Sad Steddie Scenario Part 4

Just asked my husband to create an app or website to replace NaNoWriMo (jokingly), expecting him to lol and leave it at that. Instead he says, ‘what shall we call it? SteddieWriMo?’ And I’m obsessed. So this November I’m doing SteddieWriMo, yeah boi!

Youtube comments good sometimes

It would be even funnier with the headcanon that Steve has an Italian family and speaks Italian.

He is confused to why she said it to him. Then he is confused why she speaks italian. Also he ask himself if she knows he speaks italian as well, maybe that this is the reason why she speaks it around him.

Robin will be mortified, because she did not know that he speaks Italian. Steve in his sometimes nonchalant not thinking too much ways, never gave away that he understood her and just someday either speaks to her in Italian or she hears him speaking to his family. Maybe she finds Italian books (like a cookbook) and starts to question a lot of interactions they both had.

In the end she loves it, because they can speak ill of customers or maybe a little bit of the party right in front of these persons. There can also be a moment where she is like "Of course, my Dingus speaks Italian he is my soulmate, my other half. The one person that understands me the best." (Maybe she starts thinking to teach him more languages) That would also be a really good answer from her when somebody asks why Steve can speak Italian (like the Party has never heard him speak it before). She is just like "He is my Soulmate of course he speaks Italian" If you want more you can also imagine Dustin taking the answer literally and fears that the upside down gave them superpowers (that this would also explain why they are so weirdly codependent in his eyes)

Okay something that I think should really be added to Robin is her knowledge of other languages.

You’re telling me this snarky ass ice cream server hasn’t cussed out a customer in their face in Italian?

She keeps saying “Mortacci tua” to Steve each time it comes up that Steve has lost several fights. He just stares at her funny when she doesn’t elaborate.

(The phrase implies that Steve has weak ancestors)

Robin stubs her toe “ZUT!”

(An exclamation like Damn!)

A attractive girl walks out of Family Video and once the door shuts Robin calls out “Fica!” Steve again just looks at her funny.

(Means Cunt but is used like a crude way of calling a woman hot)

When Steve is again harassed into driving around town, Robin calls him a “chupamedias”.

(Suck up/ bootlicker)

Thank you for coming to my quadrilingual Robin Ted Talk.

No, I don’t count pig Latin.

So, tattoo shop AUs are really popping off lately and personally I love it. What’s more romantic than bleeding for art? Nothing!

But as someone married to a tattoo artist, I have been experiencing some mild She Wouldn’t Say That regarding tattoo culture. So here’s a few quick tips that may help inform your AU. With a grain of salt for my mostly-second-hand knowledge:

NO ONE REPUTABLE SHOP WILL TATTOO A DRUNK PERSON. EVER. or even a person they suspect of any kind of inebriation. This is not just for Regret reasons, but also because alcohol is a blood thinner. If someone is on an acute dose of blood thinners, you generally do not want to stab them dozens of times per second.

Maybe this is regional, but in my experience most tattoo places don’t call themselves parlors anymore. It has a kind of seedy vibe. I see shop or studio a lot but rarely parlor.

Most tattoo artists are hot, yes, but none are as hot at my wife

Tattooing janks up your hands. Sometimes in a RSI way but definitely in a changing-gloves-every-five-minutes-fucks-up-your-skin way.

Artists themselves are rarely if ever employees of the shop. They will be independent contractors who pay the shop either a cut of their sales or rent on their station like a hair dresser. They are also (usually) responsible for taking care of their own supplies, tools, etc. except for the stencil printer. What kind of dweeb would have their own stencil printer?

There is always a line for the stencil printer. Always.

Artists generally spend orders of magnitude more time working on art, replying to emails, doing consults, etc compared to time with their needles in skin.

A typical schedule for an artist might be: wake up at noon and guzzle half her body weight in coffee, one appointment from 1-4, and another from 6-9. Home to eat one (1) real meal at 10 pm. Drawing until 5 am. This is good for her actually and good for our marriage and she’s so healthy all the time.

