#Steve and billy were supposed to be the same character

[toobusybeingdelulu]

harringrove x plato — two halves of the same being

[c-is-for-circinate]

It feels like there's this narrative that fandom keeps wanting to explore, with Steve Harrington, about this very specific type of martyrdom where self-sacrifice is an expression of a lack of self-worth. And, like, yes, write the narrative that's meaningful to you, and yes ok Steve does admittedly get beaten up a lot, but -- legitimately I do not think this narrative is actually Steve's story.

Like, without gendering things too much, there is something in the Steve fanon that I keep seeing that's so reflective of the specific kind of sacrifice and societal pressures exerted on girls, specifically -- this story of 'you make yourself worthy and worthwhile by carving pieces out of yourself', of believing that you must always give and never receive to justify the space you take up in the world. Yes, boys can experience this same pressure (and obviously trans and nb people of all genders run into it as well! sometimes a lot!), but especially in the mid-1980s cultural context where Stranger Things takes place, it's just...really not likely to be a dominant narrative for Steve to be operating under? It doesn't even really match the Steve we see on screen -- who is happy to make sacrifices for the sake of others, yeah, when needed, but who's not particularly kind or giving unless somebody asks first.

And Steve does get hurt a lot on other people's behalf! And this is a problem! It's just a completely different problem than the one fandom keeps writing.

Steve, and I'm going to say this forever, is a story about toxic masculinity, which the show may or may not even know it's writing. The archetypes influencing Steve's character as it shows up on the screen (and the stories and messages that Steve would actually be surrounded by in his actual life) are not deconstructions of suffering heroes who never should have had to fight in the first place and were destroyed by it. That's the Buffy the Vampire Slayer story. Steve's not Buffy. Steve's cultural context is Indiana Jones.

Steve is The Guy! And part of being The Guy is that you're expected to take the hits -- not because Steve is less important than the women-and-children he's supposed to protect, but because, the story says, he will get less hurt. Why should Steve get in between Billy and Lucas? Because Steve is an eighteen-year-old athlete and Lucas is in middle school, and of the two of them, Steve actually stands a chance. (And yes, Steve got badly hurt there, and Max had to save him -- but if Lucas, if Max had taken that beating they would not have been running through those tunnels later.) Was somebody else better-qualified to dive down to the uncertain bottom of a cold lake in the middle of the night? Steve doesn't list his credentials there as a way of justifying some ideal of martyrdom; he is literally the most likely person on the boat not to drown.

And make no mistake: when Steve's pulled into the Upside-Down, he survives the bats long enough for backup to get there. Realistic or not, he's apparently tough enough that he's physically capable of hiking barefoot through hell without much slowing down. Steve is the tank for the same reason as any tank: because he literally has been shown to have the most hit points in the group. You cannot honestly engage with Steve in this context without dealing with the fact that he's right.

AND THIS IS A PROBLEM! This is still a problem! But it's not the same problem that fandom seems to expect. It's not an expression of caretaking or the need for self-sacrifice; it's not an issue with Steve valuing himself less. It's an issue of toxic masculinity so ingrained that Steve doesn't even recognize he's suffering from it, because one of the tenets of toxic masculinity is that Big Strong Guys don't suffer. It's just a concussion, it's fine, he'll walk it off. It's not that Steve thinks he deserves to get hurt, or even that he's less deserving of safety than the others. It's that absolutely nothing in his cultural context allows him to admit that he can be hurt in a significant way.

There's still so much tension that can be gotten out of this situation, I swear. There's so much that can be explored in writing! Hell, the show itself is deconstructing some of this trope, believe it or not, by giving us a Steve who absolutely can take all the hits thrown his direction but still doesn't know what the fuck he's doing with his life. It turns out that doing his job as The Guy is only mildly helpful in horror movie situations (mostly by buying time for smarter, squishier people to do the damage from behind him), and somewhere a little worse than useless in everyday life.

But Steve does not go out of his way to self-sacrifice, he really doesn't. He just does his job. He's The Guy. Of course he's not going to let a kid or a girl or some scared skinny nerd who just learned about monsters yesterday take the hits. Of course Steve's got this.

[writethrough]

Bad Boy Type

(Billy Hargrove x Female Reader)

Synopsis: Girls' night at Billy and Max's new place takes a turn when El insists on you marrying Billy.

Warnings: Mentions of Neil, extreme fluff, mutual pining (because I'm a whore for that shit), language

Word Count: 4056

A/N: This might be the fluffiest thing I've written. It's also the longest. And yes, I still have requests to finish. But life really said, "It's Billy's time," and I'm not mad about it.

You were fiercely protective over Max and El since you met. They became the younger sisters you never had. You’d do anything for them. And you always made sure to plan something with them as often as possible.

Today, you three were holed up at Max and Billy’s new place. It wasn’t much. It was a steal since it’d been so run down no one else wanted it. You and the rest of your group helped fix up what you could. After everything you’d all been through, it created an untouchable bond. And everyone was eager to help in whatever way they could, especially once Max confided in you about Billy’s father. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Neil was a shitty person. He gave off enough hostility to power a freight train. A few months after renovating, the house was finally livable. And between your car and Billy’s, they moved within the hour.

All three of you were on the floor around the coffee table, snacking on candy and discussing very important business.

“Okay, okay,” Max said, trying to rein in her laughter. “El, kiss, marry, kill…The Outsiders.”

You grinned and leaned closer as El looked down in thought.

“Kiss Sodapop, marry Johnny, and…I don’t want to kill anyone,” she said timidly.

And because it was El, you and Max accepted that.

You faced Max. “I’m guessing yours would be the same?”

“I’m killing Steve,” she added, and you snickered. “What about you?”

You hummed, running through the characters before picking three.

“Kill Two-Bit, kiss Darry, marry Dally,” you said with a nod.

“Dally’s an asshole!” Max groaned, slapping her thighs.

“But he’s hot,” you countered.

“But he’s an asshole,” she repeated, giving you a look.

“But he’s hot.”

After a few seconds, you all started giggling. You really loved spending time with these two.

El grew quiet, deep in thought, and she made you and Max stop laughing with her question.

“What about Billy?”

Your brow furrowed. “Billy?”

She nodded. “Would you marry him?”

Your face grew warm. Did El think because you liked the bad boy character in a film, you liked one in reality?

Billy had never been outright rude to you—his attitude rubbed you the wrong way—cocky and smug like he knew he could get away with almost anything. It wasn’t until after the Mind Flayer that you befriended him.

You’d describe your friendship as…quiet. You didn’t hang out together—only in a group with everyone or Steve and the other adults. Usually, though, you saw him most when you, Max, and El hung out.

You were the girls’ friend first and foremost. When you started picking Max up when they lived with their parents, he always scowled at you through the door as she raced to your car. Later, you thought it had something to do with Neil’s reactions to his stepdaughter not being home even though he knew where Max was. You had enough knocks on the door from Billy to put two and two together.

Now, Billy was relaxed when you picked her up or stayed over. You sometimes wondered if he was glad Max had you to rely on now that it was just him and his stepsister. If she ever needed anything, he could count on you to lend him a hand.

So while he wasn’t the same rage-filled boy you knew in high school, his reputation still preceded him. Though now you knew him in a different light—provider, protector, and maybe that was why you started to like him.

You shook your head to rid yourself of that thought.

“I…Well, I…I don’t…” Jesus Christ! How were you supposed to answer this without giving yourself away?

Just then, a car door slammed. Billy’s home.

He threw his jacket on the hook and his keys on the table and stopped when he noticed you, Max, and El.

His eyes seemed to linger on you before addressing everyone.

“Hey,” he said, mentally kicking himself. Couldn’t he think of anything better to say? Maybe “you look nice,” not “hey.”

“How was work,” you asked, still trying to shake off El’s question and the fact that he walked in as if summoned.

“Fine. Didn’t know you’d be over.” He would've cleaned up and made it look nice. Maybe then he could cook you dinner.

He had to stop from asking if this little get-together was overnight. He sure hoped so.

“I dragged her out of her house for girls' day. They’re sleeping over, too,” Max said. Maybe she could read his mind—maybe that was why most of your time was spent at Billy’s place and not yours—because Max knew he needed an excuse to talk to you since the Mind Flayer.

He nodded slowly and gestured toward the bathroom.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Order pizza or I can make spaghetti?” he asked.

You tilted your head at his words. Billy cooked?

It made sense. You’re sure he’s had to fend for himself most of his life. You just never thought about him in the kitchen.

Before you could say anything, El said, “I like spaghetti.” And that seemed to settle it.

When Billy left, Max leaned forward. “Don’t worry, he’s actually a really good cook.”

And to play off your daydreams of Billy cooking you breakfast, you said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”

—

When Billy emerged from the steamy bathroom, towel wrapped around his hips, you were both relieved and disappointed your back faced him.

The girls were telling you their boyfriend troubles, and it took everything in you not to imagine the remaining water tracing Billy’s toned stomach.

“Sometimes I think you have the right idea,” Max said, flopping back in the chair.

You blinked, coming back to reality. “Me? What idea is that?”

“Being single.” She shrugged. “Boys are a pain in the ass.”

You rolled your eyes. “While that is true, sometimes I think it’d be nice to have my person, you know?”

“Your person?” El asked, furrowing her brow.

“Someone who’s always there for you, no matter what. They accept every part of you, good and bad.” You sighed. “They're the person you want to be around the most.”

She looked at you seriously. “We are your person.”

It nearly brought tears to your eyes. One of the many reasons you loved El was her heart.

“C’mere,” you whispered, holding open your arms.

She scootched toward you and wrapped her arms around your waist.

“You too.” You motioned Max over.

That’s how Billy found you three, hugging each other on the couch like you were trying to absorb into one being.

“Am I interrupting some girl thing?” he asked, opening the cabinet.

You let out a breathy laugh and shook your head. “No, you’re fine.” You looked over the back of the couch. “Anything I can help with?”

He gave you a flirty smile. “Don’t worry. I got it.”

It didn’t take long for him to announce it was ready, and you all grabbed your plates and huddled around the coffee table again. A little thrill went through you when Billy sat beside you, taking your dish from you and setting it down so you could lower yourself.

It was quiet for a few minutes as you all took your first bites. It was only pasta and marinara sauce, but it hit the spot. Maybe it was because Billy made it.

“I’m impressed,” you said, waving your fork around your plate.

“I’m a man of many talents,” Billy mused, warmth blooming in his chest.

“Does this mean you’ll marry Billy?”

You nearly choked on the bite you took. You wished she could read minds so you could scream, “Not the freaking time!”

Billy’s face flushed as he glanced between you two.

“Am I missing something?” He tried to ignore how fast his heart was beating. You wanted to marry him? Well, no. It sounded like you didn’t want to marry him. Why didn’t you want to marry him?

“No,” you said quickly. Billy tried to convince himself his chest didn’t constrict at that word. 

“(Y/N) would marry Dally,” El said. “And Dally’s an asshole.”

You put your face in your hands. There was no stopping her.

“And I’ve called you an asshole so many times.” Max provided as an explanation.

Billy could only look at you, and as you curled further in on yourself, he smirked—even though he’d been called an asshole twice—maybe there was something to El’s question.

“Didn’t think you were into that type,” he said, leaning back against the couch.

“I’m not. Not really.” You couldn’t look at him, opting to push the noodles around your plate.

“No? Then what is your type, sweetheart?”

He was teasing you. You could push back with teasing.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“That’s why I asked.” And the way he said it, it took on a seriousness you weren’t prepared for—like he really wanted to know because he cared about the answer. Like it meant something to him.

“I—”

The phone saved you. And Max jumped up.

“It’s probably Lucas,” she said. They’d been having a good week.

You took the opportunity to excuse yourself. “I’m gonna change.”

You grabbed your things and closed the bathroom door.

—

Billy watched as you fled. It was cute how flustered he could make you. And that’s when an idea struck him.

With you and Max busy, he turned to El.

“You think she likes me?” he asked, leaning toward her.

“Do you mean like like?” She stared at him with those big innocent eyes.

He nodded.

“I think so.”

“You think so? She hasn’t said anything to you or Max? Girls talk about that stuff at girls' night, right?” He bit his cheek. Was he reading the signs wrong? Were his feelings clouding his judgment?

Since his recovery, you’ve always been there. You made sure he took care of himself and kept an eye on Max. When he told you about the rundown little place he found, you got Hopper on board to pull a few strings and help remodel. Hell, you got everyone to help.

He still remembered the day you painted the walls, and you and Robin put handprints on each other's chests. He and Steve had said, “What about us,” and you and Robin fitted them with their own set. He still had that shirt.

Even the shit that went down with Steve. You were somehow able to mend things between them. It took a lot of work, and arguments popped up, but with you there, he did it. He didn’t have many friends at Hawkins High—they were a means to an end. However, now? He had ones that would have his back in an apocalyptic world. And it was because of you.

You were his rock, even if you didn’t know it. And he wanted to be that person for you.

“She doesn’t tell us,” El said. “But she looks at you the way Nancy looks at Jonathan.”

He knew the look she was talking about, and he hoped she was right.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

“You…You like her, right?” she asked tentatively.

He smiled fondly. “More than Eggos.”

El giggled.

He shook his head slightly, smile remaining, mumbling, “Just want her ‘round all the time.”

She beamed, but before she could say another word, you and Max returned.

—

Everyone seemed to forget about the conversation before the phone rang. When you came out of the bathroom, El asked if you could start watching movies, and Max quickly put The Karate Kid in.

What surprised you the most was Billy making popcorn and bringing everyone a soda. You thought he’d retreat to his room like he usually did, but he sat next to you on the couch as the girls spread out on the floor with their own bowl of popcorn.

Halfway through the movie, the sun had set, and the air grew cooler. You rubbed your arm absentmindedly, focused on the screen. You vaguely noticed Billy disappearing somewhere, and when he returned, he held a sweatshirt.

Your heart sped up a little at his offer.

You played it off and raised an eyebrow when he handed it to you.

“You’re cold, right,” he asked, putting it in your lap when you didn’t take it right away.

You shook your head. “It’s not that. I’m just shocked you own a sweatshirt.”

He rolled his eyes but held back a smile. “Very funny.” Then when he was settled. “Indiana’s fucking cold.”

You slipped it over your head, the material warming and engulfing you in his scent. Bunching the sleeves into your fists, you leaned against the cushion and tucked your legs under you.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He shrugged. “Don’t mention it.”

The movie soon ended, and Max inserted the second film.

Neither you nor Billy spoke after that. It was…nice...being there with him.

Between him and his sweatshirt, you were surrounded by warmth. The noise from the TV lulled into the background, and before you knew it, you were asleep.

Billy noticed almost immediately. He’d been arguing with himself about whether to put an arm around you after he gave you his hoodie.

After the shit he went through, Billy didn’t go after women. He was so in his head about what he’d done—what the monster made him do—he thought everyone was better off if he stayed away. And his body wasn’t the same afterward. Part of him wondered if you’d recoil if he touched you.

And then your head was on his shoulder. Your soft breathing in his ear. And he froze for a second. But then he sunk into you.

If this was the only time you’d be this close to him, he would take it.

He carefully moved his arm to pull you closer, and you shifted in your sleep to snuggle into him. He let his cheek rest against your head for one…two…three…four…five seconds, then lifted back up. He didn’t want Max or El to catch him and ask questions.

It wasn’t long until the movie ended, and the girls were passed out on the floor. And Billy debated staying right where he was, but he knew he shouldn’t.

He did indulge and place a feather-light kiss on the crown of your head before laying you down and pulling a blanket over you. He did the same for El and Max. And once the VHS was safely back in its case, he walked to his room with a final look at you thrown over his shoulder.

—

When the rising sun hit your eyelids, all you wanted was to turn over and go back to sleep. The sizzle of a frying pan and the smell of pancakes made you sit up.

Billy was by the stove, waiting to flip them and keeping a watchful eye on the bacon.

“Smells good,” you whispered, mindful of the two sleeping girls. Billy’s sweatshirt protected you from the morning chill.

He glanced at you and quirked his lips up. “It’s almost ready.”

You gave him a small smile in return, and it took you a moment to realize he had never done this before. Dinner was one thing, but breakfast was entirely different.

“What brought this on?” you asked, pouring yourself a cup of coffee.

He shrugged. “Maybe I wanted to impress you again.” He finally turned around to face you and crossed his arms, spatula in hand.

You let out a breathy laugh, looking down before eyeing the cooking pancakes.

“Don’t let them fold in on themselves when you flip them, and you’re golden,” you teased. 

He raised a brow at you, turned around, and seamlessly flipped both over before setting the spatula down and facing you once more.

You held your hands up in surrender. “Consider me impressed.”

“Good.” He pulled a mug out of the cabinet for himself. “You sleep okay?”

You shrugged. “Good enough. Didn’t even realize I fell asleep.”

He would have gladly lent you his bed. He didn’t even need to be in it with you. He would’ve taken the small couch he had crammed in his room.

“Good thing you don’t snore. I think Max would’ve suffocated you,” he said.

You bumped your shoulder with his. “She likes me too much.”

You stared at each other for a moment. Something about Billy in the morning, with the soft light from the sun reflecting in his eyes and shading his hair, was almost breathtaking. He was relaxed, and you hoped it slowly became his new normal.

