serialcultist-edwardmunson

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

"You clean up nicely, Stevie"

cw: mentioned blood and gore | mafia/mob AU | steddie pre-murderhusbands relationship big thanks to @dapandapod for beta reading and improving my poor attempt to write sth

Steve Harrington is good at his job. He's quick, he is thorough and most importantly, he doesn't ask questions.

There's nothing that could shock him anymore. He's seen everything.

Steve doesn’t mind severed limbs, gore, blood and body fluids, sometimes creatively mixed in more ways than are pleasant to imagine.

He's used to it, and cleaning it is what earns him a nice living as a crime scene cleaner.

Or just... scene cleaner maybe.

He doesn't work with the police or authorities. No, his specialty lies outside the law, which means he arrives before a mess becomes a nuisance. He cleans until there is not a speck of blood left, until there is nothing to indicate that something happened there. Was there ever a crime committed if there is no crime scene?

The money's amazing by the way. Of course cleaning the remains is a shit job but if you add the hush money on top, well, ain't that a nice bonus.

Again, Steve doesn't ask questions. He doesn't care. It's none of his business.

–

Eddie's shoes are squeaking in the puddle of blood he tried and failed to not step into.

He flips the business card around and squints at the hurried scribble of a phone number that was added right under the name "Stevie".

He trusts Chrissy's background check.

They were in a dire need of a new guy after the previous one decided to catch a bullet with his face after snooping one time too many. 

Eddie looks up to the blood stained walls and ceiling and dials the number on the card.

"Hello?"

"Watergate Street 53", is all Eddie replies.

"How many?", Stevie asks.

"Uhm, five?"

"You sure? Might wanna go check again?", Stevie laughs into the phone.

Bitch.

"It's five." Eddie answers, annoyed.

There's a low whistle. "Alright, I'll be there in 20. Payment upfront. 50k."

Then the line goes dead. Eddie rolls his eyes, pockets his phone and looks around for a clean spot to sit while he waits.

–

It's exactly three hours and thirty two minutes later when Stevie empties his water bucket for the last time.

Eddie watches curiously as Stevie takes off the gloves, mask and safety glasses he arrived in. Eddie didn't mean to stick around but he's not trusting this new guy yet (he's also curious, sue him). 

His gaze turns into a stare when the other man pulls down the zipper of his squeaky yellow biohazard suit, throwing back the hood and running a clean hand through his sweat soaked hair. He has a strong jaw and long, mole dotted neck that Eddie just wants to taste.

Eyes wide, Eddie’s not able to hold back the sharp intake of breath as he watches in horror the moment Stevie's eyes lock with his and -

Fuck.

Stevie's lips curl into a smirk.

Eddie is so fucked.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

picture this; Steve, laying on his back on his bed, the wrong way round, one hand in his hair, the other on his chest, one knee bent, a goofy lil smile on his face and one of Eddies rings on his finger.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

Steve walks into his and Robin’s shared living room in the middle of the night to get a glass of water.

Mid gulp, Steve’s hears a soft “hey.”

Steve has only four years of the Upside Down to thank for not dropping his glass and shattering it everywhere. He knows the dangers of a little cut.

It doesn’t help the startled scream he releases.

Steve stares at his couch in horror as the intruder turns the light on.

Robins feet pound quickly into the living room, a metal baseball bat in her hands, “What do I need to kill?”

Steve says nothing. Instead, he points at their couch, where Robin turns and lets out a small gasp.

Because in the middle of their living room is Eddie Munson, famous rockstar and, more importantly, ex-best friend of Steve and Robin, who they haven’t heard from since 1991, sitting on their couch.

