comicbook artist in progress/Art student and teacher/29/Multifandom idiot/Future queen of Hell/asexual/they-them/ Basically your Vampire mom and nerd dad in the same body. I'm perpetually on an anime phase @Hels._.art on insta
not using AI genuinely feels like the rest of the world is experiencing some kind of mass amnesia. if someone says they never use it, the immediate response is that can't be true because "everyone" uses it to write their emails or answer their questions. saw a comment suggesting that not using chatgpt to write an essay is "like the 90s". girl I graduated in 2021 and we weren't doing that! how is it that everyone has suddenly forgotten that they were entirely capable of doing these things all by themselves for their entire lives up until the past few years!! am I going crazy!!!
I'm back with a new hyperfixation, a new drawing device and some free time.
I've been sketching warhammer characters for months on the train, (as for now I have more than 50 sketches, primarchs included) so I need some help from the hivemind:
The Emperor presents baby Celestine to the primarchs, and Sanguinius goes thanks, this is mine now. Her permanent spot is in his arms, and he's already thinking of where to put her nursery on his ship. He has the saddest face imaginable when Emps tries to take her back cause she needs to go to her lessons.
It's finally time for me to post my @steddiebbang! I'm project #007, I worked with @hel-s-art for the art (please give them some love on their post), and @alwaysurvalentine as beta. Thanks so much to both of them! Chapter 1 is up now on AO3, and I'll be posting Chapters 2 and 3 on the next two Fridays. Details below!
Playlist to go along with the fic.
header by me incorporating stock photo by susan wilkinson on unsplash
divider by @/saradika-graphics
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 19,208
Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Tags: Very Minor Steve Harrington/Original Female Character, AU - No Upside Down, Crack Treated Seriously, Explicit Sexual Content, Period-Typical Homophobia, POV Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Alien/Human Relationships, Shapeshifting, Glam Rock Musician Eddie Munson, Alien Eddie Munson, Human Steve Harrington, Doctor Steve Harrington, Inspired by David Bowie, Compulsory Heterosexuality, Vomiting, Steve Harrington Has Panic Attacks, Angst with a Happy Ending
Summary:
Steve should be happy with his life. From an outsider's perspective, he has it all - a lucrative job at his father's internal medicine practice (which he stands to inherit), generational wealth, and an endless line of dates with eligible young women. But nobody in his life knows that he's a queer man aching for community and deeper connection.
When he stumbles upon a performance by Eddie Munson and the Spiders from Mars, the delicate balance he's built in his life is thrown into disarray. Eddie, a flamboyant man who insists that he's from another planet, shows Steve what it would be like to let go of all of his preconceived notions of what a life should be. Steve has to decide if he will take the lesson to heart, or if he will cling to what he knows.
Snippet from chapter one below:
A parade of men and women streamed past the restaurant window, hurrying home from their jobs. Steve had seated himself strategically, in a position that allowed him to look at the traffic on the sidewalk while seeming to pay attention to his father as he talked.
People-watching was one of the coping mechanisms Steve used to deal with these tedious dinners with his father and Tommy. He spent enough time with them at the practice; he didn't feel it was necessary to have weekly working dinners. But his father insisted that they needed to constantly think about growing the practice, so Steve found himself at Angelo's Steakhouse every Monday night.
Most of Steve's brainpower was focused on the people outside the window as his father droned on about a rival practice a few blocks from theirs. His father and Tommy brainstormed methods to poach the other practice's patients, who were among the richest in the city, while Steve silently made up stories about each person who walked past. That man in an ill-fitting brown suit may be an office worker by day, but he was a Russian spy by night. That woman in the bright green dress and yellow high heels was planning to leave her boring secretarial job in the city and join the circus.
At some point, Steve noticed a change in the composition of the people walking by. More and more of them wore brightly colored, garish clothing. Several men dressed in women's clothing passed by.
"Steven, are you even listening?" his father snapped.
"Sorry," Steve mumbled, eyes snapping back to his father. "A little tired tonight."
His father sighed. "How many times have we been over this? It doesn't matter how tired you are. You never let it show on your face or in your actions."
Tommy smirked at Steve from where he sat beside Steve's father. Tommy loved watching Steve get taken down a peg.
"What were you even looking at out there?" Tommy asked, turning around toward the window. He laughed cruelly when he spotted the men walking past. "Looks like the fags are out in full force tonight."
Steve held back a sigh. No one knew Steve was gay, save a few men he'd hooked up with in bathhouses. Tommy definitely didn't know Steve was gay. But when given the opportunity, he never failed to remind Steve that staying in the closet was for the best, even if he didn't realize he was doing it.
His father's face twisted into a grimace as he turned and caught sight of the men outside. "That shouldn't be allowed in public," he grumbled. "Stop staring at them, Steven. It's uncouth."