His eyes trailed down to your lips, and you swore you stopped breathing until you glanced away and saw the pancakes.

“Better watch before they burn,” you said, swallowing to rid yourself of your dry throat.

He had forgotten about them as he took you in. From your pajamas to your still-sleepy gaze and the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest—you seemed so…at home here.

He tried to shake that thought as he plated breakfast and set it down at the kitchen table.

You could lean against the counter every morning, sipping coffee as he made you both breakfast. He’d peck your lips each time he passed you for something, and as he waited for things to finish cooking, he would wrap his arms around your shoulders and bury his nose in your hair. Your arms would tighten around his waist, and you��d both stand there, completely content as the warm rays filtered in.

Since last night, since El’s question, a spark had ignited within him. The flicker of…hope, something he hadn’t felt since…since…he didn’t even know when. You didn’t say you wanted him explicitly, but if El saw a connection between him and Dally, then maybe you did too. He couldn’t deny that he’d been a dick in the past. He was still trying to correct those mistakes. But where Dallas Winston had Johnny, Billy had…well…the closest he could think of was you.

And potentially having a life with you? That didn’t sound too bad. Not at all.

You sat across from one another. You could feel Billy’s eyes on you. When you glanced up from your breakfast, he gave you a smirk as if to say, “Impressed?”

You were about to speak, but he beat you to it.

“So, we didn’t finish our discussion last night.”

“Discussion?” You tilted your head.

He nodded and tried to keep his smug smirk at bay. “You into the bad boy type, sweetheart?”

Your eyes widened before you covered your face with your hand. “Didn’t the time for this pass?”

“Nope.” He grinned. “C’mon, tell me, what’s it about him that gets you goin’?”

You shook your head and attempted to suppress your smile. Even though this was embarrassing, you still found Billy cute.

“I’m not doing this with you and that dirty mind of yours. It’s too early. Besides, the girls are still sleeping,” you said, taking a sip of coffee.

“Oh please, Max used to hear me with girls.” He stated it like a fact, without pride or accomplishment in his voice.

“I know. She’s complained to me multiple times,” you said matter-of-factly.

He cleared his throat, cheeks flushing pink. It surprised you.

He shrugged as if to shake off his actions. “Guess Winston and I are different then.”

“That’s not such a bad thing.” You hoped your smile told him that it really wasn’t a bad thing—that you genuinely liked the person he was growing into—that you cared for him.

“Hope so,” he said softly, taking a bite.

You could’ve stayed there and stared at him for the rest of the day. His eyes were so blue, his hair still a bit messy, and he just looked…he just looked content.

You wanted to reach across the table, grab his hand, hold it between yours and trace each finger. Maybe he’d stop you by pulling your hand to his lips. Maybe, you’d follow with your own.

And as soon as that thought reared its head, Max and El strolled into the kitchen.

“You made pancakes?” Max’s face scrunched up.

“We have guests,” Billy said with a shrug. Like he was concerned with being a good host.

At least for you, he was.

“When has that forced you to do anything?” she asked, stacking her plate.

You locked eyes with Billy from across the table and smiled shyly.

—

“So, you coming here next week?” he asked, putting your bag in the backseat for you.

You shook your head. “It’s at mine next week. Parents are away for a few days. I was thinking of making it an all-weekend thing.”

He slowly nodded, disappointed he wouldn’t see you—only to drop Max off and pick her up.

“Just let me know when I can get the shitbird out of my hair.” It’s all he thought to say to hide his discontentment.

You pursed your lips. It was now or never. “Actually, I was thinking—if you weren’t too busy, maybe you could come over, too? I know it’s technically ‘girls' night,’ but…last night was really nice.”

He tried to keep his face neutral, make it seem like he wasn’t experiencing heart palpitations, but his smile couldn’t stay hidden. It made you immediately relax.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

The way he looked at you sent shivers up your spine and heat through your veins. It was like he couldn’t believe you were real. You’d never seen him have this warmth in his gaze. Like he’d happily follow you anywhere and listen to every word you said.

You returned his smile with a gentle one of your own. “Good,” you whispered, tilting your head slightly.

He really was beautiful in the sunlight. His skin full of its own sun. You were so close to each other earlier that you felt it radiating off him. It took everything in you not to rest your head on his shoulder and nuzzle in.

He took a step forward, resting a hand on the roof of your car. “You gonna make me sleep on the floor at yours?”

You lightly bit your lip. And fuck, you were in for the best kind of trouble. “Depends on how much you impress me.”

“And what do I have to do to make that happen?” There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do.

You tried to repress your smile as you leaned to whisper in his ear. His hands instinctively went to rest on your hips. He shivered when your breath hit his skin.

“You’ll have to figure it out.” You pulled back with a little smirk, and he let out a soft chuckle.

His gaze flitted from your eyes to your lips and back again. His hand came up to caress your cheek, grazing his thumb there.

“Not even a little hint?” he asked teasingly.

“Where’s the fun in that?” You pushed your head further into his hand.

He hummed. “Guess you’re right. Have to earn it.”

You grinned. “I have complete faith in you.”

And even though you were both joking with each other, that meant more to him than he would ever admit. You believed in him. You had gotten to know him and helped him through the hardest parts of his life without even knowing it. He wanted to prove to you that trust wasn’t misplaced. That he deserved your patience, your kindness, your love.

Without another thought, he pulled you into his embrace. He held onto you like he was afraid to lose you—like you’d suddenly change your mind and not see him.

You could feel it in the way he held you. You struck something, something crucial, something he needed to hear. So, you hugged him back, smoothing your hand up and down his spine.

When you pulled away, you slipped your hand into his. “I should probably get going.”

He nodded. “Get home safe.”

“Thanks, Billy,” you said. “I’ll see you next week.”

Before you could step around him, he encircled your wrist gently and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“See you next week, sweetheart,” he said, a smirk slipping back onto his face.

You shook your head slightly as you climbed into your car, waving to him as you pulled out.

He stood there, watching you drive further away from him. And he knew you two were about to be much much closer.

[ghost-proofbaby]

the seasons pass (but you never do) - e.m.

summary: he knew your reputation. he knew you had you way with half of hawkins. it was never going to end well - but that didn't stop him.

warnings: reader is NOT a good person (need to emphasize this), billy hargrove is involved and sort of ooc, smut, oral (fem receiving), a lot of hurt, not a 'happy' ending, reader has severe issues with self-esteem (not in the usual obvious way), very self-sabotaging reader. mentions of reader having adult relationships with multiple male characters. NOT A 'HAPPY' ENDING. minors dni - 18+

pairings: eddie munson x fem!fuckgirl!reader (with mentions of steve x reader, johnathan x reader, and billy x reader.)

wc: 8.4k+

a/n: i cannot emphasize enough - the reader in this fic is very toxic. she is not a good person. this does not end well. also, be wary, as billy is used as the easiest companion who can align with her being a bad person, so she is friends with him. this probably won't be everyone's cup of tea, but it's been a year in the works! thank you to anyone who reads. <3 also, HUGE thank you to my love @hellfire--cult for making that banner for me. i am undeserving of your talents baby.

oh, also, here's a fun playlist to go along with it.

SUMMER, 1988

It was always going to end this way. It’s how it’s supposed to go - you met him, you wanted him, you got him, you left him. There was never any illusions on your part as to what this was. He knew your reputation. He knew the ending. You knew the ending. 

It was always going to end this way. 

There was no amount of flowers he could have got you, no amount of midnight rendezvous to change this course. It never mattered how his laughter wound your chest tight or how his fingers fit a little too perfectly between yours. You didn’t do long-term relationships, and he always asked for too much from you. You could give him a summer, no more and no less. He knew that, you knew that, all your previous flings knew that. There was only one ending ever in sight for the two of you.

So why does it hurt so much when you catch sight of him around town with her? 

Chrissy Cunningham is beautiful. She’s all shades of sunrise pinks, flavors of sweetness that spur stomach aches - the epitome of enchantment and a type of softness you couldn’t compare to. And when you see her arm in arm with him, you can see that beauty of hers painted across him. Her pinks paint roses on his cheeks, her laughter etches dimples into his cheeks you’d only ever seen in the late hours of the night. She makes him happy. She makes him look lovesick. She doesn’t hide him in the darkness, she flaunts him in the light, and he looks devastatingly beautiful without the shadows. 

You should be happy for him. It shouldn’t phase you; you didn’t bat an eyelash when Steve Harrington had taken to dating every other girl in the town after your spring with him. You never winced when Johnathan Byers started dating Nancy Wheeler after a flirtatious fall with you. Billy Hargrove had been on the same page as you, ready to brave a chilling winter with you and accept when the ice melted along with the infatuation, returning your winks when you spotted each other with your newest one night stands in shared bars. 

But Eddie’s summer stuck to your skin. No amount of showers run cold, no amount of new partners who you won’t allow to spend the night, wash you clean of him. The change in the leaves only amplified the ache left in your chest when August turns to September. The flowers weren’t the only things wilting when September flashes into October. 

You miss him terribly, and it’s all your fault.

You let him stick around far longer than you should have. You let his wandering lips slot between yours and you let him sleep at your side from the very first night. When it was all said and done, you were the one that broke every single imaginary rule you had set for yourself, and the blame was yours to carry. Eddie Munson was never going to be a three month memory to wipe away with the steam of your mirror. He’d done it, he’d left his mark. He’d managed to make the streets of Hawkins feel cold and empty in his absence, to make everything dull in comparison to your life before him. 

You empty the last of your glass of wine, all bitter and tinged on your tongue, and chuckle internally as you watch Eddie’s hand’s find Chrissy’s hips from across the bar. Go figure. 

SPRING, 1987

The Hideout was busy as ever, booming with business on a Saturday night as you reentered the scene. Your ‘date’ for the night was still outside the bar, surely not even entertaining the thought of coming back inside. 

He hadn’t taken to you breaking the news that it was over kindly. 

“You never let them down easy, do you?” Billy chuckles as he leans against one of the standing tables near the bar. He had seen the look in your eyes when you dragged the nameless boy out the front door; he’d seen it plenty of times before. Starry eyed boy, ever-fleeting girl. They were fools, and they should have noticed your wandering eyes and lack of commitment from the get-go. 

“Never,” you smirk back as you approach him. The live band had just finished, the music over the speakers nothing compared to the deafening screams of the guitars that had played, “It’s not my fault the boys in this town never learn their lesson.” 

Billy only shrugs and throws back the last of his whiskey, “What did it this time? Did he drop the big L? Maybe he brought you flowers like Harrington did that one time?” 

“Oh, God,” you place a hand over your heart dramatically, “Please don’t remind me. Breaking his heart nearly broke my nonexistent one.” 

“Yeah, right,” Billy cackles, “Still can’t believe you ever gave the sap a chance. Or what about Byers, hm?” 

“Couldn’t break a heart I never had. He always had eyes for Wheeler, that’s what made it fun,” you shrug and grab at a fruity drink that had been abandoned at the table, “To answer your question, he got clingy. All jealous because I was making eyes at the lead singer,” you tip your chin towards the stage that’s now empty and take a sip of the cocktail, “Say, what happened to your date? She looked pretty.” 

“You were making eyes at Munson? Doll, I knew you were getting desperate after me, but him?” Billy cuts himself off with a low whistle. 

“Shut up,” you take another long sip of the drink. It’s sweeter than your preference, but free alcohol is free alcohol, “Tell me what happened to the blonde you were chatting up.” 

“I’m more into redheads.”

“Aw, but it looked like you two were really hitting it off.” 

“I had to have three shots before I could stomach her laughing at my jokes.” 

You reach over to pinch his cheeks, receiving sharp slaps against your wrists.

“Hot,” you coo before leaning back and ending his attack against your hands, “You know, if we both strike out tonight, we could always go home together.” 

“You struck out, the night is still young for me,” Billy grins wickedly and looks around the busy bar for emphasis. 

There’s a small commotion at one of the doors to the side of the stage, and you glance over to catch sight of the band that had been playing exiting. 

The lead singer, Munson as Billy had referred to him, was just as stunning when taken down from his stage pedestal. His hair had been pulled back into a low bun, his torso once exposed on stage now covered in a faded Judas Priest tour shirt, but his Cheshire smile on his face was just as brilliant without the stage lights. Dimples hidden by the dark bar lighting, plush lips and scruff framing his face. 

Billy catches you staring at him.

“Maybe you didn’t strike out,” he hums, “You gonna go for it, hot stuff?” 

You smile in return. Something dangerous, something evil yet inviting, “I might. I do need a new play thing for the summer, after all.” 

“Careful. I’m sure there’s a line of groupies willing to fight you for the Eddie Munson.” 

Billy had been mocking you with a shrill voice, but he had been wrong. 

There was no line of girls for you to compete with as you approached Eddie. And if there was, they wouldn’t have stood a chance. From the moment you had smiled at him, uttering your name into Eddie’s ears over the bass of the music, placing a careful hand on his shoulder and telling him how much you just adored his music, he had been hooked. You had him in your grasp from the start. 

And maybe Billy knew that as he flashed you a sly grin over a redhead’s shoulder as you dragged Eddie behind you later that night, heading for the restrooms that patrons notably didn’t use. 

It was your lipstick smeared over Eddie’s neck that night, it was your name falling from his lips as you pressed him against a stall wall, it was your hair that he tangled his hands in as you sat pretty on your knees before him, it was your nails digging into his jean-clad thighs as he fucked your mouth. No, other girls never would have stood a chance. 

By the end of that night, you hadn’t even cum, but you thought nothing of it, still smug that you’d found yourself a new supposed victim. You’d never considered which one of you truly held the match, which one of you might bleed gasoline rather than crimson blood. 

All that you considered was the fact that you’d wanted Eddie, and you’d got him, just as it always went. 

That was only the first night. 

SUMMER, 1987

You fall for him in the summer. You convince yourself you’re in control still, but it’s fruitless - you’d lost control the moment you’d tasted him on that dizzy spring night rather than waiting for the arrival of summer’s heat. 

“Come over.” 

Two simple words, yet the moment you’d spoken them over the line, Eddie had wasted no time to speed his way across town for your apartment. He was officially at your beck and call. You said the word, and he was at your dispense. 

It was the fastest he’d ever arrived at your doorstep, rapping his knuckles against familiar rosewood and listening to the familiar weight of your footsteps approaching the door. 

“Hey, you,” you sigh softly once you catch sight of him in your porchlight. The creatures of summer buzz as background noise as you drink him in. Same wild curls, same deviant smirk. There looks to be new rips in his black jeans, and his shirt is wrinkled, but none of that shatters the dreamy image of him to you. 

You still want him just as badly as you had the first night. 

“Sorry I took so long,” he teases, leaning into the doorframe you rest your hip against, “Traffic, you know.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just terrible this time of year,” you play along. You both know he’d made the fifteen minute drive in under ten minutes. But there’s something in the warm air, something electric and fluttering and addictive and palpable. You’re sure if you were to rest your hand flirtatiously against his chest as you normally did with your rotation of partners, that he’d burn you. 

Something new. You tell yourself it’s just the excitement of a fresh Summer plaything, and you ignore the voice that whispers with the reminder that this started in the Spring. 

“You gonna let me in?” he nods in the direction of your apartment behind you, bathed in a soft yellow from the dusk and the lamp on the table beside your couch. 

You bring a hand to your chin and tap a finger mockingly, “Hm, I don’t know. Should I?”

“You should,” he leans even closer.

“I might need convincing.” 

His breath washes over your cheek, so gentle you could have mistaken it for the summer breeze. You can smell the spice of his cologne, the stubborn smoke from his last cigarette. It makes your head spin.

“Convincing, you say?” he murmurs as his lips graze your earlobe, “I’ve been known to be convincing.” 

This was something you enjoyed about him. He wasn’t like other boys - he didn’t fall to your feet and praise the ground you stood on, not directly. He didn’t follow you like a lost puppy. He took the time to dance with you, to entertain you with banter and to enrapture you with the chase. Maybe that’s why Spring and Summer felt the same when it came to him. 

“I call bullshit,” you laugh breathlessly as his lips connect with your neck, making a trail of pecks until he reaches the bare skin of your shoulder. “You still haven’t convinced me to listen to Metallica.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” he whispers against your skin as his fingers sneak beneath the strap of your tank top, “Just be patient.”

The pet name strikes a kink in your armor, and in an instant, your hands are on his shoulders and dragging him into the living room, barely remembering to slam the door shut behind him. 

You never let them call you nicknames normally. Billy had been the only exception. 

But when he calls you baby, something blooms in your chest. And it’s vines and thorns alike twist and prick your gut, deflating your better judgment as the two of you are a mess of clumsy limbs that can’t seem to navigate your hallway fast enough. You can’t seem to get him to your bed fast enough. 

“Off,” he demands against your lips when you finally have him sitting on your comforter, thighs straddling his as his hands tug at the tank top’s hem. 

“What happened to patience?” you tease, but you’re already complying, shucking off the fabric and exposing yourself to him. You’d foregone a bra - it was too hot in Hawkins this time of year. 

He doesn’t offer you an answer, hardly taking the time to suck in a deep breath before his mouth wraps around one of your peaked nipples and his large hand spans across your back to press you as close to him as he can get you. You’re already moaning too loudly, sure to receive noise complaints from the neighbors tomorrow. But you’re not thinking about the neighbors or tomorrow, you can only focus on his tongue and lips, working soft magic over your body as he twists the two of you so that he’s hovering over you. 