Shit.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

the cruel urge to write a time loop au where steve finally realizes that the only way to defeat vecna, whilst keeping eddie alive, is to completely rewrite the timeline and he has to see it playing out differently, invisible and unmoving, forced to watch as he dies instead of barb.

but it works. vecna is dead and eddie is alive... but he keeps looking to the side, expecting someone to be there. he doesn't know why he dreams of a boy in a yellow sweater. he doesn't know why he's grieving. he can't remember and, when he asks el to make sure he's not cursed, she offers him reassurances.

bc eddie isn't cursed. he's dreaming, that's all. the boy in the yellow sweater doesn't exist.

not anymore.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

JOE KEERY The Tonight Show (12/21/23)

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

There is nothing in this world quite like a hockey au. I know absolutely nothing about the sport, but give me a fic of it and I will gobble that bad boy right up.

The wonderful go and take this the wrong way (only blue and black days) is now on ao3 as part of the @steddiebang This scene is coming up in chapter 2 ✨

Big thanks to @abstractnaturaldisaster , @danadaria and @badcaseofcasey for being such lovely team members! 💕

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

Steve, who is born into a long line of shifters, but unlike the magnificent creatures his parents and grandparents before him became when they turned, he turns into an ordinary house cat.

Steve, who is an embarrassment to the Harrington name amongst the secretive society of shifters and so is essentially abandoned in Hawkins to fend for himself.

Steve, who is deeply ashamed that his shifting animal is a fucking cat until he meets a Demogorgon and then suddenly, being a cat - aka, the perfect bear trap bait - is the best animal he could have asked Magick to become.

Steve, who quickly becomes the Party's self-appointed emotional support person (cough cough, cat) and makes sure that he checks on his kids and is there to provide snuggles when needed.

Steve, who is really nervous about his kids starting high school - especially El and Will - and who sneaks his way into the school when he's not working and hides out in the drama room.

Steve, who is caught off guard when he bumps into Eddie Munson in his cat form, and then keeps bumping into Eddie Munson in his cat form, and pretty soon he can't keep pretending like it's not intentional but he likes listening to the guy when they're both hiding out in the drama room, and it doesn't hurt that he has excellent hands that give excellent tummy rubs -

Steve, who is present at the kids' first Hellfire Club meeting, and who is caught off guard by the disdain in Eddie Munson's voice when he talks about "King Steve."

Steve, who hops onto the game table, makes eye contact with Eddie Munson, and shoves his DM screen onto the floor with a loud crash.

Steve, who spends the rest of that session (and the next) on Jeff's lap, because Jeff's tummy rubs are pretty damn good and Jeff has only ever had nice things to say about Steve Harrington. (Take that, Eddie.)

(Eddie, who pouts the entire time and shows up at their third session with some catnip toys and an apology, even though he really doesn't understand why he has to apologize to this cat about Steve Harrington or why his new sheepies think this whole thing is hilarious.)

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

“Where am I going?”

“Eddie—”

“Give me the goddamn room number or— or doctor’s name or— fuckin’—”

“Just slow down, take a breath, okay?” Nancy Wheeler is a level presence, which is ironic Eddie thinks, considering he’s watched her commit multiple felonies even outside of an active apocalyptic situation. 

She’s holding his hand, but he can’t feel it past the aching numbness of uncertainty running through his veins. She’s talking to him as she leads him through the lobby and towards a bank of industrial silver elevators, but he can’t hear her over the chaos of the past hour. 

He was on the air when he got the page, a mug of coffee in hand since he isn’t used to DJing the early morning shows quite yet and a quite frankly sick lineup of songs ready to help his listeners start the day.  

He was on air, still, when his vocal cords seized up, when he left dead air hanging for a full three seconds before his co-host was able to jump in and take over for him. 

He was on air, when his pager buzzed on the desk and he was on air, too, when the little window screamed—

911-STEVE

—and then he wasn’t on air anymore. 

Eddie didn’t grab his coat, which he doesn’t even realize until this moment, striding down the endless halls of Community North on Nancy’s heels. 

He didn’t do much of anything, he doesn’t think, can’t even recall whether or not he explained where he was going, why he was leaving work in the middle of the show, why his hands were trembling and his voice cracking and his breath stuttering. 

