[ If anyone asked her at fifteen what she thought making it would look like, Eddie would have waxed poetic about sold-out arenas, her face plastered on billboards towering over the highway, the deafening roar of a crowd screaming along to the heart-wrenching lyrics she scribbled in her notebooks.
Eddie at twenty-five has a slightly more practical outlook on the matter.
Technically they're playing to sold-out venues. Technically there are advertisements plastered up on walls that have her face on them. Technically they play to crowds who sing along to the things Eddie had written in her notebooks. Yes, the venues they're playing are booked for more mainstream bands and Corroded Coffin is just their opening act. Yes, the advertisements are just cheap shitty paper tacked up in dive bars and on scaffolding downtown. Yes, the songs being sung along to are covers of the things she listened to growing up, the lyrics used to decorate her notebooks and textbooks when she couldn't think of anything of her own to write. None of that is the point.
The point is, right, the point is she fucking did it. She made it out of Hawkins alive, and while Corroded Coffin may not be one hundred percent made up of the same gaggle of misfit losers she collected in high school, she's still got Gareth in her corner, and the new members of the band get it. It's slow going, but they're making progress. They're getting their music out there. Things are looking up. They're fucking making it.
Right now, though, this very second, the only thing Eddie is making is a spectacle of herself. She's still a little sweaty from their show even though they've been off stage for hours now, she's still a little hyped up from playing an honest-to-god arena, and the YouTube account she's become accidentally obsessed with uploaded a new video that very morning.
She's watched it. More than once.
"No, shut up, listen!" she tries to explain, raising her voice to cut over the sound of Gareth and Keith groaning loudly, already bored with her explaining why this random guy who makes simple home improvement content has so thoroughly captivated her attention. "He's so fucking hot, okay, you don't understand, you don't know what he looks li—"
"Eds, we have all sat through multiple videos of his," Gareth protests, slapping her hand away as she tries to cover his mouth to shut him up. "We know what he looks like. He looks like a dad. He looks like my dad."
Eddie gasps, theatrically outraged. "You take that back!"
Keith guffaws and throws a balled up napkin at her when she's too distracted by Gareth's betrayal to notice. "He kind of does," he agrees, like a fucking traitor. Eddie ignores him. Liars cannot be listened to or they'll just keep on lying.
"He looks nothing like your dad. How dare you say that to me. I know your dad! I like your dad! Don't ruin this for me!" She flattens both her hands on the table of the high-top they're all perched around, leaning her weight on the edge and either not noticing or not caring about how it makes the table tip a little, its uneven feet sending everyone's beers skittering close to the edge and prompting a mad scramble from all assembled — except Eddie, she's too busy and her beer is empty, anyway — to save their drinks. "Your dad looks like a Real Dad. Like, he looks like he's going to pick us up from the airport in your mom's minivan and make a joke about birds that none of us get. He looks like an actor cast in the part of Suburban Father Who Loves and Supports His Kids." Eddie loves Gareth's dad. He was amazingly cool with his only son hanging around the weirdest girl in school, cleaned out the garage so they could practice there, even helped ferry them to and fro when her van broke down. He's great. He looks nothing like the guy on the YouTube channel she likes.
"This guy looks like a DILF. Like, I would exclusively fuck him missionary-style so he could spit in my mouth." For some reason, this is met with even louder groans, though that obviously doesn't dim Eddie's enthusiasm at all, because she just grins wider and leans in closer so neither of them can avoid hearing her. "No guillotine could take away the head I would give that man."
"Eddie!"
She cackles. "What, you were fine with the spitting but you draw the line at the guillotine?"
"I was not fine with the spitting!" Keith covers his face with his hands, his cheeks red as he slumps down in his seat. He hasn't known her as long as Gareth has. He's not as inured to her obnoxiousness. "I can't believe you put those images in my head," he whines.
Eddie takes the opportunity to steal the last of his beer, lifting it to her mouth with a triumphant grin. "They've been in my head all day. And it's been great." ]
The Austin bar is not small; shame that all the space in the world won't ever make it more than a dive. Not far from downtown, it's off the main drag proper and feels it-- the sign is about two decades out of date, the lights inside are the color of lemons left too long on the counter and the old bar is held together by the glory of the liquor spilled on it over the years. The place will, however, keep conversations to themselves. The Miller brothers have been coming here since they've been old enough to sneak out of the house.
Joel laughs and wheezes, shaking his head to try and clean the burn out of his throat before coughing. "That was not tequila, you goddamned liar."
It takes Tommy a minute to respond due to how hard he's wheezing. Tears leak down his cheeks. "Everclear," he finally manages, and Joel feels like he could breathe fire. He damn near shoves Tommy off his seat at the hightop.