“Fuck,” you blissfully breathe out, fingertips raking through the roots of his curls. His mouth has moved on to your other breast, leaving blooming petals of bruises in its wake. 

Another thing you’d never allow to happen with any of the other boys. 

No marks. A simple rule. A forgotten rule when it came to Eddie. 

“You like that?” he chuckles as he places a final chaste kiss to your chest, lifting his head and staring up at you with his bambi eyes. He had the kind of eyes you could get lost in, wander and wade through for hours if given the chance. Shadows of brown and honey intertwining, beckoning to you with a promise of the adoration you seeked out. 

You do like that. As a matter of fact, you love it. 

“I like it better when your mouth is busy, rockstar,” you say as if you wouldn’t listen to him talk for hours, as if you hadn’t listened to him speak about nonsense as the time passed the two of you by. 

He takes his cue, and he does as you ask. He traces roadmaps down your stomach, across your thighs and hips, not uttering a single word until he’s pulled away your cotton shorts and lace underwear. 

When he’s face to face with your heat, he finally speaks again. 

“Beautiful.”

It’s just a word. If any of your previous flings had spoken it, you’d smack them away and declare the moment over. In fact, you’d done just that with your autumn boy from last year. You weren’t here to be called beautiful, to be held carefully or to be praised as you let them take you however they pleased. You were here to get one thing and one thing only - your own pleasure. 

Your back still arches when he says the word, your vines still crack your ribs just as they had reacted to the utterance of baby. 

The thorns prickle beneath your skin when he makes you cum with his tongue once, twice, thrice too many times. When he pulls your body to his, when you allow him to forego the protection of a condom and you let him sigh contentedly into your mouth when he slides in, it all pierces you the same. 

And when your voice has grown hoarse from chanting his name and your lips have gone chapped from kissing him desperately, you break your final damning rule.

“Stay with me?” 

The plea comes out soft and heavy as your head rests against his chest. Even with your window open, the night breeze drifting in, the heat is stifling. It’s too warm to stay pressed so closely together, but it doesn’t stop you from clinging your body to his. 

He doesn’t hesitate in his reply, “Of course.” 

The two of you sink further into your sheets and each other. It wasn’t the first time Eddie Munson spent the night in your bed, and it surely wouldn’t be the last. 

AUTUMN, 1987

“You like him more than you liked the others.”

It’s not a question - it’s a fact secured in concrete that falls from Billy’s lips as the two of you lean against the brick exterior of the Hideout. A cigarette is half-gone and held limply between his lips, yours freshly lit and clung to tightly between white knuckles.

“I don’t like him,” you scoff, “He’s a good fuck.” 

You weren’t here on your normal business, scoping for another warm body to join you in your bed for the night. Eddie’s band, Corroded Coffin, was performing one of their weekly shows. 

“Right. A good enough fuck to live to see the fall,” Billy presses, raising his eyebrows at you as he takes another drag and let’s the whisps of white smoke carry off into the cool night. 

You’d just been striking out. That’s what you had told yourself. It was bound to happen eventually; you’d hit a dry streak, and you’d have to eventually find a repeat offender. Eddie was just that for you. Someone easy to fall back on. It didn’t hurt that you also enjoyed his company, especially when he’d swing you around in your kitchen while the two of you made dinner in your apartment or when he’d let you cuddle into his neck during the scary movie marathons you’d began to take part in with Halloween now looming around the corner. 

“I haven’t seen you getting lucky,” you snap, a sudden defensiveness taking over. A lie, of course. You hadn’t frequented the bar enough lately to even know the last time your former fling had gotten laid. 

Billy throws up his hands as he discards the butt of his cigarette, “Hey now, don’t get so feisty, doll. It’s okay to admit you’re going soft.” 

Soft. Soft like Eddie’s hands when he pulled your hips against his night after night. Soft like Eddie’s eyes when he watched you in the shower during the mornings after, quick to swipe away any shampoo that drips down your forehead and dangerously close to your own eyes as you wash your hair. Soft like your voice every time you asked him to stay, over and over, never learning your lesson. 

“I’m not going soft,” is all you say as you put out the cigarette, not even half-finished, and move to go back inside. 

You’re not having this conversation. There’s nothing more to dissect. You weren’t going soft and you couldn’t like Eddie, it wasn’t in your nature. 

It’s a mantra you repeat to yourself as you take in the sight of him still setting up the stage. You catch his eye and he grins at you, and you remind yourself you’re not soft. No, whatever this feeling is, it’s not soft. It is angry and loud, it is demanding and sharp. It is copper on your tongue and it is raging storm clouds in your mind. It is the opposite of everything he has been to you; it is every contrast possible to the way he treats you. 

He treats you like a human being. You’re not a prize, you’re not an idol – you’re just a person, and sometimes, he treats you as if that’s the greatest thing you could possibly be. 

When the show is over and rounds have been bought for the band, he comes home with you. He staggers on his feet and you know he’s had too much whiskey for his own good. Normally, any guy this drunk would be told to piss off.

He’s not any guy. He’s Eddie. 

And so you take his drunken state in strides. You let his body lean into you as you guide him up the steps to your front door, you only smile when he gets handsy, you offer weak laughter at his terrible jokes. 

“You only want me for my body,” he teases you between kisses when you hook your fingers into his jean’s belt loops to keep him close and upright, “Don’t you?” 

This is the part where you tell him yes. You’re supposed to tell him he’s nothing more than a cure for the looming loneliness. 

You shake your head. 

“I’m not, but I can’t ride your personality, can I?” your fingers retract from the loops, and trace their way up his chest, memorizing the muscles beneath the t-shirt. It’s too faded to see the band logo once advertised. 

“You could try,” he sways, and your wandering fingers curl into fists into the cotton material, “P-Probably be pretty hard, though. Just like me.” 

He takes one of your hands and places it over the bulge in his jeans. 

If he were any other guy, you’d play into it, because if he were any other guy, you’d be expecting to get something out of this night for your own selfish needs. 

“Not so fast, rockstar,” you bring your hand back up to his chest as he hiccups, brows furrowed at your subtle rejection, “Let’s get you inside, yeah?” 

It’s an uphill battle of gangly limbs and stumbling steps. He falls against your hallway walls more times than you can count as you guide him to your bedroom and allow him to splay out on the mattress. The laces of his combat boots are impossibly knotted, but you win the war in the end and tug them off of him. He wiggles his toes within his socks, and watches you with half-lidded eyes.

“This is the part where you try to ride my personality, right?” he tempts you, the wiggling in his toes flowing up to his eyebrows, eyes alight with mischief. 

Your hand is gentle as you grab his ankle, exposed from jeans that had ridden up into scrunched material around the bottom of his calf. “Right. Let me get you some water first.” 

You leave him to rush to the kitchen, gathering the glass of water you’d promised along with a bottle of painkillers from your medicine cabinet. For a moment, you take in the silence and lean your palms onto the cold kitchen counter. 

Five months. Two months too long, technically, if you were comparing it all to your track record. He’d seen the eggshell white walls of your apartment more than your own mother, more than your closest friends. At this point, even on your most lonesome nights, you found yourself leaving an Eddie-sized space on the sheets beside you. One of your pillows now permanently smelt like him. There was a mug in your cabinet reserved for him and his ridiculously sweet coffee preference. You’d bought his favorite brand of cigarettes just last week, far stronger than your preferred menthols, and you’d found one of his socks discarded in your dirty laundry. 

No, this wasn’t soft. It couldn’t be.

When you finally return to your room, he’s already asleep. You still leave the water and the pills on the bedside table for the next morning, when he’d need them. You try not to think too hard about the way that even in his drunken slumber, he’s left a perfectly you-sized space beside him, arm thrown out perfectly so that you can curl into him once you’ve brushed your teeth and dressed down into pajamas. 

The last thing you remember before you fall asleep against him is the way your soft hand grazes over his stomach in soothing circles, and the way your brain softly whispers in the hope of his hangover not being too cruel to him come morning light. 

WINTER, 1987

“Eddie! Stop it!” you squeal when he nearly takes you down with him as his back connects with the polished ice beneath the two of you. 

Ice skating wasn’t the best idea for two people who were notoriously uncoordinated. But he’d asked you to come with him, and you’d put up little resistance. 

“Ow, fuck,” he groans, still laying flat on his back with his eyes squeeze shut, legs spread wide as you wobble on your skates, “That fucking hurts.” 

“I bet it does,” you nearly giggle, childish with your rosey cheeks and pink-tipped nose. Your smile is infectious once he opens his eyes and catches sight of you fighting back your laughter.

It was the first time the two of you had ever gone out before dark with each other. Although, you were sure by the time you two had finished your goofing off inside the indoor ice rink, it’d be night. 

“Oh yeah,” he drawls, struggling to lift himself onto his elbows, “Laugh it up, chuckles. Don’t think I’ve forgotten your first fifty falls.”

“Fifty?” you squeak, forcing faux offense, “I only fell twice, thank you very much.”

It takes a bit for him to finally find his footing once more, plenty of hesitant and awkward movements to simply stand up right before you. Once you’re nearly face to face again, he’s pouting. “Kiss it better?” 

Your feet shuffle beneath you, struggling to keep your balance. Your hands fly out and grab onto one of his forearms for balance, “Where’s it hurt?” 

“Right here,” his free hand lifts to point to his lips, accentuating his pout further. 

“Funny,” you muse, “I don’t recall you falling on your face - this time.” 

He huffs as you begin to lose your balance again, one of your hands slipping down his wrist until your fingers are intertwined to the best of your abilities given the angle. His hand is freezing from the ice. Even despite his teasing, he’s quick to work with you, keeping the two of you standing straight with ever-shuffling feet. 

“Residual pains or whatever they call them,” he waves off, tapping his lips again to make a point. You roll your eyes, but you’re still quick to lean forward and peck him. 

“That’s all?” he whines, already moving in for another kiss. 

Any onlooker would assume it’s a date. But it couldn’t be - you didn’t do dates. It was two friends, two acquaintances really, hanging out for the sake of fun. Just as you fell back on Eddie when your nights grew forlorn, he had seeked you out for comfort on his isolating days. It was just another perk of your arrangement. 

An arrangement that had dragged on for eight long months. 

“You’re greedy,” you mumble against his lips as he tries to deepen the kiss and you deny him. 

“Of course I’m greedy,” he replies, nipping at your bottom lip playfully, “Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?” 

You couldn’t, you really couldn’t. You’d had your fair share of possessive types in the past, the kind that felt the need to always claim you as your own. And you would have found it hot, too, if it didn’t feel like they reduced you down to nothing more than some trophy to parade around town. 

Eddie didn’t do that. He was still greedy, he had still gotten daring with marking you as his own as of late, but he never reduced you. He never forced you to shrivel in size, never tried to compact you into the box he needed you in. He took you as you were. 

You were enough for him. For the first time in a very long time, you were enough.

If you thought about it too long, you would have become dizzy out there on the ice with Eddie. So you don’t think about it. You indulge yourself in banter and echoing laughter, in the scolding looks from nearby parents when one of you makes a crude joke loud enough for their children to hear. You claim your indulging him with the incessant kisses, but you know deep down they’re also for you. To feel his lips on yours. To feel his hands on your hips. To feel his fingers between yours. 

To feel like enough. 

You’re both still giddy when you approach the counter after several hours have passed, dropping your rented skates on the counter as you glance to the arcade filled with patrons. Glowing lights and trilling noises emit from the area, tangling with giggling that you can’t quite place as coming from there or the ice. It’s loud enough that Eddie has to lean in closer to the teenager working the cash register. 

He insisted on paying. You’d tried to fight him on it, but he insisted it was his treat. 

It’s during this momentary separation, in which your worlds’ briefly stop revolving around each other, that you spot him. He must have been here for as long as you and Eddie had been, and you must have just been too wrapped up in enough to have noticed him sooner. 

Just as you see him, he sees you. Just as you prepare to turn on heel, to return to hiding into Eddie’s enough, he’s calling your name. 

It’s loud. It mingles with the sounds already coming from the atmosphere. Eddie doesn’t hear him, but you do. 

“Steve,” you try to greet him with a friendly tone through your clenched teeth, taking a few steps further away from Eddie, away from enough and blissful delusion, “I haven’t seen you in forever.” 

“Yeah,” he looks as if he’s seen a ghost as he approaches you, “Yeah, not since, uh- well, you know.” 

Not since the night you’d officially cut all ties with him, somewhere between Jonathan and Billy. You’d broken his heart. You’d nearly broken your own. 

Your lips are pressed into a tight lip smile as you try to redirect the conversation, “How’ve you been?” 

“Good! I’ve- uh, yeah, good. You?” 

I’ve been on a downward spiral of breaking every single rule that I have spent my entire life curating for my dating life, and I know you’re aware of this by the way you just looked at Eddie over my shoulder, and the way your brow is furrowing, and I get it. I get it. I fucked up. 

“I’ve been alright,” you force your jaw to relax, you force a kind and shy smile. It’s almost akin to the ones you’d originally flash him to get him in your grasp, “How’s Nancy?” 

Nancy Wheeler. After you left Steve the first time, letting whatever situationship that had begun just fizzle out, he’d ran into her arms. From the get go with Jonathan, you’d always known you were a placeholder for her. Even Billy had made a damn pass at her once you guys gave up at spring’s dawn; he’d claimed it might as well be a tradition now, only laughing as Nancy shot him down as expected. 

Nancy Wheeler was everything you weren’t. She could promise these men security, stability, commitment, a future. She didn’t hide them. They weren’t dirty secrets forced to only wander into her arms late at night, they weren’t kicked out at the end of each night once she’d had their way with them. 

Nancy probably never had her way with men, you realized, more likely letting them have their way with her.  

“We broke up,” Again. He forgets to add the again. 

They’d gotten together after that first time, been together while you had fun with Jonathan, broken up the moment you were finished with Jonathan and he could go to where he belonged – with Nancy. 

Of course, when Jonathan chose a different university to go to, somewhere far away from Nancy, those two had broken up. Steve had swooped in again. It was a never ending headache of small town gossip you had grown tired of hearing about. 

“I’m sorry,” you aren’t really, “That’s… forget I’m asked,” you’d feel worse if you hadn’t seen the girl waiting to the side for Steve. His date, no doubt. 

“No worries, it’s been a while since it happened anyways,” he shrugs it off, but you can still see the hurt in his eyes. 

He’d once called you drunkenly, going off on how he was going on all these dates trying to find you or Nancy again, how none of them were you or Nancy. Which, at the time, just irritated you because Steve, why do you still have my number? But now? Now, you almost get it. You almost understand the pain of searching for a familiar face in the eyes of strangers because any time you had gone to your usual haunts these last seven months, you found yourself searching crowds for wild, messy curls and warm brown eyes. For shades of honey and the scent of tobacco drowned out by cheap cologne.

You hadn’t been striking out anymore, the realization hits clear as day. It’s not even that you were being as picky as you normally were – none of the guys were Eddie. None of them had freckles below their right eyes that made your breath catch, none of them had the same calluses along their fingers from years of guitar practice. None of them had the same boyish grin that shone through the dark of your room at two in the morning, leaving you with no choice but to let him stay. They weren’t Eddie.

“You like him more than you liked the others,” Billy’s voice reverberates from the back of your mind. 

The truth seeps into your bones like ash and flames, a fever burning you from the inside out. 

Steve only fans the flames when he nods over your shoulder at Eddie, “So, are you and Munson a thing now?” 

Flames. Hot coals in the back of your throat, lively embers trailing down your spine. You’re watching the entirety of who you had worked so hard to become over the years bursting into flames. 

“What?” you whisper, not realizing Eddie had finished paying behind you, “No. No, we- no. We aren’t anything. We’re just… we’re just friends.” 

Even the word friends whispers away into smoke, choking you up. 

“Friends? Looks like you two were on a date, like he’s your boyfriend or something.” 

“Well, we’re not. He’s not.” 

Steve hardly buys it, but when Eddie joins your side once more, you don’t even offer him a glimmer of a farewell. You grab the wrist of your friend, your not boyfriend, and you high tail out of there. Still choked up, still running, still reeling. 

It’s still light when you leave the building and your hand drops from Eddie’s. You’ll both pretend the cold is from the weather, and not the distance you put between him and yourself. 

And if he heard your conversation with Steve, he doesn’t bring it up. Not that night, at least. 

SPRING, 1988

“I can’t do this anymore.”

You got him in the spring – it makes sense that you lose him in the spring. 

“What do you mean?” you play dumb, painfully coy as you continue to rinse the dishes. Plural. Dishes that the two of you had just dirtied through a painfully tense dinner together. In your apartment, at the counter of your tiny kitchen, knees not even so much as brushing. 

“This,” something has broken inside of him. Snapped, shattered, splintered. “It’s been a year, and I keep telling myself that you’ll come around, but-”

“Come around?” you cut him off with a laugh, one that stabs not only through his chest but your own. A double-edged dagger that has been sharpening itself for a year now, “Come around to what, Eddie?” 

