An 18+ summer long Stranger Things fanworks creation event with weekly prompts throughout the months of May, June, July, and August. About This Event
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Week #18 Prompt: Summer Fruit | Word Count: 448 | Rating: T | POV: Eleven | Characters: Eleven | Relationships: El & Hopper, Canon Mention of El/Mike | CW: Former Neglect at the Lab | Tags: Finding Freedom on the Outside of the Lab, Trying New Things, Pineapple: The Food That Eats You Back
It is sweet, and cold.
That is her first thought. Beyond that it is hard for her to describe. She has never had anything like it. Watermelon, Hopper had said. Do not eat the seeds.
El does not. She spits them out onto her plate, and just eats the stringy, squishy, red flesh.
She likes watermelon, she has decided.
Then he brings other foods. Fruits, he explains. Another red one, even sweeter than the watermelon. A strawberry. With lots of little seeds. These seeds, she can eat.
And even more seeds in the kiwi. Slightly slimy, but she still likes it.
But the spiky topped one, the pineapple, is her favorite. She eats and eats, even as Hopper warns her, and wants to take it away. She does not understand why. It is so good. Sweet, and tangy, and she likes the texture of it.
She cries, and he lets her keep eating it.
Hours later, she understands what he meant. Her tongue hurts. Has gotten raw from eating too much of it. Why is anything that good so painful? She does not understand. It is food. How does it hurt her to eat it?
But it has, and yet she still wants more.
He tells her to wait a day or two, that her tongue will heal fast, but she is not sure she can wait. She wants it now.
He says they can compromise and she does not know what he means. But he brings her a can of pineapple.
"It won't hurt you," he says, as he pours it, juice and all, into the bowl in front of her at the table in the cabin.
She tries it. And it is good.
Not as good as the spiky one. Not quite the same. But it is good.
And it does not hurt her mouth.
Later, there are grapes, in several different colors. And apples. A pear that she finds too grainy to enjoy. It tastes like sand feels between her toes.
When she starts school, finally out of the cabin, no longer hidden away, they ask what her favorite food is. Eggos, and pineapple. Those are the answers she gives.
Her name is Jane Hopper and she likes Eggos and pineapple.
So, years later, when Argyle wants them to try pineapple on the pizza he has made, even if Mike is unsure, she is willing to try it. She has never thought of pineapple being eaten hot before, but she has always liked it cold.
Maybe hot will be alright as well.
And to her surprise, it is good on pizza too, even if Mike will not even try it.
More for her, she supposes.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun! 🍍
Week #17 Prompt: "I can't believe you!" | Word Count: 1938 | Rating: T | POV: Nancy | Characters: Nancy, Robin, Steve, Eddie | Relationships: Ronance, Steddie, Past Mentions of Stancy, Fruity Four | CW: Language, Alcohol Consumption | Tags: Future Fic, Bisexual Nancy Wheeler, Old Friends, And Maybe New Love, Getting Together, First Kiss
Nancy lets her eyes adjust to the darkness and flashing lights of the club. It's not exactly her comfort zone. But she watches as the men, and the women, move to the beat of the music that's bouncing the speakers, thumping so hard she can feel it in her chest.
She's never been anywhere like this, not really. It's not exactly her scene, never has been.
So, she finds a spot to stand in the corner, leaving a buffer, so she can take it all in. She always needs to study first, she never just dives face-first into anything. Unless it's an emergency. And this? Not an emergency.
This is just an unknown, an exploration of her sexuality that might be coming later than most. She thinks she should have done this sooner. Maybe not the club part, but the acting on her interest in women. But she didn't. Not the women, and definitely not the club, so now she'd like to know more before deciding to be all in on being a club-going person, especially at her age.
Watching, it's clear that everyone seems to be having a really fucking good time, and aren't paying any attention to her clinging to the shadows, like a wallflower.
She's about to maybe make a move more towards the center of the action, when she catches a glimpse of a familiar smile, and she steps to the side to see better, to clear her sightline, to really make sure. And, yes, it is Robin, bouncing, laughing, dancing with a guy, seemingly having a hell of a good time.
It's not Steve, this guy is far too short, and it isn't until he turns that she realizes it's Gareth. He's just chopped off all his curls, which she thinks is kind of a shame.
But, beyond that, she knows if Gareth's here, that means Eddie's here, and if Eddie's here, well...there he is. Steve Harrington, bouncing, hair flying, looking twenty instead of over forty.
Looking free.
And happy. Really, really happy.
She hasn't seen any of them in person in years, only recently watching from afar on the new Facebook thing that she was bullied into joining by Dustin. She's not too mad about it, since it means she gets to see pictures of all her old friends, and gets to know that they're doing okay out in the world, living their lives. At least when she remembers to login and check.
Nancy hasn't decided if she's going to approach them or not. This is new to her, and while she knows they'd be supportive and fun and totally in her corner, she was really only looking to dip her toes in, not plunge headfirst.
But she doesn't get to decide, because Robin's caught sight of her and is waving frantically, with an enthusiasm only Robin can muster. She's missed her, she realizes. Missed all of them.
She sees Robin turn and yell in the other direction, hands flailing, nearly hitting those around her.
She hasn't changed a bit.
So, Nancy waves back, and heads her way. She's kind of glad the decision was made for her. It's easier that way, and she gets to see Robin.
When Nancy approaches, Steve is suddenly there, picking her up and swinging her around so hard, she feels her back pop. She's not sixteen, not anymore, but he doesn't seem to have gotten that message as he squeezes her against him, before finally putting her back on her feet but still doesn't let go.
"I can't believe you! You're here!" Steve says, smiling wide and so fucking happy.