Thirty-six. Christ, who would have thunk that he'd live so long. Wasn't as if Joel'd made many good decisions in his life-- got into college somehow and then fucked it all up by knocking up a girl. But she'd been his girl.
Had been.
And then almost fifteen goddamn years had somehow gone by. Had debt but not a degree, had a daughter but not a wife, had a construction company that hadn't quite failed yet. Joel pushes fingers through his hair and laughs. "Christ, Tommy." He loves his life, as very much alcohol-soaked and overheated as it is right at this moment. And he'll love it tomorrow hungover, too. Because Sarah will probably be loud on purpose and smack around some pans and stomp up and down the stairs because she's a little shit but she's his little shit, the best part of her momma and all his now. "Look, I don't trust you anymore. I'm gettin' the next round." He winks and slides away from the table, peeling away from his brother's laughter and toward the bar.
His elbows thump down on wood and when the bartender asks him for his order Joel gets two shots of tequila, "on the tab of that asshole over yonder."
Joel looks around the bar as he waits. It's always a mixed crowd in here, some folks like him and Tommy been coming here for years dotted amongst the out-of-towners who've gotten more and more frequent as Austin's grown into a city where people wanna be. His phone buzzes and is pulled from his pocket.
Mimi says that you look too skinny in the newest video and that we're gonna bbq on Saturday.
With a shake of his head he replies. I told you not to download that app for your grandmother. That's all he needs, his momma calling him up and asking him about internet crap that he doesn't understand one way or another. Sarah had started filming as a joke and then one day told him that he had a thousand followers, like he knew what that meant. Wasn't helping pay the bills so Joel didn't really care but now he tended to look into the camera a little more often when it was on him, like he might see those thousand people through it. All he was trying to do was teach his daughter basic life skills.
You're supposed to be having fun, not texting.
Joel snorts. Yeah well your uncle just tried to kill me so I'm taking a break. He laughs to himself and pushes his phone back into his pocket, attention momentarily caught by a nearby table nearly overturning and two of three sets of hands jumping to grab it as the young woman clearly causing the problem laughs with a toss of dark curls. Seems like trouble. Joel shakes his head and turns back to the bar.
Tommy, though. He's had nothing to distract him from following the aftermath of the commotion from a few tables over. He squints through the gloom that lays around the dirty lights-- good hell, did that woman just say she wanted a DIFL to spit in her mouth?
"No guillotine could take away the head I would give that man."
That is clear enough and while the woman's friends look offended, Tommy cracks the fuck up. "Listen," he calls over, "they don't appreciate your sense of humor then you can come drink with us!" Knowing full well that Joel would hate it, because his big brother is wound tighter than.
[ Usually Eddie isn't crazy about people butting in on her conversations, especially in towns where she doesn't know anyone. Call it whatever you like, her anti-social personality rising to the fore or a childhood and adolescence spent being ridiculed by her peers, but she's found that when some guy inserts himself into a conversation she's having with her friends, things usually end badly.
Tonight, however, it seems like things might go a different direction.
She looks over her shoulder to spot who'd called out to her, locking eyes with a dark-haired man who was grinning at her almost as wide as she'd been grinning herself. Making a split-second decision — all her best decisions have been split-second ones, don't ask anyone else to back up that claim please and thank you — she shoots him a finger-gun and a wink and then turns back to Gareth and Keith.
"Yeah, screw you guys, you just don't appreciate me," she teases, shoving back from the table and setting Keith's now-empty bottle down. "I'm going to go hang out with that guy and whoever the fuck he's drinking with."
Gareth opens his mouth like he's about to protest, but they've known each other for well over a decade now, and he knows what she's like when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something. In the end, he just sighs and shakes his head, his hair shifting across his shoulders. "Just don't get yourself killed. Or arrested," he adds quickly, which. Okay. Fair.
"You owe me another beer," Keith tells her, though the fact that she's already sliding out of her chair means he knows she's not going to go get it for him.
Eddie gives them both a jaunty little salute before slinking through the few tables that separate them, fully intending to just have a laugh with that guy before probably continuing her trajectory up to the bar so she can get a fresh round for everyone to make up for upsetting their delicate constitutions. They're only in Austin for another night or two, she doesn't have it in her for anything more than a drink.
Still. She's a friendly girl — again, don't ask for clarification — and after almost an entire tour spent only talking to the same ten or fifteen people, she's feeling a little stir-crazy.
Hitching her ass up into one of the stools around her new friend's table, she leans her elbow on the tabletop and rests her chin in her hand so she can grin at him. ]
[Shit, Tommy likes that grin. But then again, Tommy likes trouble. He offers a hand across the table and leans in.] Tommy Miller. [There's only a jukebox but it's turned up a little too loud for comfortable conversation.] Didn't mean to interrupt. I'm here with my brother for his birthday and he doesn't seem half as fun as you, so.
i dunno, i'm kind of thinking you're secretly a freak and i'm looking forward to finding out just what kind.
well english is a franken-language but it still has some limitations. i guess we could call them acquaintances. but people seem to take offense to that for some reason.
