I am trying so hard not to overpack headcanons and tropes into How to be Loved, but FUCK I WANT TO DO COUSINS GARETH & STEVE SOOOOOO BAAAAADDDDDD!
But it doesn't quite work unless I make Gareth's Mother a Harrington, and I can't see how I can have Claudia adopt Steve if he has an aunt available to him in Hawkins. Even if I make it that the Harrington siblings just don't interact because of a family feud - it still wouldn't explain why she wouldn't step up when Otis and his wife are brought into the story.
Alas I think I am going to have to just keep it to giving Steve surprise younger half siblings because his father is a cheating slut.
It would have been hysterical though to have Gareth and Dustin bickering with each other over who was Steve's closer/favourite family member. Robin would chime in saying it's her just to annoy them.
Also, would have made the Steddie of it all even funnier if Eddie finds out one of his best friends has been holding out on him, let alone that his favourite new sheepie is Steve's half-brother. It would infuriate him (before he got over himself and the denial he has been in since he developed a crush on Steve in sophomore year) until he became part of the family. Then it's not as big a problem.
I was floating the idea that maybe Steve's aunt left Hawkins and only returned when Steve was already in middle school and then felt awkward about it. I can justify Steve keeping it quiet that Gareth is his cousin if Tommy was already turning into an asshole and a bully and he was worried about Tommy going after his baby cousin (his first family member who actually liked him that wasn't their grandparents! He would do what he could to protect him), let alone trying to protect Gareth from his own neglectful and abusive parents.
UNLESS maybe it's Steve that is anxious and awkward about his aunt because what if she is like his father?! Especially if she has told Gareth to stay away from Steve because she doesn't want her son to get hurt because she has no idea what kind of person Steve was growing into being. (I just see an elementary aged Gareth going "I have a cousin! I want to meet him" and then doing it on his own accord. Steve would be so confused the first time they meet until this kid starts talking about Otis and his wife leaving him to go, "wait a minute how do you know my grandpa and Nonna?")
... okay okay wait I could be cooking here ...
If anyone has any idea's as to what motivated Gareth's mother to keep her distance from Steve than I am open to suggestions. ESPECIALLY since I am currently working on the post-Starcourt chapter.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Yes I wrote another fic in this fandom, and yes I practically wrote it in one sitting last night while I was sitting up through a pretty chaotic storm of my own making sure there wasn't going to be a tornado! So we can thank the weather for the storm descriptions in this...
There was a good reason you didn’t fly missions without someone to have your back. And when a string of bullets ripped across the cowling and Greg’s Corsair started sputtering out black smoke, he was painfully reminded exactly why that was the case.
“I’m hit, I’m done.” He called over the radio, preparing to bail out. “Watch out for yourselves, guys.” He hoped they’d make it home okay. And that Jim wouldn’t completely fall apart when he inevitably had to take charge.
Hiiiii! I know it’s been waaay too long, I’m sorry, At least this chapter is almost 5k words? Thanks for reading.
Read on AO3 here
Edit: I forgot to re-copy the text after I proof-read it and made some changes so here I am re-pasting the text. Not gonna bother going through to add the italics again.
Ch. 3
Rylen held his breath for only a moment before letting out a shaky sigh of relief as the soldiers cheered around him. The breach may not have been sealed, but it appeared much more stable after whatever the mage below had done to it. Men and women around him cheered and embraced one another, some dropped to their knees and thanked the maker for the reprieve from the demons that had been raining down from the skies.
“Andraste sent her, she must have.”
“A mage?”
“Who else could wield the power to stop the breach from expanding? The Maker’s Bride must have sent her!”
Rylen sheathed his sword as the murmurs filled the air around him and looked down from his ledge towards the mysterious women below. The mage had collapsed after exerting whatever ability allowed her to stabilize the rift. Her long, brown hair had come undone from its braid and much of it hung around her face, obscuring her features from Rylen’s view.
The woman who held her was even more unusual however. Rylen had watched as she lunged forward to catch the mage as she fainted and slowly fell to her knees, as if she couldn’t hold the other woman up alone. Her face was turned up towards the rift, it’s sickly green light tinting her pale skin from proximity. Even from a distance Rylen could see the smudged remnants of the kohl the woman had worn before all this, could see the tears that left tracks down her cheeks as she looked up at the rift.
He noticed with curiosity that she did not appear to be wearing armor, and in fact her garments were like none he had seen in Thedas. One of her sleeves had been shredded and blood stained, her tight-fitting trousers were not of a material that he could identify from this distance, and she wore odd specticals rimmed in pink.
Rylen watched as Cassandra and another soldier moved to help life the mage and carry her away towards Haven and shook himself. There was still work to be done, bodies to collect and names to document, patrols to set, fortifications to renew. He sheathed his sword and went to work, eager to find his cot and some reprieve from days of fighting.
He felt like his head had only just hit the pillow when the voices of some of his men broke through the relative silence of his tent.
“Oiy, Captain! Come and have a pint with us!”
Rylen groaned and pushed his head further into his pillow. From the sounds of it, the men were already a few pints in as they called to him. He folded his pillow over his head, trying to block out the sound but it seemed his men weren't leaving without him and he soon threw the covers off with a growl before stalking to the entrance of the tent and throwing the flap open to shoot a withering glare at the jovial men.
“Maker's Balls, haven't you ever heard of letting a man rest?” He demanded.
“Captain!” One of Cullen's personal runners - Jim, wasn't it - rocked back on his heels and clapped the back of the man nearest him. “Told you he'd come out! The world's either ending or being saved by the Herald. Either reason is worth a drink!”
Rylen crossed his arms and stared at the small group before him. They had a point and he was already awake now…
“Aye, all right, just let me throw my boots on. And you're all buying my drinks.”
He threw on his boots and a cloak to protect from the cold before joining the men and making their way towards the tavern Flissa had been running. The building was packed with more soldiers celebrating the day's victory. Varric sat on the bar top recounting the story of their battle to a group of eager young troops. A Bard stood off to one side, quietly singing a new song she had composed after the recent events of the conclave. The air was warm and the room felt comforting after days of fighting. Rylen felt some of the tension leave his shoulders as he downed his first mug of ale and leaned his back against the bar to observe the people around him.
