This is a sideblog of @griefabyss, I figured I could put fandom related things here because I don't put original posts on the main blog (I use it to reblog art I like), and don't want to limit posting to just ao3. I'm happy to make friends on here!
Please note that a lot of my reblogs are from my queue and I don't tag about it, so if I seem active but I'm not replying to a message that'd be why!
GriefAbyss on ao3 - My writing tag - My art tag
I'd say the majority of my writing and art are NSFW, so proceed accordingly, thanks!
Fanfiction Masterposts
Steddie Microfics: 2023 - 2024 (Monthly fic challenges with specific WCs)
LARP AU (Eddie teaches Steve DnD and it gets... interesting)
Decipher series (One-shot explorations of uncommon fetishes)
One-Shots (Stories I don't plan to write more than one fic for)
Two-Shots (Stories I don't plan to write more than two fics for)
On-going Series (Might be updated very slowly but there are PLANS)
Collabs & Continuations (Other people's series/stories I've continued & single fic collaborations)
Steddie Smutty September (Fics written for the weekly challenge in 2024)
Other ST Events (Steddie songfics, room for more later on!)
If you're looking for any WIPs I might have posted about, try the chats from the abyss tag! I have approx 66 WIPs (I just counted 💀) so feel free to send me an ask if you can't find something you're looking for, though I only post about like 10% of them.
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Trying to do anything online today is like: (tries to visit one website) would you like to speak to our AI agent? Can we send you a newsletter? Would you like to take 10% off your first order? Have you heard about our summer sale? Do you want to opt in or opt out of cookies? Can we use your location for personalization purposes? Can we spray paint a picture of a dolphin on your torso? Can we put you in a bottle and then put the bottle in our pocket? Can we follow you around for the rest of your life and play a tuba every time you walk, at the pace and cadence you're walking at? Can we kill you and eat you?
I’m just an easy mark for dumb pilot humor. Today the captain was like “we’re now at altitude, feel free to move around, my one rule is you must stay inside the plane” and I lost it. It’s funny because you would die a horrible death akin to standing unencumbered on Pluto
rated t | 910 words | cw: smoking mentions | tags: good uncle wayne munson, wayne pov, time skips, corroded coffin origins and eventual fame
🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬🚬
The ashtray was a gift.
Wayne had just quit smoking. He didn’t have the heart to look seven year old Eddie in the eyes and tell him that, though. He unwrapped it from the newspaper Eddie had taped around it, and nearly cried at the fact that he was important enough to him to get a handmade gift.
Besides, there’s plenty of uses for ashtrays, right?
—
It becomes useful when Wayne picks up the habit again.
1979. One of the worst years of his life.
It’s also the year that brings him Eddie.
He knows Al’s a mess without Ellen, but armed robbery with two counts of assault with a deadly weapon is inexcusable. To him and to the law. He didn’t even consider what this would do to Eddie.
Eddie is one of those kids who has a good heart and a big brain, but he struggles so much in school and with making friends. Wayne can’t understand how kids don’t see how funny he is. Kids are cruel.
At least he tells him about it, though. While Wayne smokes a few cigarettes before bed, Eddie sits on the edge of the porch and complains about the kids at school and the teachers at school and school itself. His grades aren’t bad, but they could be better. Wayne isn’t worried yet. The teachers sometimes send notes home about his behavior, but he figures as long as they aren’t calling, it can’t be too bad.
He cleans out the ashtray every Wednesday night while Eddie’s taking the trash to the edge of the gravel driveway. He should quit now that he has someone to take care of.
Maybe when Eddie’s a little bit older.
—
“Uncle Wayne!” Eddie comes tearing through the front door, nearly throwing it off its hinges.
“Eddie, what did I tell ya about slamming our door like that?” Wayne puts his beer on the counter and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Sorry! But Wayne!” Eddie grabs his shoulders. “I met these guys who can play instruments! For a band!”
The corner of Wayne’s mouth tilts up. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah! Jeff plays guitar and Frankie plays bass. They wanna start a band and asked me to play with them!”
Wayne’s smile grows. Finally.
Eddie’s pretty damn good at guitar. He can play by ear, which is good because Wayne can’t afford lessons, even with the discount he’d get because he bought the guitar from the same shop that offers them. He’s wanted to be in a band since he got the guitar last Christmas.
“Thats great, Ed. You guys gonna play soon?” Wayne uncrosses his arms and pats Eddie’s shoulder. “At one of their houses I assume.”
“Yeah, Jeff says they already play together in his garage while his parents are at work. He said I could ride the bus home with him tomorrow.”