An ideal shop receptionist needs to be friendly, knowledgeable, and encouraging. They also need to be willing to get out the baseball bat that is kept behind the counter.

If a shop has to choose between “good people skills” and “will promptly rebuff Nazis and the obviously inebriated” the later is often a more important consideration.

At any given moment in any given shop there’s going to be at least one apprentice or someone bumming around hoping to be taken on as an apprentice. They spawn on tic and this feature cannot be disabled.

Again I can not overstate how hot my wife is

Mmmmm

"Losing My Religion" by R.E.M.

A Steddie break-up fic where Steve, hopeless romantic Steve, is in a whirlwind romance with Eddie. And Eddie who finally gets his big break and plans to leave Hawkins in the rear view. It starts slowly, just little things Steve doesn't take to heart: Eddie getting distracted in the middle of a cuddle session or a kiss or even sex, Eddie pulling away quicker (but he's still loving on Steve so he doesn't really care), maybe cancelling more on their date nights or claiming that he's got plans already made with the Corroded Coffin boys.

And then the space between them just gets bigger and bigger and bigger, and Steve is left behind in the dust. Abandoned again. He's always looking to Eddie, but Eddie's not looking back. They're arguing more. There's a knot, a strain weighing on their relationship.

When Steve begins to pull back, Eddie barely puts in the effort to keep him tethered. And Steve, gullible and hopeless romantic Steve, lets Eddie get away with it. Because any attention is better than none. Even if he's going to bed alone every night, waking up to a going cold space beside him. Even if he's biting his fist during an argument, saving the tears for a quick shower. Even if he has to choke back on his emotions, because any big outbursts he thinks will push Eddie further away. Will spiral them out farther.

But then Eddie just abruptly leaves. Leaves their life, their friends, Hawkins as a whole. And Steve has to get his number through Wayne, who thought the boys were still together.

And it's not until Eddie answers with a, "Hello? Oh—hold on, babe, somebody's on the phone," that Steve finally puts two and two together. They aren't even dating anymore. He hangs up before say anything.

Eddie's left with the distant sound of somebody breathing on the other side and the dial tone. Never to hear from Steve again.

...anyway!

The Party

tags: major character death, angst, grief, healing, Eddie POV, stobin

word count: 692

The Party throws a party.

for @stobinmonth prompt: Steve and Robin die

They don't talk as much anymore. Ten years ago, things were different-- he would hear from the East Coast gang once a month and at least one of the Cali group was always hanging around the house, shoe rack overflowing in the front hall.

Eddie gets it. That's why he's so grateful when they can all get together like this, everyone under the same roof, just like Steve and Robin always wanted.

It's the anniversary of their death today. They were barely 50 when the two of them left the house for work and never came back. Time has healed the very worst of the loss for Eddie, but it stings him sometimes when he isn't expecting it. He can't imagine ever living through this day alone.

The shoes are piled up around the shoe rack, all different shapes and sizes and styles. The children are playing a video game in the living room. There's a loud ruckus going on in the kitchen over the margarita recipe. He already knows what he'll hear if he walks in. Steve's disciples will bray on about adding jalapeno in his honor. Robin's group will defend her lasting belief that jalapenos have no place in a beverage. They'll get nowhere until Lucas breaks and makes a second pitcher.

Eddie slips upstairs to collect the decorations. He should have done this before they all arrived, but he was busy. Okay. He was wallowing, but you would too sometimes if your best friends had been dead for ten years.

There's the string of letters that spells out their names. The giant blown up posters of the worst pictures of them he could find. A box of random shit he keeps firmly shut every day but this one.

When he comes back down, they're all in the living room cheering on the kids. And Mike, who has commandeered one of the tiny controller things. It seems like he's losing to his own son, who looks about as smug and shit-eating as Mike always had at his age.