Alright are there like, sporting good stores in Wyoming? Because I swear unless I can talk someone into cutting down trees and making baseball bats for me I'm going to start having a problem.
What? No, mothman's a harbinger of doom, or at least a warning of impending disaster, and you're... not that. Maybe bigfoot because your hair's so fluffy? I don't really know very many cryptids.
steven middle name harrington you've been holding out on me, how dare you. also, don't make me laugh like that when i'm sick, i feel like i'm gonna puke.
hey, I did NOT say I rode it well and without injury. I broke my god damn nose so much I think it's shattered or at least it feels like it, which is incredible it took this long. that sucker has taken so many punches.
[ While it had definitely been a shock to have Steve ask her out — on a date, like a normal person — Eddie likes to think she's recovered pretty well. It helps that she acquired a self-imposed quest to find a few books that she thought Steve might like, recorded books, ones he doesn't have to struggle through reading but could slip into his Walkman when he goes on runs or whatever it is he does to keep up his trim physique.
Not that she has opinions on Steve's body, of course. Naturally. She doesn't think about it at all. The remembered image of his chest heaving in the aftermath of battle doesn't keep her up at night or anything. She also doesn't think what kind of books he might like. That second one is the part that's turning out to be a problem. Eddie isn't proud to admit she spends almost an hour in the stacks of the library, staring at the crinkly plastic covers of audiobooks, weighing one against the other until her head was spinning. Her first instinct was to go with mysteries — boys like those, right? — but then she wondered if Steve would find them too difficult to follow, considering he's so determined to think of himself as stupid. Would the convoluted plot and twists and surprise turns make him feel dumb? Would it be too close to how it feels when he's in the middle of another Upside Down problem, would it bring back bad memories?
In the end, she chooses a thriller, something action-movie-ish that she thinks he'd appreciate, a goofy collection of short stories, and a harlequin bodice-ripper just for shits and giggles. While she'd love to have Steve get as wrapped up in the fantasy worlds that she loves to mentally inhabit, she knows she's got to meet him where he is first.
It's a tough choice, deciding what she should or shouldn't offer up, but she tells herself that if he hates them, she can try again.
Deciding what to wear to their date is almost just as bad. If Steve hates the books, she can just give him different ones, but if he hates the date, they're not going to have another one. He can say they'll just go back to being friends — and maybe Steve really is one of those weirdos who can stay friends with his exes, if Nancy is anything to go by — but Eddie tends to hold grudges. If things go sour, she knows she won't be able to just go past that.
In the end, she sticks to what she knows. If she really goes all-out, she's going to feel uncomfortable, and then Steve will be uncomfortable, and the whole thing will be a disaster. So she picks her nicest pair of jeans, the ones that make her ass look amazing and have a minimum amount of tearing, a nice shirt that doesn't even have a demon or anything on front, and tries to do her hair. Tries being the operative word. It mostly looks the same as it always does, but at least it's clean, and she even put some stuff in it to make it look shinier than usual. So hopefully that's appreciated.
Wiping her sweaty palms on her thighs as she stands on Steve's front porch, she puffs out her cheeks for a second and then shakes her head at herself, lifts her fist, and knocks. ]
[Steve's been stewing over a lot of things for days. The only thing that has kept him from just curling up in a blanket in front of the fireplace is getting things ready for Eddie. If they don't work out then they don't work out. That's been how most of his dating life has gone since meeting Robin and getting back into the game for real. Honestly, he's used to disappointment in that. But the process of making something nice up for someone is a distraction from the mental spiral he's definitely in the middle of.
One even Robin has had trouble dragging him out of.
But he does have dinner almost ready, he's been waiting, he's contemplating stealing a bottle of his mother's wine. No, he doesn't need that. His mood is borderline already. So he's got to do this right. Which includes checking himself over. He's managed to keep his green henley clean, his pants are in good order, his hair is flawless... Yeah. It's okay. He's okay.
And when he opens the door he's sorta... paused for a moment. Because it's a date. Which means thinking about Eddie, even if only in the moment so far, differently. And she's really pulling it off. It's good.]
[ She'd been prepared for Steve to open the door wearing one of his many polo shirts, or maybe a sweater or something. The henley is both less fancy than she expected and extremely more distracting than she anticipated, because it hugs his shoulders and his biceps like it was made for him bespoke, the green fabric bringing out the gold of his eyes in a way that makes her feel far more flustered than she wants to admit to, and Eddie only realizes Steve asked her a question after the silence that follows him speaking starts to become awkward.