“As long as Jeff’s parents are okay with it—“
“And! They play D&D too!”
Wayne nods along. He listens to Eddie talk about D&D almost every night. He doesn’t mind, he just feels bad he can’t really talk about it with him. He just can’t wrap his head around all that stuff. He smokes his nightly cigarettes while Eddie rattles about dungeons and, well, dragons. Among other things.
“Got yourself some good friends, sounds like.”
Eddie talks more about them and what they’re gonna do, how they’re gonna be rockstars as soon as they find a drummer and write their own stuff. Wayne smiles and nods along, giving him as much attention as he can while he makes them dinner.
He doesn’t even remember to smoke that night.
–
“Do airplanes let you take ashtrays on board?”
“In your bag is fine,” Eddie says over the phone. “They won’t know what it is, Wayne.”
Wayne’s been packing for over an hour and he feels dumb for even asking, but he just can’t leave it behind. He’ll only be gone a few days, but he can’t imagine it not being in his sight.
Even if he doesn’t smoke anymore.
He hasn’t had the heart to tell Eddie it doesn’t serve a purpose anymore. It’s just a decoration on the table by his armchair. He decided to quit about a year ago, when his friend at the plant got diagnosed with lung cancer.
He jokes all the time that he ain’t meant for living a long life, but it’s just a joke. He hopes he gets to live forever so he can keep watching Eddie shine.
Tomorrow’s the first night of their first headlining tour. They’ll be in Chicago, which is close enough he could’ve taken a bus or even rented a car, but Eddie insisted on using his big paycheck to fly him out for it. He didn’t argue too much.
He’s never flown anywhere, though, and he’s a bit nervous.
“Wayne.” Eddie’s voice is serious, but Wayne can hear a smile. “You don’t even smoke.”
“Who told you that?”
“Henderson.”
“He’s such a little shit,” Wayne says fondly. “Well, I still like to have it with me.”
“I swear you’re gonna be buried with that stupid thing.”
Wayne looks down at the ashtray, chipped around the edge in a few places and the paint has faded quite a bit, but it’s still in one piece. It’s just an ashtray. But it’s also the start of everything with Eddie in some ways. It’s one of his most prized possessions.
Written for the @steddiemicrofic prompt ‘years’ and @runninriot
Title from "Chasing Shadows" by Imminence
wc: 444 | rated: T
tags: POV Eddie, Eddie is a mess, Steve is bad at flirting | [AO3 link]
He's pacing.
He's made so many rounds through the small hotel room that he's starting to worry about getting a surcharge for wearing it down too much.
The thought makes him stop, eyeing the window instead. Not for the first time, he considers just bolting, opening the window and climbing out, skipping town, never looking back. The room is on the second floor, but the balcony next door leads to the fire exit, he could totally do it. And even if not, falling to his death currently feels preferable to waiting for Steve and that girl.
Fully aware that he's a weak, weak man for Steve, Eddie still questions his sanity.
What was he thinking?
Nothing. That's the problem. He was not thinking when Steve talked him first into agreeing, then into organising a hotel room and waiting there. Shirtless, Steve had suggested, said the chicks, especially that girl he wanted to bring, were crazy about his bad boy look, his tattoos, that he should show them off, make her see all of them as soon as she entered the room.
And Eddie could not think.
Not with how Steve touched him, first his arm, caressing each bat, then trailing one nail oh so softly over his chest, barely more than hinting at the demon's existence there.
But it was enough to make Eddie short circuit. His ability to create thoughts reduced to providing an assortment of lewd things with Steve as the star and the only shred of being a civilised human that was left solely focused on keeping it in his pants, on not jumping Steve in front of the kids waiting in his van.
So, no, Eddie did not, could not, think in that moment. He's also not sure how, or even if, he got everyone home safely, but he must have or he would have heard from Steve.
And somehow, he thinks, that would be preferable to waiting for what felt like years in this damned hotel room. Waiting for Steve, and a girl Eddie has no interest in, only to get a few more glimpses of Steve, to hear him make those sounds again. That and the hope that, maybe, if Eddie was lucky and careful enough, he'd even get to feel Steve himself this time. Just for a second and it would be worth it.
The door opens, just as Eddie starts pacing again, stopping him dead in his tracks, to look at– only Steve.
Where's the girl and why is Steve looking at me like he wants me?
"No girl, and I do," Steve answers the questions Eddie was not aware of speaking aloud. "Is that okay?"