He hadn’t expected the way you lash out, the cold storm that you had been consumed by since the winter night where Steve had looked at you like something had changed in you. As if you had finally gotten better, as if you had had something sour in you all along and Eddie had managed to magically drain you of it.

He couldn’t. He never was going to be able to. 

“Me?” he’s not sure of himself, voice wavering and eyes sparkling as they widen with tears of frustration, “Us? Fuck, I don’t know, but I can’t keep-”

“You thought I would come around to the idea of us?” your voice is cool and collected, nothing like his, as you finally turn around, “What, like we’re dating?” 

You were. A year of this back and forth, and you were too stubborn to just accept it. It was your downfall. It was the bleeding wound for not only yourself, but for Eddie – for this, as he had called it. 

You like him more than you liked the others.

So, are you and Munson a thing now?

A good enough fuck to live to see the fall.

You were never going to be enough for him. In your lifetime, you’d always known what you were good for, and it wasn’t for boys like Eddie Munson. 

“What else do you call this?” he motions vaguely to the dishes, to the fridge that holds his takeout, to the hallway he had tumbled down more times than you could count, “We’re more than just good friends, sweetheart.”

“We both knew what we were getting into.”

“Did we?”

Come over.

I might need convincing.

Stay with me?

You should have been smarter. You should have been more careful. 

It’s a brutal fight, and it’s the everything you had been waiting for. The illusion of softness finally breaks. Whispered words of care have become sharp insults, all the small moments where you had made mistake after mistake with him are now weapons. If the dated walls of your kitchen could speak, the tiles would murmur of all the blood being spelt as brutal defenses are sent back and forth from both sides. 

“I need more.”

“I can’t give you more.”

“You could, you just don’t want to.” 

“What’s the difference, Eddie?”

You were never going to be enough. You should have seen that, clear as daylight from the beginning. You were something rotten from the moment he met you, and he had just been too stupid to recognize all the decay. 

Of course I’m greedy. Can you blame a guy when it comes to you?

Why couldn’t he just accept what you were willing to give? Why did he have to push, to persist, to insist upon you laying more of yourself out for him? You had already dissected yourself beyond repair, made the cuts that would never heal and bared your innards in a way that you never should have to begin with. 

Stay with me?

You wish you were still just lazing in between your sheets with him. A you-shaped space at his side, a pillow on his side of your bed. You wish he had never picked a fight he had every right to rage. You wish, you wish, you wish.

Stay with me?

And then you lose, you lose, you lose. 

“You were just some idiot who thought you could change me,” you seethe at some point, aiming damning arrows for every exposed bone he’d ever given you a glimpse of, “What made you think that? Hm? Was it when I paraded you around the town, calling you my boyfriend? Or was it every time I told you just how much I loved you? Was it when I fell to my knees and kissed the ground you walked on, Eddie? Go ahead. Tell me.”

You were just rubbing salt in the wound at that point. Saying everything he had wished for over the last year, that you never gave him. 

You never called him your boyfriend. You never told him you loved him. You never did, and you never would. 

When it’s all said and done, it’s everything you had expected. A screaming match that the neighbors will complain about the same as they’d complained about every late-night rendezvous between the two of you. An effective cutting of ties that you’d been anticipating for a long twelve months. If it were the movies, maybe the fight would have been more effective. Something that would delve into the lead up of love confessions, an ending where you wind up in his arms and he’s whispering every which way that he still cares for you, even with your teeth bared and your sharpest knives poised. 

It’s not a movie. It’s everything you expected. 

But you hadn’t been prepared for the ache. When your own vicious words left a taste of ash on the tongue, when his eyes flashing with something harsher and less caring for you left a hollow ache that rang in your ears longer than his voice did. You didn’t think that you’d feel the cutting of ties. Every nerve ending in your body feels that jagged edge that saws through all that you two had tried to build over the last year, but it’s far too little and far too late. The foundation was cracked – you were damaged. 

You lose him. The world doesn’t end; the night carries on even as he grabs his leather jacket and leaves behind the sock in your dirty laundry. And when he exits out your front door, hiding away any tears that might have slipped free, just as you were, you feel that unexpected whisper inside of you. 

Stay with me?

You sleep alone that night. For once, the smell of tobacco and his shampoo makes you throw the pillow that was once his across the room. 

SUMMER, 1988

She deserves him.

Chrissy Cunningham deserved Eddie Munson far more than you ever had. She was enough. 

Summer can stain, but it can’t erase. Even in the months of aftermath, even for every tear shed in private and wave of yearning that would drown you in the dead of night, you never changed. It had hardly taken weeks after Eddie had walked out of your life for you to return to your old ways, going back to the bars and seeking out the latest warm blood to lose yourself in that night.

It didn’t matter that you compared each and every single smile to Eddie’s. It didn’t matter that you’d have to grip your sheets until your knuckles turned bloody to avoid touching the strangers hovering over you, hoping to feel familiar skin and a comfort long lost instead of whatever poor soul you’d dragged home with you. 

He deserves a love full of life. A love that breathes him in and doesn’t drain him. One that could let him feel the sun on his skin rather than hiding him away in the night.

A love that doesn’t tick away each passing season, because it’s a love that doesn’t have a ticking time bomb attached to it. 

“Never thought I’d see the day Cunningham got her claws in Munson,” Billy mumbles around a cigarette at your side. 

He didn’t tease about Eddie those first few months. One look at you, and he had known. 

“She didn’t get her claws in him,” you say, monotonous as you reach for your drink once more, “I’m happy for him. They look happy.”

They do. They really, really do. A love that burns like summer, and has never been touched by a dying autumn or cruel winter. The type of happiness Eddie would have never been able to find from you, try as he had. 

Billy taps some of his ash into the tray at the center of your shared table. Surely, he had better things to do, but he stays. It was probably entertaining, watching you pine and regret for once in your life, “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Their’s don’t. I bet you that there’s a ring on her finger before next summer.”

You don’t want to imagine the pain that would ignite in you. That’s the type of emotion that would far surpass any regret you currently feel. But you seem to enjoy torturing yourself, eyes still zeroing in on her left hand, as if you already see the glint of whatever diamond Eddie would seek out for his worthy lover. 

“And I bet if that happens, you skip town within twenty four hours of finding out.” 

He’s right. Nothing was truly tying you to this sleepy town, and the reminder of your worst mistake, your most terrible slip up of all time, would easily send you running with your tail between your legs. 

“Probably,” you sigh, no longer putting up a front. You hadn’t even tried batting your lashes at a single man since Eddie and Chrissy had arrived at the bar. You were striking out tonight, on your own volition, “Maybe I’d move to California. I hear the men there are easy enough.” 

“They are,” Billy laughs, throwing his head back. It’s enough to garner attention across the bar, numerous girls being enticed as if he might be a siren beckoning to them, “Take it from one. The girls on the west coast are prettier, though, so you can’t blame ‘em.”

The girls on the west coast probably resemble Chrissy. Golden skin, golden auras, golden light. Honeyed words and the sweetest of blushes across coy cheeks. They probably embody every sunset and sunrise simultaneously, and you can only stand there green with envy.

“You are awfully easy,” is all you can offer in reply. The banter has started to fall flat since Eddie. You’re no fun – hardly taking any bait that Billy will hand over so generously. 

Maybe, if you had tried a little harder, you could have been one of those girls. Clear blue skies, not a sight of the storm clouds that you still let consume you. 

Maybe Eddie would have stayed if you had tried a little harder. 

There’s no real hope for it now. You’re left to being nothing more than a conglomeration of pathetic pity parties and the taste of cheap beer these days, hardly worth the chase once the boys get close enough to see the rot. You’ve stopped trying so hard to cover it up; you’d ripped yourself open for Eddie, and had never found a way to properly suture yourself back together so that anyone new might not get a glimpse of all the bad. They could spot it from a mile away these days. 

It doesn’t help that you no longer try to cover it all up with overly sweet perfumes or sickly sweet pickup lines.

Billy’s laughter didn’t just draw the attention of the girls around the bars. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see a pair of whiskey eyes find the two of you, locking on you far too easily to have not known. 

You notice, because of course you notice him. But when Billy notices, it catches you a bit more off guard. 

“Like I said,” he drawls, and you nearly panic when he grabs his drink off to leave you behind, “Looks can be deceiving, hot stuff.”

Your eyes find Eddie’s quickly, not listening to a word that Billy is saying. Chrissy is saying something, something surely important, but her boy isn’t listening. Her boy, her conduit for all her sunshine, is staring right at you and has no plans on looking away any time soon. 

He’s seen the rot up close and personal. He’s the one who’d handed the treacherous scalpel over to your shaking hands, encouraging you to open up in all the ways you never wished to. 

You shouldn’t do it. You’ll regret it. You really shouldn’t do this.

“They never learn their lesson, do they?” 

You don’t know who Billy is talking about.

Eddie, who almost seems to be under your spell, taking a slow slip of his neat whiskey, staring you down as if he’s brimming with bad ideas that he hopes you can hear from across the room. 

Or you, who should know better. You hurt him, you broke his heart, you don’t deserve him. And yet, you’re selfish as ever, mind reeling with possibilities of how you wish the night would end.

You can hear the bad ideas. Clear as day. Especially when Eddie only breaks eye contact long enough to lean in to Chrissy and whisper something that effectively dismisses her, leaving Eddie all alone and in your gaze. 

“They don’t,” you say, throwing back the last of your drink.

You know where he’s heading. And you know where you’re heading. A moth to his flame, going only where he will allow you. You’re a ghost of the menace you once were. The other men, the other bodies that kept you warm these nights; none of them were him. You didn’t want them. You weren’t soft with them. They never stayed, because you never asked them to. There was only one man in this bar, in this entire damn bar, that would ever fill the hole left behind in you after Eddie’s summer. Eddie’s spring, Eddie’s autumn, Eddie’s winter. 

And he was walking outside the bar, almost tauntingly as he sauntered through the doors, beckoning you with each and every step. 

Perhaps this time, Eddie’s the one who needs a summer plaything. 

“This isn’t going to end well,” Billy taunts you as he takes a few steps back, knowing damn well as to what was about to happen. Bad ideas, downright terrible ideas. 

Eddie is playing the same game as you were once a master in. It dawns on you; Chrissy Cunningham wasn’t his newest love. She wasn’t his sweetest sunrise or gentle spring. She was a passing wind, just like all the boys you’d enticed before him. She’s already moved along, pretty hand resting on the shoulder of a new beau and not even paying any mind to Eddie’s absence. She may deserve him, but she doesn’t have him.

Nor do you. The roles have been switched, and you should know better. He’s leading you to an inevitable death, whether it be a little one or something of catastrophic value. He is leading you right into your own demise. Just as you used to do with every new victim you’d set your mark on before him, before your summer, before it all. 

All your old tricks, turned to weapons against you.

And you’ll let him. A moth to his flame. A dog at his window sill. 

“It never does.” 

Stay with me? 

Maybe, this time, you’ll be the one staying. If only for the night, and if only for Eddie.

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[famwhy]

Right Way Up (Prologue)

Stranger Things

Yandere! Steve Harrington X F!Reader, Yandere! Eddie Munson X F!Reader, Yandere! Billy Hargrove X F!Reader

Synopsis: You always hated when your favourite characters died in shows or movies; always longed to have the opportunity to save them. So when you're transported into one of your favourite shows of all time, what else are you supposed to do besides save your beloved characters?

Warnings: Threat/violence, Gore, Mentions of sexual content (implicit), Death, Manipulation, Depictions of toxic relationships, Drugs and alcohol abuse

masterlist. next part.

prologue. bring unto me misfortune

enter: steve "the hair" harrington

"—GET off him, Y/N!"

You blinked, puzzled. "Huh?"

A face—below you; beaten bloody and blue.

Arms—around you; tugging, pulling, yanking.

It took a few seconds to sink in, to register your surroundings and properly digest them.

You were straddling someone, legs thrown over their hips as you held them down with your weight. Your knuckles were red, speckled with the droplets running down their nose... their nose—oh god, their nose—it was crooked, bent in ways you hadn't ever thought were possible outside of movies; ways you hadn't ever wished to come across in the whole of your lifetime.

Did you do that?

Your brows were furrowed. Why were they furrowed? You didn't recall feeling angry before your afternoon nap—if anything, you were more relieved—so why now did you suddenly find yourself on top of this random teenager, who you never even once recalled spending a moment of your life with, while your fist was slathered in their blood?

"Jesus, I get that you hate him but there's no need to kill him!" That same voice from before piped up. "You'll get in some serious trouble."

What the hell was he on about?

There were so many more questions running rampant in your mind but the tugging sensation around your waist finally prevailed, pulling you straight out of your thoughts and, subsequently, straight off that boy.

"Y/N, c'mon. We gotta go before we get in some deep shit."

Your head swerved around, finally allowing you to catch a glimpse of the guy who had both of his hands securely wrapped around your waist—albeit you did have to strain your neck a little. 

He had brown locks that swooped over his scalp to rest perfectly against the top of his head—smooth and silky with a shimmering sheen coating their surface. It was a unique hairstyle, one that seemed way too... familiar for your liking.

"Ah shit."

His hand reached out, and it was only then that you truly realised how bloody your fingers were; when he grabbed ahold of them and pulled them closer to his face, consequently staining his own hand too.

"You're hurt."

His brows were furrowed and a heavy frown had tugged his lips down, making it appear as though he was concerned about you—but, how could that be possible when you had never once met him in your life? Or at least, you thought that to be so.

He dragged you inside a building, your feet bumping against the rough surface of concrete as you continued to lay limp in disbelief, bewilderment, and utter, utter confusion.

Lockers, around you, rows and rows of them. Okay, so a school. You were in a school. You were in some random school being dragged by some random boy with bloody fists that just now began to ache lightly. 

This was definitely a dream—that much you concluded right away. Some weird dream where you found yourself in high school with a... cheerleading outfit on?

The skirt, the bright colours, the large logo—yup, there was no mistaking it, you were in a cheerleading outfit.

Oh wow, a dream where you were a cheerleader that beat up random guys in such gruesome ways? Kinda cool, if you were honest.

"Shit, looks like the nurse is out," the familiar boy spoke again, "hang on, I think I can help patch you up."

He gently placed you ontop of a bed, one that felt soft and plush around your thighs. It was quite comfortable and you almost couldn't help the need to bounce on it slightly; feel its spring underneath you to truly test if it was, in fact, a bed.

The room he took you to was grey, looking old with some tiles on the wall having been chipped away; as though it hadn't been tended to in a long time. A little unhygienic, you had thought, but nothing unexpected of a school.

"You have got to stop getting into fights," your eyes wandered back over to the boy, taking in the sight of him scurrying through some drawers; almost as though he was looking for something, "I know it's been hard—y'know, since that whole incident with the demogorgon and stuff—but that doesn't mean you can keep getting into fights like this to toughen yourself up—"

Woah, woah, woah, did he just say demogorgon?

"—I promised you I would protect you—didn't I?—that you didn't need to worry about stuff like that. Just... let me keep you safe."

He paused after he said those words, looking over at you with such soft, tender eyes—you almost let out a light gasp from how intense the care in them felt.

This boy... how exactly did you know him in this dream? Was he a friend? A lover? Sibling?

You briefly parted your lips, blinking as words formed on the tip of your tongue—seconds away from escaping your mouth—when a thought suddenly occurred to you, and you sharply pressed them against each other once more.

He mentioned a demogorgon. There were only two pieces of media you knew of that mentioned demogorgons. DnD and... Stranger Things.

Suddenly, it all clicked. The hair, the uniform, the school environment, the demogorgon—you were in Stranger Things, sat in Hawkins High, right next to Steve Harrington.

Holy shit. How did you not realise it before?! You were literally sat right in front of Steve 'The Hair' Harrington himself—a guy known for his unique, 'pretty boy', hair!

Holy crap.

"Y/N? Are you alright?"

"Huh?" You blinked. "Oh, uh, I'm fine."

As fine as someone who just found out they were in a dream about a bloody horror show set in the 80s could be.

He slowly approached you, and it was only then that you noticed the roll of gauze in his hands.

"Yeah, sure you are," he quipped with a frown.

You rolled your eyes. "I am, Steve."

"I know, I know, I just—" he paused and let out a light, frustrated sigh, as though he was trying to release some sort of heavy weight he was bearing, before combing a hand through his hair, "—I don't like seeing you hurt."

That was when you remembered how sweet he truly was after season one of the show, and your eyes softened as you gazed at his clearly-concerned form. Well, at least your dream was merciful enough to allow you to be close to Steve; so close, in fact, that he would have this much concern over you in the first place.

The gentle hold of five somewhat-rough fingers against your wrist only proved your points further as he lightly tugged on your arm and brought your knuckles closer to his form—his touch sending tingles down your limb now that you knew who, exactly, he was. C'mon, who didn't have a crush on Steve Harrington?

The soft fabric of a cloth met with your skin, slowly wiping away the sticky liquid on its surface to reveal your bruised—and slightly busted—knuckles underneath.

"Since when did you get a tattoo?"

"Huh?" You blinked.

Confused, you followed his line of sight, finding your eyes landing on three thick, red lines displayed clearly on your wrist, right where the bump of your veins were visible; so prominent, in fact, you were surprised you hadn't noticed them there earlier.

