Tasha's Tumblr of Random

The sun's going down and the floodlights have been turned on, turning the soft golden hour light into something harsh and stark. Despite his helmet and mouth guard, Eddie can still taste dirt and iron between his teeth from the constant clods of mud kicked up by the tires. The arena is filled with the stench of exhaust and oil and gas, burnt rubber and the ozone sharpness of metal grinding against metal.

Beneath Eddie, Corroded Coffin wheezes and gutters, the hearse on its last legs. She can't take many more hits. She struggles to turn right, and the brakes grind, and the body is dented in enough that his left elbow constantly rubs against the quilt strapped to the driver's side door as makeshift padding.

Across the arena, Harrington's Chrysler Imperial has lost all of it's polish and shine, paint ground off, scraped through, coated in mud, though the light still catches on the sheen of lingering glitter. Eddie can't see his face at this distance, cast in shadow, even staring straight down the barrel. But he can hear the engine roar.

A head-on collision is stupid. It's a good way to trash your car and knock yourself out of the running. But.

Eddie's heart pounds and his blood sings and every fiber of his body screams at him to drive his car directly into, against, through, Harrington's, until mangled metal twists together and you can't tell where one body starts and another ends.

They're the last men standing. And a head-on hit always makes for a good show.

On the twenty-third day of September, in an early year of a decade not too long before our own, the human race suddenly encountered a deadly threat to its very existence... This terrifying enemy surfaced,as such enemies often do, in the seemingly most innocent and unlikely of places.

A dying suburb on the edge of the big city. Hawkins was not the thriving metropolis it had once been.

The money upped and left years before, leaving little behind in its rush to kick up dust and go. The shadow of wealth still clung to the buildings, looming structures that once held finery and grandeur now housed thrift stores and discount wear houses. Laundromats and repair shops filled the spaces where coffee shops and bakeries had used to fill the street with sweetness and life.

Eddie Munson lived here. In this suburb of the forgotten, the ones that couldn't or wouldn't escape, the ones who were left behind. But he dreamed big.

He wanted to get out; he wanted to escape the shit hand that the world had dealt him. Eddie had come to the city looking for his big break, and he stayed because going back to his Uncle Wayne out in the boons would mean admitting he had failed.

He was alone. The rest of his band had called it a day, and now he lived in the tiny one-room apartment below the flower shop that had offered him work because he knew how to use a hose and could tell a weed from a rhododendron.

He didn't know much, but he knew plants, and that had saved him from returning to bumfuck nowhere with his tail between his legs.

Creel Flower Shop was exactly what you would expect from a plant shop in a built-up city suburb where most people only had a window box, or if they were lucky, a balcony to grow. Nothing new or exciting sat on the shelves; no, this was not a place for that, as much as Eddie would like to put his self-taught talents to better use.

Mostly, the owner, Henry Creel, left him to his own devices, and he filled his days with pottering around the shop, filling orders for the contract clients. The only thing that kept the shops' heads above water was that the Henderson's at the funeral home kept them in business. And when he wasn't fashioning wreaths for the dearly departed, the proximity to the subway meant occasional businessmen passing through from whatever whore house they had frequented, buying a bunch of perfectly cut roses to appease some of their guilt when they got home.

Eddie had a lot of time to think and curate his own little slice of paradise up on the roof.

You wouldn't think it if you were looking at him. The ripped jeans, the tattoos, the long hair, and the rings didn't exactly scream green fingers. But Eddie loved plants, the weirder the better.

Vriesea, Flaming swords, and Hemerocallis grew side by side, blooming under his careful care. He filled his spare time hunting for something new, something exciting, something that would make him famous. Eddie Munson, botanist to the president. Admittedly, it wasn't as cool as metal god. But at least he wouldn't have to rely on anyone else for his success.

On this day, it was a day just like any other.

Until it wasn't.

Eddie often bought plants from other local vendors, people who also liked the strange and unusual. Bauman Botanics and Exotic Goods sold everything from houseplants to bootlegged Russian vodka; the inventory varied depending on how much the owner, Murray, liked you, or how much, and what you could do for him in return.

Eddie had several exotic plants that he would never have seen in real life if it weren't for Murray's eccentric nature. So he didn't even bat an eyelid when the man in question flounced out of his shop, adorned in bright blue underpants and a housecoat looking like a bargain basement pimp.

He greeted Eddie by gesturing towards the table along the storefront. Showing off his new saplings, fully grown succulents, and sweeping vines that Eddie inspected with curiosity, even if he was not looking to buy.