They all help him hang the names and the posters, laughing as they do. The box takes its place of honor on the coffee table for anyone to open and sift through if they want to. It's always El who dives in first, somehow unafraid to face her grief.

They spend the day and half the night together. The older children go upstairs to watch a horror movie when it gets late while the youngest (a mop-headed Henderson) falls asleep half on top of his mother. There's a plush alligator wrapped in his lanky arms.

"He should keep that," Eddie says. The words come off his tongue more easily than he feels they should. He fights the urge to snatch them back.

Suzie and Dustin stare at him. "Are you sure?"

"It's just collecting dust in that box. Robin would want him to play with it instead." The fact that it's true makes the idea of it leaving the house a tiny bit more bearable.

Dustin sniffles, his eyes suddenly wet. "He never got to meet them, you know. It kills me sometimes."

Suzie pats his left hand, Max grabs his right. "He knows them, honey," his wife tells him. "Why do you think he knows every single story in that box? Why do you think he loves coming over here to be with everyone each year? That's Steve and Robin, babe. They're still here."

Eddie finds himself joining the waterworks that spring up after that, everyone grabbing a tissue from the table to wipe at their eyes or blow their nose.

She's right, he knows. Steve and Robin are here every year when the people they loved the most come together to talk about them. To complain about how annoying they were in life and in death. I mean, who lives through five separate otherworldly monster attacks and then dies in a ten car pile-up? It's absurd.

But he knows this party, these people all laughing together, is everything Steve and Robin would have wanted.

Eddie slowly collects the items from around the room and closes the box for another year.

My biggest tip for fanfic writers is this: if you get a character's mannerisms and speech pattern down, you can make them do pretty much whatever you want and it'll feel in character.

Logic: Characters, just like real people, are mallable. There is typically very little that's so truly, heinously out of character that you absolutely cannot make it work under any circumstance. In addition, most fans are also willing to accept characterization stretches if it makes the fic work. Yeah, we all know the villain and the hero wouldn't cuddle for warmth in canon. But if they did do that, how would they do it?

What counts is often not so much 'would the character do this?' and more 'if the character did do this, how would they do it?' If you get 'how' part right, your readers will probably be willing to buy the rest, because it will still feel like their favourite character. But if it doesn't feel like the character anymore, why are they even reading the fic?

Worry less about whether a character would do something, and more about how they'd sound while doing it.

Tumblr Holidays:

• March 14th: Pi Day

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• April 1st: April Fools Day and Mishapocalypse Memorial Day

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• November 5th: Destiel Canon Day

For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.

Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.

Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.

One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”

She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.

Claudia opens the door quietly.

It’s not Max who’s in the bed.

She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.

And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.

He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.

She takes one step forward.

Eddie inhales, breath stuttering, and it’s a fragile, heartbreaking sound.

Dustin stirs. “Hmm? Wha’s wrong?” He lifts his head up from Eddie’s shoulder, and his eyes meet Claudia’s, and he’s suddenly wide awake, scrabbling upright. “Mom.”

Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, like he’s desperately searching for words. “I-I’m not—” His breathing catches again, eyes wide; Claudia realises, with a heavy heart, that he’s deeply afraid of her. “It’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”

“Mom,” Dustin says again. Pleading.

And of course, Claudia never once believed the frenzied cries about Satanic rituals. Still, throughout that awful Spring Break, knowing that her son was lying to her, all she could think was that she was once a teenager, too—remembered how easy it could be to get caught up in something scary, something beyond your control.

She looks into Eddie Munson’s eyes, and knows deep in her bones that she has nothing to fear from him.

She beckons Dustin over, hands him the car keys.

“There’s a pillow on your seat, hon,” she says softly, because there’s a sleepy haze returning to his eyes despite his obvious concern for Eddie.

Dustin blinks, so unsure.

She smiles reassuringly. It’s okay. I promise.

“Okay,” Dustin says slowly, and he looks back at Eddie, raising his eyebrows like he wants to convince him of something. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t speak.