His gaze soon fell on the stranger at the back of the room. She had tucked herself into a corner near the fire, sitting with her knees pulled up to her chest as she stared ahead at nothing. The odd, green garment she had been wearing before was now opened and draped over her shoulders, revealing a red plaid shirt beneath it.
“They say she fell out of the breach, along with the Herald,” one of the men said as he noticed Rylen staring. “James says she's got pink hair. He thinks she's a demon.”
“Maker's Breath, man, d’you really think Cassandra would've taken her as far as the gates without realizing if she was a demon!”
“Maybe not,” the man shrugged and placed more coins on the bar top, signaling Flissa for two more drinks. “But whatever she is, Captain she's definitely not normal.”
Rylen eyed the stranger from across the room again. She had managed to remove most of the smudged kohl that had marked her face when he saw her at the temple, but she seemed haunted as she hugged her knees and stared into the flames.
“Whatever she is,” Rylen echoed as Flissa placed two more mugs on the counter and he quickly plucked both of them. “She looks like she's in need of this more than you, mate,” and he set off towards her corner, ignoring the protests of the man behind him.
“You look like you could use this. Ah, sorry,” she hadn’t looked up at this approach and jerked in surprise as he spoke, green eyes flying wide in her surprise.
“No, it’s not you. I’ve always been jumpy as fuck, even before I got here,” she said. She settles back into her seat as she spoke but Rylen noticed almost none of the tension bled from her shoulders.
Rylen used a foot to pull out the chair across from her and offered one of the pints out to her. She glanced at it wearily and Rylen shrugged before setting it on the table between them and taking a pull from his own mug.
“Before you got here? And where were you before Haven?”
She rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat but her lips quirked upwards as she answered. “Not Haven. Look, I thought I was done with the interrogation portion of today.”
Rylen chucked and held up his hands in surrender. “All right, lass. I’ll lay off. Can I at least get a name from you?”
“Any name?” she answered with another smirk and Rylen laughed.
“Yours would be preferable, unless you’d rather be called ‘lass’ all night,” he winked and she looked away, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “My name is Rylen McCallum.”
“I know who you are, Captain. I’m Farrada Martin - call me Farra.”
“Well then, Farra, how is it that you already know who I am?” he took another drink of his ale and nodded toward her tankard. “If you’re not going to drink that, I really ought to return it to the soldier that paid for it.”
She stuck her tongue out at him before she answered. Spirited lass, this one.
“One, interrogating again. Two, I just pay attention, sir. There can’t be too many Captains walking around with tattoos on their face,” she drew two fingers down his chin for emphasis as she spoke. “And three, I don’t drink on an empty stomach.”
Rylen raised a brow at that. “Y’know, Farra, that last one is easily solved in the tavern.”
She frowned, avoiding his gaze again as her cheeks flushed slightly in embarrassment. “Not um… Not without the proper currency. I told you, I’m not from here.”
“Where then? Orlais perhaps?”
She laughed at that. “Oh, fuck no! Do I look or sound Orlesian? And know that if you don’t say no I’ll be insulted.”
“No, you’re right there, lass. So then I take it you came to the tavern in search of some poor fool who would be so enchanted by your beauty, he would empty his coin purse to fill your belly?”
She shot a glare at him before scrunching her eyes shut and sticking out her tongue at his teasing.
“You should really put that away if you don’t intend to use it, lass,” he warned with another wink and this time she blushed in earnest.
“If I really wanted someone to take pity on my poor, unfed self, don’t you think I would be at the bar instead of hiding at the back of the room? I just needed to get away from Solas and Adan’s bickering.”
Rylen frowned at that. “Has the mage not woken still?”
“Selina. And no, she won’t for a couple days,” Farrada muttered as she shook her head. “Anyway, you mentioned food? I believe I recall someone mentioning food.”
Rylen chucked and downed the rest of his ale before standing. “Aye, I suppose I could be moved to find you some supper. Stay here?” his voice rose in tone as he spoke, half worried if he let her out of his sight she would disappear.
Farra’s whole face seemed to light as she smiled up at him, but he was struck most by her eyes, vibrantly green like moss after rain.
“I promise.”
He moved through the semi-crowded tavern back to the bar. One of the men who had convinced him to leave his tent rushed up before he could catch Flissa’s attention and spoke quickly under his breath.
“Captain, what is she? What did she say? Does she really have pink hair? Did she try to offer you anything? Sir, you should really Silence her-”
“Jim!” Rylen cut the man off, unsure if he wanted to laugh or berate the man. “She’s just some poor soul misplaced by this Maker-damned war just like any other refugee. There’s no need to break out the pitchforks and call in the Templars.”
Jim looked skeptical but turned back to his fellow soldiers, leaving Rylen in peace to order two servings of the stew the tavern was serving for supper. He hadn’t realized how starved he was until ordering their food. After all, in all the chaos following the Conclave and the days of fighting the demons that poured from the Breach, when was the last time he had stopped to eat?
Flissa soon brought out two steaming servings of lamb stew with two generous portions of bread. With a few extra coins and a “thanks, love” for her troubles, Rylen turned to find his way back to Farra.
She had completely shed her coat and partially unbuttoned the red plaid shirt she wore, revealing a low-cut black shirt underneath and a generous amount of the pale curves beneath. She still wore her black knitted cap but even in the low light of the tavern he could see the color in her cheeks from her warmth.
“Y’know, lass, you’d be a lot more comfortable if you took off your cap,” Rylen said as he set their food on the table and resumed his seat across from her.
“Less warm, maybe, but definitely not more comfortable. And I thought the whole point of you convincing me to tell your my name was so that you wouldn’t have to call me ‘lass’ all night,” she said with a smirk.
“I could stop if you like,” Rylen offered.
“I never said that…”
They fell into a comfortable silence as they both started on their suppers, Farrada occasionally humming happily as she ate. Rylen fought to ignore the exhaustion creeping into his mind as the warm stew filled his empty stomach. Farrada’s face suddenly lit in another grin as she caught sight of something over his shoulder.
“Varric!”
‘Well, if it isn’t our own little Seer,” Varric’s deep voice booked over the lull of the tavern noise. “And Rylen! I’m surprised you’re still upright after the days you’ve had.”
