hi hello i don’t beg very often but this comic is almost 4 years in the making so please go and read it <333

October Almost-Drabbles 10/4: Pumpkin

Pairing: Steddie

Word Count: 621

Additional tags: FLUFF, pumpkin carving, transfemme!Steve

Side note: was initially going to be t4t, but I didn’t end up getting around to Eddie’s characterization. I think it’s already too long as it is, lol. I don’t mind it if you think of him that way though.

Side note #2: new headcanon unlocked - Eddie is awesome at pumpkin carving artwork.

———

“Is it ready yet?”

Stevie was almost bouncing in her chair. Her own pumpkin was finished - triangle cut out eyes and a big toothy smile - so now all that was left was Eddie’s. But the big jerk wouldn’t let her see. ‘Not until it’s done,’ he’d said.

Stevie Harrington wasn’t known for her patience.

“Almost,” Eddie said, not looking at her. He was surprisingly focused. For him, at least. His hair was tied back, though some thin wisps managed to settle against his forehead, and his tongue was pressed anxiously to the corner of his mouth. He wore a similar look when he was working hard on his campaigns. It seemed like an awful lot of concentration and trouble for a pumpkin carving, Stevie thought. But that only made her want to see even more.

“How much longer?”

Eddie sighed, more out of fondness than exasperation. “In a minute, baby.” He looked up and winked at her. “Can’t rush art.”

Right. Pumpkin art. She rolled her eyes a little. Never saw much need for any fanciness. Everybody loves the simple designs, right? Besides, there’s only so much a person can do with a pumpkin.

After a few moments, with one final flourish of the carving knife, Eddie turned to her, smiling.

“All done! Wanna see my masterpiece?”

She rolled her eyes again, but she was smiling too. “Damn right I do. Make some room.”

He scooted his chair out from the table a bit so she could plop down on his lap. Eddie coughed out a mild ‘gentle on the goods there, darlin’’ before wrapping his arms around her. She made herself quite comfortable before actually looking at the…

…pumpkin?

“Oh shit,” she breathed.

It was the moon. A carving of a full moon. With craters and everything, though they probably weren’t scientifically accurate if she’d had to guess. But damn, it looked good. The way he’d carved into the flesh of the pumpkin, not all the way through but thin enough for the light to pass through, was incredible. There were cut-outs along the side, a few in the moon shape itself. It took her a minute to realize they were bats. Just like one ones on Eddie’s arm.

“Like it? I was gonna try to do a howling werewolf or something. Felt too cliché.”

“It’s amazing, Eds.” She kissed his cheek, leaving a tiny smudge of her dark red lipstick. Neither moved to wipe it away. “Have you always carved pumpkins like this?”

He shrugged, and held her closer. “Not really. Got tired of the typical shit a few years ago, figured I could stand to get more creative.” At her withering look, he sputtered, “N-not that yours is uncreative or anything! I mean, that design is a classic for a reason, and-“

She silenced him with a kiss. Slow and deep, leaving his lips stained red. But before she could grab a tissue or a towel, he licked them clean. This earned him another fond eyeroll.

“How’s my lipstick taste?”

Another lick. He grinned. “Perfect. Just like my Stevie.”

“Dork,” she said, and settled further in his lap.

“You love me though.” He nuzzled at her neck, kissing a bit at the freckles and beauty marks there.

“Yeah, I do. God help me, but I do.”

Another time, he might have feigned offense. Maybe even whined about his cruel, cruel girlfriend, how could she say such mean things to him? But tonight? Tonight he just sighed, and squeezed her tight.

“Wanna help me set ‘em up outside?”

“In a minute,” her voice was muffled from where her face was pressed in his hair. “I’m comfy here.”

He chuckled, careful not to jostle her too much. “Dork.”

Steddie chibi Ahoy!! 🍦✨

Keychain, anyone?

