Wayne is a regular at the bookstore Steve works at and badgers Steve into going on a blind date with his kid.
"Vampire Pancakes"
Everyone is kind of afraid of Eddie now that he's a vampire which makes him feel terrible about himself. Leave it to Steve to swoop in and make everything better in a sweet way.
"Will You Still Need Me?"
Steve Harrington is avoiding telling his professional-musician-boyfriend, Eddie, that he's going deaf because he's worried about what will happen when he does.
"Eddie Munson, Bug Wrangler"
Eddie discovers that Steve does have a weakness after all. Can removing bugs from the house be considered a love language?
⭐️"You Should Date My Nephew"⭐️
Eddie was supposed to pick Uncle Wayne up from work in the middle of the night. Who will Wayne call when he realizes Eddie's not coming?
As Google has worked to overtake the internet, its search algorithm has not just gotten worse. It has been designed to prioritize advertisers and popular pages often times excluding pages and content that better matches your search terms
As a writer in need of information for my stories, I find this unacceptable. As a proponent of availability of information so the populace can actually educate itself, it is unforgivable.
Below is a concise list of useful research sites compiled by Edward Clark over on Facebook. I was familiar with some, but not all of these.
⁂
Google is so powerful that it “hides” other search systems from us. We just don’t know the existence of most of them. Meanwhile, there are still a huge number of excellent searchers in the world who specialize in books, science, other smart information. Keep a list of sites you never heard of.
www.refseek.com - Academic Resource Search. More than a billion sources: encyclopedia, monographies, magazines.
www.worldcat.org - a search for the contents of 20 thousand worldwide libraries. Find out where lies the nearest rare book you need.
https://link.springer.com - access to more than 10 million scientific documents: books, articles, research protocols.
www.bioline.org.br is a library of scientific bioscience journals published in developing countries.
http://repec.org - volunteers from 102 countries have collected almost 4 million publications on economics and related science.
www.science.gov is an American state search engine on 2200+ scientific sites. More than 200 million articles are indexed.
www.pdfdrive.com is the largest website for free download of books in PDF format. Claiming over 225 million names.
www.base-search.net is one of the most powerful researches on academic studies texts. More than 100 million scientific documents, 70% of them are free
Thinking about Eddie and Steve not needing words to understand each other, or at least not too many.
The way Steve says "Teddy, c'mere" with his hand stretched out and Eddie's already walking over, chin jutted out bc he knows there must be something stuck to his face.
Or how Eddie will say "Angel, you wanna...?" and trail off looking at whatever Steve's carrying. And Steve will hand it over for Eddie to help, murmuring a "thankyou".
How Eddie'll say "Baby" out of the blue and Steve will drop what he's doing to go sit on his lap and happily receive soft kisses to his jaw.
And how Steve will gently scratch Eddie's scalp when he plops down, head on Steve's lap, because he knows that's what Eddie's asking for.
How whenever one of them hooks their chin on the other's shoulders, the other knows to share whatever they're drinking or snacking on.
How when Steve bumps his forehead to the back of Eddie's shoulder wrapping his arms around him, and how when Eddie trails his hand down the back of Steve's thigh holding on to the back of his knee as he's laying behind him, they both know that means "I love you".
“Hey, have you seen Harrington? Guy’s totally wasted. Can't even stand. Tried to get up, fell down like a goddamn turtle. Garrison's over there throwing chips at him. It’s hysterical, you gotta check this out, man.”
The upside to being the guy everyone calls ‘the Freak’—the guy no one wants to talk to unless they’re looking to buy—is that Eddie can disappear whenever he wants. And tonight, he’s been in full stealth mode, almost ghost-like in the way he drifts through the shadows of this overcrowded house party. When he’s not standing on lunch tables at school, giving speeches, or taunting the assholes who think they run the place, Eddie finds that people tend to forget he’s even there.
Which makes it real easy to hear all kinds of things he probably shouldn’t. Not that Carver's announcement is any kind of secret, not with the way he’s broadcasting it to the entire room. Ever since Harrington lost his King Steve status, the rest of the jock squad has been scrambling to claw their way to the top. It’s desperate. Pathetic, really, if you ask him. But no one’s ever asking Eddie for his opinion.
