#demo steve

[safk-art]

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demo Steve head concepts. I thought a lot about his mouth and how it can expand, especially keeping him low profile

[xgumiho]

I am sweat, flaws I am veins, scars I am human Nothing more than human

@metaldeads' paradise by the dashboard light still lives in my head rent free and I had to do something about it again 🖤

©xgumiho | do not repost/steal/edit/crop/sell

[safk-art]

This is amazing OMG THANK YOU FOR THIS, i think blue suits him with those demo patches on his hand ;D

Have a picture of Eddie been strangled

For @safk-art - we were talking about their demo!Steve, and I noticed his claws and made a note that someone would probably try to paint those nails at some point, and well. We all know who that one would be, and who would be the voice of reason in this instance ...

Spoiler: He doesn't like blue THAT MUCH, Eddie.

[sp0o0kylights]

Part Two / Part Three

Ao3

It's 8:45 am. 

The Red Barn, which is neither red nor a barn, has been open since 7, catering to the early morning crowd with rounds of coffee and pancakes.

It was no Benny's, but given the size of Hawkins and the lack of alternatives?

No one was complaining. 

They were all too happy someone had opened up another watering hole for the working class man (or lass, as Foreman Shelly will dutifully remind you) which meant the place was packed with both day and night shift regulars, passing each other in staggered waves. 

It also meant Wayne was sharing the packed breakfast counter with a warehouse worker by the name of John Cheese on one side and Police Chief Jim Hopper on the other.

He doesn't mind it.

Wayne's a man on a budget thinner than his shoelace, but he's also a man who understands that small indulgences need to be made in life or you didn't truly live it.

This is how he convinces himself to get a coffee at the Barn after work everyday, reading the morning newspaper and chatting with the other regulars before he heads home.

Bonus, it gets him out of the rapid-fire franticness that is his nephew in the mornings.

(All the love in the world wouldn't change the fact that all that Eddie came with a lot of noise. 

The kind of noise that was a tried and true recipe for a headache right after a long shift.)

As a trade off, Wayne went to bed early so he could wake up in time for dinner with Eddie.

 It was a nice little system that worked for them. 

A routine Wayne was reminiscing fondly on, when the pager on Chief Hopper started to chirp. With a sad moan, the man fished out a few crumbled bills and threw them on the counter, abandoning his coffee to trudge out to his truck.

This was not unusual.

Particularly recently, given they were but a scant few weeks past that whole mall ordeal. A fact all too easy to remember when one caught sight of the Chief’s still healing face. 

What was unusual, was when he came storming through the doors a minute later, face now a furious shade of red with his hat clenched in his hand. 

The energy in the room shifted, taking on something a little watchful as Hopper swept his gaze from side to side, like a dog on the hunt.

Judging by the way he stilled when he caught sight of Wayne, the latter assumed he found what he was looking for and could only pray it was the person behind him. 

(He liked John, but Wayne had enough trouble this year and he wasn't looking for any more.) 

"Munson." Hopper called, striding over and dashing all his hopes. There was a choked fury emitting off him, and given the way John audibly scooted his chair away, Wayne knew everyone had clocked it. 

"Chief." Wayne greeted, inclining his head towards him.

Idly he wondered what the hell his nephew had done this time.

'So help me if he stole all the town's lawn flamingos and put them in that damn teachers yard again….'

Wayne didn't even get to finish his threat, the Chief was already next to him. 

"Mind if I have a word outside?" 

Dammit Eddie.

"Ah hell, what's he done now?" Wayne asked with a sigh, eyeing the coffee he had left morosely. 

There was still almost half of it left and the pot had tasted fresh for once. 

"What?" Hopper said, and then Wayne got to watch as the man ran through an entire chain of thoughts, each one punctuated by things like; "Oh," and "No. " 

"This is something else." He finished, flushed and fidgeting, anger making him antsy. 

Wayne stared up at him. 