“Oh, I never have a problem staying upright,” Rylen said with another wink towards Farrada, who giggled in response. He found himself smiling at the almost musical quality of her laughter.
“What brings you two together this evening?” Varric asked as he slung himself into a seat next to Farrada.
“My men claimed there was a demon in our midst, I had to investigate for myself of course,” Rylen said, but Farra’s face paled and fear was in her eyes. He frowned and quickly apologized but Varric paid him no attention.
“Speaking of, kid, I need you to settle a bet for me,” he said, leaning towards Farrada with one eyebrow raised. She turned to give him her full attention and he continued. “You don’t actually have pink hair, do you?”
Farrada matched his wry smirk and reached for the tankard Rylen had set out for her, taking a gulp before answering. “Tell you what. I’ll settle your bet if you tell me about the Champion.”
“Y’know, there’s conveniently a book all about her exploits so you don’t have to bother the dwarf for answers.”
“Yes, but then I would be deprived of your wonderfully unique voice, master dwarf,” she said with a grin.
Varric cast a glance to Rylen and shot back with a smirk, “I’m sure if you asked nicely you could get someone with a lovely brogue to tell you the story.”
“Oh, I suppose,” Rylen sighed theatrically. “But I am not doing the voices.”
Farrada turned pink and shot flashed a glare towards both men. “Shut up, I didn’t… Just, shut up. Varric, c’mon. You know hearing about Hawke from you is vastly superior to reading about her.”
Varric smiled and leaned back in his seat. “Fine, but about that bet…”
Farrada nodded and took a larger pull of her ale, grimacing as she did. “Ugh. I think I would’ve preferred mead. And fine, it’s not like I can keep it hidden forever.”
She pulled her knitted cap from her head before quickly running her fingers through her short hair in an attempt to re-fluff her flattened locks. It was indeed bright pink, but as odd as the unnatural color was it was undeniably suited to her. It nearly matched the blush in her cheeks, and somehow the vivid pink surrounding her face emphasized her pale green eyes even more.
‘Well, I’ll be a nug’s uncle,” Varric said, chuckling and shaking his head in disbelief.
“Sorry, Varric,” Farrada said with a shrug. “With all the weird shit you saw today, you really should’ve known better than to bet against more weirdness. At least where it involves me.”
“You’re right. This still doesn’t top your whole ‘seeing the future’ shit though.”
“Ah, what’s this?” Rylen asked but Farrada shushed him, waving a hand in his direction as she glared at Varric.
“Nothing, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Now - bet settled, I believe that makes it story time!”
“I suppose I’ll take my leave then,” Rylen said as he started to rise from his seat.
“Cap - Rylen… Stay, please?” Farrada’s brows furrowed as she looked up at him. Varric raised an eyebrow and glanced between the two as Rylen shrugged and sat back down.
“As you wish.”
“Well then, if we’re all settled in?” Varric asked. Farrada nodded eagerly and wiggled as she sank back further into her chair.
“Marian Hawke was one of the wittiest, most sarcastic Apostates I had ever met. Even from the first time I laid eyes on her, she seemed to permanently have a smirk fixed on her face and her bright blue eyes always sparkled with an unspoken joke…”
As Varric went on about his adventures with Marian Hawke and how they recruited their merry band of misfits, Rylen continually found his gaze pulled to the woman seated across from him. She became more animated as she got further into her ale and began to let some of her guard down. She laughed more, and she was so engrossed in the dwarf’s story telling that she never noticed Rylen simply sitting back and taking in every detail of her.
Her short hair was flattened from spending the day concealed under her knitted cap, but sections remained almost stubbornly wavy. Rylen found his gaze pulled down once more to the hint of curves revealed by her unbuttoned shirt, but frowned once he spotted the thin scar curving over her heart. She moved her right hand up and ran her fingers through her hair, a copper ring on her third finger glinting in the firelight. He glanced at her left hand for a matching ring announcing that she was married, but none of the three rings she bore on that hand were on her ring finger. He wondered what their significance was to her. Commoners did not tend to wear jewelry, and while she did not appear to be a noble she wore four rings between both hands: copper and silver rings with intricate, braided knotwork, a gold fox wrapped around her thumb, and a small, silver ring set with a gem he did not recognize.
So much of her was pink: her flower-pink hair, her unusually large glasses, her small lips… Even her cheeks were easy to flush with the color. She may be human, but the more Rylen took her in the more he felt sure she was not a creature of this world.
By the time Varric reached the moment Hawke recruited the elf Fenris into her merry band of misfits, Farrada was visibly struggling to keep her eyes open. Varric let out a deep chuckle and clapped a broad hand on her back, causing her to jerk up with a quiet “shit!”
“I think we’ll leave it there tonight, Farra,” he said as he picked up his own drink and stood from the table. “I trust you can see her home, Rylen?”
“Aye, I’m long overdue for bed myself,” Rylen said as he stretched and stood, body aching from the prolonged battle. “Shall we?”
She hesitated before placing a hand on his outstretched arm to help her up. The moment she was fully off her seat her hand was gone as she reached both arms up and arched her back, wincing at her own aches and pains. She wordlessly buttoned her shirt closed before wrapping herself in her green coat and a long, blue and gray scarf he hadn’t seen before.
“Not a fan of the cold, I take it?” Rylen asked as they walked out of the tavern and into the night.
“Nope,” Farrada replied before sighing heavily, shoulders sagging as she did. “But I guess I’m gonna have to suck it up as long as I’m stuck here.”
“Stuck? Oh, c’mon now lass. It can’t be all that bad now can it?” She shot a cynical look towards him, one eyebrow raised. “Well, the company isn’t all that terrible is it?”
He caught a glimpse of the small smile he’d earned before she turned away. It was a short walk to the cabin she shared with the Herald. She unlocked the door and turned to say goodnight but froze as Rylen closed the gap between them.
“Farra…” He murmured her name as he reached up with one hand to thread his fingers in her hair. He was surprised to feel a section of her hair had been buzzed near the nape of her neck, but his fingers found purchase and her eyelids fluttered shut as a shudder ran through her.
But before he could close the remaining space between them, her green eyes opened again and her felt her shift as one hand reached behind her for the door.
“Good night, Captain,” she said.
Before he could reply she stepped out of his grasp and through the door to her quarters, shutting it behind her quickly and leaving Rylen alone in the night with the faint smell of vanilla and honey in the air.