He should get out of here. Most of his stash is gone, and it’s getting late. There’s leftover mac and cheese in the fridge with his name on it, and if he bolts now, he might just catch the midnight rerun of The Thing.
Eddie tries to ignore the mental image of Harrington—Steve, Steve—sprawled out on that grimy carpet, covered in crumbs and dirt, drenched in stale beer. He must feel defenseless. The kind of defenseless that Eddie knows too well, the kind that gets you laughed at, or worse. But just because Harrington buys a dime bag off him every week doesn’t mean they’re friends. Even if they’ve had a few surprisingly not-awful conversations. Even if Steve’s actually kind of funny for a rich kid, for a jock.
There’s no reason for Eddie to care about what’s happening to Steve Harrington, just like Steve never cared about him.
So why the hell are his feet carrying him toward the living room instead of the back door? Why is he elbowing people out of the way, pushing through the circle of gawkers around Steve? Why are his hands grabbing Steve by the shoulders, hauling him up, and dragging him out before anyone even knows what’s happening?
And why, for the love of God, is he driving to his trailer with Steve snoring in the passenger seat, instead of dumping the guy at his parents' mansion and going home?
Eddie wishes he knew. But his body’s on autopilot, and he’s watching it all happen like he's outside himself, like he’s not the one doing it.
The trailer park is quiet, too quiet for a Saturday night, but that’s January for you—cold as a witch's tit, and getting colder. The van’s heater barely works, and Eddie can see both their breaths fogging up the air, little puffs of steam in the dark.
Eddie cuts the engine, and the sudden silence fills the van like a held breath. Steve shifts in the seat, muttering something incoherent, his head lolling against the window. For a split second, Eddie considers just leaving him here. Would serve him right, honestly. Let King Steve wake up alone, freezing his ass off in a busted van in a trailer park at the edge of town. But then Steve lets out a soft groan, and Eddie can’t help but roll his eyes.
"You're a real piece of work, Harrington," he mutters under his breath, pushing open the driver's side door.
The cold air hits him like a slap, biting through his jacket and sending a shiver down his spine. He makes his way around to the passenger side, yanking open the door and catching Steve before he can tumble out. The guy's heavier than he looks—dead weight, limp as a rag doll. Eddie grunts, struggling for a grip, and finally manages to sling one of Steve's arms over his shoulder.
"Okay, big boy, up you go," Eddie mutters, half-dragging, half-carrying Steve toward the trailer. Steve's head drops forward, his hair brushing Eddie’s cheek, and he smells like a mix of beer, Steve's usual cologne, and something else—something clean, like laundry detergent or fresh air. It's weirdly comforting, and Eddie has to shake himself out of it.
Inside, the trailer is dim, lit only by the glow of the old TV Eddie left on. He kicks the door shut behind them, maneuvering Steve over to the sagging couch. Steve flops down with a heavy thud, eyes still closed, mouth slightly open. For a second, Eddie just stands there, looking at him, wondering what the hell he’s doing.
Why didn’t he just leave him there at the party? Why did he care?
Maybe it's because Steve looks different like this. Not the smug, popular guy who used to strut down the halls like he owned the place. Not the guy who had everything and then lost it all. Just... some kid, really. Some scared, drunk kid who probably doesn’t know where he fits anymore.
“Alright, Sleeping Beauty,” Eddie mutters, leaning down to untie Steve’s sneakers. “Let’s get you comfortable before you choke on your own puke.”
As he pulls off one shoe, then the other, Steve stirs, his eyelids fluttering. For a moment, his gaze is unfocused, hazy, but then his eyes lock onto Eddie’s, and there’s a flicker of recognition.
“Munson?” Steve’s voice is low, rough from whatever he’s been drinking. “What the hell…?”
“Yeah, it’s me, genius,” Eddie says, trying to sound annoyed but failing to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “You got yourself in a bit of a mess tonight, Harrington.”
Steve blinks, slowly piecing things together. “Why’d you bring me here?”
Eddie shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “Seemed like the right thing to do, I guess.”
Steve snorts, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Right. The Freak playing Good Samaritan. What’s the punchline?”
Eddie’s smile fades. It inexplicably hurts to hear Steve call him that. “There’s no punchline, man. Not everything’s a joke.”