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Prompt #11 - Ashtray | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Drug Addiction (Prescription Pills) | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Eddie & Corroded Coffin, Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Is Clean and Sober, But That Doesn't Mean Everyone Is, Mild Angst, Hopeful Open Ending
Eddie wipes the sweat from his face with his towel.
When he reemerges, Jeff is standing there in the doorway of the hotel gym.
"You know if you cross that threshold this exercise shit might be catching," Eddie teases.
The rest of the band doesn't understand this need to workout. Doesn't get the feeling the endorphins provide. The clear head. The rush.
They don't understand the satisfaction of breaking a sweat and feeling a little bit of a burn that you push past for just a little bit more.
Or, of sleeping good after.
"Ha ha," Jeff says dryly.
"If you're gonna loiter, make yourself useful," Eddie demands, pointing at the space behind the bench.
Jeff assumes the position, arms up, spotting him.
And Eddie lifts the bar off the rack, the weights balanced on either side, bringing it down to his chest, before pushing it back upwards. Over and over.
When he can't do another, the weight finally too much to bear, Jeff helps him rerack it.
Eddie's breathing hard, when Jeff decides to stop beating around the bush.
"Listen. We've been talking."
"Oh, you've been talking and you drew the short straw?" Eddie asks, looking at him upside down
"No, I volunteered. Would you really want Goodie to be in charge of handling anything, well, delicate?"
Eddie laughs.
What on earth do they have going on that's delicate?
"Okay…" Eddie trails off, intrigued. But stands up. He feels like he needs to be standing for this. Whatever this is.
"We think we should take a break. You need it."
Eddie snorts. Eddie's better than he's ever been. He doesn't need a break. They are really hitting their stride. They sound good. They look good. Everything is good.
He's clean. Sober. Fit as a fiddle.
He doesn't even smoke anymore.
"News to me. Look at me," Eddie says, spreading his arms wide, "I'm fine."
Jeff's eyes go all sad.
"We know. We do. And we're real proud of you, Ed. But Steve isn't fine."
Eddie starts to argue, starts to push back, but he doesn't really know what he needs to be mad about yet.
"He's not? Did he say that?"
Jeff shakes his head, "Of course he didn't. You can see him, right? You've looked at him?"
Eddie worries the towel between his fingers.
"What do you mean?" Eddie asks, barely above a hushed whisper.
"Eddie," Jeff says, looking away for a moment before he can meet Eddie's eyes again. "You're clean. He ain't."
Eddie's instinct is to shove him. To push him down. Steve never got involved in any of Eddie's hard shit. He wants to crack him across the jaw. He takes the first step, and Jeff flinches preemptively.
Eddie stills.
Frozen.
"What?"
"Pills, Eddie. Way too many pills."
"His migraines," Eddie says, grasping for all the straws, only finding them slipping through his clutches, "His back. He had grafts. You know he hurts. You know what we both went through."
"Eddie."
"He's not an addict!" Eddie snarls, fists balled, "I'm the addict! Me!"
Eddie is the one that had a dealer in every port of call. He's the one that made back alley deals. He's the one. He's the one.
"Eddie."
Eddie hangs his head.
"We love him. This is coming from a place of love."
And Eddie knows that's true. They do love Steve. He's family.
"How bad is it?" Eddie finally asks.
"We've agreed to take a year off."
A year.
They think Steve needs a year off.
Eddie turns his head, tears burning his eyes.
Jeff steps forward and hugs him. "We got you cleaned up. We'll get him cleaned up, too."
Steve's cigarettes are on the table, and Eddie picks them up. Plucking one from the box, lighting it, he smokes, staring out the window of the city they haven't seen anything in.
When his ash is long, too long, he looks for the ashtray. It's nowhere to be found.
This situation is precarious.
He holds his hand under the end of his cigarette as he bangs around, searching. There must be an ashtray. Somewhere.
"What are you looking for?" Steve asks, groggy, head barely off the pillow.
"Ashtray," Eddie says, voice heavy. Thick with uncried tears.
"Isn't one. This is a non-smoking room," Steve mumbles, and Eddie goes into the bathroom and flicks it into the toilet. Flushing it.
When he comes back, Steve's sitting up. "Thought you didn't smoke anymore?"
Eddie rushes towards him, crawling into his lap, arms winding around his neck, squeezing.
"Hey, it's okay," Steve says, face buried in Eddie's neck, and it doesn't feel okay. Nothing feels okay. He wants to say they're overreacting. Say that it's fine. That Steve's fine.
But it's not.
He's not.
Steve might not be out on the streets, but he's been doctor shopping. City to city. Pain patches. And bottle after bottle. Eddie knows that. Eddie knows he's dealing with pain.