He's glowing.
There's a ring through his eyebrow, and tattoos crawling up his arm, and yet, he looks exactly the same, somehow. Just really, really happy and all grown up.
It's a good look on him. Honestly.
He giggles, squeezing both of her arms, "Nancy Wheeler."
She almost corrects him, but it is Wheeler again. Her divorce was finalized and she took her own name back, and she doesn't expect she'll ever give it up again. It's who she is, and she kind of hates that she ever forgot that.
"Where's Eddie?" Nancy asks, leaning towards Steve's ear, trying to be heard over the music.
"The bar!" Steve screams back, and she looks that way, expecting to see him in line for drinks, but he's behind the bar. Putting on a show, as always.
It's a little mesmerizing. But Eddie Munson always was, for better or worse. He had an unique skill for capturing an audience and refusing to let them go.
Steve wraps his arms around her neck from behind, forcing her to walk in front of him, leading her right towards Eddie.
"Look who I found!" Steve shouts and Eddie grins, leaning up on and over the bar to cup her cheek, kissing the other one.
"Hey, Wheeler. What can I get you?" Eddie asks, waving his arm down the bar in a sweeping fashion.
She isn't sure, so she lets him pick, and he gets to work, sliding and twirling, dragging the bottle upwards as he pours, and she grins. He was made for this, she's pretty sure. Putting a show, holding an audience.
She hadn't realized he was a bartender, but she crawls up on an open bar stool, to watch him work. She expects that Steve will sit down next to her, but instead he walks around behind the bar, and kisses Eddie before he makes himself a drink. It's not as impressive as watching Eddie do it, but it's definitely not Steve's first time behind a bottle either, that's for sure.
"Do you own this bar?" she yells, and they both nod.
Of all the gin joints in all the world, she happened to stumble into theirs.
It really is a small world after all.
She hadn't heard they'd bought a bar. She must be more behind on that Facebook thing than she thought. Or they've owned longer than Facebook has been a thing, and it was old news she'd just missed out on hearing. She'll have to ask Dustin, or Mike. Get filled in on what they know.
"It's great!" she screams back, and it is. It's a little loud, a little overwhelming, but it seems like a really fun atmosphere.
They both smile, and Steve is holding his own drink, and Eddie leans over putting the finishing touches on it. Then Steve's back across the bar, sitting next to her.
"You're here by accident?" Steve shouts to be heard, and she nods. She heard about the queer friendly bar, that wasn't really a club exclusively for young people, and it looked like something she might want to check out, now that she's open to exploring that side of herself.
She should have known she'd be drawn right to Steve, the only other bisexual person she really knows. That's just how these things work with them. There are no accidents. They've all been tied together for a long, long time, even as they've drifted and lived their own, separate lives.
They try to talk over the music, but it's impossible, and Steve takes her by the hand and leads her behind the bar, and into an office. He closes the door, and the sound is suddenly gone. Silenced.
"Soundproofed?" she asks, sitting down on the couch.
Steve nods, "I still get headaches sometimes. It gives me a place to go to get away from the noise if I need to, without having to go all the way home."
"Smart. That's smart," she says, looking around. There are pictures lining the walls, filled with tons of familiar faces.
"It was Eddie's idea," Steve says, grinning, "he just wants me to be comfortable."
Then he smiles a different smile, a softer one, "And nearby."
Nancy smiles back at him, happy he's happy.
"He looks good, by the way," Nancy says, "really good. You both do. Robin, too."
Steve just smiles, because he knows that's true. Time has been kind to them, all of them, it seems.
"Gareth should have kept those curls, though," she teases.
"Don't tell him that, it's a sore spot," Steve says with a grin.
"Mum's the word," she promises.
Then the door opens and closes, Robin sliding inside. She bounces up and down, clapping her hands, "Nance! I can't believe you're here!"
Nancy stands up, and hugs her. Robin isn't as awkward as she was at eighteen. But she's still got that funky style that Nancy's always been a little jealous of, if she's totally honest. That innate ability to just be herself.
Steve is standing there smiling, and then says, "I'll let Robin show you around and catch you up. Eddie'll cry around if I skip out on helping him."
Nancy knows that's not true. Eddie Munson worships the ground Steve Harrington walks on, and has since 1986. At first it felt like Nancy was losing something that she might want again someday, and wanted to bristle up at Eddie. Claim her territory.
But she quickly saw how Steve looked back at Eddie. She knew that look, and well, and she was happy for him, even if it was kind of hard to let that door close for good.
By the time they all went their separate ways, it was pretty obvious Steve and Eddie were in it for the long haul, and probably would always be.
And here they are, still together, and they still look fucking happy.
She's not surprised one bit.
And good for them. She isn't sure what it would be like to pick right the first time. She's picked wrong twice now, and she's not excited to do it again.
Women. She might try women for a while. Forget all about men for a stretch and see how that feels, how it goes.
Robin is sitting next to her, and as soon as the door closes behind Steve, leaving them in quiet again, Robin's asking a million questions.
Always curious, Robin.
Nancy answers them. Mike's good. Three kids that act just like he did, which he definitely had coming.
Robin catches her up on everybody she's still close with that Nancy hasn't seen in a while, and it's nice. Comfortable, like no time has passed.
"You want another drink? Dance? Some food? Anything?" Robin offers.
"Yes," Nancy says, and hell, she thinks she might want it all.
Another couple drinks in, they are bouncing around the dance floor as much as their middle-aged knees will allow, when Nancy reaches forward to brace herself against Robin's hip.
She didn't mean anything by it, but the sudden shift on Robin's face is telling another story.
Oh shit.