Jesus Christ. ]
Uh, yeah. [ She blinks, resists the urge to rub at her eyes because she's wearing eyeliner and if she fucks up her makeup now she's going to scream, visibly resetting herself before she brings up a crooked grin. ] See if I dress up for you ever again. Just for that, next time I'm going to wear my most obscure underground indie metal band shirt and then act offended that you don't know who they are.
[ Next time. Like she's planning on tonight going well. Which she is, by the way. She's decided it's going to be a success and she's going to approach it that way. If she lets herself be too nervous things are going to fall to pieces. She lifts her hand and waggles the shopping bag dangling from her fingers, the plastic distended by the sharp corners of the books on tape cases stuffed inside. ]
[ Even just a few months ago, Eddie would have laughed right in your face if you ever told her she'd be waiting to get picked up after school by none other than Steve "The Hair" Harrington. Sure, she'd seen his maroon BMW idling outside the school doors dozens of times, either picking up Big Wheeler or Little Wheeler and all his twerpy friends — whom she loved dearly, of course, and only continued to rag on because they were shrimpy freshmen who thought they were hot shit and needed to be kept closer to earth — but never had she emerged from the front doors of her alma mater and seen Steve's car and thought ah, good, that's for me.
There's a first time for everything, it seems.
With Starcourt gone, Steve had driven her downtown and they'd spent a fruitless hour searching the racks of the few clothes stores Hawkins still had to offer, none of which had anything worthwhile that Eddie could either fit herself into or stomach wearing for longer than it took to stomp out of the dressing room and bark "no" at Steve before stomping back.
There had been discussion of backing out of the plan, but if there's one thing Eddie prides herself on, it's committing to the bit. She said she'd do this, so she's going to fucking do it. Even if she thinks she looks stupid and Steve winds up having to drive her to Muncie to go to their mall instead. Eventually, though, they find a skirt that will suit — denim, her preferred fabric of choice, in a dark wash that's not-quite black but inching in that direction, tight and short in a way that makes her both stunned by her own reflection and also very aware of how fucking hard it is to keep walking without it riding up — and grab a quick bite at the food court before making their way back to Hawkins so they can attend the game that's so fucking important, apparently.
Sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car, her knees pressed together to keep her skirt from sliding even higher up her hips, Eddie examines her reflection in the passenger visor mirror, wiping her fingertips beneath her eyes to neaten up the smudge of black liner that's been blurring out from her waterline all day. ]
Thanks for this, by the way. [ She carefully doesn't look at him while she says it, chewing on her lip for a moment before huffing and closing the visor back up. ] I appreciate it. And I know Lucas will too.
What in the hell had Steve gotten himself into here? The conversation with Eddie had only meant to warn her about Carver. Steve hadn't meant for the topic to suddenly turn into how he thought Carver secretly wanted Eddie all to himself and that it was pretty much obvious. That's how Steve got himself here. He wasn't going to let Eddie waltz into the game alone, not with a threat from Jason but Steve didn't think that Eddie would actually go through with wearing a goddamn miniskirt.
Not that she wouldn't look amazing in it. That was the problem here.
Eddie never wore dresses, that alone story skirts. That was the thrill here, right? What guy doesn't enjoy it when a girl suddenly does something unexpected? Especially if that means exposing a little skin when she typically doesn't. That's like an instant boner for any guy. Well, any straight guy.
This whole scenario had a few dilemmas. One, Steve low-key found Eddie attractive. This whole talk about short skirts and ass grabbing had gotten him a little worked up. A lot of worked up actually. Two, Eddie was his friend. A very close friend at that. A friend he didn't want to lose incase things got sexual and Steve fucked it up.
He always fucks it up. Nancy Wheeler is a constant reminder.
It's extremely difficult to not stare when Eddie models skirts and stomps away unsatisfied. It's even worse when she finally settles on one and she's sitting pretty in the passenger's seat of his car.
Goddamn. ]
Yeah.
[He keeps his response short and his eyes locked in on the road. He's telling himself to keep his eyes forward and not pay any mind to just how much of Eddie's legs are exposed.
Not weird like Upside Down Weird, at least, she doesn't think so. But still kind of weird. There's a part of her that's worried that she's upset him or something, but what the hell could he be upset about? He's the one who said he'd take her to the game. He's the one who encouraged her along with her stupid jokes about how to rile up Carver.
(Granted, now that she's examining things from a slightly less hysterical angle, she's not entirely sure she should be trying to antagonize Carver, considering he said he wanted to teach her a lesson in how to be a real lady. He's not going to teach her how to walk in heels or how to get out of a car without flashing anyone. Most likely, he's planning to do something really fucked up to her. She shouldn't rile him up any more than he can manage on his own.)