"Shit. Don't tell me you got it while drunk." Your eyes shot back up to him. "Seriously, Y/N? How many times do I have to tell you not to get blackout drunk?"

You didn't know how the hell those tattoos got there and, from the looks of things, Steve didn't either. Maybe it was some weird detail your dream decided to add on—wouldn't be the first time, and certainly wouldn't be the last either.

He sighed, eyes closing for a few brief moments before opening once more with yet another intense look to knock you off your feet. "Alright. Lemme just wrap up your wound."

His nails then dug into the edge of the gauze, pulling and prodding at it until a corner gave way before he was able to further force it apart. Then, his hands moved back to yours; left wrapping gently around your fingers; right rolling the gauze over your knuckles just as sweetly. 

A small smile tugged up your lips. It felt nice to be cared for like this—comforting. 

"Alright, uhh, that should be it," he announced, slowly pulling away to leave nothing but the lingering sense of warmth from his touch in his wake, "you have practice later, right? If you don't like how it looks, you can cover it up with your, uh, plastic, ribbon ball things."

"Plastic, ribbon ball things?" You rose a brow.

"Yeah—y'know, the ones that you shake about during games?"

Was he talking about what you thought he was talking about?

"You mean pompoms?" You couldn't help the amusement that seeped into your tone.

"Yes!" He snapped his fingers with a smile. "Pompoms!"

Dear lord, he was so cute, it was otherworldly. You must've struck it super lucky to have gotten this dream, almost made you not wanna wake up. Although, hopefully you would awake before having the pleasure of meeting a plant monster with thousands of razor-sharp teeth ready to bleed you dry.

"Nance and I'll take you home, alright? Just in case."

Nance?

Oh shit, yeah, he was still with Nancy. You were crushing on a taken man. Sorry, Nance.

...although, technically, he wouldn't be taken for long since they did break up in the show so... you were totally allowed to keep crushing on him.

"Y/N?"

A hand waved back and forth in front of your face.

"Oh, uh, repeat that."

His lips pulled down again and you found your heart constricting slightly—ribs suddenly feeling like too much as guilt engulfed your form. He was worrying for you an awful lot, huh?

"Are you alright, N/N? You're not usually this out of it. Do you want me to stay here with you for the rest of the day?"

The way he spoke; the concern-ridden scrunch of his brow; the lack of distance between his form and yours—it all added up, suffocating you in a hold of responsibility you didn't wish to be within. 

"It's okay, you should get to class—" you mustered up a smile as best as you could, praying to God he wasn't able to see through it, "—I've caused you enough worry for the day."

His eyes softened and he reached out a hand, placing it gently against the bare skin of your shoulder—those familiar tingles running down your arm at his touch. "It's okay, I don't mind. You're my best friend, N/N. I'll never see you as a burden."

Warmth—overwhelming and fluffy—all around you; coating your form in a lovely bubble of pure bliss, all from a few words. How the hell was he so smooth?

"Careful, Harrington," a broad grin spread from one side of your face to the other, "you've got a girlfriend."

He rolled his eyes with a little chuckle—and you swore your heart just fluttered—"Nance won't mind. I've known you my whole life, shitbird."

The insult was enough to cause your eyes to crinkle in amusement as a light laugh left your lips. "Okay, okay, dipshit. Go to class."

Finally, his lips turned up instead of down—gently this time; soft without a hint of anything sharp in them; that paired with the intense care swirling in his eyes—god, he had to stop doing that.

"There's that pretty smile."

"Steve!" You batted him away, shifting your head to the side to hide the ever-growing tug of your lips. "Go!"

"Alright, alright," he relented, pushing himself up from the kneeling position he was once in as he took a few steps back, a broad grin situated on his face, "I'm going. See you later, shitbird."

Before a retort could escape your mouth, he was gone.

You rolled your eyes but the traitorous grin on your lips gave away your true feelings.

You just had banter with the Steve Harrington. King Steve himself. This dream was a blessing in disguise. It had to be.

Apparently, you were also best friends with him too. Another absolute win in your book. 

Hours; you would've spent hours gushing over him—squealing like a little school girl with a crush—but the next thing that happened occurred too quickly for you to continue your spiel, too fast for you to register anything else.

A brief spike of white, hot pain shot through your knuckles—so quick, you almost couldn't believe it happened. But it was there. It happened.

"Agh!"

They were hurting. Holy shit, they were hurting. How was that possible? Was this a lucid dream? It did feel surprisingly realistic, and very, very immersive. That was probably all there was to it, right? 

But... weren't dreams incapable of emulating pain? ...or was that death? Stupid memory. Maybe if you allowed yourself to take a nap, you'd wake up on your couch again in the real world. Then you'd probably start to sulk about how you weren't actually friends with Steve Harrington and how he was, unfortunately, just a fictional character.

"Y/N!"

The call of your name had your eyes averting from your wrapped up knuckles and towards the entrance of the room, landing straight onto puffed-up blonde hair adorning the same bright colours as yourself with hands covered by the so-called 'plastic, ribbon ball things'—as Steve called them.

"What the hell are you doing here?! We have practice and you're captain, you can't ditch!" She placed both of her covered hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes in your direction before her gaze seemed to zoom in on one specific part. "Why is your hand all wrapped up like that?"

Something about the way her nose scrunched up in disgust as she said those words didn't sit right with you. It was almost like just the sight of the gauze repulsed her... what the hell was wrong with bandaging your hands?

"They're hurt," you responded curtly.

She merely rolled her eyes. "They're ugly is what they are. How do you expect to cheer with that?"

Okay, this dream was officially turning into a nightmare.

You stood abruptly, clenching your hands into fists before wincing as another pang of pain hit your knuckles—effectively dispersing the rage festering within you.

Though, one look at her scowling face and soon, it was back; stronger than before. "Forget it, I'm not going."

"What do you mean? You're captain."

"So you keep saying," you rolled your eyes, "where's Steve?"

"Harrington? In the library with his girl—hey! Where are you going?! We need you for practice! L/N!"

You shoved past her, making sure to very unpleasantly bump into her for being so bitchy, and continued marching down the halls.

You weren't sure where the hell the library was but you'd be damned if you weren't about to find it and have Steve haul your ass back home so that you could get a proper grip on this... whatever the hell this was.

This whole situation was insane. You almost never had dreams where you were able to enter a fictional world with scenes and interactions this vivid. Hell, you almost never had dreams in general. To go from that to this was... overwhelming to say the least.

It took a few tries (and definitely way more wrong turns than you'd care to admit) but you found the library eventually, and with it: Steve and Nancy.

"Harrington."

"Y/N?" He blinked, pushing himself off his seat beside the shorter brunette—so quick to act, in fact, that it took you a few blinks to actually register that he got up as soon as you called out to him. "What are you doing here? Don't you have practice?"

It only took one glance to his side to feel that constricting feeling in your heart again; one look at Nancy's face. She kept glancing between you and Steve, brows scrunched up with a mixture of emotions you couldn't even begin to decipher. 

But nevermind her feelings right now—for all you knew, none of this was actually happening and it was probably just one big dream where you inserted yourself into the world of Stranger Things. That was why you needed Steve to take you home. You didn't know where your home even was. Steve could help.

Sorry Nance, you'll break up with him soon anyway.

"I wanna go home." 

Your words immediately spurred that soft, tender look he adorned earlier back onto his face and he took a step in your direction, arms slowly stretching out towards you.

"Let's go then."

"I'll come too," Nancy's voice came out abrupt and—dare you say—panicked as she stood up just as suddenly as her boyfriend, still gazing at you with that storm in her eyes; clouded but a hint of concern slowly growing the longer she gazed at you.

You could do nothing but attempt to show her as reassuring a smile as you could muster.

It wasn't long after your little scene in the library that you entered Steve's car, marvelling a little at the old model that looked nothing like the Toyotas and Hondas you were used to seeing in your day-to-day life.

Everything was just so surreal, you couldn't help but enter a daze each time you came across something familiar and yet, entirely new (or perhaps, old) at the same time. The seats, the handles, the wheel; they all had this feel about them, one you couldn't quite place your finger on.

"You alright back there, Y/N?"

Your gaze moved to the rear-view mirror, meeting softly with those tender eyes Steve couldn't seem to help when looking at you.

You simply gave him the same shaky smile you had given Nancy earlier. His tendency to care was so sweet, just another trait of his that shot him up the list of your favourite characters from the show. Unfortunately, you couldn't indulge in it for too long, you weren't in your right mind—there was a lot about this whole scenario that you still needed to process; to think through and settle on reasonable conclusions with. 

Until then, you couldn't interact much with Steve. No matter how much you wanted to.

"Alright, we're here." He turned in his seat, resting his elbow on the shoulder to gaze at you with scrunched brows. "You sure you're okay?"

You parted your lips to respond—words barely processing in your dazed mind—but it seemed as though the only other girl in the car already did it for you.

"Jesus, Steve—" Nancy rolled her eyes, "—she's fine, you don't need to baby her so much."

"I'm not..." his face scrunched up a little, as though he was trying to figure out how to react to her phrasing, before he resumed his speech, emphasising, "babying her, I'm just worried, y'know?"

It felt nice to have Steve care for you so much. Distracted you from that dull ache that shrouded your knuckles, fogging your vision up with your baffling situation and leaving you unable to manoeuvre through the vast amount of heavy mist it surrounded you with. 

But that was all it was. A distraction. You didn't have time for those right now.

With that in mind, your voice pierced through their conversation as you announced, "I'm fine. See you tomorrow," before stepping out the car—one foot followed by the other—and shutting the door behind you.

Their calls practically fell on deaf ears as you marched towards the quaint house—confusion clouding your gaze; confusion that was further amplified as you closed in on the building.

The garage was open. And was that...?

"Huh?"

Legs, peeking out from the underside of a car—a tool box sat not too far from them. Then, all too suddenly, the squeak of wheels was followed by a waist, then a torso, and finally, a head.

"What are you doing home? Don't you have practice?"

You scrunched up your nose, scoffing, "why does everyone keep saying that?"

The male sat next to the car narrowed his eyes, jutting out one leg before directing a finger your way and saying—rather pointedly, might you add—"watch it. I'm the oldest."

You blinked.

"Since you're here early, make yourself useful and go get me the wrench out back, would ya?"

You blinked again.

Just who exactly was this guy?

"I'm not getting any younger here, Y/N!"

"Gheez, okay, fine. I'm going."

Guess you had to wait a little longer to set your mind straight.

The dirt felt icky underneath you, squelching with each step you took around the side of the house as it clung to your sneakers, trying desperately to sink you beneath the earth's surface. It was gross. You didn't want to do this. Why the hell were you even listening to this guy?

To make matters worse, a stupid fog was starting to cloud your vision, wafting through the air and obscuring all that was within 10 feet of you. Furthermore (as if there wasn't already enough), a harsh breeze swept over the exposed areas of your skin, rising goosebumps to their surface and causing an involuntary shiver to run down your spine.

Great. Just what you needed.

Well, at least you could see the silhouette of a shed now. And... whatever the hell that thing next to it was.

You squinted, eyes zooming in on the smaller figure ahead of you. Four legs, a tail, and a rather pointy head. Were you seeing things?

It became more apparent as you approached, however, that you were not, in fact, seeing things.

It was large—not enough to be mistaken as a human, but enough to just pass being a dog—and lanky, so very lanky. The way flesh molded around its bones was grotesque, and you shuddered to think of what it would look like without the human-looking skin covering its insides.

The thing that really hit the nail in the coffin, though—that really had your heart jumping out of your chest—was the way its head opened up, almost reminiscent of a flower, except... a flower didn't open to reveal thousands of razor-sharp teeth underneath its petals.

Thousands of razor-sharp teeth that were looking to impale you.

"Shit. Shit."

A demodog.

You were so dead.

[ihatepeanutss]

nobody’s daughter

steve harrington x hopper!reader / ex’s to lovers

tw: hurt/comfort. mentions of alcohol, vomiting and more vomiting. in love with steve I can’t do more. robin and steve being the best characters as always. scenarios based after the battle of the mall and the “death” of hopper.

let’s be honest... you weren’t able to forget every moment of your life, especially now, your ass sitting in a bar away from the town called Eddie’s Hideout, one of your friends used to work playing with his band. how could your body keep so much information?, you didn’t know how you had survived, not only the first time nor the last time.

it was your fourth round of tequila shots and several drinks, you wanted to forget everything, forget about the memories of Billy’s death, the nightmares you had, the pain in your chest just thinking that Max had been left completely alone and that as much as you and eleven had been left alone.

“i think it’s time to go home” the bartender, called tate, i watch you fall on the bar almost without being able to take your own weight on your body “do you have someone to call?”

that question broke you, you didn’t have anyone, Joyce couldn’t pick you up, much less eddie or nancy, Jonathan would be spending his last days with nancy...robin.

“robin, uhm, robin could come for me” you spoke dragging the words completely forgetting that robin was driving a second-hand bike and barely driving it correctly. when you dictated the number you didn’t exactly give his number, you gave that of steve harrington, better known as your ex-boyfriend.

for some reason the one who answered if it was Robin, who was staying at Steve’s house to accompany him since the battle of the shopping center had passed.

“hey, robin?, talk to the barista of the hideout... I have an older mini hopper here and I need them to come for her” the barista talked to the blonde making her get up from the guest room almost falling out of bed

“is she okay?” Robin walked with the big cable and the phone in his hand towards the worried room, he only received the obvious answer that you were very drunk and that you could hardly with your own body. “uhm, we will go there in 15 minutes maximum”

robin took his clothes and began to knock on the door of steve’s room forcefully until the tall boy with candy eyes appeared with scrambled hair, with a less swollen face and a scar on his cheekbone.

“robin, it’s two in the morning, now what?” Steve seemed annoyed, he had barely got the dream and when he was doing it Robin came to interrupt

“get dressed and let’s go to hideout” Robin spoke putting on his shirt and his red sneakers, looked for his glasses before turning to see steve again

“why?, i don’t feel like a night out for drinks robs” when steve was about to return to his room, Robin said your name and that you needed them, then don’t hesitate two seconds to take his shoes and his jacket to get to the door and take the keys to his car.

robin didn’t say anything on the trip, you could feel the anxiety of the two of you, you had sworn that you were fine, you just needed time alone to be able to mentalize everything you were going through, steve internally was very sorry for everything, especially if he had listened to you.

“here, i’ll go get her” robin spoke by taking off his belt before seeing steve do exactly the same thing as her, turn off the car and start unbuttoning his belt “what are you supposed to do?”

“what do i do? go with you, duh” he replied looking at the bar that he had gone a few times just to distract himself with robin or without her, he let out a sigh and thought of you. will you be okay?

as soon as they entered the bar they found everything, a couple at a table, a group of drunks on a corner and the bar almost empty but not the bar, you were with two shots in your hands taking them at the same time, I knew tate, I knew who tate was and I was in front of you taking out and drying glasses while I tried to talk to you.

“hey” steve greeted the barista while robin approached to see if you were missing any eyelashes or if you were fine, you were less because of the scar that the Russians had left on your forehead, an open wound. He did the same, with his heart in his hand watching you from his place.

you had a blue dress, his favorite color, your black boots, running makeup, implying that you had cried and gone through all your stages of drunkenness, you didn’t have a bag, you didn’t have anything, it was just you and that’s it.

“time to go home” Robin murmured to you looking at your three rounds of shots, you denied twice as you approached to hug her “it’s time to go home”

“i have no place to stay,” you replied by closing your eyes, “the cabin was destroyed and I don’t want to bother Joyce” and if it was true, you had nowhere to stay.

steve let out a sigh watching Robin help you get up to start walking staggering, in a curve to the door of the bar where you stopped as soon as you had reached the middle of the road to the car. I try not to touch you, or approach you I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.

what you did feel was the vomit in your throat and you couldn’t help but vomit on the sidewalk, Robin was intolerant of vomiting and pushed away most of his body almost letting you fall making steve take his place, taking you by the sides off your hair away from your face, caressing your back and then taking off his jacket and putting it on your shoulders.

he didn’t avoid it and took you in his arms, giving the keys to Robin to open the back seat, Robin went up with you to the back seat to prevent you from being alone and Steve drove as fast as he could to his house.

you babbled a lot of things, Robin caressed your hair and saw your violet, green and scarred knuckles, he remembered when they saw you with your hand bleeding when trying to derive the metal wall to get steve out and be able to run from the Russian basements but you only hurt yourself.

“head up” Robin murmured taking your head to raise it gently, steve when parking, took his keys and approached you, watched Robin and was tired “i’ll go get a bottle of water for her”

they walked to the kitchen, he was with you in your arms and leaving you on the couch to start taking off your shoes, your legs had bruises but it was covered with your black socks.