Steve stares at him, as if searching for something in Eddie’s face, something to latch onto. Finally, he just nods, leaning back against the couch, eyes half-closed again. “Thanks,” he mumbles, almost too quiet to hear. “I guess.”
Eddie feels something strange twist in his chest. “Don’t mention it,” he says, a little too quickly, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Steve. He turns away, grabbing an old blanket from a nearby chair and tossing it over Steve. “You sleep it off. I’ll be in my room.”
But even as he walks away, he can't shake the feeling that something’s shifted tonight, some invisible line crossed. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe in the morning, Steve will wake up, make a snarky comment, and it’ll all go back to the way it was.
Eddie sits and watches Steve’s kitchen clock slowly count closer and closer to their movie time—closer, then past. It’s 30 minutes gone from showtime when he hears the bathroom door upstairs close and shut, and Steve’s bedroom door quietly doing the same.
Wincing, Eddie counts down slowly from 100, lets Steve wallow for a bit, before he gets down from his stool to head up.
“Hey,” Eddie murmurs, sitting beside the lump under Steve’s blankets. The lump does not reply. “Baby, you okay?”
“No,” it whines, and Eddie’s glad Steve has shoved his head under his pillow because Eddie can’t help cracking a smile. “I’m dying, and I’m a shitty boyfriend, and you’re going to dump me.”
Eddie scoffs. “The day I dump you is the day you send me to the funny farm,” he says, mock serious. “You do shit a lot though, babydoll.”
Steve whines louder. “It’s not fair! You eat expired hotdogs! Raw! Straight from the fridge!!”
“Guts of steel, Stevie! Your upper middle class suburban tummy would shrivel and die in the face of things I’ve eaten.”
“It’s shriveled and died already, thanks.”
Eddie laughs, and rubs his hand along Steve’s arm. He knows better than touching him anywhere else when Steve’s stomach is upset. But the fact that he’s in bed, under the covers, must mean the worst is over.
“You want me to get you anything?”
“New organs and a surgeon to put them in.”
“I was thinking more like water? Toast? Pepto?”
“A quick and painless death?”
“I’m afraid I can only offer you kisses and cuddles when you feel up for it. And the aforementioned consumable items.”
Steve’s head comes out from under the pillow and he squints at Eddie. His hair is standing up in wild spikes, and Eddie chews his lip to keep himself from laughing.
“Who the fuck says shit like aforementioned, you absolute dork.”
“You love me,” Eddie says, grinning.
Wrinkling his nose, Steve sighs, flopping back down on the bed. “I guess,” he admits, looking up at Eddie through his lashes with a little, miserable smile, and taking Eddie’s breath away. Even when he’s miserable and whiny, Steve remains the prettiest person Eddie’s ever had the luck to lay eyes on. “I guess I’ll take a water. And a kiss, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Eddie grins, leaning down. “Anything for you, princess.”
My HC based on nothing is that Gareth’s mom was Steve’s piano teacher for years until he needed a more advanced one. So while Eddie is lamenting his big embarrassing crush on Steve “The Hair” Harrington, Gareth is silently sitting there cursed with the knowledge that’s Steve’s actually kinda nice.
Eddie grumbles about how Harrington is an insensitive asshole and Gareth knows that Steve gets teary-eyed when he can’t pick up a new piano piece of music fast enough. Eddie complains about Harrington’s perfect life and Gareth is forced to remember the fourteen piano recitals his mom took him to and how Steve’s parents were at two of them.
Eddie overhears Steve mention a demogorgon to Nancy Wheeler in the hallway and scoffs about how Steve knows nothing about D&D. Gareth is rudely reminded of the time Steve sat on his front porch waiting for his mom to pick him up and listened to Gareth ramble on about the new role playing game he just learned about. The meanest thing Steve said about it was, “No offense, that sounds like a nightmare. Math and public speaking, no thanks.”
When Steve was a child, he would collect colorful candles and light them so he could celebrate his birthday every day. Because it was the only time his parents were nice to him.
Even after he learned the hard way it didn't work like that, he still kept doing so as a way to quiet the bad thoughts in his head.
When he got together with Eddie, his habit of seeking comfort from birthday candles persisted.
Instead of dismissing it as a childish trait, Eddie collected them for him at every given chance, lighting them up and baking him pies when he had bad days.