"Something else?" He repeated, not sure he heard.

"Yes, something else." Hopper snapped impatiently, before leaning forward, voice dropping low. "This doesn't involve your nephew, but we both know you owe me for how many times I've let that kid off, Wayne. That's a damn big favor I've been doing you and I'm calling it in." 

If it were any other cop, it'd sound like a threat.

It was Hopper though. The same Hopper who Wayne had gone to school with.

They'd never been friends exactly, but they had been friendly and remained so. Even now, after Wayne had taken Eddie in, who’d gone on to be an undeniable pain in the local PD’s ass. 

Hopper really did let the kid off easy. 

Wayne really did owe him. 

So he put down his coffee with a sigh, passed his newspaper over to John and stood up, motioning for Hopper to lead the way. Got into the Chief’s truck when he waved him in, and didn’t make a big fuss when Hopper tore out of the parking lot like hell was about to open up under them. 

"Not a lot of the kids involved in the mall fire could be identified, but a few of them were." Hopper started, which felt nonsensical given the utter lack of context. 

Wayne hummed to show he’d heard. 

“Some of them got banged up more than others, and a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t make it.” 

A pause, Hopper white knuckling the steering wheel as he swung the truck hard around a turn. 

“For certain people, those kids dying is the preferred outcome.” 

A mix of fear and warning swopped low in Wayne’s gut. 

"Jim." Wayne said, dropping the use of a last name because if any situation called for it, it was this one. "What exactly are you saying here?" 

The Chief chewed on his split lip. 

"I know you're smart, Munson. I know you, and plenty of others are aware that something's happening, been happening in this town." 

Which was a hell of an understatement if you asked Wayne. Plenty of the upper classes might be able to bury their heads when it came to the military parading about and the flow of “accidents” they brought in their wake, but then, they didn't see all the other signs of trouble. 

The absolute oddity that was Starcourt’s construction. 

How it had been built using primarily outside crews and anyone who'd taken a singular look at the site could tell you they were building it weird. 

Weird as in it looked like it would have a multi-level basement, and not what a mall should have. 

Then there were the constant electrical problems. The backups upon backups that failed. The late night delivery vans headed out to the Hawkins Lab. 

The things in the woods that kept spooking all the deer and the weird markings they left behind that unnerved even the hardest of hunters. 

This didn’t even touch the Russian military that more than one reputable person swore was hanging around. 

The very same Wayne himself had seen, on more than one occasion. 

(And you couldn’t deny it; those boys were military. Past or present, it didn’t matter. They moved like a threat, and Wayne treated them like one, staying well clear.)

"Yeah." Wayne admitted. "I also know better than to stick my nose in it." 

"That makes you a smarter man than me.' Hop complained under his breath, but the anger was self directed. 

"The point is, there are some government types crawling around, doing shit they shouldn't be doing, and more than a few of them are in the business of making people disappear.” 

This was absolutely not where Wayne had thought this was going. 

Hopper took a breath. Than another.

A third.

It was starting to make Wayne nervous, in a way he hadn’t felt since a social worker had brought Eddie to him for the last time and final time. It was the feeling that things were about to shift in a way that would change the course of his life. 

"Steve Harrington is sitting in my office right now, beat to absolute shit.” Hopper admitted.

Wayne gave him the floor to talk, letting him go at his own pace without interruptions. 

“He's there because some of those government types finally figured out his parents are never fucking home.” 

Wayne sucked in a breath. 

"We both know his parents, Wayne. Harassing them to come back and take care of their kid won't work, and frankly, I’m beginning to think all the phone lines are tapped anyway.” He winced here, like voicing such a thing pained him, and Wayne understood.

It sounded a little too out there, a little like he was buying into a conspiracy. 

Except he wasn’t. Wayne knew he wasn’t. 

Jim Hopper might have been an alcoholic, a man living in pain and unconcerned with his own life, but if there was one thing he was solid for, it was shit like this.