Out of the stock before him, Eddie already had cuttings and mature plants in his collection, so nothing had caught his eye. Nothing piqued his interest, not even the creeping vine that seemed determined to snuff out the death's head clematis that bordered the shop door.

He was just about to say as much when the bright sunshine around them suddenly faded, darkness fell, and the street became quiet and subdued.

A total eclipse of the sun.

It lasted a second, if that, and Murray looked just as confused as Eddie felt. Nobody had mentioned they were due for a solar eclipse, yet there was no mistaking the astrological phenomenon currently taking place.

And just like that…

It was over. And when Eddie turned to ask Murray if he had any idea what that was all about, he noticed it.

A plant unlike anything he had seen before, nestling into a coffee can and leaning towards the returning sun.

Eddie reached to grab it, sure that the plant trembling was entirely in his mind.

It didn’t look like any of Murray's other plants, but he sold it to him anyway.

Eddie wasn’t stupid, contrary to popular belief. Sure, his teachers may have thought so, and maybe his father did too, but he wasn’t. Or at least, he hadn’t been. He hadn’t been, until he decided to follow his stupid boyfriend to Chicago, even with the pit of unease that creeped into his gut and didn’t leave.

He hadn’t been, until he ignored everything that told him this was a bad idea because Tommy was so good at talking him out of his own thoughts.

You’re overthinking, he’d say.

You need to relax, he’d say.

You’re seriously going to stay in your podunk town just because you ‘feel weird’? C’mon, Eddie.

And he sounded right, at the time. An apartment he didn’t have to pay for, a job already lined up at the same company Tommy’s dad ran, someone there so he wasn’t alone in a new city.

It seemed right. It seemed stupid to refuse.

That was until he found himself unceremoniously kicked to the curb after one fucking fight. A fight that Eddie refused to settle on, and kept poking the bear until Tommy reported him to his father for harassment, got him fired, and tossed his bags out the fourth floor window of their apartment.

Tommy’s apartment. Because Eddie wasn’t on the lease.

Eddie didn’t think he was stupid, but he sure felt like he was as he sat on the curb of an unfamiliar city, two shitty duffle bags of his clothes and not much else sitting beside him as he smoked through his last pack of cigarettes. It had only been three months. Three months, until he was suddenly homeless, jobless, and apparently fucking brainless to boot.

It wasn’t even like it was a new fight, it was a fight that had been shoved aside so many times, he kind of expected it to keep being pushed off until it was irrelevant. It wasn’t even like Tommy was cheating, or pursuing other people; he wasn’t looking elsewhere, he didn’t have wandering eyes, and he wasn’t afraid of claiming Eddie in public whenever they went out — which was new for Eddie. Maybe that skewed his idea of a healthy relationship, just a little.

No, instead it was like there was a third man in the relationship that was never actually there.

A ghost.

A remnant of a life that didn’t even exist. One that Tommy just couldn’t get out of his head.

Eddie’d never even met the guy.

Steve Harrington.

Apparently he and Tommy had gone to high school together, before either of them even realized they were gay. Which would mean nothing, as far as Eddie was concerned. He’d had plenty of gay awakenings in high school that went absolutely nowhere, and they fizzled out fairly quickly.

The problem was that it wasn’t flizzling. Every time Eddie did something slightly wrong, it was ‘Steve did it this way’ or ‘Steve did it that way’ or ‘Steve’s dinner tasted better, but yours is good too, Eds.’

For once Eddie just wanted to have a nice night in with his boyfriend, without having Steve Harrington hanging over the conversation. He was overthinking, Tommy said; he was paranoid, he insisted; it wasn’t like Steve was even in the state, Eddie, they were just high school friends, get over it.

So Eddie told him he wasn’t the one who needed to get over it. It was Tommy that kept bringing him up, it was Tommy that kept inserting some random guy into their relationship, it was Tommy who compared every little thing Eddie did to Steve, when — News Flash! — Steve clearly didn’t want him, it was Eddie who had moved states to be with him, it was Eddie he’d begged to follow him, it was Eddie who’d made them dinner every fucking night to several back-handed compliments and critique disguised as praise.

Apparently that wasn’t the correct thing to say, he scoffed to himself as he flipped through the contacts in his phone and debated whether or not calling Wayne for a ride or walking to the nearest bus station was better. Wayne would have to drive for a few hours to reach him, and that would definitely result in ‘I told you so’s and ‘I hated that boy from the beginning’s that Eddie didn’t want to deal with right now.

On the other hand, the Greyhound station was a couple miles away, and he’d have to call Wayne for a ride once he got to Hawkins anyway.