"The band's taking a break," Eddie admits, squeezing Steve tight. Too tight.
"For what?" Steve asks, fingertips pressed into Eddie's back.
Eddie wants to cry. Scream. Eddie wants to go back to Hawkins and burn it the rest of the way to the ground. Shove it in a hole, and hope it's never recovered. He wants to flay the disgusting skin from Vecna's rotting corpse.
Eddie wants to bury his head in the sand.
Eddie wants to run.
Run away with Steve. Anything to not face this. It's harder this time. It's harder not being him. He doesn't understand how that's possible. But this feels worse. Infinitely so.
"They're worried," Eddie says, squeezing Steve, like he might get away. Like he might lash out.
"About?"
"You," Eddie chokes out, holding on tight. "The pills."
"Oh," Steve says, a soft huff of breath against Eddie's neck, "I'm okay."
And Eddie knows that's true, but also not true. It's complicated. It always is.
Steve doesn't fight him. Doesn't run. He's not Eddie.
He handles things head-on.
Even this, Eddie hopes.
If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇
Notes: It's so often Eddie, and I've written a bazillion words about that — but what if it's Steve? What then? (My apologies, lol.)
We report: threads of light are trailing after the sunset, and the dry air is becoming more breathable. It has felt like noon all day, the intensity of the sun, the narrow, sharp shadows. Our expert, remarkably, manages to feel a little cold when a light breeze shakes the wheat.
ah doing ma thing just like god int- (remembers im atheist) just like the universe intend- (remembers i don't believe in determinism) just like noone and nothing intended ever. doin ma thang fucking unpredictable style
sometimes a bug lands in my drink and I say "bro is in my drink" which evolved into "there is a brother in my drink" but that feels vaguely assumptive so now I on occasion say "there is a sister in my drink" whenever a very confused fly decides to take a dip. you too can practice feminism in everyday life
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if youre in the US (especially the northeast + michigan) i would avoid bagged salads/greens and generally wash your produce very thoroughly unless you want the diarrhea parasite
Michigan is experiencing its largest outbreak of a parasitic infection that causes severe diarrhea. Nearly 1,000 people have been diagnosed
this is not life-threatening, but also who wants weeks of diarrhea and a fucking parasite in them lol. if you suspect you've already had this and it's passed, i would see a doctor. you might need an antiparasitic anyway. if you're actively sick, see a doctor and they might be able to prescribe medication to help you get over it faster.
try to avoid eating raw vegetables, scrub fruit with a produce brush and rinse thoroughly with water. again, don't bother with premade greens or bagged salads. if you buy lettuce, remove the outer 2-3 layers of leaves.
there are UNVERIFIED rumors that the greens have been linked to a company that sources to taco bell. some locations have been actively pulling fresh ingredients like lettuce, avocado, and pico de gallo to mitigate the threat, so i would avoid any products from them just in case. considering how vast supply chains are, i'd be wary of any fast food greens in general for now.
also note this is a PARASITIC infection. most diarrhea-causing pathogens you expect to contaminate your greens are bacteria (e.g. e. coli and salmonella), which are a different domain of organism altogether. cyclospora is a protozoan, which is bigger and more complicated than a bacteria (for reference, malaria is also caused by a protozoan). bacterial diarrhea can be dangerous, but you might also expect to weather it and survive unscathed. do NOT fuck with PARASITIC contamination. you should be scared of this one!
Only high temperatures will kill cyclospora. It resides in what is like a shell, which is highly resistant to water and most cleaning chemicals. The substance it uses to cling to food is so strong we don't even fully know what its limits are. It may be best to avoid fruits and veggies you can't cook. Scrubbing only works if done hard enough and on foods with no hiding places (Like cucumbers and grapes). Peeling the skin off is your best bet at avoiding it however, scrubbing is not guaranteed.
Thank you OP for posting! Usually washing does work on most sicknesses, just not this one.
secretary birds look pretty normal but for some reason people have collectively decided to photograph them like they're [takes a moment to find an acceptable way to say this] women
Steve helps Eddie celebrate his birthday in a fun and interesting way.
Being Steve’s friend gets weirder than anyone would expect, but Eddie couldn’t have imagined it getting like this.
Steve had said something like lemme throw you a party and Eddie had thought oh cool, a little shindig, nice!
He hadn’t expected that the or something was the thing to watch out for.
It’s why he’s three beers deep and bent over an inflatable pool toy, clinging to it as he stares into the bottom of the shallow end while Steve finishes pulling his trunks down off of his feet.
