment to even catch his breath—when, half-dozing on his feet, waiting for a microwave ready meal to heat up, he notices the blinking red light in the hallway.

He feels like he’s still in a dream when he presses ‘play’, hears his mother’s voice. There’s people talking in the background, the echoing, constant chatter of a hotel lobby. She’s laughing at something someone must have said before the answering machine kicked in.

She sounds… happy.

“Steve? Steve?” The rustle of the receiver getting briefly pressed to her blouse, a muffled, “Just a minute, hon, he might still pick up.” Then, clearer: “No, you must be out. All right, Steve, it was just to let you know that we’ll be home a little sooner than we—yes, I’m telling him, what do you think I’m doing?”

Steve’s thoroughly grateful that he’s listening to a message, and no response is required—can only stand there, jaw slack, at just how light his mother’s voice is.

Modern Steddie meet-cute where Steve picks up the wrong luggage from the airport when he flies in to visit Dustin for some gig the kid’s been buzzing about for months.

There was a bit of commotion at the luggage carrousel, he’s not sure why, but it’s not till he makes it to his hotel and opens the case to change does he realise that the clean jeans-and-polo shirt combo he’d packed has transformed into something that might have been jeans before it had a run-in with a pair of scissors, and an assortment of slashed and torn tee-shirts and is that mesh?

Yep, it’s mesh.

There’s no contact info anywhere on the suitcase, not even a luggage tag, but thankfully there’s a sketchbook in there too, with “Property of EM - Fuck Off” scrawled on the front page, and a mobile number underneath. (He doesn’t want to violate this EM’s privacy, but he can’t help but flick through a couple of the sketches and they’re super weird and gory but still impressive)

He tries to dial the number but can’t get through. Showers, texts Dustin, and tries again, still nothing.

He’s resigned himself to just wearing his gross airport outfit to the concert when thankfully on his third attempt, someone picks up.

“How did you get this number?”