Okay, yeah. That.
She steps forward, and Robin meets her halfway. Lips pressing against hers in a way that she only barely let herself think about, in a time gone by. The curiosity was there, down deep, back when they were just getting close. But Nancy didn't know how to define it, how to understand it within herself.
She does now.
Robin's hand slides up her back, pressing between her shoulder blades, as she kisses her in a way Nancy's never been kissed. Not by anyone, maybe.
She should have known. She should have realized that this is what she was looking for, missing, late to understanding.
When Robin pulls back, she smiles, and Nancy smiles back, her heart beating hard against her chest.
She wants to do it again.
So she does, leaning up, pressing her lips to Robin's one more time, eager to see where this can go from here.
Hopeful, and excited.
Ready.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!
A Stranger Summer 2024 - August - Week 3 : Sunburn + Stranger Things Sapphic Summer 2024 - Tanlines - 21.08.2024
I combined both the @astrangersummer and @sapphicstevents’s prompts again for a drawing of Carol and Kali. Carol decided to forgo the sunscreen and is paying the price for it. Thank God she had a doting girlfriend who takes care of her with some aloe vera gel. (Kali may or may not still tease her for it though 😉)
Sunburn + Tanlines - Prakins - 21.08.2024
Done using watercolors, ink pens, colored pencils, alcohol markers, graphite pencils and acrylic paint pens
AO3 post 1 / AO3 post 2 / DeviantArt post / Instagram post / Pillowfort post / Twitter post
Week #16 Prompt: Concert & Rain | Word Count: 3000 | Rating: T | POV: Jeff | Characters: Jeff, Goodie (Freak), Gareth, Steve, Eddie | Relationships: Jeff & Goodie, Background Steddie, Mentions of Previous Gareth/Di (OC) | CW: Language, Mentions of Previous Addiction | Tags: AU, Famous Corroded Coffin, 1990s, On Tour, Slice of Life, Jeff and Goodie are Best Friends Who Talk About The Problems of Their Other Friends, Rain Show, Road Manager Steve Harrington, Eddie Loves His Guitar and This Rain is a Real Problem
June 8, 1995
"Looks like real rain today," Jeff says, standing in front of the hotel window.
It's really fucking coming down here in Tulsa, so much so that Jeff can't really see much beyond the edge of the windowsill.
As his dad would say, it's going and blowing.
"Rain? You think?" Goodie says, then adds, "What gave it away? The torrential downpour?"
Jeff laughs. Asshole.
They've been lucky so far and haven't ever had to play in the rain, at least not rain like is forecasted for tonight, but that's clearly gonna end today.
"It's basically a hundred percent chance all day long," Goodie says from the couch, less snarky this time. He's reading the morning paper that had been dropped off at their room door.
Jeff rests his forehead against the cool glass, contemplating everything that is bound to go wrong tonight, now.
"This is gonna be a problem," Jeff finally announces, still looking at the sheets of rain hitting the windowsill.
"No fucking shit," Goodie answers, "Eddie's gonna be a real pain in the ass about that precious guitar of his."
Jeff nods, because Eddie is undoubtedly going to be exactly that, "I'm gonna call Tim. See if we can head this off at the pass."
And he picks up the room phone, scans the contact sheet that Steve left with them, and calls the room with his guitar tech in it.
"Tim, is Artie there?" Jeff asks, sitting in the office chair, swiveling slightly.
"Yep. We're already on the same page," Tim answers immediately, and they probably are. Artie's been Eddie's guitar tech long enough to know how he's gonna react to the prospect of pouring rain during an outdoor gig. "Sweetheart would be fine, you know? All your guitars will be fine. We can prepare for this, we have time, and we had ample warning that it's gonna be like this. This is the best case scenario. Seriously. This isn't a surprise storm, and so far, we aren't looking at lightning."
"I know, I know. And I'm not worried about my guitar. I trust you. But Eddie's not gonna play her in the rain. You know he's not," Jeff says, because they all know that. They do. It's never gonna happen. Sweetheart is more than a guitar, and Eddie will have nothing risking her.
Especially not after the broken neck debacle. She's already been bunged up by touring, and thankfully fucking fixed, but Eddie's not gonna purposefully drown her.
"We know he's not," Tim says, "so we'll make arrangements."
"Good, good. What do you think? I'm thinking we have three options," Jeff says, "One, you run out and buy Eddie something new in town. A throwaway. Something he has no emotional attachment to."
Tim is relaying the idea to Artie, and Jeff can hear Artie disagreeing, which Jeff gets. Eddie won't want to play a guitar he doesn't know, "Same page. Two, he plays Hercules. I think this is fifty-fifty, depending on his mood. Or three, we get him some options ready from my spare guitars on the trailer. That way he'll be familiar, at least."
Jeff hears them murmuring, mulling it all over, and then they agree that those last two options seem the most likely. They're gonna call a meeting later, once they get a hold of Steve for the logistics, but they'll be ready for either. Or if Eddie surprises them. But he won't.
Jeff is just settling down on the couch next to Goodie when the door swings open, Gareth poking his head in, "It's gonna rain all day."
"Is it really? I had no idea," Goodie snarks, and Jeff smiles.
"Fuck you, too, Goodie," Gareth says dryly, then looks back at Jeff, "Steve's on top of it."
"Thanks. We called the techs," Jeff tells him, and then the door slams shut behind him.
"I really gotta stop giving him a key to my room," Goodie says, and Jeff laughs.
"I think this is my room," Jeff answers, looking around, but Goodie's shit is all over the room, too. They have separate suites. They have the money to do that now, but old habits die hard, and they often end up crashing together, still. The road is lonely, and an empty room is often just depressing. He's not sure how Gareth is functioning on his own, especially now that he's sober.