He didn’t jump to conclusions. Didn’t believe the first thing people told him. Even at his worst, he did the work to see what was really happening, and made his decisions from there. 

(Even if that decision was to accept the occasional bribe, or drive an intoxicated 13 year old Eddie home instead of hauling his ass into the drunk tank.) 

“Harrington won’t admit it, but he’s got a hell of a concussion if not a full blown brain injury and he’s not reacting as well as he should to Suites trying to run him off the road.” Hopper continued. Angrily, he added, “Damn kid didn’t even come to me until they tried to break into his house last night.” 

His fingers squeezed the wheel so hard Wayne heard the leather creak in protest. 

“I’d take him, but my cabin is being renovated from…” He trailed off, heaving a sigh.

 “A storm, so me and my kid are bunked with the Byers right now and we’re full up.” 

Hawkins hadn't had a storm like that in years, but Wayne wasn't going to call him out on the blatant lie. 

“I need a place to stash him for the next few weeks, until I can work with some of the higher ups sniffing around, and get them to call off their attack dogs.” 

“And you want to stuff him with me.” Wayne finished. 

“I know you don’t have the room.” Hopper admitted easily, stopping his truck at a red light and locking eyes with the other man. “But I also know you’ll be the last place anyone would look for him.” 

'Ain’t that the damn truth.'

“You’re really gonna go this far for a Harrington?” Wayne asked, instead of the million of other questions leaping to the forefront of his mind. 

This one, he figured, was the most important. 

“He’s not his dad.” Hopper said, as firm as Wayne had ever heard him. “He’s not either of his parents, and he saved my little girl.” 

Wayne hadn’t even known Hopper had another little girl, but he also knew better than to ask where the guy had found one. 

It wasn’t his business, just as nothing else Jim was involved in, was his business.

Except, apparently, Steve Harrington. 

“I’m gonna need my own truck if I’m takin' Harrington home.” Wayne said easily, instead of bothering to ask anything else.

If Jim said the kid was different than his daddy, then he was--because when it came to things like that, Jim didn't lie.

No point in it. 

“I know. Just needed to talk to you first, without anyone overhearing.” Jim said, before swinging the police truck around and heading back to the Barn. 

“I’ll stay in contact with you, and I’ll make sure Harrington pays you for the pleasure of your hospitality. Just--” Here Jim cut himself off, looking like he was struggling an awful lot with the next thing he wanted to say. 

Once again, Wayne waited him out.

“Don’t let Steve fool you. He’s good at fooling people, letting them think he’s okay. Too good at it, and between the two of us, I have a real good idea of the reason why.” 

A memory came to Wayne unbidden, of Richard Harrington and Chet Hagan, beating some poor kid in the highschool bathroom bloody. The grins on their faces as the poor guy wailed for them to stop.

How they almost hadn’t. 

“Alright.” Wayne agreed.

Hopper swung back into the Barn's parking lot, and Wayne moved right to his own beat to shit truck, ready to follow Jim back to the police station.

He wasn’t a praying man, not anymore, but Catholisim wasn’t a thing that let you go easy. 

He found himself sending up a quick prayer, fingers flicking in a kind of miniature version of the sign of the cross. 

Considering his own kid’s history with Harrington, and the sheer small space of the trailer? 

Wayne had a feeling it was needed.

[green-fifteen]

Boomerang

tags: platonic stobin, stobin child, OC, teenager problems idk, not!fic

word count: 795

@stobinmonth prompt: school

I'm thinking about Steve as a middle school teacher only because it's my favorite level to teach. How innocent they are! How evil they can be! And what a nightmare when his own kid shows up in class.

And, okay, Jules would want me to tell you that Steve is NOT her father, he just raised her with her mom and has been there every single day since she was born. It's an IMPORTANT distinction when the man in question is contractually obligated to teach her peers about condoms.