---
Rylen woke alone and sore in his tent the following morning, simultaneously thankful for and cursing his own internal alarm. He knew it wouldn’t do for the Commander’s second to be late to morning drills, but after the prolonged fight following the explosion at the Conclave his entire body ached.
He sat up with a sigh, dragging a rough hand down the stubble on his face. Sunlight had yet to break through the opening of his tent so he went through his morning routine at a slower pace that his usual, taking the extra time to apply elfroot salve to the worst of his bruises.
Exhaustion still hung heavily over Rylen, and he found himself clinging to routine as the day progressed. Drills at dawn, a quick breakfast before more drills through noon, lunch with Commander Cullen as he helped the man pour over seemingly endless reports. Things had become more tense leading up to the events of the Conclave but Rylen suddenly found himself grateful for the long hours they had all been running before the explosion. The day was easier for him with the established routine he could practically walk through without thought.
That routine was disrupted partially through the afternoon when she came into view again. He nearly failed to recognize her as she walked by him. She had changed out of her odd, foreign clothes into light leather armor that clung to her curves in a way that all too unfairly emphasized the flare of her hips and her small waist. But she still wore the same sage green boots and black knit cap as she had when they met the night before.
Rylen had nearly forgotten about his encounter with Farrada. In his state of exhaustion he had simply thrown himself into his duties as Captain without a thought. But as she walked past the rows of Inquisition soldiers and out of sight over the hill, he felt drawn to seek her out, if only to see what the woman was doing with the staff she had been carrying.
He turned back to his men and corrected the technique of several of the newer soldiers before approaching the Commander.
“Commander Cullen,” Rylen said with a salute. “Permission to go check on our visitor, ser?”
Cullen’s brows furrowed at his clipboard as he frowned. “I believe the Herald’s quarters are cramped enough with Solas and Adam looking after them. And last I heard they were still unconscious from their efforts with the breach.”
“Aye, that she is. But I meant her civilian friend that just strode down to the lake.”
Cullen quirked an inquisitive eyebrow at his friend but did not prod. “All right,” he agreed, rolling his head in an attempt to loosen muscles that ached from hours bent over a clipboard. “In all honestly I could use a break from staring at these reports. I’ll send a runner if I have need of you.”
“Much appreciated,” Rylen said.
He pivoted away and crested the hill, stopping to watch Farrada as he decided if he should approach. Her back was towards him as she twirled an unadorned staff over each hand before, catching it and flipping it back the other way. She didn’t seem to be using the staff to channel any magic - in fact, the staff itself was plain wood that did not seem capable of such uses. He frowned and cautiously used Silence on her.
She was completely unaffected.
Seemingly satisfied with the weight of the weapon, Farrada began to go through the movements of an unfamiliar form. She thrust the staff forward, then stepped back and moved it downwards to block some imaginary strike.
Rylen started down the hill in her direction, calling out when she didn’t look up at his approach. “Y’know, lass, if you’re hoping to fight in this war you’re going to want something better than a staff.”
“Mother fu-” Farrada’s shoulders instantly stiffened as she turned to face him, swinging her staff up in a maneuver that would have caught him between the legs had he been any closer.
“Stand down, lass” Rylen chuckled as he threw his palms up in surrender. “Didn’t I see you with a sword yesterday? You’d stand a better chance in the army with a blade.”
“I’m not enlisting,” She spun the staff and tucked it behind her but her posture remained tense - was she always so rigid?
“All right, no one’s saying you have to. So then why are you out here training by yourself?”
“Your… Things are more dangerous here than they are where I’m from,” Farrada said with a frown. “I picked up that sword because it was the only thing in reach and I didn’t want to die. But if the worst happens and I have to fight with a person rather than a demon… Hurt rather than maim, maim rather than kill.”
Her frown deepened as she spoke, and the change in her cadence made Rylen wonder what exactly she had been reciting.
“Well, if you really want to stand a chance in a fight, you need to spar with a real person and not just the wind.”
Farrada hesitated, glancing up the hill in the direction of the Inquisition’s soldiers still running their own drills. “Are they using sharp or dulled blades?”
“Oh, I wasn’t offering you a recruit. You’ll hardly be able to learn anything there. And I assure you, this is a training blade - it won’t draw blood unless you try really hard.”
Farrada gave him a dry smirk as she swung her staff back out to a ready position. “You’d be surprised, Captain. I’ve had my skin broken by a dull blade before.”
“I guess you’ll just have to block me first then,” Rylen said as he drew the dulled shortsword he used for sparring with the troops.
He started out easy on her, telegraphing his moves and swinging wide on his attacks to give her more time to react. She was timid in her defense and focused too much on blocking his strikes without returning any of her own. She knew to watch his center for movements rather than his sword though, and soon Rylen stopped telegraphing to see if she could still keep up.
“You’re pulling your punches, Farra. Every block should feel like a strike of its own.”
She glared at him, green eyes flashing in irritation but she followed his instructions and suddenly every strike she blocked made his sword hilt vibrate in his palm.
As the sound of the soldiers training died down, Farrada began to wince in pain with every move. Her jaw tightened and her whole stance became more rigid until Rylen finally took a step back and sheathed his sword.
“You did well, lass. Next time it would do you well to strike back, you can’t just defend all… Farra?”
Her knuckles were white against her staff and she was staring down. Her shoulders were stiff and high as always, but her right shoulder was jerking in a way that looked both uncomfortable and involuntary. He stepped closer and placed a hand on her shoulder and for once she didn’t shy away.
He could feel it now - the joint slipping in and out of its socket, the unsettling crunch of bone against bone, the slight tremor running through her as the pain set in.
“Maker’s breath, Farrada… Why didn’t you say something?”
“If you were my enemy you wouldn’t stop just because I’m already broken,” her voice was strained as she spoke.
Slowly, gingerly, Rylen placed his hands on either side of her right shoulder. He laced his fingers together over the joint and applied pressure until the spasms started to calm down with the joint trapped in place. Tears sprang to Farrada’s eyes as she sagged against him, burying her face against his shoulder.
“My mom is the only other person who’s ever managed to stop it. Thank you.”
“Next time you get this bad in training, you stop and go to a healer. Understood?”