A 911 page and a call at a payphone just long enough to find out which hospital, Nance I can be there— I’ll be there, and Eddie blacked out, went into full autopilot, almost slipped on black ice in the parking lot twice and cursed the insurance company for not letting him get a new prosthesis for another two months at least four times after that and drove. 

He doesn’t remember driving. He doesn’t remember parking. 

He’s going to wonder, later, whether or not he locked his truck or even shut the goddamn door before he came barreling in through the ER entrance, but right now all he cares about is this—

“Nance, was it his head? Did he— Or burns, was it burns—?”

Nancy grabs him by both shoulders and drags him to a stop square in front of a door with the blinds drawn over the narrow window. She looks him in the eye. 

If Steve were dead, she wouldn’t be looking him in the eye.

steddie | 2.6k words | rated T | angst with a happy ending

Steve is injured in a fire. His ex-boyfriend gets a call. It was supposed to be easier this way. 

read on ao3

🩵for my beloved louseph @cheatghost whom I am grateful to have met in this corner of the internet every single day of my silly little life, please accept this as the Biggest Warmest Kiss during these cold, cold months 🩵

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

okay, okay, hear me out:

Steve runs a small bakery and has quiet mornings he preps all the goods for the day. In his sacred and quiet times (like 3am without a soul around as he's measuring ingredients and rolling dough) he listens to an audiobook of a fantasy series Dustin had recommended to him.

And he's enthralled by it and a little more than obsessed with the narrator’s voice. The series has a revenge plot, mythical creatures, romance and some very spicy scenes. The narrator uses the perfect tones and tricks to keep him in the story. The personality the man packs into it- well Steve couldn’t imagine reading them on his own, not when he can have this instead. (This being a slight infatuation with the voice of some faceless man folding him into some fantasy realm).

Simultaneously his first customer of the day is always this long haired tattooed man. Who gruffly points to a pastry and barely says a word, and when he has it’s with a sleep filled disused voice. His rings glint in the light and his big doe eyes have Steve leaned into his space as he hands over his pastry of the morning.

Usually it’s still just Steve in the store when the first few customers trickle in, covered in flour and fillings, still wearing his goofy frilly apron Robin insisted on buying him.

Steve is in too deep to ask the man his name at this point in their interactions just mentally refers to him as tattoos and doesn’t think too hard on it.

He has his audiobook still playing on a winter morning when tattoos comes in. Faint snow starting to fall making it look magical outside as Steve is lost in the words being read to him.

The door chimes,

Tattoos points to a flaky pastry with cheddar and raspberry when he squints at Steve, his sleep gravelly voice roughly asks, “You like fantasy?”

Steve’s cheeks heat up as he turns off the audiobook, “Sorry, lost in another world. Yeah? I mean- yes, kinda my first foray into it. I was never a big reader but the way this one is told I look forward to my mornings to listen to more.”

The man gave him a breath taking smile at his response, dimples and endearing crowsfeet lighting up his features,

“Don’t let me keep you from it then.” He paid and made his way out of the shop.

One day it happens to be Dustin in the shop begging for freebies after a night out at the late night bars, hangover creeping in and wheedling Steve to make him a breakfast sandwich even though ‘those aren’t on the menu Dustin’.

When tattoos walks in at his usual time, thrown off by someone else being in the shop too. Their interactions had grown since he’d asked about what Steve was listening to.

Dustin almost swallows his tongue and chokes out his words, “Y-you’re Eddie Munson.” He whispers out in astonishment.

Tattoos looks caught out.

The name doesn’t click for Steve right away as he pushes a breakfast sandwich over to Dustin (sue him, he’s a sucker).

It isn’t until his favorite patron leaves, flustered and also with a breakfast sandwich Steve had made for himself but wrapped up for tattoos that Dustin screeches about how Steve has been serving pastries to his favorite fantasy author for months and Steve never told him.

It crashes into place then.