“head up, cute” steve murmured seeing you almost fall on your own weight, before opening your mouth when Robin asked you to be able to give you water and hydrate “you can go to sleep if you want, i have it from here”

“i’ll look for something for-“ robin murmured taking the water bottle before seeing steve deny

“i’ll give him a t-shirt of mine, i just need you to help me open the door of my room and that’s it,” he asked again, carrying your arms again, your hands on his neck and his hands under your thighs.

robin looked at you on the couch and her heart became so small that she couldn’t feel it, she felt miserable with her life but... you? you had practically been orphaned, the only person I had seen for you since he met you had left

“claire called” you murmured as soon as steve sat you in his bed “i can’t stay at his house even in the apartment he has here and he doesn’t use” you laughed with your eyes closed “i just want to sleep and not wake up in days, she supposed to be my mom, not someone else, i’m not a niece, i’m her daughter.”

steve looked at your face and couldn’t help but smile again, he had never stopped thinking about you, even he was the one who refused to end the relationship but you insisted so much that he couldn’t fight, it had only been a week but there wasn’t a day that he didn’t pick up the phone to call Joyce and ask her how you were doing.

the only answer he had during that week had been “eddie said he doesn’t want to get out of bed”, everything remained the same in his bathroom, your side and his side, hopper never felt safe with anyone leaving his daughters alone, never but with Steve with him it was different just by seeing him take care of you when you were in danger.

steve took the makeup remover, a towel and walked towards you in silence, he didn’t need any more but if you wanted to talk, he would listen to you, take care of your face and gently remove the makeup before kissing your forehead and going back to his drawers to take out a t-shirt and small pants that you would have left here.

this was your last year before supposedly going to college but everything had changed, what are you supposed to do now?, I didn’t need to see you sunk again, not again, he saw you when both were just sad teenagers when your little sister passed away and she couldn’t afford to even leave you alone for more than a minute.

he gave you space to change and when he left he saw robin standing at the door of his room with a glass of water and a pill in his hand, aspirin for the headache, it was supposed to help with the hangover.

“you can go to sleep, robs, tomorrow you have to go to play at school” steve murmured and robin raised his shoulders

“i can ask sharon to replace me, i want to see how she is doing,” he murmured in response looking at the door ajar, steve denied before leaving what he had in his hands on his bedside table and I look at you on the edge of the bed before seeing him approach you and sit next to you.

she took a bucket from the guest bathroom and went back to her room to see you curled up on your side taking Robin’s hand while you spoke softly.

“when el came into my life i hated her and now i think i can’t live without her” you murmured on your pillow “i signed the notification to Joyce so that I can take her to Cali and if i can’t where to stay maybe i’ll go with them and share a room with John, i don’t know”

you voice was clear but at the same time broken and really dragged, you let out a sigh and yawned before going back to sleep without letting go of Robin’s hand.

“i- uhm, i’ll go to sleep” robin murmured kissing your cheek and leaving the room

your head hurt and you couldn’t regret it more than ever for having drunk in your entire life, you weren’t at home, that was obvious, the smell was so familiar, cozy and made you feel safe. it was a familiar smell, very masculine but at the same time comfortable

you looked around to find the place of steve’s bed, next to the door because you hated sleeping with your back to the door, with two pictures on his nightstand, one only where you were and another where you two were, with the faces glued together and you wearing the scoops hat today of steve on his head while steve was just smiling.

you took the aspirin and looked at steve’s side again, gently and correctly settled as if he had slept there, you took momentum and began to leave the room not without first drinking mouthwash to be able to look decent just a little.

“hey, good afternoon” robin was on the couch reading a magazine before you entered the living room and you will walk to the sofa and become a ball next to him “steve was for lunch, my treatment, and for a few more things”

you nodded softly before cuddling in your place “steve must be upset for having called them in the middle of the night”

“steve didn’t sleep all night or what was left just to see you sleep and avoid that while you were asleep you got into your own vomit” robin heard you laugh before hugging you by the shoulders “i made you breakfast but i don’t think you want to eat now”

you denied before reading with her or just sleep a little more on her shoulder until your headache goes down, taking advantage of how tall Robin was and curling up in her.

“i will go to help steve, have” robin support the cushion under your head before walking to steve and taking everything had in her hands, a box of pizza, better known to you as, hangover food, Chinese and Mexican food in bags before leaving them at the nearest table.

“y/n’s boxes are in my car, strangely there are not many and I think it’s because half of his things are here but it doesn’t matter” steve spoke softly approaching his car with robin before opening the trunk “joyce told me that she was genuinely surprised by the firm but because he didn’t want to leave but i hear them talk and told him that he would help Mike to travel to Cali because they currently they wouldn’t have a place to stay if they both stayed”

robin let out a sigh before helping steve all the boxes and leaving them in the hallway between the kitchen and the living room before looking at you curled up on the couch, showered and with wet hair but with the same pajamas.

“hey” you murmured when you saw steve approaching you to spread the pizza box “thank you” you smiled taking the box before seeing him sit next to you and just hug him tightly by the neck “i’m very sorry, i shouldn’t have finished in fact I didn’t want to finish with you but i had never felt so alone” you murmured over his ear letting out everything you felt, you opened your heart to steve and that’s what was worth it now.

steve nodded before kissing your cheeks and then placing your cheeks in his hands “it would have been much better if you were completely sincere to me and you had told me that you didn’t have things in control, being vulnerable is never wrong, in fact i think it’s the most normal thing in the world” steve whispered on your cheek leaving a kiss after sitting on his lap

when you sat down you couldn’t help but see the boxes in heaps behind you, that you knew they were yours not only because it was your letter or because there were random drawings of max and eleven in the boxes, but because there was a box called “the steve’s box” your box where you kept everything about steve just because you were hurt and angry with yourself.

“uhm, why? why are my boxes here?” you murmured to steve and he turned his face gently before raising his shoulders

“you’re moving in with me,” he reported watching Robin walk to the kitchen with two dishes and the bags in his arms. “you can unpack the boxes today or wait until tomorrow, i can help”

you closed your eyes before letting out a soft sigh and kissing steve’s cheek with a thank you and looking at your pizza.

“joyce says that you can come by tomorrow to say goodbye to the children before leaving for Cali,” you whisper before letting go to let you eat the whole pizza.

you ate, you saw your cameras, photos and your clothes, curled up on the couch looking at your books, about what else to leave eleven because you had given her several things that she had ever looked at.

you had done everything but you couldn’t help but think of your father. who, despite having had everything and at the same time nothing, did everything to give it to you. all this wasn’t fair, it didn’t seem fair to you

“have this” you murmured extending the cup of coffee to steve who was practically almost asleep on his side of the bed before watching you sit on the foot of the bed “thank you for going for me last night, I didn’t know where to go and I ended up at the bar”

“now you can come here” steve pat next to him drinking coffee before seeing you crawl to his side and resting your head on his shoulder “should I ask you again to be my girlfriend or...?”

you denied “i faithfully believe that when you finish for a week it doesn’t count” you laughed while kissing his cheek softly “thank you for making me feel like someone”

“for me you will always be my someone”

[thestrangestthing89]

I feel like for the most part, the show has done a great job showing what life was like in the 80s but that doesn't mean they aren't allowed to take artistic license with some things. It's not a documentary but a fictional show being written in 2023. They are allowed to add a more modern approach to certain things since that's where the audience is coming from.

I think the main message of the show is supposed to be about found family and overcoming adversity. The bullies always lose, and not only that, the bullies aren't ever part of the main cast. Billy was there for two seasons and was the bad guy and he dies. The middle school bullies lose. Steve was a bully in Season 1 and reformed and is likable now. Jason dies.

All of the main characters are outcasts in some way and find support with each other. I don't think this is unrealistic. People who don't fit in tend to band together. But I also don't think it's a problem if people who would have normally been homophobic IRL aren't shown to be on this show. A cop in real life would have likely been homophobic, but that doesn't mean they are required to show Hopper as that. He already knows Will is gay because Joyce told him in the first episode. His "is he?" comment in response to this was not judgmental, he was looking for clarification. He's gone out of his way to help Will. He could have ignored that he went missing and no one during this time would have questioned it. But that didn't happen. He's consistently show as someone who doesn't do things in the conventional way (a major theme of the show). This show likes to invert tropes and not having Hopper be depicted as the cowboy someone like him frequently is shown as, isn't a bad thing. It's keeping in line with the themes of the story. He's messier than this and he frequently questions and works against authority/institutions to protect his family.

Same thing goes for the Wheelers. They are shown to slowly start questioning their conventional upbringing even though they have a Reagan sign on the lawn. Karen almost has an affair and isn't happy in her marriage. She is also shown to emotionally support her kids. She isn't going to suddenly start shouting homophobic things at Mike because she mentioned Margaret Thatcher's name one time in a vague conversation. They are allowed to show the complexities of human behavior. Even Ted starts to question the media propaganda at the end of the season. He's realizing that the normal explanations aren't holding up. It doesn't matter if this would or wouldn't have happened IRL. It's a story. And showing them questioning convention falls in line with the themes of the story they have been telling from the beginning.

I think the Reagan sign is there to show what kind of town Hawkins is and how the Wheelers fit into that. But when the whole town starts hunting Hellfire Club we can plainly see that the parents are not on board with this and are worried about their kids. They are questioning the mindset of the town. They are questioning the conventional ideals they were taught. They think separately from the masses because the masses are hurting their kids.

The bullies have consistently worked against the main characters. The whole point is that they work together as a team to overcome their problems. I think Season 4 was meant to be a set up for what's to come for Mike and Will next season (and obviously for the rest of the characters too but specifically with regard to homophobia). It's showing how these characters are outsiders in their own town, but not within their group. Like it always has. It has consistently done this since the beginning. This isn't working against the 80s backdrop in any way. They are using familiar themes from 80s movies and giving them a modern twist. They aren't trying to write another 80s movie as if we still live in that time.

[thewritersaddictions]

Drabbles: The Adults- Shut Eye

What would they do if they felt, and saw you fall asleep on their shoulder.

Steve Harrington

Steve isn't sure how to react. He's spent all of his life being refrained from touch. His parents weren't touchy, and his girlfriends or boyfriend have never been touchy. But you aren't his, you're his best friend, and he's been crushing hard on you since the day you two meet

You guys were supposed to be watching a movie. Supposed to be joking back and forth about the random character lines. Instead, you've tucked your legs under your ass and slumped close up to Steve. Somehow you've managed to fall asleep during the funniest bit of the movie.

Steves heart stops, he can feel how heavy you've been getting on his shoulder. and the second he looks down he can't help but die a little inside. He snuggles up to your warmth. Doesn't dare to move or pull you in closer, but does snuggle up close enough. Before he turns his gaze back to the movie he gives a small quick kiss on your forehead. Wishes there he was able to tell you his feelings. When he's done daydreaming he returns his attention to the movie.

Eddie Munson

Eddie loves how you just melt right into his side. He’s always been touchy that’s just how he is. You falling asleep on his shoulder only makes his heart pump more. You guys are at the local outdoor movie theater.

Spending the last few warm nights outs doing the best summer things. He had brought all of his blankets and pillows from his house to make a makeshift bed for the two of you to share in the back of his van. Eddie isn’t sure what to do, the second movie is coming on in a few minutes. He wants to wake you so he can listen to you judge the hell out of the movie and its dialogues. But at the same time he doesn’t, he wants to leave you there sleeping up against his shoulder. Contentment crosses your soft features, he wants nothing more than you kiss your forehead and fall asleep next to you.

“Fuck the other movie!” He whispers to himself as he kicks his boots off and settles better next to you. He warmed up next to you and fell asleep to your slow beats and breaths.

Robin Buckley

She isn’t sure how you fell asleep she was talking your ear off. She doesn’t even notice until she’s asked for your opinion on something she was stalking about and you haven’t responded. You’re deep in sleep, mouth agape and you look so fucking peaceful.

Robin isn’t sure what you guys are. Are you together or just the best of friends. She’s the best of friends with Steve but you and are something different. Robin is excitedly giddy as she sees you sleeping on her shoulder.

She likes how you feel pressed up again her. She loves that you feel so relaxed and comfortable with her that you’ll just fall asleep like that. She can’t help but stare down at you, your breathing is steady and she returning to talking. Instead this time she talks about how she loves your smile. How she can’t wait to see you the next time, and how she loves the way your eyes light up when you walk through the family video stores doors and see her working the front desk.

Nancy Wheeler

You’d been helping her all day in the school's news paper room. Nancy’s got ink all over her hands from rewording things. You’d watched her from afar and at some points Nancy had even asked for your help with certain sections wanting an external opinion on this topic or issue she was working through.

When lunch rolled around she had gone out and bought you two something too much on and returned to you sitting on a little futon in the room. She came over to give you your lunch. Halfway through you had rested your head on her shoulder.

She began sorting through more clippings, and when she looked over you were slumped again on her shoulder. Snoring lightly, she smiled and looked so happy. Contentment wearing through her body. Nancy can’t help but want to cover you up with the blanket that was thrown on the back of the futon.

Billy Hargrove

Since the two of you had started going out. You had gotten Billy into reading more. Larger books somehow made their way into his space and his hands. You two were chilling in his room. The two of you read separate books, but when he saw out of the corner of his eye your book fall slightly from your hands.

Billy wondered what was going on on your side of his bed. When he looked over your eyes were closed and your mouth was agape. Looking so pretty and peaceful, he felt a string of rare emotions through his mind. He froze, anger was always first. Then when you snuggled deeper into his warmth and touch he cracked a rare smile.

He looked down at his book. He began to read the words out loud. Something you always did for him or so you told him. “The world is indeed full of peril, and in it, there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows, perhaps, the greater." Lord of the Rings had always been your favorite.

Argyle

Come on now Argyle isn't surprised at all that you'd fallen asleep on his shoulder. The smoke in the van was wafting around. The mix of pizza and weed smoke. The two of you had been smoking all night, all through your shifts, and now as the two of you waited and laughed at the goofy shit.

You closed your eyes, contentment rolling through your tired shoulders. You hadn't meant to fall asleep, your high was coming down and as much as your tummy growled with aches of hunger pains you ignored them and fell asleep on Argyle's shoulder.

It had gone silent in the small space of the van. Lights had gone down as the night sky took over. Argyle is the sweetest guy you knew, but he also was the highest guy you knew. So regarding you falling asleep on his shoulder, he didn't dare shrug you off just resting his own head on top of yours.

Jonathan Byers

You both had been up all through the night and into the early morning. Jonathan had convinced you to stay up till the morning sky turned bright orange and the sun rose from behind the clouds of night. Jonathan had also convinced you to travel to the top of your roof. Climb from your bedroom window and sit there on your roof while the sun rose.

Jonathan gathered his camera and followed you out onto the shingled roof. Late morning early dawn you two gathered yourself onto the roof. Nothing but mere small bits of conversation flew through the both of you. Noting how the cars starting to venture out of their garages and into normal daily life. Jonathan had simply wanted to take pictures of the rising sun.

His plan was rather taken aside when your head fell to his shoulder. He worried that he had bored you with the simplistic questions her asked you earlier, but then you moved ever so slightly. More into his warmth, it was still cold. Nights like this always were. He let himself enjoy the way you snuggled into his warmth. Jonathan set his camera down on the flattest part of the roof and wrapped his arm around you pulling you closer to his body.

Completed on: 04/16/23

Posted on: 04/22/23

The Adults- @yourfavdummy @mothermirkwood

[neonponders]

Hot take that no one asked for:

Hopper is supposed to be borderline unpalatable. He’s been getting the same watering down treatment as Steve.

Remember in season 1 when Joyce first reports that Will is missing? And Hopper’s like “The most likely person to take a kid is a family member. Have you spoken to Lonnie?” and Joyce explains that Lonnie basically disowned Will after calling him a fag multiple times?

And Hopper’s response was, “Is he?”

Like...Hopper’s interest in finding Will is already premeditated on whether or not this kid is straight ie important. The way this show uses queer hatred as a crutch is actually infuriating, but side-stepping all that, he’s then willing to take a chance and carve into an alarmingly convincing but still fake Will’s body. Just to “check.”

This is what makes him interesting. He’s dirty, and willing to get dirty. This is what makes him finding Eleven good. He’s not a gold-star person. He’s actually kinda shitty. That’s what made this show interesting in the whole damn place:

These characters were real. They were shitty, tried to be better, kinda stayed shitty because that’s what kept them alive.

Welcome to my introduction of why it didn’t make sense to kill Billy Hargrove -

[skyfall8600]

Sucked In: Chap 25: Senior Year

Summary: You wake up in the world of Stranger Things before the events of Season 4. Are you able to help in the fight against Vecna, and save the man of your dreams?

Pair: Eddie Munson x fem!Reader

Warnings: sadness, swearing, sad Eddie

Main Eddie Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 24

Next: Chapter 26

[1.8k words] - sorry this is a little shorter than usual, still getting my mojo back

1985

Much to Eddie’s surprisement, repeating school the third time round and at a younger age meant he actually knew what was going on most of the time. Of course, that did have to do with the fact that every test, topic, trick question…. Where all exactly the same as the first time around. Did that mean Eddie was achieving high grades? No, he still hated school and did the bare minimum work needed, but that did mean that he was no where near failing this time. 

The only downfall of it all, was the fact that there was still no sign of you. Keeping true to his word, he may have sabotaged his chances of graduating the first time. After all, it was during Senior Year you were supposed to meet, how could he graduate without finding you? 

Despite what everyone said, they all practically stopped looking once the two year mark hit. There was no trace of you or anyone of your description. The only thing he had of you was his memories and his drawings; originally they started out rather terrible but during the two years he had improved. He was proud of himself that he was almost able to capture your smile onto the page. 

He had to admit though, school was a lot more bearable this time round. The social dynamic changes that followed were for the best. Sure, there were still people who kept to themselves, but overall everyone was free to do as they pleased. Dress however they want. Play whatever music they felt like. 