Though Eddie never asked, he knew Eddie understood.
Because Eddie, too, had that lonely child in his heart who used to crave warmth and tenderness, but got rough hands and cold words instead.
Thankfully, they had each other now, had found each other despite everything, had become each other’s anchor, a home of warm love and soft lullabies, a safe haven they could finally give those two little boys.
Written for @steddieangstyaugust day 4: angst with a happy ending.
Once upon a time, when the world almost ended and didn't, Eddie Munson used to think that surviving the near apocalypse would be the most difficult thing he'd ever have to do in his life. Surely being bitten to death, then resurrected by the big bad, then breaking away from his influence and helping save the world, that must have counted for something, right? He'd earn a happy end through all that suffering.
Well, no. Not really. That's what he learned the second the portal to the Upside Down closed. The lovely people of Hawkins still hated him, he and Wayne had nowhere to live because their trailer split open, and he barely escaped another group of government scientists very much interested in the whole "came back to life" thing.
It was only natural Eddie ran. Why wouldn't he? He brought Wayne only bad luck, even worse reputation, and a bunch of extra expenses. His friends from the Corroded Coffin? Tortured by Jason to find his location. The freshmen he dragged into Hellfire? Also targeted. Eddie's name was a target on the back on everyone he loved and he wouldn't stay long enough for it to put the others in danger. Not Wayne, Dustin…Steve. Steve who confused him as much as enticed him. But Hawkins wasn't the place to explore this forbidden space in Eddie's head.
Indy sounded like a good destination and so that's where he went. He wrote a bunch of goodbye letters, trying to explain, but mostly to ease the pain. I will be in touch once I settle in, he said in them. He was never a good liar, not even on paper.
The whole Upside Down affair had robbed him of everything. His baby, his guitar. His closest relationships. His only proper home. The future he saw with himself and the Corroded Coffin. But he still had his life, so that was something.
He made friends, but not really. How do you make a real connection with someone when you can't tell them anything about the most important event in your life? How do you explain staring at every girl with golden blond ponytail on the street, dreading the moment they turn around because it won't be her?
He would send letters to Wayne sometimes. They would be long, talking about this and that, he would sometimes call too. But he noticed that for how much he talked, the content was empty. He wondered if Wayne noticed too. He must have - his uncle was the most perceptive man he'd ever met. He sent a bunch of short messages to Dustin via Wayne, just to keep him from going all Sherlock Holmes on Eddie. He swore to visit them both one day. Just not today. Or tomorrow.
The only good thing about his life in Indy was the anonymity of a large city and with that, the possibility to explore who he really was. He saved as much as he could and bought a new guitar. It would never be like his first love, but he could get back to music and drive his roommates insane with how out of practice he was. He'd play here and there, become very slightly famous in the local queer community. Sometimes his performances would earn him a free drink, sometimes a kiss. Or if he was really good, company for the night.
Five years in, it was going fairly well, he thought. He wasn't completely broke, he could kiss who he wanted - boys, how long it took him to admit that!, his songs got more genuine. He even wrote a bunch about Hawkins, never naming the place or people, of course, but it helped him work through some stuff. And on some days, he didn't even think much about what and who he'd left behind.
Until that fateful evening when he was scheduled to perform in his frequented gay bar. He sat on his usual stool on the podium with his acoustic guitar, greeted the regulars, and said his usual spiel: "This one is about a very special boy. He wore a yellow sweater, saved my life a bunch of times. Was really badass too. I think he made me realize who I really am, even if he never knew how I feel about him."
He never gave the song a name. He considered "His vest over my bleeding heart", or maybe something like "Keep me like you kept the vest", something with sunflowers, nail bats, perfect hair. Everyone in the bar knew he hated naming his songs anyway, so he took a deep breath and got ready to play.
Only then did he notice a familiar shade of yellow near the bar. And a surprised, but still a smile.
Eddie didn't run that evening. He finished the set, thanked his supporters and fans, and then he found himself sitting next to Steve Harrington, the man from his songs and dreams.
"Everyone misses you like crazy. They still hope you'll stop by, but I get it. I just feel lucky as hell. I didn't think I'd see you again," said Steve and it sounded sad. Like he actually missed Eddie too.