@eddiemonth day 4: rejection

rating: T | wc: 913 | cw: hurt/comfort, general & UD related anxiety, hoh!Steve, pre-Steddie

Eddie flops down on his bed with a load groan.

He blindly reaches for a pillow and once he’s found one, he uses it to muffle his screams. It barely dampens the sound, but he's home alone anyway. He screams and screams until his throat starts to hurt and the tears he tried so hard to ignore, finally well up in his eyes.

Another rejection.

Another place that didn't want to hire him.

Even with all the strings Hopper and those government guys had pulled to clear his name, Eddie can't escape his brand-new reputation of local satanist and serial killer. There was a press conference and everything, and a personal apology from the police department, but it still wasn't enough to sway the public's opinion of him.

But he has to get a job, like yesterday. They'll run out of that government money sooner or later and he can't expect Wayne to continue cleaning up his mess. Wayne's done enough of that already.

Eddie's tried almost every place in town. His first instinct was the record store and the garage, because that's what where his interests and experience lie. They turned him away as soon as he came in to drop off his resume.

When he told his friends about his job search, Steve immediately offered to put a good word in for him at Family Video. Robin would ask their parents if they knew about any job openings and Nancy would do the same, though she'd avoid Eddie's name while talking to her father. Gareth, Jeff and Frank suggested he'd ask for a job at The Hideout, while Jonathan and Argyle suggested the local pizza place, because of course they would.

None of those jobs ever got back to him.

i didn't have "i'm broken" teenage asexual angst i had "i'm literally being the only reasonable one about this concept and the rest of you are behaving like fucking freaks" perception issues

Is it okay to be allo and yet find this deeply relatable?

All my friends: BOOOOOOOOYS 💜💜💜💜💜❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥👀👀👀👀

Me: I mean, they’ve always existed.

Friends: You don’t want to immediately pounce on them?

Me: There are a couple I can think of who pouncing on sounds nice. But you sound enamored of all of them, and I am confused.

Friends: So you like girls?

Me: …also yes, but I’m not sure that’s the disconnect I’m having.

people on tv: *cannot pass up a single opportunity to have sex with a sexy new person*

me: ...i do not think it is all that hard not to have sex with someone

me: …i do not think

it is all that hard not to

have sex with someone

Beep boop! I look for accidental haiku posts. Sometimes I mess up.

✨This is a Stranger Things fan comic✨

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Bite the Moon (Part 7) Idk why in every AU I always take away Eddie’s friends ;-;

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Check out my Patreon if you wanna support me in making this comic, get exclusive content, and also see early previews to the next parts!! Thank you for all the support!

the myth of persephone is about the trauma of the separation of mothers and daughters by marriage and this is the hill i will die on

To be clear I’m not against retellings that reinterpret the relationship between Hades and Persephone and present it as consensual and healthy– I do think there’s something incredibly powerful about looking at a story that’s been passed down to us through millennia about a girl being kidnapped and raped and saying “no. No, that’s not the kind of story I want to hear, that’s not the kind of story I want to tell, and that’s certainly not the kind of story I want my daughters to grow up on.” (Although I think it’s disappointing that these are now the only sorts of Persephone retellings we get, and at this point it’s really not a particularly revolutionary take, given how often it’s been done.)

But I also think we do a great disservice to the women of the ancient world by not remembering how this story, in that form, mirrored their very real pain. I’ve been thinking recently about how we can tell that women participated in the formation of their culture’s folklore because women’s trauma is embedded in it. (In Greek terms, the stories of Leto and Alcmene very clearly come out of women’s traumatic experiences with childbirth, and there are elements of women’s traumatic experiences of sexual assault embedded in, for example, the stories of Daphne or Callisto or Artemis and Actaeon) And the story of Persephone comes out of women’s experiences of being permanently separated from their mothers and daughters at marriage. (See also this post from @gardenvarietycrime.​)

For an ancient woman sending her daughter off to be married, knowing that she will see her only rarely and that the odds of death in childbirth were high, Persephone meant something. For an ancient girl leaving her mother and her entire world for a man she may never have met knowing the same, Persephone meant something. I do think a lot of the conflation of death and marriage in the ancient world comes out of this: that a girl is dead to her mother and her family whether she leaves them to go to a husband’s house or the house of Hades. Maybe it’s a consolation to know that someone else has done this before you, to know that a goddess once lost her daughter and a goddess once lost her mother the same way you are losing yours. And that they survived it.

