#implied steddie

[mc-i-r]

"Whatcha lookin' at, Munson?"

upside down • pool • bedroom

---

hi so I'm not dead!! take these three pieces off my fucking hands for the love of god. I had too many outfit ideas for this pose so I just... did all of them. I'll link them here when I get them all posted. hope you enjoy!!

[loveinhawkins]

The problem is that Dustin hasn’t slept. He’s not really thinking when he says it. It’s just that November, the end of it all, has somehow slipped away into December, and he’s spent so long not talking about this, not wanting to, but now he suddenly can’t stop himself from—

“They would have gotten through.”

Steve glances up from making coffee—something adrift in his eyes, restless. It’s been there ever since he’s become stuck without a car to drive around town; ever since Dustin’s mom sat him down and said gently, “Honey, why don’t you stay with us for a little while?”

“What?” Steve asks quietly.

“The bats,” Dustin says.

Steve looks back down at his coffee. He keeps stirring it as Dustin keeps stumbling through an explanation.

“Like, I just… They would’ve come through to—to Hawkins, our Hawkins, I mean. They would—”

A slow exhale. “Dustin.” Steve sounds tired. “No what ifs.”

But Dustin can’t stop. Maybe it’s inevitable; maybe he just has to put a name to this terrible, voiceless thing, and then—

“Maybe if I’d—”

“Dustin—”

“He could’ve—”

“Dustin—”

“If they’d—if they got me,” Dustin says, feeling fragile and sick and stupidly young,  “if—if it was me. He… he might not have—”

“Dustin,” Steve says. “Don’t.”

And his voice is awful. Like it was in the lab: fractured, shaking. I’m done.

Dustin stops. Looks, really looks.

There’s coffee dripping down from the counter. A smashed mug on the floor; Dustin didn’t even hear it fall. And Steve—Steve is—

“Not cool,” Dustin says quickly. He grabs some kitchen towels, dives to the floor, babbling, “Not cool, sorry.”

Steve’s already lowered himself down, but it’s like he gave up halfway through the motion; he just sits, back leaning against the cupboards as Dustin tries to clean up the mess. His hands are covering his face. Dustin’s stomach drops.

“Sorry,” he says again. “I’m sorry.”

Steve’s breathing is uneven—shuddering, wrong. “You being okay was—was the one thing that—” He drops his hands. His eyes are shining with tears. There’s nothing to be done, no hiding them away. “You think Eddie—” He stops, a brief look up at the ceiling. Shaky inhale. “You think he would have wanted that? He—he loved you.”

There’s a devastation in Steve’s voice, something Dustin can’t pin down. A loss too big to name. The one truth he can land on right now is, You miss him too.

Steve reaches out. He holds onto Dustin by the shoulders, a desperate grip. “So don’t—” Tiny shake of the head, choking back more tears. “Oh, God. Don’t say that. Don’t even think it, okay? Dustin.” His hands squeeze. “Promise me.”

And Dustin’s brought back to March sunshine; to laughter and a sudden, unforgettable sincerity. For a moment, he worries that he won’t be able to get the words out, but he has to. For Steve. For Eddie. For himself.

“I’ll try,” he whispers.

[purplepri]

Just had a thought about Magic Girl Eddie Munson.... I need to learn how to draw

Like, with a little bat as mascot? So cute

And Steve having a crush on the super hero who saved him? And trying to be more like that hero by helping Eddie out once, when he was getting bullied? Yes yes yes

[stevesscoops]

Steve loves having his belly squished 🙂‍↕️

Comm from @/katwomp on Twitter!

[steddie-island]

BU I HE

Rating: G | WC: 587 | Tags: Implied/ referenced character death, crack treated seriously ao3 Full ficlet below the cut!

Dustin took a deep breath before kneeling in front of Eddie’s tombstone. There was a now stained pink cloth in one hand, and a bucket of sudsy water by his knees. The words BURN IN HELL were half scrubbed off, so it just said BU I HE. Soap stung his hands as he dipped the cloth again. He let suds run over the front of the tombstone, then picked back up on his scrubbing.

He let his tears start back up then, too.

Dustin didn't hold anything back. The harder he worked his arms, the louder his sobs became. He didn't care if he disturbed anyone in the other trailers— hell, he hoped he was. He hoped they were watching as he wiped his nose on his sleeve, as he let himself fall onto the tombstone for support when the emotions just became too overwhelming. Let them see that his grief was the fault of their hatred and prejudice and sleep a little worse for it at night.

Steve watched from the new Munson trailer. They had been playing this game for nearly six months now. Every day he looked out the trailer window, saw the tombstone that had been placed where the old Munson trailer had once stood. Some mornings it didn’t have graffiti on it, but it always did by the end of the day. If it wasn’t him cleaning it off, it was Dustin, or Wayne, or even Mike a couple of times.  No one could stand to leave it there. Eddie was a hero, in so many more ways than the people of Hawkins could understand. They could spray paint all they wanted, it never stayed for long. 

No matter how hard he tried, how angry he got, how many times Steve threatened them with his bat, they always left more. 