It meant that when things went wrong, Eddie was no longer the first target people blamed. And he was relieved for that. 

In the meantime, he wanted to keep the promise he made to you that day back in the Upside Down. He got a second chance at life, and he wasn’t going to waste it. School may not be his top priority, but he found things to love in all aspects of his life. The band with Gareth and the others was more liked than they originally had been, purely because Eddie may have taught them a few songs that were yet to be written, out of courtesy to you. 

The group was glad when Max moved into town, some things never changed that way. Her brother was still an ass, but she was no longer afraid of him. Their relationship changed into something of a love-hate relationship, and as much as Billy tried to deny it, he did care for his little sister. 

But upon Max’s arrival, it brought Eddie’s mind back down into the rabbit hole. For the first few months he was desperate, trying to encourage Jane to search for you. But it always reached a dead end. By the start of 1985, Eddie had convinced himself that perhaps you were sent back to the other world where he was only a character on the screen. From everything you said about your life back in the other world, he desperately didn’t want it to be true. You were miserable and alone there, and if you happened to remember everything the it would have been even worse. 

He tried not to let his thoughts get ahead of him; he preoccupied himself the best way he could. Through music and D&D. Hellfire club had reached it full potential now that Will joined, although the younger kids were one year away from attending the High school, Eddie made them all honorary members within an instant. 

“And now, with the final gates barricaded and gold in hand, Steve the Almighty presented his peace offering to the goblins. If they reject, blood shall spill down the Leonin river.” Eddie said, echoing his voice with suspense as all eyes were on him. “Does Steve the Almighty go through with the offering?”

Steve knitted his eyebrows together, looking down at the makeshift map the Dungeon Master created. Even though Steve may have joined Hellfire to play an occasional game with the children, he never was one for remembering all the rules or key events of each campaign . 

“Ah, yes he shall…” Steve said rather unsurely, grabbing the dice and getting ready to roll. 

“For the love of god Steve, if you fuck this up-“ Dustin started to curse at him, everyone else merely watched eagerly. 

Will’s breath caught in his throat when the dice started to roll on the table. The only thing that could be heard was the direct hit against the wood, until the rolling eventually stopped. Revealing the number twelve at the top of the dice, Dustin was the first to scream and bounce around the room. 

Rolling his eyes and ignoring his young friend, Eddie proceeded with the story. 

“And so no blood was spilt and the Goblins accepted the treaty. Steve the Almighty crosses into the gate, where he is met with luscious green vines and flowers of all colours. The rest of the journey appeared to be in the clear distance, and Steve the Almighty would soon be reunited with his fellow knights and brothers in arms. Until then, he would need to locate someone to help him break the final curse upon his blade.” 

Eddie smiled as he watched everyone slump into their chairs, relieved that they got to live another day. 

Steve was in charge of driving all the kids home, but Eddie was glad for the quiet. As much as he loved having game nights and Hellfire, whenever it got to the packing up stage and he found himself in the janitor's closet, it always made him think about the day he officially met you. The way the two of you got locked away in the steaming room together, both full of nerves but drawn to each other nonetheless. 

And now it was only him standing there, remembering. It was all he could do. 

The following day in school, Eddie may have slept in for too long and missed the entire two first periods of the day. He drove like a madman in his van, almost leaving skid marks in the parking lot. 

Ignoring the teachers and dodging students who were moving from class to class, Eddie managed to sneak his way into his chemistry class easily. He was on a mutual agreement with Mr. Daniels that as long as Eddie was punctual to class, he couldn’t call on him during the lesson to answer things on the spot. 

Robin was his lab partner and she had an unusual grin on her face as soon as she sat down next to Eddie. In hindsight, Mr Daniels quickly learnt to regret his decision of letting them partner up together; there may have been more explosions and fires than he has ever seen two students produce in a science class. 

“What’s that look for?” Eddie asked her. 

Robin simply smiled, her eyes staring off into the corner as though she was dreaming something pleasant. Or potentially high. 

“I just feel like it’s gonna be a good day. Such a good day with all our favourite people.” She started to ramble. “You know we really should start to document the year, both you and Steve will be graduating soon and it’ll be such a shame if we don’t have photos of us four all together during our last year in school together.” 

Eddie snorted, “Don’t forget I’m originally supposed to fail this year too, 1986 is more like when it’ll happen.” 

“I don’t know, I got a good feeling about this year.” She smiled again. 

The rest of the day followed in a similar fashion. All his friends smiled and side eyed him like they knew something he didn’t. He probably should have cared more to look into it. With how chaotic his morning was, he can’t even remember brushing his teeth let alone putting energy in to find out what his friends knew. 

Nancy caught up on his lack of hygiene at lunch, she made a look of disgust and sighed into her bag for some gum and makeup wipes so he could clean his face. 

“Nancy, I’m touched. But I doubt people are going to care if I washed my face this morning.” He said, stuffing some of his chips into his mouth.

“Perhaps it’s for our benefit, huh? You bloody reek Munson, when’s the last time you showered?” Steve said, covering his nose with his shirt. 

“Why? You wanna join in and scrub my back, pretty boy?” Eddie teased, he took a sniff of himself and groaned. “And I’ll have you know, I showered last night but picked up a shirt I’ve been meaning to wash for a few… I wanna say days but I feel like it’s been longer— okay? It’s not me, it’s the shirt.” 

“Mmhm.”

“What is up with you lot today?” He huffed. 

They shared glances between each other, and for once Eddie was upset that Dustin wasn’t around. God knows that the kid couldn’t keep a secret even if his life depended on it, in some way he’d let something slip. 

“Do you have a different shirt in your van?” Nancy asked with a smile, “I mean you weren’t kidding that it’s the shirt….” 

Rolling his eyes, Eddie pushed back against the table and the screech of the chair sliding against the floor echoed around the whole cafeteria. “As the princess commands…” 

He didn’t take it to heart. After everything the group has been through and the three years of solid friendship, Eddie loved them. Together they made up one very very dysfunctional family. 

As soon as Eddie was out of their sight, Robin was the first to break. “Are you sure we can’t just tell him?” 

Nancy smiled so brightly, “No way! Imagine when he sees her?! But god, trying to get him to smell descent shouldn’t be this much of an issue.” 

“It’s just a bad day for him, he’s not normally this much of a mess.” 

“Oh yeah, you should’ve seen him in chemistry. He was so nervous the entire time, normally there’s no fear— do… Do you think he subconsciously knows she’s here?” Robin said, her voice pitching with excitement. 

“Doubtful, I overheard her this morning and she’s trying to have meetings with all the teachers. That’s why she’s not having lunch, I can’t blame her though, coming into the middle of your senior year must be hard.” Steve said. 

Nancy's smile fell suddenly, “Oh.” 

“Oh what?” 

Tears started to fill her eyes when it all finally clicked to her. “If she’s more focused on school rather than coming to see us, or see Eddie… then she doesn’t remember. But— we all remember, how could she not remember?” 

Silence fell upon the group. It was like the final piece of the puzzle was dangling out in front of them, but just out of reach. 

“We can’t know that for certain, let’s just see how things go.” Steve said, trying to be reassuring. But the seed of fear was already planted inside their heads, and they were worried for their dear friend if it was true. True that you were finally here but had no memory of them, or of ever loving Eddie. 

______________________________________________________________________

IF I HAVE MISSED ANYONE IN THE TAGS PLEASE COMMENT ON THIS POST! It is too hard to keep track of tag request on asks or other messages. Also let me know if the tags aren't working! 

So this came out earlier than usual. I needed a break from just studying, both mentally and physically because my physics exam is on Monday and today my brain was just like “no stop”. So even though I have the biggest headache of my life, I am in no way to actually attempt to do physics questions today. Thus, you all got a gift from me. 

Eddie TAGLIST:

@silky-luxe @fentyreligion @littlelunarfox @coconutchumby @eempxth @superflannel @fluffycookies22 @yearwalker96 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @grungegrrrl​@m1rkw00dpr1ncess @dixontardis @buckyslwts @bratckerman @dani-d0rk @musicmoviestv @tomshelbystits @reddisteddie @ungracefularchimedes @santaatemypuppy @cherryrevenger @chipster-21​ @grungegrrrl @azaleaforsure 

Series Taglist: 

@assassinsasha23 @dreamingsmile @introvertedmouse @thegirlwhohides @gobringmemyfood @munchabunch @empty-and-nameless @el1997 @gooblerstan @bigbundabucket @theprettyandthereckless @earthtokace @ifellinlovewithawarsblog @secretsicanthideanymore @blueberryhitosh1 @maryan028 @bakugouswh0r3  @loliakeoghan23 @gamorxa  @stardustworlds @bakugouswh0r3 @taeddybearkim @azaleaitsgreen @eddiemunsonslips @awhoreforeddiemunson @strangerthingsstories5255 @queenotaku23 @sweetberry47 @sammararaven @anothermunsonsimp @megumimind @zephyrs-world ​@thegirlwhohides@lem0nb0iii @whoreforhowl @kaitebugg03 @preciousbabypeter @snapped-chopstick @cutiecusp @sl-tfor-joseph-quinn  @crescent-moon-palace @silky-luxe @resident-gay-bitch @anonymousstoryteller2000

[toobusybeingdelulu]

look who is speaking…

[thestobingirlie]

I think Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and Max’s plotlines in S4 would’ve been a lot better if there was a focus on the relationships between the four of them.

For one, Lucas taking up basketball is an excellent opportunity for Steve-bonding and then Dustin getting jealous and latching onto not only the only other older dude in his life, but one interested in the same hobbies as him and therefore in no danger of ‘abandoning’ him. And if Dustin was just some kid in his club to Eddie before things went to shit? The drama. If Eddie was supposed to just be another version of Steve to Dustin they could’ve at least not been lazy about it.

For two, Dustin and Lucas were Max’s first friends in Hawkins and the love and support they give her should’ve been shown and explored just as much as her romantic one with Lucas.

As a side note, I think having Erica be noticeably upset when she learns about Max would’ve added a lot to both of their characters. Partially because the duffers don’t give Erica much of anything (as interesting as she is, she’s one of the worst written characters in my opinion) and partially because Max has been in Lucas’s life for almost two years by this point, which means Erica would have been somewhat close to her as well. Everyone got a reaction to Max being cursed except her. That’s her brother’s girlfriend on the chopping block! She’s going to care!

And finally, Billy was specifically written to be Steve’s foil so having Steve there successfully older brothering Max while she grapples with the grief of her actual brother’s death, what their relationship should have been vs what it actually was, would’ve and could’ve been an absolute sucker punch of emotional turmoil. Just the idea of Max feeling guilty over viewing Steve as more of a brother than Billy and wishing Billy could’ve been more like Steve when Billy did nothing to earn her care before dying in front of her is the kind of lost potential that keeps me up at night.

i will always fight for more time for my junkyard four, regardless of their arcs. but also, i totally agree, i think a lot of their plot lines were actually involved with each other, but for some reason we just didn’t get to actually see the relationships.

yeah, the whole jealousy thing is really underused and kinda weird, it would’ve been really cool if it went two ways! dustin jealous of lucas and steve’s bond, and then steve jealous of dustin and eddie, as both boys think the other two have more in common. and then the resolution. eddie telling steve that dustin worships him, and lucas telling dustin that steve talks about him all the time. and then we can get a conversation between dustin and steve where they hug and tell each other that they’re brothers and they love each other <3

dustin and max have really been forgotten about and it’s pretty sad. i get that dustin had a little crush on her, but he’s not the type to hold it against her. they’ve had so few scenes since s2, it’s tragic. just another example of the duffers prioritising romance over friendship.

i wish we’d gotten erica and max this season instead of nancy and robin. like, imagine that girl power team. it would’ve been fun to get any erica and max interaction, even maybe erica being a bit standoffish to max, because of all the lumax drama.

steve literally is max’s big brother, and the duffers don’t give him enough credit. like, max confiding in steve and opening up about her guilt, and steve reassuring her. ugh, that would’ve killed me.

it’s interesting because even though max has such a big role this season, i still feel like she got kinda tossed aside. i guess because we have such a huge cast now, it’s hard to focus on anyone. that’s why they need to start killing off characters. but not any of my favourites

but yeah, the junkyard four and erica, i would kill for them.

[findafight]

THANK YOU for the scoops troop post starcourt fic bc it’s been driving me CRAZY that the whole tortured by Russian MILITARY as teenagers was never brought up again!? Especially with Steve - like I don’t know how my guy handles physical touch and affection after all he’s been through physically and emotionally and he’s written off as a haha character most of the time but there’s SO much there with trauma, especially since the only other person with an inkling of what happened with the Russians is Robin

Ahhh yeah continuing this fic is definitely on the list. sorry this gets a little rambling and idk if it makes sense. Because obviously Steve and Robin don't outright tell Dustin and Erica what happened but they're smart kids and sort figured there was some light torture happening. And when you're running on adrenaline a lot of stuff doesn't register right away, so they have to have a chat about that and guilt for 'letting' it happen.

And like, they could have mentioned it when everyone regrouped in the food court but by that point Robin and Steve were crashing from Russian drugs and I can only assume they thought it was pretty obvious where they'd been what with Erica telling Murray how to actually get in. But then it's over and Hopper is dead and so is billy so it's not even the biggest deal that they were tortured and Robin definitely thought Steve was dead for a bit. They can deal with it together.

With Steve it's like "haha Steve is slow on the uptake and doesn't understand a lot and isn't very smart and asks a lot of dumb questions" and never "steve has had two severe concussions within a year of each other and he still graduated highschool on time only to be concussed AGAIN" my poor beloved blorbo please someone let him rest. And I desperately want one of the actual adult members of the upside down crew to realize that he's just sort of. Dealt with it by himself or with Robin, that he doesn't have the same support network as the party or Joyce and Hop or Nancy and Jonathan (who both have siblings that understand, Jon with his mom as well). And yeah he has Robin after S3, and Dustin is basically his brother, but it's different, because the only one who he'd remotely be absolutely honest with is Robin, who also only has him, and actually it's a miracle they're functional at all.

And I want Steve to be confused why the Grown Ups are mad (worried?) That he didn't tell them he and Robin were actually literally tortured because they all had better things to do, they had no obligations to Steve. He and Robin had each other, and he and Robin supported Dustin and Erica, and they're all fine now. The first few months were rough, sure, but now it's okay.

Plus the fact that the Byers were moving leaving Steve as the oldest person besides Murray who didn't live in Hawkins who knew about the upsidedown. He was the one that was supposed to be in charge and responsible, because no one else should have to do that when they're all trying to move on, so what good would telling Joyce, who would be far from Hawkins and its horrors, about how he could barely wear his watch sometime because it reminded him of being tied back to back with Robin. She couldn't do anything about it and she didn't get it the way Robin would.

So he and Robin have sleep overs and long talks so they're semi functional and can help Erica and Dustin work through it too. They deal with it together, because none of their parents know and Steve is accustomed to adults being unreliable even without world ending secrets involved. And there aren't any grown ups around anyways so. He's the grown up of the group and it's his job to make sure all the kids are okay.

I think out of anyone outside of Scoops Troop, Lucas probably knows the most because Erica is his sister and now she knows he gets her to talk about it. She's reluctant at first because he wasn't there, but does, because Lucas is her big brother and he is there for her. And while he and Steve were friends after Billy in S2 and Steve's protective streak, Lucas gets really close to Steve with Erica, because they're both clingy to each other and Steve, for all he's basically a bag of nervously shaking chihuahuas with hairspray and ibuprofen keeping him from breaking down at any given moment he isn't holding Robin's hand, seems like a stable force in their lives.

[wheelercore]

Mike and Ted parallels: is there more to it?

It's known that the ST production crew love subverting cliches to give a more real view of what people were actually going through in the 80s. Karen, the diligent housewife and mother, is actually deeply unhappy with the life she settled for due to the misogyny at the time of her coming of age. Nancy, smart, perfect and actively rejects the idea of a nuclear family she grew up in, doesn't end up with Steve, the older richer popular guy who likes her, but Jonathan, the outcast. Billy, the typical 80s macho man, is revealed to have lived with an abusive father for most his life after losing his only maternal presence. Mike, the male protagonist, is introduced to the female protagonist, El, and almost immediately starts an expected "love at first sight" relationship with her- only for it to turn sour and maybe break up in season 5.

However Ted, the typical emotionally distant, disciplinarian, and slightly mean comic relief 80s father, is the only character that has an archetype and sticks to it completely until now. For other characters these cliches are meant to be expectations in the form of obstacles but yet Ted is ironically unique among the Wheelers in that fact that he is one dimensional. He at times seems shockingly out of the loop, can't read the room, cannot take serious situations with any form of levity, and barely has a relationships with his own children. It all comes off as fake to me.

Why is this?

A question I believe is answered through Mike's character arc.

Mike's been paralleled to his father increasingly often in s3-s4. Which is interesting. Parallels have been kept to a minimum before, yet it isn't until Mike hits puberty and became hyperaware of societal expectations did he start to parallel his father. The most obvious has been clothing choices and the most subtle have been restricting POV.

Colors/outfits/bears

In season 3, Mike is undergoing a sexuality crisis. True to the writers words- the monster is supposed to symbolize "puberty".