“They’re all busy with Selina and the soldiers wounded after the breach, I can’t just -”
Rylen cut her off, placing a hand on either shoulder and pushing her an arms length away to better meet her gaze. “You stop and go see a healer or I drag you to one myself. Am I understood?”
His tone left no room for arguing so Farrada simply nodded in answer. Rylen sighed and dragged a hand down his face.
“I should get back to my duties. If you’re serious about wanting to defend yourself, you know where to find a sparring partner.”
“Thank you,” she murmured before turning and heading back up the hill towards Haven.
Rylen moved back towards the Commander’s tent to ensure his friend had eaten and made a mental note to ask Adan what he could do for whatever put Farrada in so much pain as soon as the Herald was up and about. Even as he drifted off that night, he found himself thinking of the pain in Farrada’s face and worrying how long she would last in this war pushing herself the way she had today. He hoped he wouldn’t have to find out soon and for the second time in as many nights, Rylen drifted off into the Fade picturing her green eyes and playful smirk.
Soooo in addition to this idea... I am now plotting out where Otis and his wife Antonella Moretti-Harrington moved (South Carolina to be closer to his best friend and war buddy's family) and where Steve spends part of his summer with them, and his aunt, uncle and their children.
This means tabs upon tabs open for Italian-American and African-American census demographics and population percentages by state; weather history of states during the years between Steve's birth in 1966 to 1986 etc. WW2 Allied invasion of Italy and common Italian surnames by region.
I HAVE ALSO DECIDED THE FOLLOWING IS TRUE FOR THIS FIC 'VERSE:
Steve's Aunt Sylvia "Sylvie" is a high-profile lawyer and arguably the more successful sibling. This pisses off Richard (Riccardo "Dick" Moretti Harrington) because in his eyes HE was supposed to be the successful and wealthy sibling which is why he did a BUSINESS degree.
Steve's Uncle Leonard "Leon" is a doctor (Yes, I just spent an hour triple checking this was indeed plausible based on year and state because I am an Australian who has never studied American history so...) which just kind of rubs salt in the wound of Richard's ego. Between the two of them they are really well off, however, unlike Dick they don't flaunt their wealth. They give back to their communities financially and with volunteer labour.
Steve has 4 younger cousins from Sylvie and Leon so far - the eldest (Giulia "Lia") was born in 74, middle (twins: Nicolo "Nico" and Matteo "Matt") in 77 and he hasn't been able to meet his baby cousin (Luciana "Lucky") yet who was born in 80. His nonna has smuggled him photos and he has done his best to smuggle some of him (and the Party w/o their knowledge) back.
Silvia is at least 4 years younger than Dick (b. 1946).
Both the Harrington Grandparent's AND his aunt and uncle (plus the kiddos) rock up in Hawkin's post-Starcourt because WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN STEFANO WAS IN A MALL FIRE??! Hawkin's media would have absolutely released his name since he was over 18 and his parents weren't there to tell them no and he was too concussed to threaten them with a lawsuit - This is the first time that any of the UD crew have EVER met one of his family members. (Also, because it is me we are talking about and I live for unknown childhood playmates Steddie, this is probably when Eddie realises this because Wayne knows Otis from the War Vet group meetings he used to host before he left Hawkins.)
Steve's full government name is Stefano Giuseppe Moretti Harrington (Giuseppe is for his mother's father Joseph... and Joe Keery obvs. Otis wasn't concerned about his oldest grandchild sharing his name or not, HE WAS however adamant he carries his wife's name as a middle name like both his children did. Although Otis' middle name is Stephen, so Steve is still named after him anyway.) As always no one in the UD crew knew this before they meet his family post-Starcourt.
When Dick cuts off his parents when Steve is 12 - after discovering they have been facilitating visits with Sylvie and Leon - he legally changes his name to Richard. Which when the news gets back to them breaks Nella's heart because he was named after her grandfather.
I am sure I will find other things to add to this list... but this is it for now.
Steve frowned slightly, he was struggling to keep track of his thoughts. He was drifting, flitting between one thought to the next. And honestly, why the fuck was it so hot? It had to be well after midnight in early November, usually nights were starting to get chilly enough to see your breath this time of year. Instead Steve felt like he was standing in a fucking sauna, deciding he needed to get home as soon as he could he left the road and cut through the woods. He’d barely managed another five minutes before he was tearing his shirt off to carry alongside his jacket. Losing his shirt brought him some mild relief but it didn’t last long, by the time he reached the backyard of the Harrington property he was panting. Sweat was beading along his hairline, saturating the hair there while it also accumulated at his collarbones, armpits and along the small of his back. There was a wet sheen that covered his exposed skin and all Steve could think of was how much he needed a shower.
Stumbling past the empty pool Steve paid it no mind as he fumbled in his pockets for his keys. He dropped them twice before he succeeded in opening the back door and almost tripped in his haste to get inside. He barely remembered to shut the door behind him before he was using the nearest wall to guide him towards the stairs.
He had only just put his foot on the first step when he crumpled in over himself with a whimper as sharp searing pain stole his breath. His entire abdomen alight with agonising pain that made the beat down Billy had caused felt like nothing but a love tap. Steve grasped wildly, catching the bannister on the way down as he curled into himself at the bottom of the stairs. To make matters worse the increasing temperature was getting worse leaving him to writhe as he felt like he was burning from inside and out.
Decided that I would do a little prologue from Steve's POV so uh... enjoy?
Heads up to all O!Steve readers! I plan to completely turn common omegaverse tropes on their heads with this fic. Steve WILL be the thick thighed, hairy adonis we are treated to in S4 but he will be an omega while he does it. Meanwhile our scrawny ratman Alpha, Eddie will remain a gangly, lithe dork who is admittedly physically stronger than he looks because he may be built like a stick but he is built from wiry muscle.
With that out of the way, I am hoping I can appeal to some of the omegaverse readers who have been recently turned off by the saturation of certain depictions of BOTH boys.
It's HERE! It is finally HERE and ready for posting!
(Two days later than promised, but I wasn't exactly expecting my surprise stay at my parents' house either.)
Alright just some brief housekeeping and then off you go and enjoy!