Essentially I think we need to remember that this myth (like all myths and all folklore) is not necessarily entirely the product of men, that women’s voices and women’s trauma remain embedded in it despite all of our written sources being men’s tellings of the story. And when we retell it we risk losing those voices if we are not careful and if we dismiss the myth as it survives today as solely men’s version of the story.

Oh fuck off

Anyway the best opening line to a book is still from The Restaurant at the End of the Universe:

“In the beginning the Universe was created. This has made a lot of people very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move.”

Another favorite is the opener from CS Lewis's Voyage of the Dawn Treader:

"There was a boy named Eustice Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it."

May I present a strong contender as well:

JESUS CHRIST. Killer opening.

A woman wearing Chinese armor

The Deepest Sighs, the Frankist Shadows

prompt: rehab warnings: billy hargrove as an asshole, rehab, use of homophobic slur towards Steve note: this is an altered excerpt from a wip in progress

“You shouldn’t smoke.”

Eddie Munson scoffed, flicking his cigarette. He watched as the smoke moved through the air, fading away. He glanced at the boy standing next to him, the one who made the comment.

“It’s none of your damn business what I do,” Eddie grunted, taking another long drag and making the intent to blow the smoke towards the stranger’s direction, but the air made the smoke drift off away from the boy’s face.

“You’re right,” the boy said, shrugging. “It’s not my business.”

Eddie spared him a long glance, taking him in. The stranger was attractive, but that was all Eddie was willing to give him. The boy already put himself on Eddie’s shit list by being rude and not minding his business. That didn’t mean Eddie couldn’t take a moment to admire him, however. The boy, whoever he was, had a head of wavy, curly brown hair with strands of pink highlighting the brown. He had a nose piercing that seemed to be hidden away from his onslaught of freckles and moles. He dressed like a grandpa, though, which was weird — a yellow sweater, a white blouse underneath, and a pair of khakis with the world’s ugliest shoes.

“Are you here for the group too?”

Eddie glanced at him, narrowing his eyes as he dropped his cigarette to the ground, using his boot to ground it out. He glanced at his watch, sighing. He hoped that this dude wasn’t one of the counselors. The boy looked too young to be, but Eddie could never be too sure. A lot of people looked younger than they were these days, or older than they are.

“What’s it to you?” Eddie asked. He pushed his hands into the coat of his leather jacket, glancing away from the boy. He’d rather be curled up in his trailer getting high, maybe work on some songs for his band, then maybe pass out for a while.

“I’m Steve,” the boy introduced, holding his hand out.

Eddie stared at his hand but made no attempt to shake it. “Sure,” he said.

Steve dropped his head, laughing awkwardly. “Okay, well, see you in there, man.” He gave Eddie a small smile, before walking past him and disappearing into the building, leaving Eddie alone with his thoughts once more.

Eddie glanced down at the butt of the cigarette he stumped out, letting out a low groan. He wished that he had smoked a joint instead of a lousy piece of tobacco he had stolen from Wayne’s pack. Maybe he should have downed a beer before he came, that could have helped his edge, but that was why he was here. He had unhealthy coping mechanisms and had been forcefully made to attend these group therapy sessions by both his Uncle Wayne and the lovely judicial system of Hawkins, Indiana. He would have bailed, but unfortunately, Eddie needed therapy both because it was court-ordered and because he needed extra credits to finally graduate from high school. He was on his third go-around, and he couldn’t afford to keep wasting his days in a school full of assholes.