Right after the D.A.R.E. convocation the first week of school (a totally sexless function!), Kelly Nesbit made a button in Home Ec. that read, "JUST SAY YES TO MR. HARRINGTON" with wobbly little hearts in the O's. So you can imagine the kind of thing she is dealing with, here.

She sat her parents down the weekend before 6th grade to let them know the situation.

"Dad, you're not my father."

"I'm not?"

"You're very important to me, but we both agree that I am not related to you."

Robin cut in. "Okay so who am I? By your logic."

"You can be my mother, it's fine. It's on all the paperwork, you enrolled me."

"You do know my signature is on your birth certificate, right?" Steve reminds her.

"Unimportant. I won't be bringing my birth certificate to school and showing it off to my friends. If we're careful, we should be able to pull this off."

Robin and Steve shared a wary glance.

"And what are we pulling off, exactly?"

"Convincing the school that I am not related to a teacher." She gestured at Steve with a offensive amount of dismay. Robin made a mental note to have that 'terrible role model' talk with Erica that she'd been putting off.

Steve was eventually manipulated into agreeing when Jules said something like, "Aunt Nancy was right. She said you'd never agree because you're overly attached to me."

(Which I'm sure you can guess Nancy did not say. Her actual words were like, "If you ask him to pretend he doesn't love you at school, he might actually start crying in the hallways.")

So they don't speak to each other at school outside of 4th period, when Steve is careful to only call on her as much as he would any other student. No one suspects a thing for just over a month, at which point Jules manages to step all over her own careful plan.

It's something like this: it's 4th period. The bell is about to ring and Steve is handing back module one tests from the week before. Jules gets hers and just stares at it for a solid minute. He took off two points for that? FOUR points for THAT? And you see, Julia Buckley is something of a whiz and a perfectionist. A sense of indignation begins to build as she looks over the rest of the marks Steve left on her paper. And sure, she did get some things wrong. But what's the point of your dad being your teacher if he doesn't even let the small stuff slide? It's outrageous.

When she sees the little note at the bottom of the paper, a scribbled nonsensical little Good work, Bluejay! her frustration boils over.

"Dad!"

She yells into the quiet classroom. Everyone turns to look at her and then at Mr. Harrington, who is frozen with his handmade "BEST DAD" mug an inch from his lips. He looks like a raccoon caught in a floodlight.

"Do you think I don't know what peer pressure is? I wrote you a very clear definition. Do you even have a rubric? I want to see it."

Someone laughs or she notices the looks on their faces and realizes she's really done it now. She only has two choices. She can either insist she called the teacher Dad by mistake in the most humiliating way possible and endure the shame of hearing her classmates giggle and spread it all over the school for the rest of the week. Or, she can own up and buy herself a much longer, slower mortification. One that doesn't let up until graduation.

Steve eventually clears his throat. "No rubric-- just the answer sheet, Miss Buckley. If you have a problem with your grade, please see me after class."

And she decides right there, 'Bluejay' in his messy scrawl and 'Miss Buckley' in that strained tone of voice.

"Why bother?" She rolls her eyes and tries to sound casual. "I'll just see you at home."

She doesn't stay to appreciate the wide, surprised look he gives her or the astonished little whispers of her peers. The bell rings like a sign from God and she high-tails it right out of there.

[medusapelagia]

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[rottenaero]

Getting trapped in the Upside Down with some beasties while injured is surely a good time, right?

[piggybacktail]

Tommy Guerrero and Steve Saiz Skate Demo 1990

[safk-art]

This one is for @mobianwolfspiderpup. They gave me this idea and thought it's cute

Read all my Demo!Steve series on AO3

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[platearmourpiglet]

It just occured to me that while probably everyone in the tumblr Tanz fandom has at least heard of the infamous Broadway version of the musical, maybe not all of you know the English demos sung by Steve Barton?? Or maybe you do and this isn’t new to anyone, but just in case:

Gott ist tot - Original Sin

Totale Finsternis - Total Eclipse of the Heart

Die unstillbare Gier - Endless Appetite

This musical could have been SO GOOD in English and thus much easier to share it with all the vampire fans in the world, but alas...