The first outfit we see Mike wearing that parallels Ted is the teal polo shirt:

This scene shows Mike's gay panic over being in the men's sauna. Even before he opens the door, he's passing by men changing in the locker room and exercising on equipment (a direct parallel to s4 Mike where he talking to the wrestler and is framed directly with men exercising behind him). We see from this scene which type of men Mike is attracted to: muscular, taller, larger men. Bears to be exact.

Onto the end of the season we see El kiss Mike with a stuffed bear between them:

Also obviously- the open closet and Mike's open eyes. He's not into it. He's realizing for the final time, coming to terms with the fact and finally admitting to himself that he doesn't like girls. What is between him and El is Mike's sexuality- symbolized by a toy bear, his specific preference for attraction of men.

This is emphasized much more on s4.

In between those two scenes we get Ted at the fair wearing the same teal shirt and, guess what, holding a stuffed bear.

This scene in particular. As we've seen, the bear is used to symbolize Mike's attraction to particular men at the end of the season getting in between him and El. In that shirt, Mike is faced with men who fall under that particular category. Who is Ted talking to here in this scene?

Hopper.

Do I need to explain exactly what makes Hopper a bear? It's not necessary, just look at him.

Also may I point out, the bear itself is blue but with red inner ears. I've already theorized before but I believe that blue is meant to symbolize conformity while red is desire. The bear conforms on the outside while keeping its desire inside and hidden. Now if the bear is supposed to symbolize someone's sexuality... Well.

(Small tangent: Ted saying that there's "someone for everyone" after Karen mentions that Joyce and Hopper are a strange couple- at first comes off as, again, as a bit tone deaf given the state of their own marriage. Karen looks exasperated at this statement as well. But perhaps there was a double meaning given the symbolism utilized?)

In season 4 we see Mike and Ted sharing another similar outfit

Even the triangle on the pocket over their left side is the same, with the only except that Mike's points to the side while Ted's points down.

In this outfit, Mike gets close to uncovering Wills feelings, but eventually succumbs back to expectations and "confesses" his love to El. His confession was completely disingenuous because he does not love El and is simply only confessing his love under pressure to do so.

Really, I do believe that's what blue in particular symbolizes: conformity, shame, and pressure. However, not overt dishonesty. That's yellow: Mike was wearing yellow over purple when being fake as hell at the airport and was also wearing yellow in S3 when straight up lies to El about his Nan. Mike has scenes where he's actually very genuine in this outfit, however in the end he is reverted back into the same box he was in in the beginning with this outfit.

Also to point out, blue is the color Ted and Mike parallel each other in. Ted very often wears blue and Mike wears blue in moments that relate to him struggling with his sexuality: coming to terms with it and deciding whether to be open about it or hide it.

However when do we see Mike not wearing blue?

1. His hellfire outfit. He's being genuinely himself and coming out of his shell. He's being authentic.

2. The desert outfit. As in, he's taken of his blue shirt. Here he has a heart to heart with Will and relates to what Will is indirectly saying about his sexuality.

3. The airport outfit. Mike isn't being authentic here at all- hence the yellow. He also is wearing purple which is a mix of red and blue.

As you can see, with the exception of the 3rd option, when Mike is authentic- he's not in blue. But each time, he puts the blue back on and is pressured to revert back to conforming (being interrupted in the desert and Will lying to him about the painting).

Why is Ted paralleled to him in this outfit specifically? As the same with the polo shirt from S3 as mentioned previously?

I can't give a definitive answer, but let's think about what we do know about Karen and Ted. Nancy explicitly says that she doesn't believe her parents ever loved each other. We know Karen's side, she married Ted because she had no other choice as a woman in the 60s. She was pressured into that by a society who wouldnt let her have the means to stand on her own two feet.

But what about Ted? At the time of marrying Karen he was a single man in his late 20s, perhaps 30, who had a stable income and a cushy job. Why didn't he have the option to marry someone he loved? Given his age, he certainly had the time to find someone and there are other married men in ST who dont seem to have that problem, ie Lucas' dad and Hopper (previously). Why is he paralleled to Mike in an outfit where Mike was pressured into declaring his love for a woman he was not actually in love with because his heart lied elsewhere (that wasn't socially acceptable)?

Conformity, shame, and pressure.

Lack of POV

ST rarely deals with 1 dimensional characters. Even Billy, a racist and somewhat sadistic character, got a fleshed out background on why he is that way. The whole premise of the show backs this- it takes cliches and subverts them, expanding on why these characters could fit into their box and why they may chose to or not to.

Ted since the beginning has lacked something critical to this, a POV. We don't know why he acts the way he does or why he says the things he does. And it doesn't have to be sympathetic reasonings, just any reason. He is just an slightly exaggerated caricature of a emotionally distant and oblivious father. Which is intriguing to me because, fun fact! I am cursed with the overwhelming need to take unfleshed out characters and dig into them deep until I find substance in the form of subtext. Which is why I'm making this whole post.

Anyways. I digress.

Ted's lack of POV isn't obvious until we get to s4, when another character loses a lot of their POV and also suffers in likability (at least with the GA) for it- Mike.

There is even a completely 1-to-1 parallel of the dinner scene from s1 and the one in s4. Mike, saying something insensitive, causes El to storm off and he sips his drink as if unbothered. Ted does the same thing with his children and Karen.

Both are completely oblivious in this scene, not showing that they understood what they've done wrong. Mike later talks to El and then proceeds to completely brush of her direct appeals him, replying with insincerity. Ted is more sincere, comically asking what he did, but what connects both is that they don't believe that they did anything wrong.

What connects both of them is the emotional insensitivity. Mike doesn't understand why El would be lying to him about being popular. He makes a snarky comment about it, which upsets El. He isn't sympathizing with her, and blatantly waves away her concerns the morning after (saying that he always says he loves her when he clearly doesn't). He calls El a superhero and just repeatedly appeals to superficial aspects of El to justify that he loves her. His love isn't genuine.

Ted in this scene isn't trying to understand or speak to his children in a manner that is constructive. He instead emphasized on things that were insignificant- admonishing them for their language and taking the opportunity to warn Mike against being 'queer' (which really tickles my brain given the obvious queercoding shared between them as mentioned above). He isn't trying to understand why his kids are upset- particularly Mike who is concerned for his friend. He's being the traditional disciplinarian father here- getting in the way of Karen who was actually trying to have a constructive conversation with her children. He doesn't understand what he's done wrong because as far as he's concerned he's played his part to the T.

(Interestingly enough, later on when Will's "body" is found- Ted asks Karen if he should go talk to Mike. A rare moment of levity from Ted, showing that there are moments where he does seek an emotional connection with his son. However he is unsure if he should and is dissuaded by Karen- showing that Ted let's Karen take the lead on emotional matters as it relates to their family -as the maternal figure- rather than acting on his own volition).

I've seen people compare both these scenes but I have yet to see anyone actually point out the underlying meaning of it. Both Mike and Ted are emotionally disconnected (and therefore sometimes insensitive) here because they are playing a part set out for them by the culture. Ted- being the stereotypical 80s disciplinarian father/husband and Mike- playing the part of the heterosexual male protagonist who is head over heels for his gf, the heroine. Keeping up that image leads to both of them having issues in their relationships. We're even shown in Nancy's vision that Ted wasn't a part of it- he was incapable of even forming a relationship with his own daughter.

Aka, pretending to be someone youre not makes your relationships ungenuine and superficial. And that leads to problems as it makes you unable to form a deep connection with anyone you care about.

Mike loses his POV when he starts to actively behave in this manner. This shows that Mike is possibly hiding something, because his perspective is hidden. He comes off as uncaring and distant, like his father, however we know there is much more going underneath that we are not allowed to see just yet. If we extend this parallel to the other direction, does this mean that there is more to Ted than we are allowed to see also? From what I mentioned earlier with clothing and colors, you can see that the parallels often go both ways between them.

You can also see Mike and Ted coming to similar conclusions in s4, Mike calling that satanic panic "media bullshit" in the beginning of the season whereas Ted also rags on the media sensationalism around the satanic panic and the earthquake at the end.

Although it isn't explicitly mentioned, there is a certain hidden subtext to both Mike and Ted denouncing it.

Homosexuality being one of the vilified aspects of the satanic panic, specifically of D&D. In universe, they both would reasonably be aware of this although it isn't explicitly shown. Although Ted still seems to think D&D for losers LOL, while he doesn't seem to be of the impression that it's demonic.

Which is surprising from Ted particularly given his homophobia in s1 and his usually unquestioning attitude towards authority such as the media. Could something have changed during s4? He could have subtly figured what others that season figured out, and what Lucus explicitly says to Jason towards the end: people want to be normal but the satanic panic exposed who being "normal" really is for- "psychopaths" like Jason and others in power who seek to pit people against each other.

Regardless, if I am correct, Ted most definitely meant Will when he said sweetie pie. I am taking no criticism /lh.

[robthegoodfellow]

summer retrospective time because i'm feeling down about term starting up and not writing as much as i wanted to but I KNOW this is ridiculous and my goals were unreasonable.

so totally unasked for and unprompted here's what i got:

Chapters 8 and 9 of Upside-Down - 32k (total wip 118k) - E - Harringrove - Crazy long March chapter wherein an ominous phone rings and rings, Billy experiences some firsts (first time playing D&D against his will! first time fucking Steve! first time enduring a birthday party!), and Eddie drags Billy to a thrash metal concert. In Flayedville, the kids rally the troops to save Billy, he and Steve share body heat, and plans don't go as planned.

Two fics written for upcoming @strangerthingscharityzine totaling 4k words in their original state, trimmed down to 1.5k words each for the zine edition. Idk if I'm allowed to summarize but one of them made Remy cry!

That Bartender Sure is Something - 1k - G - Harringrove - Sideways scene rewrite from alt character's POV wherein I try to lay groundwork for why Steve's parents are out of town so often (aside from my need to give boys safe space to fuck and be super freaking domestic).

Chapters 11 and 12 of Only One Bed - 13k (total wip 59k) - E - Harringrovesoningham or whatever Steve/Billy/Eddie/Chrissy is called - Chrissy POV and Eddie POV chapters wherein Chrissy and Billy bond and then Billy/Eddie/Chrissy navigate their dynamic as asymmetrical polyamorous triad. Mostly cute!! Minimal angst!!

¿Por qué no los dos? - 18k - E - Harringroveson/Metalsandwich - What was supposed to be an excuse to make Steve and Eddie thirst over Billy in space buns becomes unexpectedly harrowing exploration of aromantic experience for me and apparently others, some of whom may be entitled to compensation. But there's smut... at the end?

Drafted aaalmost first half (7k) of @bigbangharringrove fic wherein Steve flirts with necromancy and necrophilia and NO STOP where are you going it's all gonna be fine!!! See, Billy died in this contemporary fantasy version of Hawkins where magic and supernatural creatures are just kinda there and so Steve tries to revive him but he imports the wrong file. The wrong Billy. Because there happens to be a lust demon that goes by the same name as Steve's dearly departed husband and let me tell ya he is NOT jazzed to be here. Working with @LucaDoodleDoo who is awesome AND so far has not run away!

Drafted 1.5k of fic for upcoming @harringrovezine. Still on track to be way too long but I WILL trim it down. Not sure what else I'm free to say but I'm excited how it's shaping up?

what follows is me convincing myself i did a good job

And that's... that's it. About 76.5k in all. Which is more than I realized (and also according to haphazard math is more than last summer by maybe 10k?)

I'm not usually fixated on word count much (aside from like laugh-crying when a fic just balloons way bigger than anticipated), and more words does not equal better words by ANY means, but I think this gives me a reality check about getting down on myself. I didn't finish the major things I originally set out to finish but... yeah, such is life when you have more than one WIP in which you are painfully invested 😅

And it's not like I won't EVER finish them which is prob my biggest fear because i had a rep growing up for all my grand plans and projects just losing steam and going nowhere. But I am capable of finishing fics because look ma, there's 3 whole multi-chap fics with the little green check mark (please actually DON'T look, ma).

I'm just babbling now. When work starts I'll be back to writing in random libraries after last bell and my output will slow, and I'm sad about it. But wow you know what I did shit out a bunch of words in like 2.5 months so at least there's that.

(Hesitant to post this because I'm sure it looks like flexing or fishing or something? Or like I'm implying that unless you too are shitting out words you suck? Which uhh I am not! The intent is more for Present Me to flex on Past Me, maybe? And fish some reassurance out of cold hard numbers to more easily put things in perspective.)

Mostly this did work, though! I feel better about the summer. If you need a boost, look over what you've done across a certain span of time using whatever measurement suits you and talk yourself into a pat on the back.

Pat, pat.

[imaginingmarvelandeverything]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Steve Harrington x F!Reader

Prompts: 6. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” , 26. “You’re not okay! Stop telling me you’re okay!” and 27. “You were supposed to be there for me. And you weren’t. You weren’t there.”

Warnings: injuries, spoilers for season 4, angst

Word count: 1056

A/N: This is just pure angst, so I’ll apologise in advance. Also this is the first time I’ve written for Steve in about 4 years, so hopefully it’s in character. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

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Steve took a deep breath and tried to stop his hands shaking as he walked up to Y/N’s front door. The damage from the ‘earthquake’ was immediately noticeable; cracks around the windows, shattered glass, crumbling bricks. He knew her parents weren’t here, he had watched them pack as much stuff as they could into their car to take to her grandparents place a few miles outside of Hawkins before they came back for the rest. He felt guilty for watching and waiting, but he knew the conversation they were about to have wouldn’t be pretty.

Still, he knocked on the door, even when his heart was begging him not to.

He felt like his heart would beat out of his chest when she opened the door. He looked her over, his eyes catching on the bruise on her cheek and the cast on her left arm. “Hey.”

She scoffed. “That’s all you got? What do you want Steve?”

“I just… I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He said softly, avoiding looking into her eyes because he knew exactly what he would see if he did, and he didn’t think he was ready for it.

“I’m okay, Steve. So, you can leave.” Her voice wavered.

He wasn’t ready to leave yet, not when he could see how far from okay she was. “Do you need anything? I can help you pack?”

“I don’t need anything, especially from you. And I already told you I’m okay.” She said, barely managing to keep her voice level.

“You’re not okay! Stop telling me you’re okay!” He snapped, immediately regretting it as all the emotions and fears from the past few days seemed to hit him at once. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to shout.” He took several breaths to calm himself down and tried to blink the tears out of his eyes. “Please, can I at least help you pack?”

She focused on a point over his head as she thought it through. He could practically see the gears turning in her head. She nodded and stepped aside to let him in and he let out the breath he was holding. He followed her as they took the familiar route to her bedroom, taking in the changes around the house as he did. There were cracks in the plaster and paint on the walls, and the house looked barren with most of the families belongings missing.

Her room was the same, cracks and boxes. His heart clenched painfully at the implications this would have. He wasn’t stupid, he knew that she had finally hit her breaking point. Knew that she wanted out of their relationship, and after the past few days, he didn’t blame her. But it still hurt.

“Are we… Are we gonna talk about it?” He almost whispered.

Her shoulders sagged, but she kept her back to him, placing things in an open cardboard box even as her cast made it awkward. “You were supposed to be there for me. And you weren’t. You weren’t there.”

“I’m sorry.” He said automatically, not knowing what else to say.

“And it’s not just this time.” She turned to face him. “Two years ago when whatever happened at Hawkins lab and you showed up beaten to a pulp, saying you got into a fight with Billy Hargrove, and covered in weird grime and dust. Last year when people started disappearing, when my brother-” She flinched and cut herself off. “Starcourt burnt down and you show up again beaten to a pulp, this time with no explanation. And you get this look in your eyes whenever I mention my brother, like you’re guilty about something and I don’t know what to think.”

He had absolutely no idea what to say to that, he never had. The real explanation were on the tip of his tongue; Billy Hargrove kidnapped your brother, flayed him, and then he got absorbed by a giant creature made out of human bodies. But he couldn’t say that. Even without the goddamn NDA, why would she believe a word he said.

“I don’t… I don’t know what you want me to say.” He admitted.

“That’s the issue, Steve. You never know what to say. You always skirt around the answer to the questions I ask you. And I tried to be okay with it, but I can’t anymore, because I know if I ask you where you’ve been the past few days, I’ll just get the same none answers. I’m tired, Steve, and I can’t do it anymore.” Tears slipped down her cheeks and he wanted nothing more than to pull her into him and tell her everything.  

But sometimes knowing everything wasn’t for the best.

“I’m sorry. For everything, especially the things I can’t tell you.” He sat down on her bed with a sigh, surprised when she joined him.

“So, that’s it then.” She said, defeat clear in her tone.

“I guess so.” He whispered, his chest feeling empty. He ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath, the finality of it setting in. “If you ever need anything from me, you know where I’ll be.” He reached out and cupped her jaw in his hand, blinking back his own tears as he shifted forward and pressed his lips against her forehead. “I really am sorry.” He said against her hairline.

“I know.” She murmured. She brushed her finger over his cheekbone when he pulled back. “Look after yourself.” He didn’t miss how her eyes flicked down to the bruise around his neck.

“You too.” He stood to walk out.

“Good bye, Steve.”

“Good bye, Y/N.”

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