He pushed himself off the brick wall, moving his hands out of his pocket and rubbing his face, blinking away any tiredness. He could do this. He could smile, laugh, and pretend everything was okay. He had to do this for himself and for Uncle Wayne. He had promised his uncle after all, and Eddie had a good motive outside of his uncle.

Eddie walked to the double door, pushed it open, and stepped inside the Youth Center. The heat of the building caused a small sweat to break out on his brow, but it was to be expected from the sudden change in temperature. It was mid-winter outside, and inside it was like summer all over again. Looking around, Eddie was surprised to see how well-kept it was, but it was a short-lived feeling. He wouldn’t be here if it hadn’t been for Al.

Al was Eddie’s father, a piece of shit scumbag who had waltzed back into town and broken Eddie’s world apart for a third time. Now, Rory was sitting in a cell somewhere, rotting, and Eddie couldn’t have been happier about it. Eddie hated the man to his core and every time he thought of his father, his blood boiled. Rory Munson was the last person that Eddie needed to think of.

Taking a deep breath, Eddie walked into the common room, trying his best to not draw attention to himself — which was a difficult thing to do when he looked the way he did. The common room was warmer than Eddie was expecting for a place where shrinks worked. The room was painted in a soft green color, with couches and chairs spread around the room. There were bookshelves, which Eddie took note to look at. Maybe they’d have a copy of the Hobbit or maybe something from Lovecraft. Moving past inspecting the interior, Eddie found himself looking over the other kids that were already there. Steve was sitting in the far back of the room, chatting with a blonde girl who looked like she hadn’t slept in a week. Across from them, on the other side of the room was a face that Eddie didn’t expect to see, and it wasn’t a warm feeling.

“Billy,” Eddie gritted out, causing the blond to look his way, sneering back at him. They both went to the same high school, and it was common knowledge to anyone who knew either of them, was a simple fact that they hated each other. Billy was everything Eddie despised.

“Wish I could say it’s a surprise seeing you here, freak,” Billy smirked, standing from where he sat. “Though, I think you forgot to take the turn to the prison in Greensville.”

Eddie narrowed his eyes, “Laugh it up, Hargrove. Bet you wish that’s where your daddy was.” He could feel everyone’s stare and did what he could to avoid it. He wished Billy hadn’t been here. It would have made sinking into the shadows easier, but Eddie never said he had an easy life.

Billy, however, noticed Steve and the girl’s gaze. “The fuck you looking at, fag?” he snapped, sneering towards Steve. Eddie didn’t miss how Steve flinched before a cloud of grief briefly crossed his face. He watched as the girl grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it, but with an angry expression, she didn’t say anything.

“Shut the fuck, Hargrove. You’re one to talk,” Eddie snapped before he could stop himself. “I heard Tommy H gets you off in the locker room on Thursdays.”

Eddie could feel Steve’s surprised glance, but he ignored him, focusing on Billy’s now red face. “The fuck did you just say, Munson? You have a death wish?” he growled, walking towards him, his lip curled up into a snarl.

“You heard what I said,” Eddie snapped. “Takes one to know one, right?”

“I’m going to fuc—,” Billy’s voice was cut short when the door opened and an older woman walked through the door, her voice filling the room, and Eddie felt a wave of relief wash over him. He was always more bark than bite, and he knew arguing with Billy would bite him in the ass later on.

“Good morning!” the woman spoke, her voice filling the room. She had shoulder-length brown hair with strands of gray, reflecting her age. She had a clipboard tucked under her arm, and she had a kind smile. Eddie wondered if she was purposely ignoring the tension lingering in the air. “We’re waiting for just a few more people, and when they get here we can get started! Sit where you feel comfortable!”

Billy glared at Eddie before turning away and slumping in the seat he had been in previously. Eddie breathed, moving to sit on the window ledge, letting his head rest against the cool glass. He didn’t care if he indirectly outed himself. He could care less about people knowing he liked fucking other guys. Hawkins was a small town, so it wasn’t like he was actively fucking anyone in town because most people weren’t into that, but people made it a problem.