Steve lowered his eyes to the table to show his father that he was appropriately chagrined. His father was like a gorilla - maintenance of eye contact was a perceived threat. And his father didn't react well to threats.
"Now, back to our conversation," his father said. "I was trying to tell you that I've set up a date for you with Monica Bellway. Of the Bellways."
Steve looked up at his father. He carefully kept his face neutral, devoid of all signs of the distress he was feeling internally. It had been a few months since his parents had set him up with anyone, and he had started to hope they might finally leave him alone. Stupid of him, really, to hope.
"I - " Steve began, then faltered. He wanted to stick up for himself. He wanted to say no, to tell his father that he could manage his own love life. But none of those words would come out. "I've been feeling a bit under the weather," he said instead. "Maybe another time."
His father frowned. "Steven. You're 33, and you haven't been in a long-term relationship since high school. Do you realize how bad that looks for your mother and I?" This was a familiar refrain. Only the age changed. His father had been saying the same words to him since he was 20.
"Do you want your cousin Jacob's children to inherit the practice after you pass?" his father continued. "Because I certainly don't."
Steve couldn't care less if Jacob's kids inherited the practice. Steve didn't even want to inherit the practice himself when his father died. The idea of spending the rest of his life shackled to the private practice his father had carefully cultivated to maximize profit and minimize any actual aid to human beings made him want to scream. It was a scream that had been building since he was five and his father had told him he was too old to cry. Sometimes the confined scream felt so heavy in his chest he thought it might suffocate him.
"No, I don't want that," he responded, instead of sharing any of his real opinions.
"Good," his father replied. "You'll meet her at 7pm on Wednesday at the Ritz. This one is important, Steven. The Bellways could be our in with the banking community. That could get us a lot of good new patients." He knew what his father meant by "good" patients - rich patients, who were willing to pay their outrageous retainer fee in cash without involving insurance companies.
Steve nodded. His stomach churned.
"Your mother's already ordered flowers for you to pick up for Monica on the way," his father continued.
Steve wasn't even allowed to be in charge of his own romantic gestures.
"If it doesn't work out with Steve-o and Monica," Tommy said with a sleazy grin, "you know I'm always willing to pick up the slack, Mr. H."
His father smiled at Tommy. Steve couldn't remember the last time his father had smiled at him.
"Thank you, Thomas. I'm sure that won't be necessary."
Half an hour later, Steve stood on the sidewalk with his father and Tommy as they waited for their cabs.
"Steven, don't be ridiculous. You can't walk home," his father said. "I know I'm paying you enough to afford a cab."
"I like walking," Steve said.
He could tell his father wanted to say more, that he wanted to launch into his rant about how walking was beneath their social class. But Steve was saved when his father's cab pulled up to the curb, shortly followed by Tommy's.
Steve breathed deeply when they were finally gone, for what felt like the first time all day. His chest expanded as the weight of his father's expectations slid off of his shoulders. He pulled in huge lungfuls of the crisp October night air, the characteristic taste of dying leaves on his tongue.
His walk would take him the better part of an hour, but he loved walking through the city at night. The repetitive motion calmed his mind. It quieted the litany of "not-good-enough" that ran through his thoughts every evening after he finished another exhausting day at a job he'd never wanted.
A flash of color and loud laughter a few blocks ahead pulled him from his rumination. A group of people dressed similarly to the ones he'd been watching from the restaurant window were clustered on the sidewalk, walking slowly. He drew near enough to overhear snippets of their conversation.
"The show is going to be out of this world!" a man dressed in a leather skirt and bright pink crop top said.
"I know, I can't wait." This came from an androgynous individual covered in more glitter than Steve had ever seen in one place. "Where did these guys even come from?"
"No clue, but I'm glad they decided to stop in the city for awhile."
Steve needed to get home and go to sleep. He needed to prepare for another grueling day at the practice. But instead of turning left at the next intersection and heading uptown, he continued to follow the group. He slowed his pace to keep from looming over them, and followed them into a small bar.
He'd never been to the bar before. Had never even noticed it, though he'd walked down this street plenty of times. The entrance was nondescript, the door covered in peeling gray paint. "STAR" was written in capital letters over the door, with a small five-pointed star drawn on either side. There was no indication that it was even a bar. Steve didn't figure that out until he'd walked inside.
He felt like he'd stepped into another world. The lights were low enough that it took his eyes a moment to adjust, and they had a purple tint to them. A bar ran along one wall. The patrons were all in various states of flamboyant dress. Steve recognized a few from the window of the restaurant.
People turned to stare at him, glancing at his perfectly tailored suit and boringly tasteful tie, but no one asked him to leave. So he took off his suit jacket, threw it over an arm, and approached the bar.