Now this first chapter is inspired by Hidden in the Woods written by @thepossummoldypasta - which I recommend you go read for some fast-burn whimsy fluff - but the rest of the fic will be its own beast full of tropes, cliches and my favourite whump prompts most likely.
I will be updating the tags as I go, so be sure to check them regularly with each update. I am very much a Don't Like, Don't Read writer AND reader so I encourage you all to look after yourselves and curate your own reading experience.
It had been all too easy to slip away once everyone had reconvened at the Byers House.
Steve had stayed long enough to ensure all the kids were safe, either staying the night or in Max’s case had a safe way home (Hopper had offered to drop her home to avoid a confrontation with Neil Hargrove). Once Hop had left to drop off Max and Mrs Byers was busy with the kids Steve slipped out the front door quietly.
He took a moment to take stock of the damage Billy dealt him, running his fingers lightly over the dried flaking blood and bruises. His ribs ached a little but from what he could tell it was likely nothing more than some bruising from being shoved into furniture and then to the floor, Billy had been targeting his head and face after all. His vision was still blurry with white dots occasionally bursting if he moved too fast. And God… the pain was incredible.
Steve wasn’t a stranger to pain by any means.
His father had a heavy hand and a fondness for his leather belt when he had deemed Steve’s disappointments and failures one too many. A pained, bitter chuckle escaped his lips as he pushed off the Byers porch and began to stroll down the gravel driveway back towards the road. He would have to simply collect his car from the out near the junkyard tomorow. As he walked, keeping just inside the treeline just in case Hopper was on his way back from Cherry Avenue, he shed his bloodied and grimy jacket.
And wasn’t that a horrifying thought, that Billy Hargrove only lived a ten minute walk from the stupid plastic show home his parents had built on his grandparents’ old property. He still missed the comfort of the old extended America Craftstyle Bungalow that had once sat on the property but had been bulldozed only days after his Grandmother had been buried.
Steve frowned slightly, he was struggling to keep track of his thoughts. He’d started to feel uncomfortably hot some time after he’d got the kids out of those nightmare-fuel tunnels and back into the borrowed Camaro. Now he was drifting, flitting between one thought to the next. And honestly, why the fuck was it so hot? It had to be well after midnight in early November, usually nights were starting to get chilly enough to see your breath this time of year. Instead Steve felt like he was standing in a fucking sauna. Deciding he needed to get home as soon as he could, he left the roadside and cut through the woods behind his neighbours houses. He’d barely managed another five minutes before he was tearing his shirt off to carry alongside his jacket. Losing his shirt brought him some mild relief but it didn’t last long, by the time he reached the backyard of the Harrington property he was panting. Sweat was beading along his hairline, saturating the hair there while it also accumulated at his collarbones, armpits and along the small of his back. There was a wet sheen that covered his exposed skin and all Steve could think of was how much he needed a shower.
Stumbling past the empty pool Steve paid it no mind as he fumbled in his pockets for his keys. He dropped them twice before he succeeded in opening the back door and almost tripped in his haste to get inside. He barely remembered to shut the door behind him before he was using the nearest wall to guide him towards the stairs.
He had only just put his foot on the first step when he crumpled in over himself with a whimper as sharp searing pain stole his breath. His entire abdomen alight with agonising pain that made the beat down Billy had given him feel like nothing but a love tap. Steve flailed an arm out, blindly catching the bannister on the way down as he curled into himself at the bottom of the stairs. To make matters worse the increasing temperature was compounding leaving him to writhe as he was roasted from inside and out.
At some point Steve’s mouth was once again flooded with the metallic tang of blood as the pain continued to crescendo to new heights. Blinded and deafened by the pain, Steve was no longer aware of his surroundings and it was with blissful relief when his consciousness finally lost the fight to the pain.
The blackness welcomed him with a cool touch, finally silencing his screams.
Eddie POV
Weird shit was happening in Hawkins again.
The weird pumpkin plague had already been giving Eddie the heebie jeebies and had put a downer on the whole lead up to Halloween and therefore his favourite non-holiday but that was nothing in comparison to the week following it.
First you had the King of Hawkins High get dumped? Did the dumping? Break up with his girlfriend at Tina Cooper’s annual Halloween bash, only for said (ex)girlfriend to leave with Byers of all people and then disappear for the remainder of the week - again with Byers. And really this shouldn’t have even really counted towards how weird the week had been and wouldn’t have if not for the fact Eddie had unintentionally borne witness to the whole thing. He'd almost regretted his choice to attend the damn party even if he did make some good money earning a dime off the inebriated highschool students looking for a hit of the good stuff. Overhearing Steve Harrington having his heart absolutely torn from his chest - all while he continued to try and look after one completely wasted and messy Nancy Wheeler - had really not been on his bingo card for the night. Nor was the talk about killing one missing Barbara Holland, but Eddie had been quick to shrug that off as Wheeler’s grief talking. Holland had run and got the fuck out of this shit hole town as far as he was aware. He figured being left behind had to hurt.
Second was the meltdown or whatever the fuck happened at Hawkins National Laboratory that killed almost ninety percent of the staff on shift over the weekend. There wasn’t a lot of information in the papers or being spread around town to clarify what had actually happened just yet so Eddie had put that event on the back burner too.
Then you had the new douchebag of all douchebags Billy Hargrove come to school the Monday after crowing about his 'victory' over Harrington. He took far too much pleasure in explaining - in great, abhorrent detail - how he nearly beat him to death in a fight, although Hargrove wouldn’t really talk about why they had fought. So as it often did the Hawkins High rumour grapevine had concluded it must have been an alpha challenge, despite Harrington being notably unpresented. Eddie had found the whole thing unpleasant already, but when you then had Harrington absent for the week without notice with no one seeming to know anything - not even Wheeler and Byers - he couldn’t help but wonder if Hargrove had actually killed the guy. By day three of Harrington being a no show Hargrove’s victors celebrations had quietly died, and while the blond alpha never sounded worried Eddie still caught the uneasiness in the way he held himself.
So as far as Eddie was concerned the past week had been really fucking weird.
It seemed he wasn’t the only one who had been feeling the off vibes around town because he certainly saw an uptick in deals. If there was one positive out of the whole thing it was definitely the increased sales he was making, even if he did have to get creative hiding his van out of view from the road. It still rankled him that Hopper knew his van by sight and what it usually meant if it was parked on a quiet side street or back road.