Is he upset he canceled his date? She told him he didn't have to. Maybe he's regretting it now that they're trapped in the car together and Eddie's sitting beside him resisting the urge to squirm to bring the hem of her skirt down her legs some more. She probably shouldn't have gotten one this short, or should have bought a larger size. But she'd been struck by her reflection, by how long her legs looked, and the look on Steve's face when she showed him had been the clincher. He seemed to like it in the store. Does he not like it now?
Why does she care so much if Steve likes her fucking skirt?
She twists her fingers in her lap to refrain from picking at the ladder that spreads wide across her knee, ripped when she tried to put on the tights she bought to go with the skirt, her guitar-calloused fingers and general lack of practice with stockings leaving her with a ruined pair right out the gate. Whatever. It adds to the look, presumably. But she doesn't need to make the tears any wider. ]
I have no idea how your girls wear this shit, [ she grumbles, instead of assuring him that yes, she's sure about this. She's already told him she is. She's not sure how many more times she can say it without cracking. ] This is so annoying.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
whose name you hiss, whose sheets you twist
Eddie at twenty-five has a slightly more practical outlook on the matter.
Technically they're playing to sold-out venues. Technically there are advertisements plastered up on walls that have her face on them. Technically they play to crowds who sing along to the things Eddie had written in her notebooks. Yes, the venues they're playing are booked for more mainstream bands and Corroded Coffin is just their opening act. Yes, the advertisements are just cheap shitty paper tacked up in dive bars and on scaffolding downtown. Yes, the songs being sung along to are covers of the things she listened to growing up, the lyrics used to decorate her notebooks and textbooks when she couldn't think of anything of her own to write. None of that is the point.
The point is, right, the point is she fucking did it. She made it out of Hawkins alive, and while Corroded Coffin may not be one hundred percent made up of the same gaggle of misfit losers she collected in high school, she's still got Gareth in her corner, and the new members of the band get it. It's slow going, but they're making progress. They're getting their music out there. Things are looking up. They're fucking making it.
Right now, though, this very second, the only thing Eddie is making is a spectacle of herself. She's still a little sweaty from their show even though they've been off stage for hours now, she's still a little hyped up from playing an honest-to-god arena, and the YouTube account she's become accidentally obsessed with uploaded a new video that very morning.
She's watched it. More than once.
"No, shut up, listen!" she tries to explain, raising her voice to cut over the sound of Gareth and Keith groaning loudly, already bored with her explaining why this random guy who makes simple home improvement content has so thoroughly captivated her attention. "He's so fucking hot, okay, you don't understand, you don't know what he looks li—"
"Eds, we have all sat through multiple videos of his," Gareth protests, slapping her hand away as she tries to cover his mouth to shut him up. "We know what he looks like. He looks like a dad. He looks like my dad."
Eddie gasps, theatrically outraged. "You take that back!"
Keith guffaws and throws a balled up napkin at her when she's too distracted by Gareth's betrayal to notice. "He kind of does," he agrees, like a fucking traitor. Eddie ignores him. Liars cannot be listened to or they'll just keep on lying.
"He looks nothing like your dad. How dare you say that to me. I know your dad! I like your dad! Don't ruin this for me!" She flattens both her hands on the table of the high-top they're all perched around, leaning her weight on the edge and either not noticing or not caring about how it makes the table tip a little, its uneven feet sending everyone's beers skittering close to the edge and prompting a mad scramble from all assembled — except Eddie, she's too busy and her beer is empty, anyway — to save their drinks. "Your dad looks like a Real Dad. Like, he looks like he's going to pick us up from the airport in your mom's minivan and make a joke about birds that none of us get. He looks like an actor cast in the part of Suburban Father Who Loves and Supports His Kids." Eddie loves Gareth's dad. He was amazingly cool with his only son hanging around the weirdest girl in school, cleaned out the garage so they could practice there, even helped ferry them to and fro when her van broke down. He's great. He looks nothing like the guy on the YouTube channel she likes.
"This guy looks like a DILF. Like, I would exclusively fuck him missionary-style so he could spit in my mouth." For some reason, this is met with even louder groans, though that obviously doesn't dim Eddie's enthusiasm at all, because she just grins wider and leans in closer so neither of them can avoid hearing her. "No guillotine could take away the head I would give that man."
"Eddie!"
She cackles. "What, you were fine with the spitting but you draw the line at the guillotine?"
"I was not fine with the spitting!" Keith covers his face with his hands, his cheeks red as he slumps down in his seat. He hasn't known her as long as Gareth has. He's not as inured to her obnoxiousness. "I can't believe you put those images in my head," he whines.
Eddie takes the opportunity to steal the last of his beer, lifting it to her mouth with a triumphant grin. "They've been in my head all day. And it's been great." ]
no subject
The Austin bar is not small; shame that all the space in the world won't ever make it more than a dive. Not far from downtown, it's off the main drag proper and feels it-- the sign is about two decades out of date, the lights inside are the color of lemons left too long on the counter and the old bar is held together by the glory of the liquor spilled on it over the years. The place will, however, keep conversations to themselves. The Miller brothers have been coming here since they've been old enough to sneak out of the house.