"Omaha's coming up," Jeff says, because every time he thinks of Gareth, that's all he can worry about. That looming tour date. The disappointment that's sure to follow when Gareth's ex-girlfriend doesn't show up to see the Tom Petty heavy encore set they've put together, just for her.
"I'm well aware of where Di is," Goodie says dryly, "I haven't forgotten that we just spent all that time learning shitty songs she'll never hear."
They aren't shitty. Goodie's just being a contrarian. Jeff knows that. Knows him better than he knows anyone else on earth. And Goodie doesn't mean half the shit he says, he just says it to ruffle feathers. Gareth's feathers, if possible.
"Your Honey Bee is good, though," Goodie concedes.
And it is. They've whipped all the songs into decent shape, but Honey Bee feels damn good. Natural. Electric. Diana would really like it, Jeff thinks, and he hopes that maybe, just maybe, she'll show up to hear it. Either way, covering songs, giving them their own Corroded Coffin twist, is still some of the most fun they have on the road.
"She might come," Jeff says, even if he doesn't believe it. Gareth fucked his relationship up, probably well beyond repair, and now Gareth just has to live with it. They all have to live with it. Which, honestly, has been more stressful than when Eddie first got with Steve and drove them all nuts. At least Eddie was happy.
Gareth is withdrawn, quiet. He's different in a way Jeff can't really pinpoint. Not yet. Only time will tell how this all shakes out. If he's growing up, if he can change, or if this is all gonna explode in their faces when he doesn't get what he wants, two days from now.
"She won't fucking come if she knows what's good for her, and Gareth? He's not good for her," Goodie says, flipping to the next page in his newspaper. Jeff's pretty sure he's not reading a damn word of it.
Jeff thinks that's pretty harsh. They're supposed to be supportive of Gareth, here. He's their friend, their bandmate. Their kid to look after. It's been that way forever. They love him.
"She might come," Jeff says. Because she might. Anything can happen. He can't see the future.
"Well, she'd be a goddamn fool, then. I told her to run, to not take any of his shit, and she better listen to ol' Goodie."
Jeff cuts a knowing look at Goodie, "You also gave Gareth a pep talk last winter, telling him she'd marry him someday. So, pick a lane. You can't bet on both outcomes. It's unsportsmanlike."
Goodie sighs, "You aren't supposed to know that. Gareth has a big mouth."
Jeff fucking laughs. There are no secrets between them, and he's not sure why Goodie thought he didn't know. Of course he knows.
Goodie keeps talking, "Well. Both can be true. She's not coming this week. But yeah. Someday. Someday she will. And when she does, I'll still tell her it's a mistake, but she won't listen."
"You sound awfully invested," Jeff says, poking at Goodie.
"It's been our own private soap opera for how long now? Of course I'm invested. I don't have time for television, I gotta be entertained somehow."
Jeff just shakes his head.
"Well, is he gonna relapse, when she doesn't show up, old wise one?" Jeff asks, mainly teasing. But he is worried about it.
"No," Goodie says.
"No?" Jeff asks.
"No," Goodie confirms.
She most likely won't come, they all know it, and Steve's on top of that, too, making a plan to limit the fallout. If Gareth relapses, they're all fucked. This tour schedule cannot accommodate it. No way.
They would. Of course they would. But it would probably mean the tour will come to a screeching halt. All momentum lost.
"If he falls off the wagon, I'm chaining him to said wagon, and dragging him along behind us," Goodie says.
"You say, to a black man," Jeff says.
Goodie lowers the paper, so Jeff can finally see his eyes, "Didn't mean it like that. Jesus."
"I know," Jeff says, and he does know that. Goodie's been his best friend since they were too little to understand what that meant. But still. Not the best imagery.
"He won't fall off the wagon. We won't let him," Jeff proclaims, as if this is within their control.
Goodie says what he was thinking.
"Like we've ever been able to control that kid. Eddie barely can, and Eddie's so far up Steve's ass-"
"Literally," Jeff cuts in, teasing.
"-now that Steve's back on tour, even Eddie doesn't have the time to babysit."
It's true. It's all true. As much as the undercurrent of worry is there, they can't expend the energy on it today. They don't have the time, and obviously have other more pressing issues today. Tonight, it's gonna be Eddie's turn to be unhinged, Jeff's sure of it, "Let's worry about one thing at a time. Tonight it's the rain and Eddie's guitar."
"If he'd just have a whole stable like we do, this would never happen."
"Not how he works, and you know it."
Goodie rolls his eyes.
"I don't get it. They're just guitars. I love 'em. But I don't really play favorites," Goodie answers, tossing the paper onto the coffee table. "If the bass I play tonight breaks, well, there are twenty more I can play tomorrow. I'll chuck it in the audience-"
"No, you won't. Steve and Erica will both kill you," Jeff corrects. Been there, done that, had the lawsuit to prove it. Erica got it taken care of, but they don't need any more legal troubles.
"I'm not scared of Steve," Goodie says.
"But Erica?"
"Fuck yes, I'm scared of Erica. I'm not an idiot," Goodie says, and Jeff laughs. It's a good thing she's on their legal team, and not working against them, that's all Jeff knows.
Goodie looks up at him again, "Steve never should have bought Eddie that guitar."
Jeff just nods, even if he doesn't really agree. Jeff helped Steve pick her out. Steve knew which guitar Eddie had been drooling over, but asked Jeff to come in to make sure she'd actually be a good one, if he bought it. So, Jeff played the two they had in stock, and picked the one that seemed to have the best sound, and the best feel, and Eddie has loved her more than they could have ever imagined. It was a great gift.