Not that Eddie cared. He had been pushed into walls, punched in the face, called a queer, anything a person could think of. He was used to it, even if he wished he wasn’t. Life was life, and Eddie had little control over how people viewed him. Billy had made himself a problem in Eddie’s life. It was a realization that Eddie had when he first moved to Hawkins years ago. Many people made Eddie’s life difficult, way more than Billy did. Jason Carver was another prime example, and he was just glad Jason was an ‘angel’ that he didn’t have to come to group therapy.

Fuck him, honestly.

Eddie had enough problems and didn’t need anymore, but he could easily tell that Steve would quickly become one. Eddie had a type, and Steve was that type, or at least close to his type. Actually, maybe Steve was far from his type. He seemed like one of those boys you would take home to your parents. Steve seemed like parents liked him. Eddie had always gone for quick and easy guys — one’s that he could easily forget the name of. Call Eddie a horrible person, but life had made it adjacently clear that happiness wasn’t in his cards. There was also the tiny fact that Billy was an idiot, and there was no way Steve was gay. Sure, the boy had pink highlights in his hair, but there was something that screamed ‘straight’ and ‘boy next door’ about him.

Eddie couldn’t give up his hopes over a pretty face, especially in Hawkins. He did want to keep whatever little reputation he had. Falling in love with a straight boy and being publicly humiliated was not in his cards. Not that his being publicly humiliated hadn't happened yet. He was in rehab (though the Judge labeled it therapy) for a reason.

The door that led into the room opened and closed, causing noise to fill the awkward silence lingering through the room. The last few people came into the room, and Eddie took a moment to examine the ‘newbies.’ The first person was a boy. He was tall and thin, but there was something about him that made Eddie feel uneasy. Maybe it was because the boy looked too clean and too put together. Next to him was a younger girl with buzzed hair and a blank stare. He noticed that she had ink on her wrist, but couldn’t make out whether it was a tattoo or a sharpie job. The two of them sat near the entrance, staying close together. It made Eddie wonder if they were siblings. The two barely looked anything like each other, but Eddie didn’t care enough to know if they were actually siblings or not. Walking past them was another girl, around Eddie’s age. She looked familiar, but Eddie couldn’t put a finger on who she was. She had shoulder-length hair that was light brown, and she had freckles adorning her face. She was wearing brown khakis and a tucked-in white blouse with a tie. Eddie knew immediately that she was a lesbian, and that was on functioning gaydars.

She sat next to Steve, and Eddie wondered how the two knew each other, but he didn’t have much time to wonder why she was familiar or her relationship with Steve.

“Good, it seems that everyone is here!” the older woman beamed, taking her clipboard from under her arms and glancing over it before nodding. “I’m Mrs. Byers, but feel free to call me Joyce. I want you all to feel comfortable during our time together for the next several weeks. I am aware that most of you aren’t here by choice, and I know that it will take a moment to adjust, but I hope that we can all work together and be respectful to everyone.”

Yeah. This was going to be just great.

Via George Takei, who adds: "Overheard: 'Not all heroes wear capes. Or tops, it seems.'"

If there’s one aspect of Steve Harrington that everybody feels the need to comment on, it’s his appearance. For a while in middle school he had been much taller than the other boys, so he had always assumed from that point onwards that he was tall.

“You’re not, though,” Robin had said when he’d mentioned it. She had looked at him carefully, searchingly, and said, “You’re actually kinda short for a guy.”

Thanks, Robin.

The fact is, she’s right. He’s just under five nine, tall enough that the kids (sans Mike, who grows like a weed) stay comfortably below his chin, but short enough that Robin doesn’t need to look up when she speaks to him.

But despite his height being a fact of nature, something he can’t really change, Steve is somehow surprised when he stands next to Eddie Munson and finds that he’s quite a bit shorter than him. Surprised and emasculated.