Dustin's cries grew even louder, and Steve looked over just in time to see him pounding his fists against the dirt, getting himself muddy in the process. Steve didn't go to him, the way he had at first. It was no use, they just had to let Dustin get it out of his system.

“I don’t know why you guys still waste your time cleaning it off.” 

Steve didn't have to turn away from Dustin to know Eddie was leaning in the doorway, using both his cane and the wall itself to help hold himself up. He didn't need to look to know that Eddie's hair was a wild tangle from his nap. “The rest of the world thinks you’re dead. We can’t just… leave it.”

“Wayne shouldn’t have put it up in the first place.” He limped closer to stand by Steve's side. “Just let ‘em think I’m dead and that they're getting away with something. It's not worth the effort.”

“They just painted Wayne’s trailer before the stone was there.” Steve did look at him then. The scars on his face, down his jaw, disappearing into the collar of his shirt, they were still red but they were at least less angry now. Eddie looked less like Frankenstein's monster than he had that first week when he'd been stitched and bruised, floating in and out of consciousness. The memory had Steve reaching out and sliding his arm around Eddie's waist to help hold him up.

"Besides," he added as he looked back outside, to where Dustin was practically rending his garments in his display of his grief. "Dustin thinks his acting has gotten good enough to win an Oscar someday."

[stevesscoops]

Thank you so much @resande for the beautiful commission! ❤️❤️

[butwhatisit]

Eddie's sister was going to kill him.

Oh, not on purpose - at least Gareth assumed not - but one of these days he was just going to have a heart attack right in the middle of a set and when it happened it would absolutely be her fault. Of course, knowing his luck Harrington would be around to revive him, and if his first kiss was the kiss of life from the deposed King Steve he would have to find a more private place and throw himself off a bridge.

Look, he's only human, okay?

Ever since Eddie started bringing Corey around, Gareth's been nursing a crush. He considered himself doomed when he tried to show off his drumming to impress her and she responded by picking up Eddie's guitar and cranking out a solo that singed the hairs off his eardums. Eddie hadn't even warned him that she could play, much less that she was likely to casually destroy him. He could at least be gratified that it had knocked Jeff and Gord on their asses as well, so he didn't look stupified alone.

(Eddie had laughed his ass off, the fucker.)

When Gord's family had decided to bail on Hawkins post-earthquake, Gord had solemnly passed his role of bassist on to Corey. She'd shown up to practice with a secondhand bass and Gareth hadn't known peace since. 

It's just, you know, when you're the drummer you're positionally situated to make observations. Sure, he was mostly absorbed in his playing, but there were always moments. Moments where he'd look up and be in direct eye line of Corey's perfect ass. When he'd catch sight of her head tipped back, long pale throat on display, her dark curly ponytail brushing the edge of her waistband. When he'd look up to find her looking at him with glee, a big grin on her face.

Tonight she was wearing black leather shorts that hugged her perfectly, fishnets, knee socks, combat boots, and a Corroded Coffin shirt she'd hacked the neck and sleeves out of and cropped. Not that he'd noticed. He hadn't at all nearly swallowed his tongue at the first sight of her pale stomach. Nope. Not him.

If he was drumming like he was trying to crash through the drums and straight into the comfortable fires of hell, it was coincidence. 

It was their best show to date. Eddie was roaring at the front, likely inspired by his "totally not my boyfriend shut up" friend Steve. Jeff was playing off the crowd. Corey was living her Lemmy dreams. They were loud, the crowd was responsive, and the adrenaline was high. When the last song ended, he could hear Steve kicking off a crowd demand for an encore, which had never happened before in the history of the band.

Eddie turned and looked at them, his face a comical enthusiastic silent scream.

Corey leaned toward him. "Well?"

"I didn't plan for this!" Eddie said.

"I got you," Corey said. She walked forward and shoved him playfully away from the mic.

Gareth had heard Corey sing before, of course - backing vocals, if nothing else, though she did sing casually around them at times - but he'd never heard her sing to perform. She was electric, singing about tying your mother down, flirting with the crowd, and showing off while Eddie looked on like the proud brother he was. Gareth could feel the energy in the room, the energy of the band, the built-up tension he'd been nursing all night, and he felt like he might burst.

When the song ended, he dropped his drumsticks and rushed up behind Corey. Eddie saw him coming just in time to grab Corey's bass, pulling the strap over her head. Corey startled just a second before  Gareth caught her around the thighs and lifted her with a victory yell. Her belt of laughter from above him made the wild impulse worth it. He adjusted his grip so she was sitting on his shoulder, and she gasped before putting one hand on his head. He looked up at her to find her looking down at him, a wild grin on her face that matched his. 

Yeah, she might kill him, but it sure feels worth it.

---

"Eddieeeee," Corey wailed, throwing herself dramatically backwards onto his bed.

"Coreyyyyy," Eddie mirrored. "You're welcome, by the way."

"He's so strong," Corey whined. "How did I not know he's strong?"

"He's a drummer."

"I know, but I didn't know, you know?"

"Corey."

She rolled over and screamed into the mattress.

[rambamthxman]

Whatcha lookin at there Stevie boy? 👀👀👀👀

*whispers* pls add what you think he's lookin at it'd be so cool thanks love yooou

Also here's a close up so you can see the sweat ofc