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trensu · 1 year

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

ETA2: now with an additional snippet

okay, how's this for an AU

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Um," Steve said. Jeff sighed.

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

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

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

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

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

"JEFFORD BILLANY JONES."

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

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

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

"Eddy, let me explain."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eddie barked out a laugh.

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

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

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

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

"This was a terrible idea, Jeffathan."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve nods again. "Okay."

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

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

"Yeah," Steve replied dreamily and drove away.

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

"H'llo?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Whatever, this one was weirder anyway."

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

"...I don't remember."

"There goes my entertainment for the evening."

"Was there a reason you called, Robin?"

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

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

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

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

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molagboop · 2 months

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Mawkin children undergo several maturity rites before they're granted full tribal citizenship. The first occurs around eight years old, involving a basic academic evaluation and the child's choice between a physical fitness test or a dream-walk.

The evals are simple: how much has the child learned, what do they know, where can we supplement their education, etc. How can we stimulate their curiosity and foster a lifelong love of learning? Have they displayed any skills or passion for any particular subject? How can we encourage their hobbies and interests? Those are the kinds of questions the adults involved in carrying out the evaluation are asking themselves.

The evaluations help parents figure out (or reaffirm what they already know) ways to engage their childrens' interests in a fun or productive way, and how to help their child along the path to success, academic or otherwise. Every child is different: they have their own needs, and while 8 years old isn't old enough for anyone to ascertain exactly what they wanna be when they grow up, the evaluation is a good starting point for the rest of their academic track until their next formative rites.

The next part of the rites is a branching path. The fitness test is typically favored by more outdoorsy or athletic types, as well as children who are afraid of specters or arent very interested in the old ways. That's fine: old people stuff can be boring! The priests go on and on about the ancestors during holidays, but you're eight years-old and you've never seen the ancestors show up before, so big whoop. You've got toys to play and things to learn.

Another general assumption is that children who are likely to grow into steadfast warriors or athletes may pick the fitness test enthusiastically and without thinking about it, but again, this is an evaluation, and the kids are like, eight. Nothing is set in stone. Eight year olds also typically love playing outside.

A number of kids, hearing about all the cool things their elders know and are capable of, or just being curious about what their ancestors might have to teach them, opt for the dream-walk.

The dream-walk involves exposure to psychoactive fumes, but is nonetheless completely safe: the kid is monitored and made as comfortable as possible.

The dream-walk is overseen by priests and doctors. The burners are lit and the trial-goer falls asleep, entering a state similar to lucid dreaming.

Everyone's experience is different. Some kids have profound surreal experiences: others spend the entire time sitting at a table with a long-dead ancestor having a meal. Some kids are shown events from the past by an old ghost: some even experience said event from the perspective of someone who was there when it happened.

For others, the dream is of an old-fashioned hunt, typically guided by a departed grandparent or neighbor. It's not unusual for Mawkin kids to have experienced the act of hunting for food or sport by this point in their lives: many who hunt take their babies out with them on their backs. The quarry during the dream-walk, however, is typically more than your mundane game beast.

Tribal scholars and doctors of psychology have posited that the dream walk largely reflects the experiences of those involved. Formative memories and strong feelings, they believe, greatly affect the appearance of conjured apparitions in the dream. If a kid is fighting any demons at eight years old or harbor any powerful fears, they may very well be forced to face them head-on during this trial.

Therein lies the value of the dream-walk: it's not just a curiosity to get the kids to engage with cultural practices of yore, it has utility in teaching children valuable lessons through experience without actually making them fight the six-eyed serpent of a hundred and seventeen mouths. And they're usually not facing it alone: the ancestors quite literally walk with plenty of kids during these trials.

There are some truths a given child must face alone, and plenty do. But when they wake, they will find themselves among familiar company, the sweet smell of wood smoke permeating the air and a feast awaiting back home to celebrate their first milestone towards becoming an adult.

Some kids don't fight any major bosses or experience the heat death of the universe through the eyes of a slug, instead deriving value from the dream-walk in the form of sensory-guided introspection. The lesson they learn may not even be apparent to them until six years down the line. It doesn't have to be deep: it can just be an experience that gives then a new perspective on the world.

The senses are heightened supremely during the dream-walk, allowing the dreamer to experience the world in a whole new way. Tasting color, feeling the vibration of every sound beneath one's skin, perceiving the shape of every smell. Even if the kid walks away thinking "huh, I've never experienced the world that way before", the trial will have been a success. In the very least, a child should come out of that dark room with a unique memory for them to examine later on.

Several minor rituals and evaluations occur around twelve and fifteen years, but the foremost citizenship rites occur around seventeen, when an individual's stomach is strong enough to handle sap wine in greater quantities without suffering catastrophic liver failure. The dream-walk is a requirement this time around, as well as a combat test. The combat test is the actual rite that determines one's status as an adult: the mandatory dream-walk occurs beforehand as a way to shed all doubts about the strength of one's resolve if they have any insecurities, and perhaps gain some personal insight in the process. Introspection assisted by psychoactive substances.

You may be wondering how those with varying degrees of disability come of age if they can't engage in the rite of combat. There are alternatives to the combat test if the participant doesn't feel able enough to fight, or otherwise can't exert themselves without experiencing undue pain and discomfort.

There are alternative rites for individuals of every combination of physical and cognitive impairment, and all are treated with the same gravity and dignity afforded to the typical rites. Poetry recitals, music, research projects, an oath of maturity: these are a few examples of things disabled Mawkin have done to establish their claim to adulthood in place of the rite of combat. An individual doesn't have to be "good" at something: they just have to show that they accept the responsibility that comes with being an adult, or are otherwise committed to their community and the tribe at large.

For some people, that commitment comes in the form of thriving to the best of their ability. Surviving to the next day, striving for tomorrow to hurt a little less than yesterday. It doesn't matter whether they can "contribute" or be a "productive member of society": all are one, and one serves all. The Mawkin take community very seriously. There's an age-old adage that says something to the effect of "if one is suffering, all are injured", and "when one is deprived of dignity, we are all cast naked face-down into the mud".

Anyways, that's how juvenile Mawkin are granted all the rights, responsibilities and privileges that come saddled with being an adult. It's worth noting that most of these rites line up with a typical Chozo's molting cycle, with the final rites occurring just as young warriors are shaking off the last loose feathers of their old coat and displaying their first (clear) adult patterns.