Eddie is almost certainly taller than six feet, but not by much. He’s thin and wiry (though there’s muscle under there, Steve knows. He’d felt it when he’d been pressed up against the boathouse’s wall). Everything about him is drawn in sharp lines; his sharp shoulders, the dip of his clavicle, the bend of his knuckles. It sort of makes him look pretty, almost svelte.

In contrast Steve is stockier, practically draped in a layer of muscle. His stomach doesn’t sport the same flat planes that Eddie’s does. Instead it’s soft and pinchable, a fact that Robin regularly takes great interest in exploiting.

He’s a little bit pissed about it.

“How’s the weather down there, Steve?”

He'd probably be a little less pissed if Eddie didn’t shove it in his face on every occasion he got.

“The same as it is up there,” Steve grits out. “Are your giraffe legs keeping you steady?”

“Weak,” says Eddie with a smile. They’re standing side by side, watching as the kids devour their ice cream sundaes on a picnic bench near Max’s trailer. “Do you want a higher vantage point or…?”

“Are you offering to pick me up?” Steve turns to gape at him.

Eddie shrugs.

“Like you could, dude. I could lift you with one arm.” He can’t help the way he says it a little proudly, a little smug, mouth tipping up into a smirk.

“I don’t doubt it,” Eddie replies. Leans over and squeezes the muscle of Steve’s bicep, and Steve makes a weak, winded sound because what the fuck? The places where his fingers had dug in feel like they’ve been hit with a thousand volts. “You’re sooo manly, Harrington.”

Steve glowers. Every time Eddie points out his peacocking he feels off balance. It’s not his fault; he’d been taught since birth that he was a man, that he had to be strong, that he was a protector. And he has no issues with that, really, because he is strong and he’s the best goddamn babysitter in Indiana. But because of that he never believed that he had the capacity to be soft instead.

So it’s a bit off-putting when Eddie digs deep into his psyche and manages to string together a group of words that do the most damage to his way of thinking.

Eddie’s hand slips off his arm and onto his back, drawing gentle circles just under his neck. Steve shivers.

“I like your muscles, don’t worry,” Eddie teases.

“Of course you do,” snaps Steve, “you don’t have any.”

“Ouch! That one was straight to the heart, Stevie.”

“I try,” he says dryly. Eddie chuckles.

They’re both quiet for a few minutes after that; Eddie still hasn’t taken his hand off of Steve’s back and Steve finds himself anticipating for him to remove it, to lose that warmth that’s been bleeding through his thin t-shirt. But Eddie doesn’t stop.

“You’re being awfully quiet,” Steve points out.

“Mmm,” says Eddie, hand slipping lower to sit at Steve’s hip instead. He gives it a gentle squeeze, and suddenly Steve can feel his breath against the nape of his neck. So close. Too close?

Eddie smiles and he can feel it.

“I’m just thinking about how pretty you are, Steve Harrington.”

“I’m not,” he says, but it lacks the sharpness he’d been going for, “pretty. I’m not pretty.”

“Keep saying it and you might just start believing it,” Eddie taunts.

Steve grimaces. “You’re the pretty one between us, man. The long hair, the eyes, the…”

“You think I’m pretty Harrington?” he simpers.

“Don’t be weird about it! I’m just telling you the truth; between you and me, you’re the pretty one. I’m stocky and covered in scars and you’re—”

“Doesn’t make you any less pretty,” Eddie steps around him, hand sliding off his waist, and Steve bites back the urge to ask him to put it back. “We can both be pretty boys, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t want to be a pretty boy,” he snarks.

“Unfortunately, you are one. You’ve got lashes like a princess.”

His face flames up as an uncomfortable stone drops to the bottom of his chest. It sits there, rattling around, as Steve tries to get his bearings. “W-what?”

“Oh,” says Eddie. He tips forward on his toes, forcing Steve to look up to keep eye contact, and smiles. “Princess? Is that what works for you?”