The bartender looked him up and down, then smirked. "What can I get you, angel?" they asked. Steve couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman.
"Vodka tonic," Steve replied, sliding over a few bills. "Is there a show tonight?" he asked when the bartender handed him his drink.
"Oh, is there ever! You're in for a treat, baby." They pointed to a poster tacked up behind the bar. It looked homemade, with a drawing of a rocket ship and four vaguely person-shaped figures beneath hastily scrawled words:
EDDIE MUNSON AND THE SPIDERS FROM MARS
"Is that a band?" Steve asked.
"A band. A movement. A whole fucking experience!"
Steve laughed, buoyed up by the bartender's excitement. "Guess I'll stay then."
The bar was larger than he'd expected from the outside. There was a small stage at one end, with an open space directly in front of it. The rest of the room was peppered with high-top tables and occasional stools. The place was already crowded, noisy with the clink of glasses and the murmur of voices.
He made his way to one of the only unoccupied high-top tables in a corner. He glanced at his watch - already 9:30pm. He was going to regret this in the morning, but something had pulled him here. Now that he was here, he found he didn't want to leave.
A few sips into his second drink of the evening, the lights dimmed even further. A hush fell over the crowd, quickly replaced with loud applause and cheering as four people walked onto the stage.
Although all four of the band members were dressed in over the top outfits, Steve's eyes were instantly drawn to the figure who took center stage. They were tall, skinny, and androgynous, with a mess of curly brown hair. They wore a skin-tight red-gold-and-green-striped jumpsuit with rigid, pointed shoulders. The suit was glittery, shining beneath the lights on the stage, and was open in the front almost down to their navel. Knee-high red leather boots completed the ensemble.
They threw back their hair and yelled, "Welcome back, all my queerdos and freaks!" The voice sounded like a man's, but Steve really couldn't be sure.
The room erupted in cheers as the band started their first song.
The show passed Steve by in a joyous blur. The music was upbeat, but more complex than Steve was used to hearing in pop music. He couldn't catch many of the lyrics, and when he could they seemed to be largely nonsensical. It didn't matter that he had no idea what the songs were about. The sounds, combined with the frantic energy of the crowd, left Steve feeling ebullient. It made him feel whole. He could be part of something good, for an hour or two.
The crowd cajoled the band into a flashy encore, but eventually the show drew to a close. A heavy weight descended on Steve as he checked his watch. It was midnight, and he had to leave this colorful haven and return to his life.
Steve hung around for a few more minutes, watching the people in the crowd. What would it be like, to be that free? To wear what he wanted, to go where he wanted, to kiss who he wanted. An ache gripped his core as he felt tears build up in the corners of his eyes.
"Did you like the show?" someone asked from behind him. The voice was softer and less chaotic now, but Steve recognized it. The lead singer of the band.
Steve turned. The man had changed out of his garish outfit into something that was still eye-catching, though more muted - tight black jeans with a fishnet shirt. Steve could see the outlines of ample black ink on the skin beneath his shirt. He shifted uncomfortably in his dress shirt and slacks. Under this man's gaze, he felt even more out of place.
"Yes," Steve replied. "I loved it."
The man grinned. "I'm Eddie." He held out a many-ringed hand. His palm was cool and smooth when Steve took it to shake. "Do you have a name?" Eddie prompted. He still hadn't let go of Steve's hand.
"Steve."
Eddie squeezed his hand once before letting it go. "Nice to meet you, Steve." He moved closer until his arm was pressed against Steve's. He smelled like sweat and cigarettes. It shouldn't have been appealing, but it was. "Do you want to come upstairs to my place for a drink?"
Steve should be happy with his life. From an outsider's perspective, he has it all - a lucrative job at his father's internal medicine practice (which he stands to inherit), generational wealth, and an endless line of dates with eligible young women. But nobody in his life knows that he's a queer man aching for community and deeper connection.
When he stumbles upon a performance by Eddie Munson and the Spiders from Mars, the delicate balance he's built in his life is thrown into disarray. Eddie, a flamboyant man who insists that he's from another planet, shows Steve what it would be like to let go of all of his preconceived notions of what a life should be. Steve has to decide if he will take the lesson to heart, or if he will cling to what he knows.
Like, imagine him sitting down to write and thinking: "hmm, why don't I describe how their muscular sweaty man-boobs touched each other in a purely brotherly way? Oh, and I should repeat a couple of times (for emphasis) that they stood very close to each other."
To commemorate entering the last week of the campaign AND hitting Stretch Goal #5, we've made a *extremely* limited amount of Vol1 leftovers available as add-ons. Once these are gone, they're gone forever!
Snatch yours at
Volume 2 of our open-call IWTV charity fanzine. Made by fans, for fans.