[andvys]

Reader whispering to demo!Steve's ear something like: "let's put this long ass tongue of yours in a good use... How about that, demo-boy?"

I mean demo!Steve is hot. But sub!demo!Steve... Who whimpers while you ride his face (his tongue, more exactly). And who softly nibbles you a little (almost like a real bat, but much softer).

oH MY GOD!?? YES.

and the whole time you're riding his face/tongue, he's just desperately trying to find release, pushing his hips up, squirming around beneath you, a wet patch already forming on his jeans, he's so hard from tasting you, from hearing your soft moans, from getting to pleasure you, his whimpers get louder, his hands dig deeper into your hips, making you grind against him harder and faster, the thought of you bouncing on his cock exciting him in ways he can't even describe, he starts losing patience and whines louder, even more so when you tell him to be a good boy and behave.

just imagine the sounds he will make when you sink down on his dick ;)

[weneverlearn]

Dream Syndicate -- Demo Recordings, 12/27/81

Here's a cool thing I stumbled onto, like a couple years ago, then stumbled on again recently.

Steve Wynn -- singer/leader f one of my favorite bands, the Dream Syndicate -- posted this great sounding demo from the band's first rehearsal with forever drummer Dennis Duck. And you can hear from this demo that he fit like a glove from the get-go.

Below is Wynn's explanation of the demo from the band's 12/26/21 Facebook post, on the then-occasion of the band's 40th birthday, below; and below that, the demo! Check it all out!

--------------------------------------

December 27, 1981…….a memory from a Sunday evening, 40 years ago.

Karl Precoda and I had been meeting regularly and jamming in my father’s basement in West LA over the course of the previous months, having met when he showed up to try out on bass for a band I was goofing around with at the time. “I don’t like this band very much but you’re really good—we should get together and play again sometime.”

There was an immediate chemistry between the two of us and, most of all, we were just having fun jamming on one chord for hours or playing loose versions of CCR covers or fooling around with some new songs I had been writing. I called up Kendra Smith, my best friend at the time and band mate from when we had both attending UC Davis in the years before. Like me, she had moved back to LA and had just recently started playing bass. I knew she’d dig what we were laying down and she enthusiastically joined our aimless duo and before long we found a drummer named Randy who I believe I met at the Rhino Records store where I was working at the time. Randy was game and enthusiastic but as much as an inspired but limited amateur as me and Kendra and Karl which was just fine since we had no ambition beyond making noise in the basement.

One day Kendra said, “I was talking to Dennis Duck at a party in Pasadena and he said he might like to play with us sometime.” Now, you have to understand that Dennis was a rock star as far as we were concerned. He was 6 years older than the rest of us and had already made a mark on the LA post punk scene, drumming with his band Human Hands. They’d put out records! They’d been played on the radio! I had seen them play live several times including a great show at the Whiskey a Go Go where they opened for the Feelies and the nervous energy of both bands coupled with a 103 degree fever I was battling from the flu to make for one of the most memorable shows I’ve seen to this day (and interestingly enough, the topic of conversation with me and Dennis and the Feelies’ Glenn Mercer at a show we played together just a few weeks ago in NYC at City Winery).

Anyway, I was a little incredulous that Dennis would want to play with us. But I was also pretty cocky and full of beans about our cool little raggedy combo and on Sunday, December 27, I called him up on a torrentially rainy afternoon (it DOES rain in Southern California sometimes) and said, “Hey, we’re getting together to jam in my dad’s basement tonight. Wanna come over?” Dennis lived an hour away in Pasadena, it was pouring and he would have to load up his own drums to make the trek but somehow I was doggedly persistent enough to convince him to come out. I guess I made a good case or maybe just wouldn’t shut up until he said yes. To this day, he’s surprised he agreed.