Steve did good.
Steve's always done good, though. They wouldn't be here without him, Jeff has no doubt.
Even if it being from Steve has made Eddie awfully attached to it, as a result.
That night, Eddie doesn't surprise them, but Hercules is ready to go, and Artie promises to give him an extra coat of oil on the fretboard.
The rain hasn't let up, not for a second, and they've never had a rain show like this one. It's kind of cool, and Jeff's really having fun with it. He jumps up and down, bouncing on the balls of his feet, the puddled water splashing beneath him every time he lands. Goodie's soaked, they all are.
This tour is just firing on all cylinders, and he isn't sure how they've gotten here. Screaming towards the top. All of them. Together. Finally, in sync. Coming off the last couple years, the torture tours they've endured, Jeff's ready for something to go smoothly, for something they can all fucking enjoy for once.
Eddie and Gareth are clean.
Steve's back on the road, his back not totally fixed, but definitely better than it was.
Jeff gets to have fun with his best friend, playing music, selling out stadiums, and making a boatload of goddamn money.
And tonight, they get to play in the rain in front of god knows how many people in this park. Looking out over the grass, the crowd is fucking pumped, as if the rain hasn't ruined the night for them at all. And if the fans don't care, why should they?
This is fun.
Someone, Dustin, Jeff thinks, runs out a hat for Gareth. His hair is plastered down, sopping wet and in his eyes, and Jeff watches as Gareth pushes it all back off his face, putting the cap on backwards. He looks funny that way, not at all like himself, more like they've got Chad Smith sitting in, but at least his hair is out of his fucking eyes. Eddie is fiddling with Hercules, like he's not sure that everything is going okay.
It's more than okay. And when Gareth bangs his sticks down again, counting them in on the next song, off they go again and the crowd screams louder than any rain could ever cover.
Back in the dressing room after the show, Goodie is trying to peel his wet shirt off over his head, and Jeff snags the hem of it, helping him tug it off.
Then he works on his jeans, and it's a whole 'nother job. Everything feels glued on.
"I've never been this soaked in my entire life. I think I could wring out my underwear," Goodie says, and as soon as he steps out of them, he does exactly that over the sink in their shared dressing room.
Jeff laughs, "You can shower first. I think that's the rule. The one with the most soaked skivvies gets to go first."
Goodie smirks, but grabs a towel from the pile on the counter, and slams the bathroom door behind him.
Jeff looks in the mirror, he's lucky. He's the only one of them that doesn't have enough hair to look like a drowned rat. Steve looked awful. All that hair, hanging down around his ears, where it just doesn't belong.
Not that Eddie will care. Steve is perfect in Eddie's eyes, that's an absolute certainty.
Jeff steps out of his wet clothes and tosses them into the hamper that Eddie had provided for them. He'll be glad to get warm and dry. After being hit with the AC while all wet, he's freezing.
Jeff's putting on a dry robe as Gareth walks in, Dustin's hat still on his head, "Eddie and Steve are showering first. Can I hang with you?"
And Jeff nods, kicking out one of the plastic chairs. There is a couch, but there's really no reason for them to be dickheads about it and get the upholstery wet. It's not the venue's fault that there was a torrential downpour.
"That was crazy, huh?" Gareth asks.
"Still sounded good though, Mike had the audio tuned in great for what he had to work with."
"My cymbals were muted," Gareth complains, and they were, they could all hear that, but if that was the only problem they had all night, they made out like bandits.
"Think your drums survived?" Jeff asks, picking up one of the decks of cards that are ever present on their show riders.
He deals Gareth in without even asking.
"Yeah, they should. The techs have 'em," Gareth answers, picking up his hand, rearranging them around in his own hand to his liking. "Eddie's freaking out about Hercules though. Steve's got a job ahead of him tonight."
"He'll be fine," Jeff says.
"Hercules or Eddie?" Gareth asks, smiling as he puts down the cards he intends to play.
"Both, but I was talking about Hercules. Artie won't let anything happen to that guitar."
Gareth nods, and Jeff plays his own cards, as they can hear the shower running in the bathroom beside them.
A while later, Steve pops his head in, freshly dried and styled and looking much more like himself. He looks towards the bathroom, where Goodie's still in the shower, taking his sweet-ass time.
Obviously seeing that the coast is clear, Steve starts talking, "Denny got back to me. Sheryl Crow isn't playing all the festival dates, but we checked our schedule against the ones she is playing, and I made it work to get you two tickets to Pine Knob in August. It's a Sunday."
Jeff smiles, "Awesome. Thank you. Don't tell Goodie. It's a surprise. That means you, Gareth," Jeff says, because he knows Steve won't say a word. Gareth, on the other hand.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," Gareth says, laying down his cards, "Eddie out of the shower?"
Steve nods, and Gareth hops up, probably more than ready to be out of his wet clothes, "Gonna go shower before I end up with diaper rash in my crack from sitting in these wet jeans all night."
"Please do that," Steve stresses, looking back at Jeff, shaking his head after Gareth's gone.
"Any luck getting us backstage?" Jeff asks, hopeful.
"Definitely," Steve assures.
Jeff grins. He doesn't know why he's surprised. They are famous in their own right, and Steve can work fucking miracles. Now, Jeff's not especially looking forward to going to H.O.R.D.E Festival for himself, but he does want to see Goodie's face when he comes face-to-face with Sheryl Crow, outside of a red carpet.
He smiles at Steve.
Jeff hears the water cut off in the bathroom, signaling that it'll be his turn soon. Steve leaves, and Jeff gathers up his clean, dry clothes, passing Goodie in the doorway of the bathroom.