“Birthday spankings—” Steve’s voice filters through the static rising in Eddie’s ears as his heart goes fucking haywire. “—in your birthday suit!”
He’s not sure if it’s better that they’re alone, or if other people would’ve tempered this... thing—whatever cruel but sporting beast residing inside of Steve’s DNA, gravitating towards humiliating pranks. Steve tugs him closer—Eddie thinks he could cut and run, but then he’d be sprinting naked into Steve’s house, and that might be worse. The pool toy hides him, at least.
“Count ‘em,” Steve says, letting the backs of Eddie’s thighs bump into him before he holds the float steady. A gentle smack lands on Eddie’s ass, but given the way Steve’s big hand feels on Eddie’s cool wet skin, he thinks he could stand to go lighter.
“One,” Eddie croaks as a doomed thrill rushes up his spine.
He doesn’t think he’ll live this down, but at least he’s getting touched by his hottest friend.
“Yeah, you know the drill,” Steve says, and then starts up a perfect rhythm, alternating between Eddie’s ass cheeks.
By the time Eddie’s gasping “Twenty-three!”, his dick is hard, trapped against the pool toy, and his ass is sore.
“There. Nothing but good luck until your birthday next year,” Steve says, rubbing his palms over Eddie’s hot skin. “I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Eddie can’t slide off of the inflatable or he’ll reveal his boner, and if he moves too much he might come anyway. He looks over his shoulder at Steve, truly speechless. He didn’t think he liked spanking at all—but here he is—breathless, pressing his thighs together to keep his balls squished up with his dick, hiding them from the sun, reordering his whole world view because he loved this.
“Well, with you anyway,” Steve continues, squeezing Eddie’s ass, pulling it open a little. Eddie tries to pull away, but Steve just grabs the other ass cheek and keeps his asshole exposed. “Oh—that’s where all of your hair is.”
A wave of mortification washes over him—then he’s cramming his arm into his mouth, biting down as he comes, grinding against the plastic underneath him.
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Written for week 2 of the @steddiemicrofic three-year anniversary challenge
Prompt: years, 444 words
Rated: T
Tags: No UD AU; Rockstar Eddie; Hairstylist Steve; Eddie is a horny shit; Confident Steve
The salon is called The Hair.
Eddie rolls his eyes at the pink sign.
“Didn't you say he was a genius? Doesn't extend to naming stuff, obviously.”
Gareth sighs. “He's the best stylist in town, and you're lucky he agreed to see you. Let's go, he doesn't like waiting.”
“The fuck?” Eddie sputters as Gareth drags him inside. “I'm a fucking rockstar, I'm never late. The show starts when I arrive.”
“Okay, Gandalf,” says a voice.
Eddie freezes. Because damn, that was a solid comeback.
Also because it came from the most gorgeous man he has seen in his life. Perfectly styled caramel hair. Cheekbones that look like they were carved from marble. He's regarding them with his hands on his hips, the seams of his pink polo straining against the muscles of his arms.
On Eddie, another seam strains. Further south.
“Eddie and Gareth, right?” says the man. There's a name stitched into his polo, in the same cursive font as the sign outside. Steve.
“That's us,” Gareth nods. “It'll be ten years since our first number one hit next week, and we have that big photoshoot.”
Steve, who has been dancing around Eddie, lifts a strand of frizzy curls between two fingers.
“His last haircut was around the same time, I guess?”
“Fuck you!” Eddie blurts. “I did cut it. Like three years ago. Also, the hair is my trademark.”
Steve gives him a look. “This isn't a trademark, it's a cry for help. Give me two hours.”
He's lucky he's hot, Eddie thinks. He'd never agree to this otherwise.
*
“Done,” Steve declares, swivelling the chair around so Eddie can look at himself in the mirror. “What do you say?”
Eddie doesn’t say anything. For one thing, he’s still weirdly floaty from the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair, Steve’s fingers turning his head, Steve’s voice telling him to hold still or sit straighter.
For another, his jaw is currently on the floor.
Gareth puts down his magazine and whistles through his teeth.
“Amazing! It looks like his hair but … good!”
Steve smiles, spritzing Eddie’s curls with something smelling of citrus and herbs. The bottle says it’s for a glossy finish.
“One of my easiest exercises. You like it?”
“It’s not horrible,” Eddie concedes, standing from his chair and grabbing a grinning Gareth to pull him out of the shop. It’s the understatement of the century and they all know it. “Call our management about the bill, yeah?”
“Will do,” Steve promises. “Make sure to come by for a touch-up soon. Preferably sooner than ten years from now.”
Eddie guesses he will. Just because the guy is hot, obviously.
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