“I—”

“Steve!” shouts Dustin. “Come over here and help us get Max up the ramp!”

“I’ve gotta go,” he says quickly to Eddie.

“Take your time,” Eddie replies, and this time it’s his voice that’s taken on a distinctly smug tone, “I’ll be waiting right here for you. Princess.”

by iwasmade4lvnubby

Eddie sees Stevie in a club and is immediately infatuated by her.

loosely inspired by Tonight I’m Lovin You by Enrique Iglesias.

Words: 1393, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Read on Ao3

TAKE A CHANCE ON ME

STEDDIE + DRAG QUEEN!STEVE AND DRAG KING!ROBIN. PROMPT: FINISHING A PROJECT

"How many more?" Stevie groaned, falling onto the couch, her fishnets shifting up further. Her face grimaced as she adjusted on the couch, hoping the night would end sooner than later. Her tuck was starting to become uncomfortable.

Robin was leaning in the mirror, checking his contour to make sure it hadn't creased or faded. He glanced at Steve through the mirror, "Well, depends if you make your goal with your next show," he said. "You need about 500 to pay for the deposit."

Stevie frowned. 500 dollars was much more than she typically made at night. A good night would be around 200 dollars, but those were around holidays. Most nights were slow and had few people, especially since she was still getting her foot in the door with drag. "The crowd's not that good tonight."

Robin turned in his chair to look at her, scratching underneath his stubble. "Yeah," he sighed. "It's getting later, so maybe you'll get lucky with a few guests."

Stevie licked her lips, remembering the tips she could get, "Yeah. At least it's more money than I got selling Cumshots."

Robin snorted. "Oh my god, you in the golden speedo? You looked like Rocky!"

"Okay, yeah," Stevie laughed. "That was before I started drag. I only started to work here so I could support you," she reminded.

"Now look at you, Ms. SS Butterscotch," Robin joked.

"God, that's such a stupid name isn't it?" Stevie laughed.

Robin rolled his eyes, "Not much worse than Rocky Road."

They looked at each other before laughing at each other.

A knock on the door broke them from their laughter, and one of the club bouncers opened the door and stuck his head in. "You're on Stevie," he said.

Stevie pouted in annoyance, her feet already from performing earlier. "Alright," she said, sitting up. "I'm coming. Thanks, Hopper."

The man grunted before leaving the room.

"500," Robin said.

Stevie nodded, standing, "500."

"Suck someone's dick if you have to," Robin said.

Stevie gave him a look before going to the mirror and checking her wig. It wasn't anything extravagant, just a wig that matched her natural hair color and made it seem like Farrah Fawcett’s Feathered Hair from Charlie's Angels.

"Okay, wish me luck,' Steve winked, heading out the room.

"Break a leg!" Robin called.

Steve grinned, walking to one of the stage managers, double checking everything was set correctly, before adjusting the padding on her chest and stepping out on the stage as the intro to Take A Chance on Me started to play, mouthing the lyrics as she did.

The spotlight followed her as she walked across the stage, catching the sequins of her white dress and the glitter in her eyes. She shot a few winks to guests as they cheered. Stevie continued to move around the stage, taking the dollar bills as they were held out to her before making her way into the crowd.

As she walked down the aisles, a man caught her eyes, and her act nearly faltered. She caught her composure and walked in his direction, taking the money and note from his hand. She felt her face flush as he winked at her.

Oh my god.

OH MY FUCKING GOD!

Eddie Munson was at the shittest Drag Club in Indianapolis and winked at Stevie. He gave her a tip! What in the everloving fuck?

Stevie bit her lip, winking back at him before turning around and getting the rest of her tips as she sang the lyrics, making her way back upstage as the song started to end. Another bouncer handed her a bucket as she got on stage, letting her put the money in there.

The song closed, and through the speakers, she could hear Joyce call out, "A round of applause for our very own SS Butterscotch!"