Joel laughs and wheezes, shaking his head to try and clean the burn out of his throat before coughing. "That was not tequila, you goddamned liar."
It takes Tommy a minute to respond due to how hard he's wheezing. Tears leak down his cheeks. "Everclear," he finally manages, and Joel feels like he could breathe fire. He damn near shoves Tommy off his seat at the hightop.
Thirty-six. Christ, who would have thunk that he'd live so long. Wasn't as if Joel'd made many good decisions in his life-- got into college somehow and then fucked it all up by knocking up a girl. But she'd been his girl.
Had been.
And then almost fifteen goddamn years had somehow gone by. Had debt but not a degree, had a daughter but not a wife, had a construction company that hadn't quite failed yet. Joel pushes fingers through his hair and laughs. "Christ, Tommy." He loves his life, as very much alcohol-soaked and overheated as it is right at this moment. And he'll love it tomorrow hungover, too. Because Sarah will probably be loud on purpose and smack around some pans and stomp up and down the stairs because she's a little shit but she's his little shit, the best part of her momma and all his now. "Look, I don't trust you anymore. I'm gettin' the next round." He winks and slides away from the table, peeling away from his brother's laughter and toward the bar.
His elbows thump down on wood and when the bartender asks him for his order Joel gets two shots of tequila, "on the tab of that asshole over yonder."
Joel looks around the bar as he waits. It's always a mixed crowd in here, some folks like him and Tommy been coming here for years dotted amongst the out-of-towners who've gotten more and more frequent as Austin's grown into a city where people wanna be. His phone buzzes and is pulled from his pocket.
Mimi says that you look too skinny in the newest video and that we're gonna bbq on Saturday.
With a shake of his head he replies. I told you not to download that app for your grandmother. That's all he needs, his momma calling him up and asking him about internet crap that he doesn't understand one way or another. Sarah had started filming as a joke and then one day told him that he had a thousand followers, like he knew what that meant. Wasn't helping pay the bills so Joel didn't really care but now he tended to look into the camera a little more often when it was on him, like he might see those thousand people through it. All he was trying to do was teach his daughter basic life skills.
You're supposed to be having fun, not texting.
Joel snorts. Yeah well your uncle just tried to kill me so I'm taking a break. He laughs to himself and pushes his phone back into his pocket, attention momentarily caught by a nearby table nearly overturning and two of three sets of hands jumping to grab it as the young woman clearly causing the problem laughs with a toss of dark curls. Seems like trouble. Joel shakes his head and turns back to the bar.
Tommy, though. He's had nothing to distract him from following the aftermath of the commotion from a few tables over. He squints through the gloom that lays around the dirty lights-- good hell, did that woman just say she wanted a DIFL to spit in her mouth?
"No guillotine could take away the head I would give that man."
That is clear enough and while the woman's friends look offended, Tommy cracks the fuck up. "Listen," he calls over, "they don't appreciate your sense of humor then you can come drink with us!" Knowing full well that Joel would hate it, because his big brother is wound tighter than.
A tightly-wound thing.
Tommy laughs.]
no subject
Tonight, however, it seems like things might go a different direction.
She looks over her shoulder to spot who'd called out to her, locking eyes with a dark-haired man who was grinning at her almost as wide as she'd been grinning herself. Making a split-second decision — all her best decisions have been split-second ones, don't ask anyone else to back up that claim please and thank you — she shoots him a finger-gun and a wink and then turns back to Gareth and Keith.
"Yeah, screw you guys, you just don't appreciate me," she teases, shoving back from the table and setting Keith's now-empty bottle down. "I'm going to go hang out with that guy and whoever the fuck he's drinking with."
Gareth opens his mouth like he's about to protest, but they've known each other for well over a decade now, and he knows what she's like when she gets a bee in her bonnet about something. In the end, he just sighs and shakes his head, his hair shifting across his shoulders. "Just don't get yourself killed. Or arrested," he adds quickly, which. Okay. Fair.
"You owe me another beer," Keith tells her, though the fact that she's already sliding out of her chair means he knows she's not going to go get it for him.
Eddie gives them both a jaunty little salute before slinking through the few tables that separate them, fully intending to just have a laugh with that guy before probably continuing her trajectory up to the bar so she can get a fresh round for everyone to make up for upsetting their delicate constitutions. They're only in Austin for another night or two, she doesn't have it in her for anything more than a drink.
Still. She's a friendly girl — again, don't ask for clarification — and after almost an entire tour spent only talking to the same ten or fifteen people, she's feeling a little stir-crazy.