"I didn't think I'd find you in a place like this," responded Eddie. He wanted it to sound more rough, defensive, but his heart betrayed him and it was more of a question. Of a plea.
Steve smiled at him again, and maybe it was Eddie's imagination, but did he shift closer to him? "You haven't seen me in a long time, Eddie. This is exactly the place you'd find me these days. And now…I don't even need to drag Robin with me as an excuse."
Oh. Okay. Eddie could work with that. Licking his lips, he prodded even more. "So…uh. I take it you still haven't found what you're looking for?"
Steve turned to him fully, reaching out for Eddie's hand, and Eddie realized that he might have been wrong. This might be his happy ending after all.
Especially when Steve's lips parted and he said: "I have now."
Eddie would visit Wayne. He'd call Dustin, catch up with Gareth and others. Because he no longer felt like a bad omen. The morning he woke up next to Steve Harrington, with a careful promise of much more than one night, with pancakes for breakfast and talking, so much real talking with no secrets and no lies, he decided that he was ready to stop running. For good this time.
The barely concealed expression of horror, made right as a lady hears one of his cornball, goofy jokes and speeds through the five stages of grief as they realize they still want to fuck him.
Even if he says shit so ridiculous a middle schooler couldn’t get away with it.
(And Steve would know, because he’s watched Dustin try.)
It’s a core part of his personality really. He was smooth about it when he cared about appearances, locked the corny shit away until they were alone and he could reveal just enough of his real self to seal the deal.
Then he was all about making teddy bears talk and all other kinds of stupid shit.
Nowadays he doesn't bother with putting on the cool guy front.
Steve is who he is, and likes who he likes, and that perhaps, is why this particular look of horrified acceptance is so amusing.
Because it’s not on a girl's face.
It’s on Eddie’s.
Which he expected, because Steve’s not as stupid as the kids think.
Just as Eddie isn’t the best at hiding his crushes like he thinks he is.
The over-the-top showmanship and teasing, the jokes and theatrics might fool most of the Party, and had even Robin second guessing for a while, but none of them have done their time in the trenches.
Romance is, and has always been, Steve’s game.
“What did you say?” Eddie asks, laughter ringing through his voice, and with a cocky grin, Steve steps into his space and happily repeats himself.
“I said--if no one’s done it yet, then let me be the first to thank you for wearing those pants.” For the second time, Steve sends his eyes downward, only to slowly pull them back up. “What are they made out of? Boyfriend material?”
“oh my God.” Eddie says but he’s grinning, a finger pulling some hair across his face and Steve knows then and there that he’s won.
Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Angst With a Happy Ending” | wc: 1,096 | rated: T | cw: hospital, heart attack, parental illness | tags: hurt/comfort, taking care of each other | title from “I’m Still Standing “ by Elton John
———
Eddie runs into the emergency room and directly into Steve’s arms. He can’t catch his breath, having hyperventilated the whole drive back to Hawkins and sprinted from the parking lot, but he’s able to gasp out, “Wayne-?”
“He’s okay,” Steve reassures him, rubbing his hands up and down Eddie’s arms. “He’s gonna be okay, they’re just gonna keep him overnight for observation.”
“He’s okay?” Eddie parrots. What does that mean? The words haven’t sunk in yet. Eddie was in Indianapolis getting ready for tonight’s show when Steve had called him from this very waiting room to explain that Wayne had a heart attack and Eddie needed to get to the hospital as soon as possible. Two hours later, he’s just… okay?
Steve shifts his grip to Eddie’s shoulders. “He’s okay. We got here fast and they took great care of him. He’s asleep upstairs right now.”
Eddie feels faint with the relief that sweeps through him. Though, as his knees go weak and he stumbles into Steve, it occurs to him that it’s probably just his adrenaline crashing.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Steve catches him under his arms and drags him upright again. “Let’s go sit down while I catch you up.”
Eddie doesn’t know what he needs to know other than ‘Wayne had a heart attack and it didn’t kill him,’ but he lets Steve steer him toward a bank of plastic chairs in the corner. He falls into a seat like a puppet whose strings have been cut.