This is gonna be a good summer, even if it rains the whole time. Because they finally feel back on track for the first time in a long time.
As Eddie would say, this is their year.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @astrangersummer and follow along with the fun!
Notes: Yes, technically, this was meant to take place during Tuesday's Gone With the Wind, but if you haven't read that, I'm pretty sure it can just stand alone. Also, Goodie's referenced pep talk to Gareth happened in Only a Broken Heart. It was fun to look at this 'verse from Jeff's POV for a bit.
The H.O.R.D.E. Festival line-up from the date mentioned, looks like it would have been: Ziggy Marley & the Melody Makers, Sheryl Crow, Blues Traveler, Black Crowes. I'd have seen that show! Dave Matthews Band played other dates, but it doesn't look like this one.
Fun fact: I really wanted to write it in as Lilith Fair, because that seemed like a fun place to send Jeff and Goodie, but alas, it didn't quite exist yet in 1995.
time zones are my least favorite thing when it comes to fandom. it's not midnight in my time zone and I got up out of bed specifically to post this so it'd be "on time" but the post for the next week is up. i tried. this was all done in, like four hours.
Anyway, for astrangersummer's prompt of royalty au, I give you some stargyle.
no trigger warnings | 1435 words | gen | it's cute and silly
*
For weeks now, Steve had trudged out to the woods. No armor, no weapons, and nothing of use because somehow he’d been roped into little more than babysitting the prince. Joyce didn’t often use resources on the heir to the throne and Steve decided to take this as a change of heart and not a put-whatever-man-you-can-spare-on-it job.
Jonathan was arguably the least fun member of the royal family, perhaps of any family. However, he was the same age as Steve and did his mandatory training in the same class as Steve. He was insufferable the whole time and not the way one would think. Pulling rank was far more expected than mocking the violence of the situation. It took someone special to belittle the training of those who kept him safe.
He didn’t really like to pull rank anyway. That’s what had Steve leaving the town limits and forging a trail at this point, walking through to the familiar clearing to check on Jonathan. Ensure he wasn’t involved in anything he wasn’t supposed to be or attacked by…witches whatever Her Majesty was worried about.
All Jonathan had done was dupe a poor healer (the sort who did it for the love of it) into thinking he was a regular guy and befriended him. Regular guy Jonathan who looks nothing like the royal family, nothing at all, and in need of a home. Someplace warm since he’d never known comfort, certainly not luxury.
The healer, a guy called Argyle, was too nice to point out the obvious and let Jonathan get away with the lie and taking up the spare room. He also noticed Steve wandering the woods daily, trying to look inconspicuous. Steve was about as good at sneaking around as Jonathan was hiding his bloodline.
Some days they let Steve in and allowed him to play pretend with them. Other days he was left outside to patrol the perimeter. Those days usually came after he shared a particularly embarrassing story about Jonathan. And, unfortunately for Jonathan, Steve had enough knowledge to ensure he never saw the inside of the house again.
Not that Jonathan couldn’t and wouldn’t return the favor. After far too many days of pushing each other too far and learning the boundaries (and one particularly cold and rainy day), they’d started to figure it out.
Jonathan wasn’t as bad as Steve remembered him, dare he say they actually had a good time. Sure Steve was here keeping an eye on him and every night he had to walk back to report that all was well but he’d have gone far enough to call Jonathan a friend.
Which meant they were both out there pulling bark from trees and pretending they were something other than what they were destined to be. That had Steve wondering all sorts of things he didn’t even know how to voice. Laying back home, retelling the day's events to Robin and wondering if maybe he was meant to be something else. Something more than a babysitter good at close combat.
It turned out Jonathan running away from home to play some cliche that every royal seemed to do was good for more than just the prince. Though, Jonathan had set out to have some more “real” experiences and find a friend. Someone, anyone who liked him for him, and he also got more than he bargained for.
Then again, so did Steve.
When Jonathan would head out, and enjoy the open meadow and its offered solitude, Argyle and Steve would sit nearby and watch. Always with some idle work as Argyle would tell stories that had Steve struggling to find the truth in. Alternate dimensions that looked just like this one, filled with creatures, it didn’t sound at all believable but it was the way he told them.
They’d joke and tease and Steve would bring some meat for supper, and Argyle would give him homemade remedies for headaches. In under a month’s time, they’d fallen into such a peaceful coexistence that Jonathan had to shove Steve out the door every night, a not-so-subtle reminder to go home.
Steve’s reports were the only thing that allowed Jonathan this freedom but Steve suspected that Jonathan rested a little easier knowing his mom wasn’t worrying. He provided her comfort while taking what he needed.
Yet Steve wanted to spend more time with the guy who towered over him yet could befriend wildlife, whose laugh was more contagious than the things he healed, and who made Steve's stomach do flips at the worst times.
Suddenly, the begrudging walk out of town became the morning jog. Steve was showing up bright-eyed and ready to face the day. Sometimes with gifts for Jonathan from his family, other times with things for Argyle because they made Steve think of him. He “traded” fabric for a flower crown and wine for tea.
Weeks had turned to months, seasons had changed, and pressure was starting to come from the monarch to bring Jonathan back. This had gone on for long enough. Steve feared Jonathan was ready to listen and his reason to sit out in the grass all day was going to leave.
It was rare he had every night free the way he did now. A day off was less likely. Time would pass too quickly, Argyle would move on, and Steve might do the same, he could feel this all slipping through his hands.
While his first instinct was to stir up trouble, it wouldn’t be a challenge to keep Jonathan out here for longer, Robin shot that down. Then went on a tirade about their future king being so easily manipulated. It took days to recover from that one, meaning she was less than helpful in Steve’s quest.