Hitching her ass up into one of the stools around her new friend's table, she leans her elbow on the tabletop and rests her chin in her hand so she can grin at him. ]
I'm Eddie, who're you?
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Not a local?
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tfln overflow 4/14
oh sure. don't you?
oop, missed this, i blame a busy week!
I used to, yeah. Kinda shitty calling them friends though, isn't it?
no worries!
well english is a franken-language but it still has some limitations.
i guess we could call them acquaintances. but people seem to take offense to that for some reason.
all good things must be tested
WHY DO THINGS HAVE TO BREAK?
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sorry about your phallic symbol breaking, though. that's a drag.
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tfln overflow 10/27
so if you're some kind of pumpkin-mermaid hybrid, what kind of cryptid would i be? don't say mothman.
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Maybe bigfoot because your hair's so fluffy? I don't really know very many cryptids.
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i mean, i am pretty tall, so i guess that fits. bigfoot, oh my god.
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Action? Action!
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tfln overflow 10/27
steven middle name harrington you've been holding out on me, how dare you. also, don't make me laugh like that when i'm sick, i feel like i'm gonna puke.
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tfln overflow 11/17
it's EXTREMELY kinky. you are way more advanced than i am. you should be proud of yourself.
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Eddie, I think you need to reevaluate your definitions.
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okay yes i have but it wasn't my fault!
and no i'm definitely right.
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for @babysitters_club
Not that she has opinions on Steve's body, of course. Naturally. She doesn't think about it at all. The remembered image of his chest heaving in the aftermath of battle doesn't keep her up at night or anything. She also doesn't think what kind of books he might like. That second one is the part that's turning out to be a problem. Eddie isn't proud to admit she spends almost an hour in the stacks of the library, staring at the crinkly plastic covers of audiobooks, weighing one against the other until her head was spinning. Her first instinct was to go with mysteries — boys like those, right? — but then she wondered if Steve would find them too difficult to follow, considering he's so determined to think of himself as stupid. Would the convoluted plot and twists and surprise turns make him feel dumb? Would it be too close to how it feels when he's in the middle of another Upside Down problem, would it bring back bad memories?
In the end, she chooses a thriller, something action-movie-ish that she thinks he'd appreciate, a goofy collection of short stories, and a harlequin bodice-ripper just for shits and giggles. While she'd love to have Steve get as wrapped up in the fantasy worlds that she loves to mentally inhabit, she knows she's got to meet him where he is first.
It's a tough choice, deciding what she should or shouldn't offer up, but she tells herself that if he hates them, she can try again.
Deciding what to wear to their date is almost just as bad. If Steve hates the books, she can just give him different ones, but if he hates the date, they're not going to have another one. He can say they'll just go back to being friends — and maybe Steve really is one of those weirdos who can stay friends with his exes, if Nancy is anything to go by — but Eddie tends to hold grudges. If things go sour, she knows she won't be able to just go past that.
In the end, she sticks to what she knows. If she really goes all-out, she's going to feel uncomfortable, and then Steve will be uncomfortable, and the whole thing will be a disaster. So she picks her nicest pair of jeans, the ones that make her ass look amazing and have a minimum amount of tearing, a nice shirt that doesn't even have a demon or anything on front, and tries to do her hair. Tries being the operative word. It mostly looks the same as it always does, but at least it's clean, and she even put some stuff in it to make it look shinier than usual. So hopefully that's appreciated.
Wiping her sweaty palms on her thighs as she stands on Steve's front porch, she puffs out her cheeks for a second and then shakes her head at herself, lifts her fist, and knocks. ]
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One even Robin has had trouble dragging him out of.
But he does have dinner almost ready, he's been waiting, he's contemplating stealing a bottle of his mother's wine. No, he doesn't need that. His mood is borderline already. So he's got to do this right. Which includes checking himself over. He's managed to keep his green henley clean, his pants are in good order, his hair is flawless... Yeah. It's okay. He's okay.
And when he opens the door he's sorta... paused for a moment. Because it's a date. Which means thinking about Eddie, even if only in the moment so far, differently. And she's really pulling it off. It's good.]
Uh. Hey. No band shirt?
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Jesus Christ. ]
Uh, yeah. [ She blinks, resists the urge to rub at her eyes because she's wearing eyeliner and if she fucks up her makeup now she's going to scream, visibly resetting herself before she brings up a crooked grin. ] See if I dress up for you ever again. Just for that, next time I'm going to wear my most obscure underground indie metal band shirt and then act offended that you don't know who they are.
[ Next time. Like she's planning on tonight going well. Which she is, by the way. She's decided it's going to be a success and she's going to approach it that way. If she lets herself be too nervous things are going to fall to pieces. She lifts her hand and waggles the shopping bag dangling from her fingers, the plastic distended by the sharp corners of the books on tape cases stuffed inside. ]
I got you a present.