He lifts his hand in a weak wave as Dustin leaves. It’s shaking. Claudia sits down by the bed. Puts her hand in his.

Eddie stares at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Claudia shakes her head, too, slowly—prays that he can really hear this. “No, no, please. Listen to me. I’m so sorry.”

It would be an easy thing to say, that the town of Hawkins wronged Eddie Munson. But that would make it sound so impersonal: like it was inevitable, just one of these tragic things that happened, nothing to be done about it. Like earthquakes.

But that wasn’t true. People were behind this, and Claudia knows that they are all the town, every single one of them. And what did it say about them, that the fear and mistrust and cruelty spread like wildfire? That not one adult in the town hall stood up, begged people to stop, to think again?

“Th-thank you,” Eddie says. It sounds so uncertain, almost like a question.

Claudia squeezes his hand. “You were with Dustin, weren’t you?” she asks. “When the earthquake…”

His hand is shaking again.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I-I’m sorry, I—” He swallows. “I didn’t want a-anything to happen to him.”

“Oh, honey.” She reaches out cautiously, and when he doesn’t freeze up, she cups his cheek; her heart breaks at the rough indent of a scar beneath her palm. “You’re not God.”

Eddie reaches up, pressing her hand further against his cheek. He’s crying.

Claudia wipes his tears away as much as she can. She keeps up a steady murmur: “Shh, shh. I know you kept him as safe as you could. I know, I know. Shh.”

When he starts to calm, she thanks him again, but for something lighter.

“Dusty… he was so nervous, starting high school. But his first day, when I picked him up, all he could talk about was getting invited to have lunch with… well, a club.” Claudia smiles. “Oh, he was talking a mile a minute, I could hardly keep up. But I… oh, Eddie, I understand now. That was you.”

Eddie grins back. His cheeks are still wet.

“I didn’t do much,” he says. “You’ve…” For a moment, his eyes fill up again, but they look like happy tears. “You’ve got some kid, Mrs Henderson. He’s—he’s a real gem.”

She laughs. “Oh, I know.”

It’s one of the many things she loves about Dustin: that he’s always been so unashamedly, so joyously himself.

And Eddie had clearly seen that in him, had taken him in and nurtured everything that made him so.

The door abruptly slams open.

Steve’s in the doorway; he must’ve been running, is still gasping for breath as he says, panicked, “Claudia, I can—”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and that’s all.

But it’s clearly enough, because Steve’s shoulders drop in relief, and then he’s shutting the door, coming to Eddie’s bedside like he belongs there, and Eddie’s smiling at him, so tenderly…

And oh, she was young, once. She knows what she’s looking at.

Of course, she doesn’t mention it, can still sense some residual anxiety radiating from them.

Instead she looks around the room, spots a pile of laundry in the corner. It’s been stuffed into a bag; she recognises that as belonging to Steve, but there’s some shirts in there that are definitely Eddie’s, entwined with Steve’s things.

She stands, but before she can even pick up the bag, it seems like Steve’s read her mind, because he’s stepping forward, stopping her with a touch to her forearm.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’m taking care of it, Claudia.”

She pats his cheek, lingers there until he smiles. “I know, sweetheart. But… would you let me? It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie reaches up from the bed, squeezes Steve’s elbow. Steve sighs, briefly leaning into him.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s… thank you.”

“As long as you do one thing for me.”

“Of course,” Steve says immediately. “Anything.”

Claudia brings out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Write me a list? Anything you’d like, I’ll be shopping anyway.” She looks Steve in the eyes, adds firmly but with a smile, “It’s no trouble.”

Steve takes the notepad, twirls the pen hesitantly.

“Anything you’d like,” Claudia repeats. She glances at Eddie, says, “You know, if you want a different shampoo than what they have here, things like that, or—”

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “Whatever’s on sale is—”

“I know, honey,” Claudia says patiently, “but what would you actually like?”