Steve, angel that he is, pulls a notebook out of his pocket and begins telling Eddie what Wayne’s doctors had said. He had carefully written down phrases that he knew he wouldn’t remember once Eddie got there. Atherosclerosis. Nitroglycerin. Percutaneous coronary intervention. Angioplasty with stent. All the information Eddie would need about his uncle’s care, noted and defined in Steve’s neat handwriting. There are some items with question marks beside them, things that they might need to ask the doctors about.
Eddie’s eyes begin to water. Steve didn’t just do this for him, he did it out of love and concern for Wayne. He spent two hours gathering information and taking notes so he could understand what happened and figure out how to help. The notes on aspirin, the crude diagram of a blocked artery, the bullet point at the bottom of the page that says ‘diet?? medication??’ are all so Steve can take better care of Wayne.
Steve grips Eddie’s hand when he hears his sharp intake of breath. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’ll make more sense once we go upstairs and talk to Wayne’s doctor.” His tone is low and soothing.
“Thanks. I’m glad you were here to look out for him.”
“Yeah, of course.” He looks a little embarrassed by Eddie’s gratitude, like it’s a given that anyone would do the same thing. “He’s important to you, so he’s important to me. But he’s also a good man. A good dad,” he adds tentatively.
Eddie barks out a laugh. “You should call him that to his face, he would love it. Finally, a son who will watch sports with him and properly sort the laundry!”
“I don’t expect you to get it since ninety-nine percent of your wardrobe is black, but separating whites and colors really makes a difference!” Steve argues, blushing at Eddie’s teasing.
Eddie squeezes his hand. “Seriously, Wayne loves you. He calls you his son-in-law when he talks about you with his poker buddies. He brags about how all the kids at school love you and you’re the best second grade teacher in the state. Hell, I think he spends more time with you than he does with me.”
“He really does all that?” Steve asks quietly, like a wish that won’t come true if you say it out loud. When Eddie nods, Steve frowns, his lower lip quivering slightly, and looks down at the scuffed linoleum floor. “I didn’t know.”
Oh, shit. Eddie didn’t even think to ask how Steve was doing through all of this. He had called 911 and ridden in the ambulance with Wayne, had almost certainly paced around the nurses’ station waiting for news. Then, instead of going with Wayne, he stayed downstairs until Eddie got there so he could update him about Wayne’s condition as soon as humanly possible.
It was just like Steve to focus on taking care of everyone else, so natural that Eddie didn’t even think twice about accepting Steve’s comfort while offering nothing in return. And now that the immediate crisis is over, now that Steve has had a chance to breathe and start processing, Eddie thinks Steve might be on the verge of a meltdown.
Wordlessly, Eddie loops an arm under one of Steve’s and tugs him to his feet, herding him in the direction of the single-stall bathroom around the corner. By the time they’re inside, Steve’s whole body is shaking; by the time Eddie flips the lock on the door, fat tears are rolling down his cheeks.
“Sorry, I don’t know why…” Steve gestures at his face a little helplessly.
Eddie still doesn’t say anything, just pulls Steve into a tight embrace. His shirt grows damp where Steve has buried his face in his shoulder, and he feels Steve’s back shudder as he tries to stifle his sobs.
“I was really scared,” he confesses between gasps. “I just kept thinking how horrible it would be if I had to tell you—“
“It’s okay, baby,” Eddie murmurs into his hair. “You did great, he’s okay.”
Steve sniffles loudly. “I know, I’m just being stupid.”
“It’s not stupid.” It comes out more forcefully than Eddie had planned. He hates when Steve does that, puts himself down and invalidates his feelings. “That was a medical emergency. Just because it turned out fine doesn’t mean it wasn’t stressful.”
“I guess.” Steve pulls away long enough to grab a paper towel so he can mop up his face. He goes easily when Eddie guides him into another hug.
Swaying them both gently, he tells Steve, “You know, you don’t always have to put on a brave face. Let me take care of you once in a while.”
“I know,” Steve croaks. “I’m working on it.”
They stand there for another minute, both drawing strength from the other’s presence, before Steve clears his throat and releases Eddie. “I think I’m good. We should go upstairs now, Wayne’ll want to see you.”
“He’ll want to see you, too,” Eddie reminds him.
Steve’s smile is small but radiant. “Okay, let’s go.”
Steddie with a chance of Wayne Munson @steddiewithachance - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