Steve’s customer crush and his audiobook narrator are one in the same.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

I have to imagine that, by necessity, Steve and Eddie’s parenting method includes a healthy amount of dishonesty, especially when their kids are teenagers.

Like, I’m picturing– 

Moe: You’re telling me you never smoked when you were a teenager?

Eddie: Nope. Never. Not even once.

*LATER*

Steve: You fucking hypocrite

Eddie: What, you want me to tell our sixteen-year-old that when I was her age I was dealing ketamine and hotwiring cars while stoned out of my fucking mind?

Eddie: Might I remind you there’s a vault of information our children don’t know about you, Mister Keg King

Steve: Watch your mouth

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

I need Steve to hotwire something in season 5 because he’s actually so much more Observant than people give him credit for and he learned just from watching over Eddie’s shoulder and I need him to have his moment please

Also I love that Steve was genuinely interested in watching Eddie hotwire. He’s like “I’ve been hunting monsters and screwing around with government operations for years, how come I don’t know how to hotwire?? And I love cars, I’m a car guy, why don’t I know how to steal one?? This is a skill I need, show me now.”

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

steve and eddie rough housing in the living room on christmas eve night. wayne only chuckles and shakes his head bc the trailer hasn't been this lively on christmas since eddie was a little boy.

however, he does eventually have to tell them to knock it off bc they've almost knocked the tree over twice and steve's got eddie in a headlock, demanding he say uncle, and eddie has a mouthful of steve's arm and growling like a rabid dog with no signs of letting go.

they are dating.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

modern steddie au

Pottery thrower!Steve who makes tiktoks of him making bowls and vases - he and Robin own a small company and social media is the best way to promote their products. While Robin sculpts and molds little trinkets - figurines and tchotchkes, Steve throws larger items.

They get some pretty good engagement with Robin's quirkily edited 'day in the life'-style videos and Steve's 'trust the process' content, but there's one video that sends the account rocketing into the stratosphere.

The camera is positioned at a low angle, looking over the studio. Steve enters the frame, visible only from the waist down at first with a large lump of clay in his hands. He sits down at the wheel, and that's when it's clear that beneath his overalls, he's not wearing a shirt. His shoulders are bare, tanned and kissed intermittently by moles, and the muscles beneath flex and shift underneath his skin as he lifts the clay and throws it down. Hard. The rest of the video is exactly as normal - Steve squeezing a sponge saturated with slip to wet the clay, pushing his fingers into the well in the center as he forms it into what will become a large salad bowl. Every so often, he looks up at the camera with a pleased smile, a lock of hair falling over his eyebrow. His hands are covered in slick gray, his biceps straining with the effort of precision, and there's a tiny swipe of slip drying across his forehead where he'd attempted to brush his hair aside.

Steve's best friend Eddie sees this video on his 'for you' page and is utterly overcome by the quiet strength of Steve's toned arms, the wide spread of his knees and steady workings of his hands. Confident in his anonymity - he's on his entirely anonymous private account, after all - Eddie leaves a comment on the video, detailing exactly what Eddie wishes Steve would do with his hands instead of throw clay. He hits post, scrubbing back to watch the moment Steve throws the clay down over and over again. He even saves the video to his phone - for instructive reasons, obviously. Nothing untoward, that's his best friend!

Eventually, Eddie scrolls on and for a few minutes forgets about the video. And then he remembers it again, but this time, the flush of attraction is accompanied by a creeping sense of unease that crawls across his skin. Eddie heads straight to Steve and Robin's account and taps the video. His thumb shakes a little as he opens the comments, now littered with others just as thirsty as his own - to which Steve has graciously replied turning them down - and finds that- oh fuck.

ewmunson: throw me around like that lump of clay i actually beg.

Eddie's not on his private.

He's gonna be sick.

Until he sees Steve's reply.

birdandbatpottery: Come over. Let's find out if I can?

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all. 