Stevie gave a bow, her eye's catching Eddie as she did. She grinned a bit before hurrying off stage with her bucket. She pushed past people going back into Robin's dressing room and he pulled his wig off.

"Steve, what the hell?"

"Robin, Eddie Munson is here!"

"What!?" Robin shrieked.

"He's here and he winked at me!"

"Oh shit, Dingus!"

Steve nodded, kicking his heels off and digging for the note in the bucket that was attached to the tip. He felt his mouth go dry as he counted the money. "He tipped me 500," he whispered, holding up the five bills.

"Steve, you can buy the bakery!"

"I can buy it!" Steve let out a choked sob, looking at the note, which had a messy number written on it with the note saying:

I wanna be a cowboy baby

Bi/trans colour Stevie cowboys anyone?

Had a fun time playing with colors and technique here a bit.

Stay Like This, Just Like This

Written for Sicktember Day 29: Side Effects/Adverse Reaction

Stranger Things: Steve Harrington/ Eddie Munson

Words: 500 | Rating: T | cw: mild cursing

@sicktember

Summary: With his road rash healing from being dragged by the Demo-Bats, Steve lets Eddie comfort him.

Find me on Ao3!

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Steve limped down the stairs, each step jarring his injured back. His road rash was bandaged and healing but despite swallowing down a double dose of painkillers, his back still radiated pain. His bed felt suffocating and Steve hoped the couch would be a more comfortable choice.

With Steve’s back abrasions and bruised ribs, his doctor gave strict instructions to sleep on his stomach for at least two weeks while his road rash healed. That aspect had been impossible; the only way Steve could sleep on his stomach was when he shared the bed with Eddie.

i don’t see what anyone could see in anyone else

We’re crowdfunding again 🤪

After securing a cheaper apartment & new jobs, our only car was stolen the day we moved in. we have been unable to consistently secure groceries and are hemorrhaging money paying for me to get to work at a job that is deeply affecting my health, keeping me from working regular hours.

please consider helping us buy groceries & pay for transportation!

cash: torkz428

paypal: torkz

thank you for the interactions but please consider reblogging. we’ve received one donation in four days!!!

(we also have venmo if that works for anyone!)

🚨this is urgent!🚨

my next paycheck is going to drop one day after our rent grace period & if we don’t have rent on time, we will incur a $75 late charge, in addition to the extra $20 charge currently on our account. we’re trying to raise $700 by 10/4 at the latest

i’ll be working on setting up a gfm as soon as my brain allows me to do anything. in the meantime i’m setting a specific short term goal to help us get started.

$0/$700

$70/700

$270/700

four days left to raise $430!! please keep pushing, your shares help immensely 🙏🏾

Sad Steddie Scenario Part 4

Hiiiiiiiii. Here is the THING I mentioned I had for today. Part 5 should be out later this week (please help me manifest) I've got most of it written. Quick summary since it's been so long - After a disastrous "meet the friends" night with the Hellfire guys, Eddie says some unintentionally cruel things, then decides he and Steve are too different and breaks things off.

CW: a couple of mentions of child abuse

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

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Steve doesn’t remember much about the week after Eddie breaks up with him. He starts each day with unnamed misery filling his chest, black and viscous. For the first few seconds between sleep and wakefulness, he’s overwhelmed, unable to identify its source. Just as it finally clicks, why he feels like tar is oozing through his body, why he can’t take a full breath, his dad knocks a solid fist onto his door. He’s always had a sixth sense of when Steve is awake and “lollygagging” in bed. He never waits for an answer to his knock, just sticks his head in and says, “Move your ass, Steve. Now.” He doesn’t shut the door again as he leaves, and he doesn’t wait to see if Steve listens to him because there’s never a question in his mind that Steve will.

And every morning, Steve gets up, pushes the misery aside. Never away. It coats his bones and drags him down and doesn’t leave, but it’s paired with a nervy buzzing, an anxious hum that roars through his head whenever his parents are around.