He cursed under his breath as he trudged through the fallen decaying leaves and mud as he traversed the woods back to his van. Why all the jocks required all deals to happen in the middle of the fucking woods Eddie didn’t know, at least he was familiar enough with the trails around Skull Rock that it didn’t really matter. At least the way back had more downhill and flat stretches then the trail up to the rock.
Thankfully the sale had been arranged for mid afternoon so even though it was chilly there was still plenty of sunlight streaming through the remaining foliage hanging onto their branches for dear life as winter marched ever closer. Eddie hummed under his breath as he continued through the brush. He hadn’t parked near the lake this time, too close to the Hawkins P.D patrol route passing Reefer Rick’s place. Instead he’d parked off one of the back roads behind the half-acre estates away from the majority of the festering pumpkin fields and plagued farms. It was about halfway back to the trailer park from the lake if he was honest but he’d prefer the walk to getting picked up by the Chief. Again.
He continued humming, filling the silence as he finally closed in on his van, only to stop dead when he spotted the side door of the van ajar. It certainly had not been open when he had left it - albeit unlocked - over an hour before. It took him several minutes to finally force himself forward although this time he kept his footfalls lighter and slower. He crept up to the back of the van before sliding alongside the door until he was close enough to poke his head around the sidedoor.
Silently he steadied himself against the van and leaned to the side just far enough to look inside. He hadn’t known what he was expecting. Maybe the douchebag he sold to had had his little jock friends raid his van looking for the heavier goods - honestly he knows better than to be carrying E or Ket in his van but they wouldn’t know shit about that - or perhaps an incredibly talented woodland critter had broken into the unlocked vehicle.
What he had definitely not been expecting was a still bruised and battered Steve Harrington.
What.
A Steve Harrington that was curled up and tangled in the second hand blankets and afghans Eddie kept in the back of the van for smoking sessions.
The.
Not only was he not expecting to find the ‘King’ Steve Harrington cuddled up in blankets in the back of his van, but Eddie had not been expecting to be assaulted by what was so clearly post-heat omegan pheromones as soon as he poked his head around the door.
Fuck?
It took several minutes of slow blinking and blank staring for Eddie’s brain to come back online.
“What the fuck?” he whispered hysterically one hand white knuckling the door the other tangled in his teased curls. “What the fuck? What the fuck? What the fuck? What the actual fuck?” His breathless meltdown had him stepping away from the door to pace in panicked confusion. He had no clue where to begin trying to puzzle this out. He was interrupted a few moments later by a soft shuffling from the van catching his attention, his head snapping to face the open door.
“Mmn…Hello?”
Eddie swallowed thickly, at the sight of a sleep rumpled Steve Harrington. The healing bruises that covered his face did nothing to hide the other boy’s handsome features and only served to set Eddie’s heart-rate skyrocketing higher than it already had been.
“Uh… Hi?” he squeaked, an embarrassed flush colouring his cheeks. Why was he embarrassed? Harrington was the one who had been sleeping in his van without permission.
Harrington blinked softly, his eyes slightly unfocused as he looked at Eddie. “Hmm, sorry, this your van Munson?” he finally asked as his eyes lit up with recognition.
“Ah hah, ye-yeah it is,” Eddie laughed nervously, finally turning to face Harrington and catching sight of the wrinkled band shirt the other boy was gripping. His shirt.
“Sorry for letting myself in, man,” Harrington responded, his gaze still a little glassy but a flush of pink tinted his nose and cheeks as he spoke. “Couldn’t help myself, it just smelled too good. I swear I didn’t take anything, just slept.”
Eddie couldn’t quite fathom what was happening, Harrington still smelled like a goddamn dream and very clearly had recently undergone a presentation heat if the almost sugary sweet scent clinging to him was any indication. Well that explained where he had been for the past week, he supposed.
“No worries, man,” Eddie said awkwardly watching as Harrington slowly slid himself out of the van. He blinked. Harrington was barefoot and clearly in pyjamas of some kind if the soft sweatshirt and flannel pants were any indicator. “You, ah, you just go through your presentation?” he asked, large brown eyes glued to the newly presented omega before him.
Harrington’s cheeks darkened and he averted his eyes as he gave a half-aborted nod in response. “Ah yeah, Hargrove triggered it when he handed me my ass,” he responded, his arms coming up to wrap protectively around his waist, the band shirt still gripped tightly in his hand subconciously.
“I think half the school thinks he killed you,” Eddie blurted out, mentally kicking himself for his lack of filter. “I mean, when you didn’t show up after he’d made such a scene y’know.”
Harrington snorted, before wincing. Obviously his nose was still tender, Eddie mused.
“That doesn’t surprise me,” he muttered, rolling his eyes, “maybe he’ll finally leave me the fuck alone. He’s got what he wanted he can have the fucking ‘crown’ or whatever the fuck.”
Eddie stared wide-eyed. He’d spent three years walking the halls of Hawkins High with the boy before him but in that time they hadn’t really interacted much if at all. Honestly, Eddie had dealt more with Hagan than the more distant and nonchalant ‘King’ Steve. So this whole interaction was doing his head in as it was without the constant scent of peaches, cinnamon and cardamom teasing his nose.
“You think he will?” Eddie asked after the silence stretched a beat too long.
“I fucking hope so,” Harrington sighed, running a hand through his unstyled soft waves. “Hopefully I can keep my presentation on the down low until I know what I am going to do about it.”
Eddie couldn’t help the slight frown that furrowed his brow, nor the curious tilt of his head at Steve’s response. “What’d’you mean?”
The omega’s hazel-brown eyes flickered to meet his and rather than his expression clamming up like Eddie had expected he had shrugged.
“My Dad won’t be happy I’ve presented as an omega, gonna need to figure out what to do once he and my Mom get back from wherever the fuck they are currently. I think they may be in New York, they were supposed to be coming back here before heading to Florida for the winter although I won’t be surprised if they just skip coming back at all.”
“Wait, you went through your presentation alone?”
“Yeah? Not like they are around much anyway it’s actually better they weren’t here. Gives me time to figure shit out. Actually do you know where I might be able to find the regulated top-strength scent blockers without going through official channels? It’d be better if no one else catches on to my presentation. Fuck know’s Hargrove will just use it to lord over me.”