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Stupid accidentally posting early.
you're all good!
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for @bigboyvibes | you give me fever (now i'm a believer)
There's a first time for everything, it seems.
With Starcourt gone, Steve had driven her downtown and they'd spent a fruitless hour searching the racks of the few clothes stores Hawkins still had to offer, none of which had anything worthwhile that Eddie could either fit herself into or stomach wearing for longer than it took to stomp out of the dressing room and bark "no" at Steve before stomping back.
There had been discussion of backing out of the plan, but if there's one thing Eddie prides herself on, it's committing to the bit. She said she'd do this, so she's going to fucking do it. Even if she thinks she looks stupid and Steve winds up having to drive her to Muncie to go to their mall instead. Eventually, though, they find a skirt that will suit — denim, her preferred fabric of choice, in a dark wash that's not-quite black but inching in that direction, tight and short in a way that makes her both stunned by her own reflection and also very aware of how fucking hard it is to keep walking without it riding up — and grab a quick bite at the food court before making their way back to Hawkins so they can attend the game that's so fucking important, apparently.
Sitting in the passenger seat of Steve's car, her knees pressed together to keep her skirt from sliding even higher up her hips, Eddie examines her reflection in the passenger visor mirror, wiping her fingertips beneath her eyes to neaten up the smudge of black liner that's been blurring out from her waterline all day. ]
Thanks for this, by the way. [ She carefully doesn't look at him while she says it, chewing on her lip for a moment before huffing and closing the visor back up. ] I appreciate it. And I know Lucas will too.
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What in the hell had Steve gotten himself into here? The conversation with Eddie had only meant to warn her about Carver. Steve hadn't meant for the topic to suddenly turn into how he thought Carver secretly wanted Eddie all to himself and that it was pretty much obvious. That's how Steve got himself here. He wasn't going to let Eddie waltz into the game alone, not with a threat from Jason but Steve didn't think that Eddie would actually go through with wearing a goddamn miniskirt.
Not that she wouldn't look amazing in it. That was the problem here.
Eddie never wore dresses, that alone story skirts. That was the thrill here, right? What guy doesn't enjoy it when a girl suddenly does something unexpected? Especially if that means exposing a little skin when she typically doesn't. That's like an instant boner for any guy. Well, any straight guy.
This whole scenario had a few dilemmas. One, Steve low-key found Eddie attractive. This whole talk about short skirts and ass grabbing had gotten him a little worked up. A lot of worked up actually. Two, Eddie was his friend. A very close friend at that. A friend he didn't want to lose incase things got sexual and Steve fucked it up.
He always fucks it up. Nancy Wheeler is a constant reminder.
It's extremely difficult to not stare when Eddie models skirts and stomps away unsatisfied. It's even worse when she finally settles on one and she's sitting pretty in the passenger's seat of his car.
Goddamn. ]
Yeah.
[He keeps his response short and his eyes locked in on the road. He's telling himself to keep his eyes forward and not pay any mind to just how much of Eddie's legs are exposed.
And how it just keeps sliding higher.
Shit. ]
You sure you're alright with all of this, yeah?
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Not weird like Upside Down Weird, at least, she doesn't think so. But still kind of weird. There's a part of her that's worried that she's upset him or something, but what the hell could he be upset about? He's the one who said he'd take her to the game. He's the one who encouraged her along with her stupid jokes about how to rile up Carver.
(Granted, now that she's examining things from a slightly less hysterical angle, she's not entirely sure she should be trying to antagonize Carver, considering he said he wanted to teach her a lesson in how to be a real lady. He's not going to teach her how to walk in heels or how to get out of a car without flashing anyone. Most likely, he's planning to do something really fucked up to her. She shouldn't rile him up any more than he can manage on his own.)
Is he upset he canceled his date? She told him he didn't have to. Maybe he's regretting it now that they're trapped in the car together and Eddie's sitting beside him resisting the urge to squirm to bring the hem of her skirt down her legs some more. She probably shouldn't have gotten one this short, or should have bought a larger size. But she'd been struck by her reflection, by how long her legs looked, and the look on Steve's face when she showed him had been the clincher. He seemed to like it in the store. Does he not like it now?
Why does she care so much if Steve likes her fucking skirt?
She twists her fingers in her lap to refrain from picking at the ladder that spreads wide across her knee, ripped when she tried to put on the tights she bought to go with the skirt, her guitar-calloused fingers and general lack of practice with stockings leaving her with a ruined pair right out the gate. Whatever. It adds to the look, presumably. But she doesn't need to make the tears any wider. ]
I have no idea how your girls wear this shit, [ she grumbles, instead of assuring him that yes, she's sure about this. She's already told him she is. She's not sure how many more times she can say it without cracking. ] This is so annoying.
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