Eddie groaned, poking around through his social media just to delay his choice for a few more minutes. He didn’t think he’d be this annoyed by the end of a two-year relationship. He figured he’d be sadder, maybe a little depressed, maybe he’d feel all his emotions congeal into a blob of despair that would clog up his lungs and his throat and choke him from the inside out.

At least, that’s what the movies and books would claim.

Instead, he felt righteous indignation burn a hole through him as he looked at Tommy’s latest instagram post — a picture of their dinner from a couple days ago, Eddie’s ring-clad hand loosely resting around the stem of a wine glass (one he’d kind of wished he threw at Tommy’s head) that was taken right before their fight started and ended with their relationship up in flames.

Sometimes it’s all worth it 

The caption stared at him mockingly. Eddie wasn’t even tagged in it or anything, it was just Tommy’s smug little way of looking perfect online — he didn’t need Eddie for that, he just needed a prop, another body to show the world that Tommy wasn’t pathetic and alone, to pretend that he wasn’t hung up on some high school nobody like the loser he was. God, Eddie was so mad.

The timestamp was even minutes ago, as if he hadn’t already told Eddie he was fired and his stuff was on the curb by then. He could strangle that little weasel, he could march right back up the stairs and pound on the door and demand he delete the stupid picture.

But what would that do?

Tommy wouldn’t even open the door, let alone delete his stupid post. He probably had a stockpile of their pictures just to keep up the relationship on Instagram for appearances. He scoffed, the sound ripping from his throat sharp with anger that had nowhere to go.

Posting some angry rant online calling him out would just make Eddie look like a lunatic, and give him proof to hand over to HR to justify his firing. Was slinking back to Hawkins with his tail between his legs really the only thing he could do about this? Tommy deserved to feel like shit, he deserved to get a relationship thrown into his face over and over again, Eddie wasn’t just a prop, he was a person.

He was angrily scrolling through past pictures, his last cigarette hanging from his lips when a username caught his eye.

StevietheHairington had liked one of their early pictures, one with Eddie’s hand clasped in Tommy’s over a fancy tablecloth with candles and mood lighting, and suddenly he had an idea.

A petty one, for sure, but Eddie had never exactly been known as level-headed. He was a big fan of petty, a huge fan of petty — call him Tom Petty he was so ready to not back down.

So he went to Steve’s profile, just for a peek. Just a look — not even a look, a glance, just a little one.

The guy was gorgeous, he’d give Tommy that. All tan and happy, pretty mole-dotted skin that could absolutely stick in someone’s head for years. He looked sweet, nice even, which he hadn’t quite expected from someone who was friends with Tommy in school. He had several pictures with some girl, declarations of best friends and platonic soulmates that said Steve was probably single, which worked perfectly for the little plan that was vaguely forming in Eddie’s head.

It wasn’t even a plan, yet, just the whispers of a plan, really. It was kind of crazy, even for Eddie, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to try.

So he opened his DMs and sent probably the most unhinged message to a stranger that he’d ever sent in his life. He started with a simple ‘Hey man. You don’t know me, but I think you know my boy—’ he deleted the last few letters and shook his head, clearing his throat from the anger that suddenly climbed up to choke him, ‘ex-boyfriend,’ he amended.

‘We’d been dating for a few years and he dragged me to a new city just to throw me to the curb because he was too obsessed with you. I know that’s not your fault, and I’m not mad, but I was wondering if you’d maybe be interested in helping me get a little revenge?’

‘Ik this is weird and a lil fucked up and everything but he seriously left me stranded and got me fired and this is the only thing I can think of to get back at him…’

He didn’t exactly expect a reply, to be honest. He kind of figured that would be that, and he’d just have to suck it up and deal with getting his life back in order — starting with the trek to the train station with his stupid bags weighing him down like cement blocks.

He was sweaty and tired by the time he got a ticket and a seat, a vague text to Wayne about coming to visit for a few days… or weeks, that he then ignored. He had two hours to gear up for the ‘I told you so’s, he didn’t need them before he and his uncle were even face-to-face.

When his phone buzzed a few minutes later, he figured it would be the exact type of text he didn’t want to read, but it was a DM instead.

From Steve.

Eddie scrambled to open the app, nearly dropping his phone in the process, heart skyrocketing into his throat like the king of rock himself had just messaged him instead of a stranger.

‘weird lol whos ur ex?’

That’s all it said. Simple.

‘Tommy Hagan?’

‘I’m in.’

The reply was instantaneous. It popped up like a liferaft, dragging Eddie’s drowning emotions to the surface with renewed clarity and hope. He didn’t think it’d be that easy, he didn’t think he’d get a reply at all, let alone an immediate one.

A bubble popped up, ellipses drifting in and out until Steve replied again.