Anyway, Dennis arrived, drums dripping from the rain outside, set up and started playing with us in the basement . He had brought along a boom box to record the rehearsal. We didn’t try to impress him or even say much about what we were doing. We just did our thing and he played along. At the end, he packed up and I helped him to his car. “Thanks for coming out and playing with us,” I said—I am nothing if not polite—and he didn’t say all that much in return. I figured he was probably wondering why he bothered to come out and play with kids like us and pretty much assumed we wouldn’t be hearing from him again.

A few days later I called Dennis to thank him for coming out and asked him if he had listened to the cassette he had recorded of the rehearsal. He answered, “I’ve listened to nothing ELSE since then. It’s one of the best things I’ve heard in a long time. I want to play with you guys.” And that was that. Three weeks later we made a quick four-song demo that became our first EP and only a few days after that we played our first show, opening for PIL spin-off band Brian Brain at Club Lingerie in Hollywood and we were off and running, only a handful of days after the first time we played together.

40 years ago. Hard to believe. Since then, Dennis and I have held the fort, first with Karl and Kendra and then, over the following years in the 80’s, with Dave Provost and Paul B. Cutler and Mark Walton and now for the last 10 years with the consistent lineup of me, Dennis, Mark, Jason Victor and Chris Cacavas. Our new album comes out next June with the first single being released in March. With any luck we’ll be out there on road for much of the latter part of the year.

But for now, happy 40th Birthday to the Dream Syndicate. Like many good and incendiary things, it all started in the basement.

Here’s a link to that first rehearsal, copied directly from Dennis’ cassette that he still has all these years later.

Dream Syndicate Live at Rehearsals on 1981-12-27

[medrawblug2]

NOT really a batch but an extra for demo-Steve in stranger 10 au

>the upside down is actually the null-void but infected by Verna/Henry/001, so the Aliens there are malformed and mutated, ( similar to the high breeds) so the demogorgan is the wolf alien but mutated.

> and as known that all the upside down monsters are connected by a hive mind, and the Omnitrix capability to cure Aliens from these mutation. I feel that the mutation might have been a bit heavy that it copied the DNA of the infected aliens into one.

> also means that Demo Steve in this au is capable of creating vines ( similar to wild vine), and also face could split and create sonic boom sound ( similar to ben wolf). And that one Flying alien that is common in the null void for the tail and wings.

[faradaysketches]

Palastinian Demo. Annecy, France. February 2024

[medusapelagia]

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September Stobin Extravaganza (@sept-stobin-extravaganza) Find the AO3 Collection HERE

Corroded Coffin - Get a Job Masterlist (@corrodedcoffinfest)

Hellcheer Anniversary week (@hellcheeranniversaryweek) find the entries on their blog!

Stevie week ( @stevieweek), here the AO3 Collection

Stranger Things Big Bang ( @strangerthingsbigbang), AO3 Collection

Corroded Coffin Fest ( @corrodedcoffinfest), AO3 Collection

Summer Things Fest ( @summerthingsfest) Event info on AO3

Sapphic Summer- August Prompts (@sapphicstevents) Here the AO3 Collection

A Stranger Summer ( @astrangersummer) Here the AO3 Collection

[courtingchaos]

Have you ever been tempted to write a monster! Steve or Gator at all? and if so, what kind of monster do you think they'd be?

So I’ve never thought of a monster Gator but that is not out of my realm of fantasy obviously 😂. Just haven’t given it thought.

Now Steve? I think about werewolf Steve sometimes and I like that. If I’m thinking of him in like, a DnD type of way it’s things like Minotaurs, Bugbears and like a tomcat Tabaxi.

BUT MY ACTUAL FAVORITE IS DEMOGORGON STEVE. Just. Ugh, the mouth splitting and the the teeth and the weird skin and eyes I’m just 🫨.

Love me a good monster boy.