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 

 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

Mob Boss!Steve Harrington and Detective!Eddie Munson. Eddie definitely doesn't play by the rules, and he isn't quick to catch the guy he's in love with. Credit goes to the people who took the photos. I just made them a little more black and white. The writing prompt is up for grabs.

[serialcultist-edwardmunson]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Everyone immediately spreads out to look for El. They can’t find her inside the house anywhere, so they spread out outside, calling her name as they go.

“El!”

“Eleven?”

“El, please!”

Steve barely has time to get his arms up before something barrels into him, almost knocking him over. He shouts in surprise, windmilling his arms to try to stay up, and looks down to see El, face tucked in his stomach, arms tight around his waist. He smiles and wraps his arms around her. “Hey, El.”

She pulls back to look at him seriously. “I am glad you are here.”

He smiles. “Yeah. Me too.” He suddenly frowns. “So, you know-”

She nods. “You feel different.”

Steve grins. “I’m gonna go ahead and guess that’s a good different. Robin, too, y’know. We both came back together.”

“I know.”

By this point his shout had attracted everyone’s attention, and they’re all gathered around Steve and El. He looks at them. “How about we move this back inside?” He suggests. “Give us a second.”

Robin meets his eyes and nods, herding everyone inside, and Steve feels immensely grateful that she was brought back with him, that she’s his friend. “El?” He asks, forcing himself to focus. “Why’d you leave?”

She shrugs and buries her face in his stomach again. “Loud.”

“Oh,” Steve murmurs. “Think you can come find me next time things get too loud? That way either I can tell them to shut up, or you can go into a different room for a while. At least someone will know where you are.” He strokes a hand over her head. “I don’t have to tell you what’s in these woods. I know you’re more dangerous, but we’re not. I’d rather not risk it until we have to.”

“Okay. I am sorry.”

“I know. And it’s not your fault.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially, “We can blame Eddie.” She giggles, and he grins, proud to have made her laugh. “Ready to go inside?”

“Ready,” she nods, grabbing Steve’s hand and squeezing it. He squeezes back, a quick pump, and together they walk inside to see everyone sitting quietly in the living room, waiting for them.

“You wanna go sit down?” He asks quietly, and she hesitates, then nods, moving to sit by Mike.

“Okay,” he says, as Robin moves to stand next to him. “I’m sure you all have plenty of questions.”

“Yeah,” Mike says, “how’d you know about El?”

“We’re from the future,” Robin says.

“Right, cause that makes sense,” Dustin says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You have cleidocranial dysplasia. You’d never tell your mom, but you’re being bullied at school because of it. Your favorite movie series is Star Wars. You’re a brat with an attitude problem, but you’re smart, which means most people don’t call you on it.” Dustin’s eyes are wide. “Do you believe me?” Dustin nods.

“He’s telling the truth,” El says quietly to Mike, who looks between her and Steve before finally nodding. “Okay.”

Steve sighs. “We’re here because everything that’s going on—El, Will, Barb—it doesn’t stop. It gets worse. More people die. We want to stop it before it gets to that point.”

“Okay,” Nancy says, leaning forward. “How do we do that?”

“We don’t exactly know,” Robin admits. “We’re rewriting history just sitting here talking. We can tell you that Will’s alive. In danger, but alive. Barb we don’t know about.”

“El,” Steve asks quietly. “Could you find her?” She nods, and he turns the TV on, changing it to a channel filled with static. “Robs, I have a blindfold in my room. Second drawer in my nightstand.”

“Got it,” she says, racing upstairs.

He moves the coffee table out of the way and looks at El. “If you’re not ready-”

“I am,” she promises. “But I need quiet.”

“It’ll be quiet,” he assures her, smiling at Robin when she returns, black fabric in her hand. “Thanks. El?” He gestures to the floor, and she nods, takes a deep breath, and sinks to the floor in front of the TV.

He ties the blindfold on her, then takes a seat on the couch next to Robin, who immediately tangles their fingers together.

Everyone sits, quieter than they’ve ever been before, and waits.

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