The last extended hospital stay she’d had was fifteen years ago; Dustin had been a preemie, and one of the few things that kept her calm was the familiar: scents, food, people…

Steve chuckles. “I’ve got it.” He writes on the notepad, and Eddie must be able to read it, because he suddenly turns a little pink.

“How did you know that?”

Steve shrugs, smiles. “I notice things.” He writes down just a couple more things, then hands the list back. “Thank you so much, Claudia.”

“Any time, sweetie, I mean it.” She hugs Steve goodbye, then reaches one last time for Eddie’s hand on the bedspread. “It was lovely to meet you, Eddie. Hope you can go home soon.”

“Yeah, me—me too. Thank you, Mrs Hend—” Steve squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie stops. Smiles. “Thank you, Claudia.”

She looks back once to shut the door behind her. Steve’s pulling up a chair, as close as he can get, and as the door closes, she hears him tut softly, gently swiping at the remaining trail of tears on Eddie’s face: “Hey, what—?”

They look like they belong together. Dustin’s boys.

Dustin’s asleep in the car, pillow pressed against the window. Claudia puts the bag of laundry in the trunk before quietly slipping into her seat.

Dustin wakes anyway as they drive out of the parking lot. “Eddie… okay?”

“He is, honey. Steve’s with him.”

“Mm… good.” There’s a pause, and Claudia thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then he says, tentative, “Mom?”

“Yes, Dusty?”

“If I tell you something… d’you promise to keep it private?”

“As long as it’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s not,” Dustin says firmly. “Um. Steve and Eddie, I think… I think they’re…”

Claudia smiles, nods encouragingly. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

Dustin hums in agreement. “They’ve not told me. Did I… do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Claudia feels a lump in her throat. “You’re a good friend.”

Dustin makes an uncertain noise.

“You are, baby. They love you very much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Dustin sighs. “I know.” His eyes are closing.

“Sorry, baby, just before you sleep—are there any candies Steve and Eddie like?”

Dustin nods. “Eddie likes anything sweet. An’ Steve…” He yawns. “Anything w’peanut butter.”

“Great. Thank you, honey.”

Dustin’s already asleep.

Claudia knows that even with what she’s learned today, she still only has half a story, if that. That there’s something more to Dustin’s exhaustion, to just how Eddie ended up in a hospital bed.

Today, she’ll do all she can. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Laundry and shopping, reading the brand of shampoo Steve wrote with a careful eye. She’ll fill her cart up with treats, things that won’t solve anything; they might make staying in that hospital room just a little easier, though. Make it feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

But first, she’ll take her boy home; she’ll park the car as close to the front door as she can get, and when he doesn’t stir, she’ll run a hand through his hair, gently put him to bed.

Fuck it, the Steve is bisexual because he ran out of women joke. Flip it. Steve fucked his way through the male population before he ever made it to women.

It was disguised as ‘getting ready for girlfriends’ but Steve was a majority of the boy’s first kisses.

Eddie, who came to the party late, had no idea about Steve’s queer past and assumes he is straight.

Hilarity ensues where Steve does not realize that nobody knows he’s not straight.

He’s flirting with Eddie and Robin is giving him the stink eye because she thinks Steve is playing with Eddie’s feelings.

Tommy, being Steve’s childhood friend, clocks the pathetic pining after being in family video for five minutes. He gives Munson the shovel talk because Steve was his best friend. Eddie on the other hand is just puzzled.

“But Steve is straight?”

“He did not seem that way when my dick was in his mouth.”

Eddie just stares at Tommy, slack jawed.

“Look, I was just experimenting. I don’t actually like men like that, Steve does and he’s all yours. But, you better treat him well, or else.”

Eddie nods, and Tommy leaves.

Eddie enters the empty family video again and screeches like a fucking hyena before jumping onto Steve. They both fall to the ground and just start making out on the floor.

Robin is horrified.