Each day he made the journey felt like it could be the last, that he’d return with Jonathan in tow, ready to play nice again. While Steve worried about their friendship, he was far more invested in what would happen once they weren’t taking up the healer’s time.
It was the sunny day after a string of rainy ones and the pit in Steve’s stomach grew. He wasn’t sure how he knew but this was the day. This was the end. He ran through the familiar path, worn out by his feet alone, and decided to make the most of it.
Something Jonathan must have wanted to do as well, he’d already left for a “morning stroll” by the time Steve got there. Leaving him winded and no less sure of what to say. Belongings were collected, Argyle was putting the finishing touches on parting gifts, and someone had taken all the air from Steve’s lungs.
As casually as he could, he walked the perimeter of the house and even managed to spot Jonathan off in the distance. Everything was safe, it always was, and he’d managed to level his emotions enough to reenter the house.
Back inside, Argyle stood against the counter like he was waiting for Steve and all the words he’d so desperately collected left his head. Standing in the middle of the room, on the handmade rug he’d mocked so loudly on his first visit, Steve ran out of ideas.
Thankfully, he wasn’t the only one there.
“Jonathan has given me permission to visit as often as I want,” Argyle said, stepping closer.
Steve let out the breath he was holding, “Oh thank heavens.”
Argyle flashed the very smile Steve wasn’t willing to leave, “You did a good job here. Kept him very safe. I hope you get a promotion for your troubles.”
Like a punch to the chest, everything kicked back in and Steve remembered who he was. Not a worried little lackey but someone who was known for bedding many. His smile grew to match Argyle’s before turning mischievous, “I’d settle for a kiss.”
Nothing more needed said. Argyle took a single step, moving across half the room, and pressed into Steve’s space. His hand took Steve’s neck and pulled them even closer. Steve swore his knees gave out for half a second. There wasn’t a battle out there that matched the thrill of moments like this.
Argyle smelled of flowers and tasted like the tea they drank the one and only time Steve didn’t make it home for the nightly check-in. With soft lips and a commanding hold, Steve fell into the kiss. The last coherent thought before they all left his brain was if there was some way to keep Jonathan out there a little longer. He didn’t need to come in the house right now.
Tags: No UD AU; Future fic; Record label owner Eddie; Waiter Steve; Sex work; Attempted non-con (mentioned); Protective Eddie; Possessive Eddie
Notes: Previous part | Part 1
Eddie has been fantasizing about Steve Harrington for as long as he can remember.
There was nothing tender to it in the beginning. Eddie was well aware of high school hierarchies and the unspoken laws of small town life. He was a freak who listened to the wrong kind of music, who lived on the shady end of town and sold drugs from his run-down van. He’d never amount to much in life.
Steve on the other hand? Perfect, pretty King Steve with his rich parents, the big house, a different girl on each arm every weekend? That boy was destined to go far, everyone in Hawkins knew that much.
Eddie was not an idiot. He knew that there were worlds between the two of them. There was no way in hell Steve would ever be his. And so he contented himself with imagining how that soft, smooth skin would feel under his hands, how those lips would taste as he sucked and bit at them while Steve moaned into his mouth. How the muscles of those perfect thighs would shake, wrapped around his waist or slung over his shoulders as he slowly reduced the King to a whining, sobbing mess.
Eddie booked it out of Hawkins the second he finally had his diploma in hand. He never once looked back. He still thought about Steve, occasionally.
It was only after they met again, years and miles away from that wretched place and with their positions in life all but flipped that Eddie's fantasies took a different turn.
Suddenly, Steve wasn't just an unattainable pretty face floating past in the hallways, but an actual, real person. Still floating, mind you, now on roller skates while waiting tables, but a person no less. A person with a past he refused to discuss. A person with a stubborn streak for miles and a beautiful, snarky sense of humor, and a soft, vulnerable side he was desperate to protect.
And suddenly, without warning, Eddie’s feelings shifted. Suddenly, he found himself preening at each glimpse of that smile, found his chest growing warm and tingly every time Steve accepted his tip money or leftover food.
Suddenly, the very thing that had always been a distant daydream seemed possible, and suddenly, he found himself craving it with a burning urgency that startled even himself.
He wanted Steve to be his.
And now, Steve is here in his apartment, shifting on the sofa so that he can lean further into Eddie’s space.
It's everything Eddie has been thinking about for weeks. Having Steve here, in his living room, close enough to feel his body heat, close enough to touch.
Except this is not a date.
“Ow, fuck,” he hisses as Steve touches a piece of alcohol-drenched gauze to his split lip. “That hurts!”
Steve scowls at him.
“It wouldn't hurt so much if you could stop fidgeting for five seconds” he scolds, but his touch goes more gentle. “We need to clean this before it gets infected.”
“Well,” Eddie says, “Maybe I’d stop fidgeting if you were more careful.”
Steve rolls his eyes, putting two fingers to Eddie’s chin so that he can keep his head in place. “Stop being such a crybaby. I swear to God, I've babysat four-year-olds less whiny than you.”
“Yeah, well,” Eddie snarks. “I doubt the four-year-olds ever had their heads bashed in trying to protect you from some sleazy, wannabe rapist in a dark side alley, so there.”
Steve freezes.
“Shit,” Eddie says, fighting against the rapidly rising urge to punch himself again. He's probably mildly concussed already, God knows he can do without extra hits. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-”
“It's okay,” Steve says, but his expression has become guarded and distant again. Before Eddie can stop him, he stands, snatching the first aid kit from its place by their feet and carrying it over to the side table standing a small way off. A tense silence settles over the room while he turns his back, pretending to organize the contents, and Eddie wrecks his brain for something to say to lift the mood.