Eddie was beyond overwhelmed at this point. Firstly he had found a freshly presented omega Steve Harrington cuddling up with the blankets in his van, followed by a conversation that the longer it dragged out the more protective his alpha instincts were growing. The impassive air the omega was giving off as he confessed openly to going through what is socially understood to be a horrendously painful ordeal alone was already a lot.
“You’re upset.” Eddie was broken from his thoughts by Steve stepping closer, his nose wrinkling in confusion. “I’m sorry again for sleeping in your van without permission.”
The laugh that left the alpha was borderline hysterical. “What?”
“You’re scent, it’s soured,” Steve said quietly, his shoulders curling inwards to make himself smaller.
“Jesus H Christ!” Eddie hissed before taking a deep breath and regretting it instantly. The saccharine sweet smell of rotting fruit assaulted his nasal cavity. “Whoa whoa whoa buddy! I am not upset at you in the slightest!” he flailed, almost fluttering around Steve without physically touching him. “Honestly finding you in the van was just a surprise.”
“Then why-”
“My instincts aren’t exactly happy you presented all alone,” Eddie answered quickly, one of his hands stopping it’s flailing to start scratching at his jaw embarrassed. “Also y’know the whole 'parents may not be coming back for the winter' thing. That’s months away.”
“Huh?” Steve responded, his head tilting to the side in his confusion like a puppy. Cute, Eddie thought feeling a blush heat his ears and colour his cheeks. “Is that normal?" Steve asked, before continuing, "most alpha’s I know don’t tend to get like that unless it’s pack related.”
Eddie averted his gaze to the forest canopy as he answered, “not usually no. But my alpha’s been very active since I found you. I presented very early so I am well versed in handling my instincts at this point but uh… it’s definitely more insistent then is normal for me.”
“I wonder if that has anything to do with what drew me out here in the first place,” Steve murmured looking around his eyes finally clearing up.
Eddie made a small noise of agreement, before his eyes once again caught the omega’s bare feet. “Couldn’t say, but uh would you let me take you home at least? I know you obviously got here okay but I would feel better about it if you’d let me drop you off?”
Steve looked at him in surprise before looking down and blushing. “Oh, ah yeah, that’d be great thanks.”
“Right then,” Eddie said, “why don’t you hop in the front I’ll shut the side door.” Steve just nodded, turning around and heading for the passenger side door. Eddie stepped up to the van, put down his metal lunchbox and then went about shutting the side door with a thunk. Leaning against it for a moment to try and steady himself. He’d never found himself so reactive to another person’s scent before. Admittedly he had never come across anyone that smelled like his late Meemaw’s famous peach cobbler so really he couldn’t say what it was that was so compelling right then. After another deep breath he stood up, fished his keys out of his pocket and slipped into the driver's seat. “To Castle Harrington we go, my liege,” he said jokingly with a goofy grin, trying to settle himself with his usual joviality.
Steve rolled his eyes but didn’t question if the alpha knew where he was going, the many Harrington parties he had dealt at probably enough of an explanation for the omega.
They sat in silence for a few minutes as Eddie maneuvered the van out of the woods and back on to an old forestry track and then on to the back roads, his Sabbath tape playing on low.
“You never did answer about the scent blockers you know,” Steve finally said, breaking the silence, glancing at Eddie out of the corner of his eyes.
“I didn't, did I? But yeah I can get you some. I prefer them myself than the shit the school provides, they’ll be about thirty dollars a box of five. Pricey but worth it in my opinion,” Eddie answered, feeling more comfortable talking shop than about whatever the fuck happened before.
Steve winced. “Yeah, yeah I can manage that at least for now,” he said after letting out a breath. How much to get me through until winter break? That’s six weeks give or take so that’s one-eighty yeah?”
“Something like that,” Eddie agreed. “I suppose you’ll want them before you return to school?”
“If you can swing it that would be great,” the omega sighed, relaxing slightly into the car seat, “I can even grab you the cash once we get to my place.”
Eddie ran his tongue along his top teeth as he mentally ran through his stock. “I can drop them off tomorrow night, hold on to the money till then. No use giving it to me with no product in return, I may be a drug dealer but I try to deal fair.”
Steve blinked at him in surprise. “I mean sure? We can do that.”
The two fell back into silence for the remainder of the drive, and stayed that way for an awkward moment once Eddie pulled into the Harrington driveway. Steve cleared his throat quietly, before looking at Eddie with a small and slightly awkward smile. “Thanks for all this Munson, and for getting me the scent blockers. Sorry to have derailed your Saturday afternoon.”
“No thanks required, and no worries that’s what I do,” Eddie waved off before studying Steve a moment. “You gonna be alright on your own?”
“Y-yeah I will.”
Eddie wasn’t a fan of how surprised Steve appeared over the question but held his tongue. He’d be by the next day anyway, he could check in then. “Alright then, well I will be by tomorrow, probably later in the day around six I’d say,” he said instead.
Steve nodded as he opened the door pausing only long enough to send Eddie a genuine smile, “Thanks again Munson. See you tomorrow.”
Eddie nodded watching with a scrutinising gaze as the omega slipped from his passenger seat, shut the door and crossed the driveway to slip inside his front door. Mossy brown caught his gaze and held it before they disappeared into the house. With Steve out of view, Eddie frowned, he didn’t know what it was about the other boy, but something was different. He felt a pull on his alphan instincts he’d never felt beyond pack bonds. That it was Steve Harrington that was pulling at them left him confused and more than a little unmoored. Shaking his head, he reversed out of the driveway and headed home.
He could think about it later and think about what this may mean for his Munson doctrine then.
I don't really have anybody to add to a tag list but let me know if you'd like me to add you to one. Or you can just follow the tag #Red Strings - Steddie Omegaverse I guess.
FINALLY. Red Strings CH2 is finished. Just need to edit and then we are good to go.
Fuck my body really didn't want me to work on this at all the last week. But I persevered... kind of... anyway I will make myself a cup of tea, take some much-needed painkillers and we shall see if I can push through the needed proofread and edit so I can get this baby up.
Anyway, we have some Henderson time and some Steddie time in this chapter.
We also have some Steve angst because I can't help but put my boy through it.