“Who was that douchebag, anyhow?” is what his mouth settles on. Steve's shoulders go rigid, and scratch that, Eddie clearly hasn't been punched enough yet.
“Dunno,” Steve mutters, just as Eddie is considering whether to bash his stupid fucking head against the sofa table or the nearest wall. “I don't ask their names, usually.”
Eddie can practically feel how the remaining color drains from his face.
“Wait, whoa,” he blurts. “Hold on a second. Their names? As in plural? What the hell, Steve?”
“Oh, for fuck's sake.” Steve slams the first aid kit shut so hard the plastic cracks, and whirls around. “Don't act so shocked. You think I'm getting by on waiting tables alone? Please! We're both grown-ass adults, don't make me spell it out for you.”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Eddie screeches. His hands are shaking, he can hear his own blood in his ears, and apparently, he's gotten off the sofa at some point, because he's on his feet and Steve takes a step back as he advances on him, bumping his ass against the table. “What are you even- … You can't do that.”
Steve's eyes go hard.
“Why not?” he asks, and the aloof tone and stubborn jut to his chin remind Eddie painfully of the first time they met again at the diner. “What's it to you?”
Everything, Eddie wants to say. It's fucking everything to him, because Steve is everything, and the idea of Steve with anyone else makes his blood boil and his stomach twist.
“I just…” he stutters instead. “I don't- … I don't get it. Money's a little tight, so you thought it would be a good idea to fuck strangers in an alleyway?”
Steve flushes and sputters. It would be adorable, under any other circumstances, if Eddie could feel anything but helpless rage right now.
“I don't fuck them,” he says. “I just …”
He trails off, blush darkening by about five shades. His eyes stay glued to one of the framed band posters on Eddie’s wall as he forms a loose circle with his thumb and fingers. He does a vague, jerky up-and-down motion, once, before he lets his hand flop to his side.
“Sometimes I suck ‘em off, but only if they're nice and pay extra.”
Eddie stares at him. Maybe, if the situation was any different, he'd find it funny how Steve can't bring himself to say the word handjob, but will casually talk about sucking someone off for a bit of extra money, but right now, all he wants to do is scream. The thought of Steve on his knees in that dark, stinking side alley, of that pretty, pink mouth opening for some other guy's cock, fills his mind with dark needlepoints of red.
“Are you fucking serious?” His hands have found his hair, pulling on a fistful of curls until his scalp stings. “That's- … Shit, that's dangerous, Steve. Do you have any idea what-”
“Oh, wow!” Steve throws up his hands and laughs, but there's no joy in it. “It's dangerous? Really? Well, thank you for telling me. What would I ever do without you?”
“Well excuse the fuck out of me,” Eddie snaps, and his voice rises dangerously. “Like what, I'm not allowed to worry about you?”
“No, you're not!”
The words bounce unpleasantly off the walls of the living room. They feel like a punch to the gut, and without his conscious doing, Eddie finds himself stumbling a step backwards. Steve takes in the shock on his face and huffs.
“You're not,” he repeats, more calmly this time, and somehow it's even worse the second time around. “You don't get to- … fuck, Eddie, I dunno what you think this is, but we're not- … You're a customer. I serve you food, you pay me. You tip well, so I'm nice to you, but that's- … We are not friends. You don't get to worry about me, and you most definitely do not get to tell me what to do or not to do with my body, okay?”
Silence settles between them. Somewhere outside, the sound of sirens slices through the night.
“Okay,” Eddie says. “I'm- … okay.”
Steve nods. His breath is coming in ragged little puffs.
“Okay,” he repeats. “Good. Thanks for helping me out.”
Panic clawing at his chest, Eddie watches how he turns, picking up the bag with his roller skates from the floor. He wants to shout out, wants to tell Steve not to leave, wants to lunge and hold him back and never let him go again.
But he can’t. This is not a date. They’re not friends. Steve isn’t his, and he can't tell him what to do, can't protect him, can't do anything but pay him for his service and hope that-
“Wait.”
The word is out before the thought fully settles. Steve turns on the threshold of the living room, eyes weary and tired.
“What?”
Eddie doesn't allow himself time to pause. If he did, he'd think about what a horrible idea this is, and he doesn't have time to second-guess himself now.
“How much do you make with that little side hustle of yours?”
Steve shrugs.
“Depends? I have a couple of regulars, but-” He cuts himself off and Eddie can see how he reels himself back in, how his shoulders go rigid and his expression closes off. “Why should I tell you?”
“Because I'll double it.” Eddie means to sound bold and confident, but he nearly barrels over himself in his haste to get the words out, and his voice cracks pathetically on the last syllables. A disbelieving little smile twitches over Steve’s face.
“You'll what?”
“Double it,” Eddie repeats, more firmly this time. He finally finds the use of his feet again, bridging the distance between them with a few quick steps. Steve’s smile drops. “No, screw this, I'll triple it. You want me as a customer, I'll be your goddamn customer. On one condition.”
Steve's shoulders bump against the doorframe as Eddie steps into his space. For a second or two, Eddie thinks he's going to bolt - run right out the front door and into the darkness, maybe disappear from Eddie’s life forever. But he stays. Stays close enough for Eddie to see how his breath hitches in his throat. Close enough for Eddie to see the temptation in those gold-flecked eyes.
He knows he has won before he even says it, and it fills him with a grim, possessive satisfaction. He's probably a horrible person for it.
“I want this to be an exclusive deal.”
To be continued ...
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