#Stranger Alert

[gardensnakie]

.... chimera (Dungeon Meshi) Stranger...

I'm sillymaxxing

[steddielations]

Incorrect Steddie that’s actually correct

Insp

[gloomysoup]

i was GOING to write this weekend, but instead i've made the decision that i'm going to landscape my entire backyard on my own (usually my mom does all of the landscaping) and i've been cleaning it out all weekend. it is taking forever. so uh here's a snippet of a wip to make up for not doing like... anything lately :D

-

“You've got a boy in your bed,” the older man stated, clearly not a question anywhere to be seen. It was merely an observed fact of life.

“I do,” Eddie said slowly, unsure where this conversation was headed or how to explain what was actually happening.

“You haven't had a boy in your bed in a long time.” Again, it was merely a statement. No question. Again, Wayne was right. Eddie hadn't even thought about meeting someone else since Steve disappeared, and Wayne was plenty aware of that. “Not since Steve.”

Eddie knew Wayne was taking a chance saying Steve’s name. It had been a sensitive subject for a long time. Eddie took a deep breath and tried to decide how best to say it. Wayne clearly doesn't know that the boy in his bed is Steve, if the way he was looking at Eddie was anything to go by.

“This somethin’ we should talk about? I know you've been havin’ a rough go of it since last summer, and then whatever the hell happened over spring break. You ain't self destructin’, are ya?”

“No, no, it's nothing like that,” Eddie said quickly, throwing a glance over his shoulder to his bedroom door, which was left slightly cracked. “Um, actually, it's- God, I really don't know how to say this other than to just say it.” Wayne looked at him with an expectant eyebrow raised. “It's Steve.”

[liyliths]

౨ৎ ⋆ ｡˚ 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄: 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄

summary: you've just been dragged to the middle of nowhere, aka hawkins, indiana, with your pos father where the cicadas are loud and the neighbors are louder. after moving into your new trailer home that’s seen better days—probably in another lifetime, you somehow end up under chief hopper's care, hawkins' grumpiest cop. oh, and did i mention you found a creepy portal in the woods? how much weirder can this town get?

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

pairings: steve harrington x reader

warnings: brief mention of an argument between pos father and daughter, brief mention of foster care, cursing, otherwise none

word count: 4k

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𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐚 𝟏𝟗𝟖𝟑

The dusty road stretched ahead, flanked by rows of weather-beaten trailers that seemed to sag under the weight of years gone by. The summer sun beat down mercilessly, casting harsh shadows across the barren landscape. Clothing lines hung in front of trailers, with clothes flopping around in the breeze. A battered pickup truck rumbled to a stop among the trailers, kicking up dust clouds in its wake.

“Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?”

“Y/N–” 

A gruff muffled voice mumbled as music flowed from a Walkman, and a girl moved her hair out of the way of her headphones. She took them off—flicking her eyes at her father who was trying to speak to her through the noise of her music, with frustration filling his eyes. There was a sign of age and decay on his face, slightly reeking of cigarettes.

“You’ve got to stop with the damn music when I’m talking to you,” The girl’s father spat. She remained silent, looking at the details of her new home; Hawkins very own lovely trailer park. 

“Get out, let’s start unloading.” The man sighed and opened the truck door, harshly shutting it behind him.

The girl sighed, unzipping her backpack in the foot space of the passenger seat, placing her Walkman inside of it. She stepped out of the truck, eyeing her new, run-down home. Y/N watched her father who carried boxes and house keys walk toward their home, a tan and brown trailer with a mini porch leading up to the entrance. The sound of cicadas filled the background in the forest behind them, with the not-so-friendly sight of neighbors arguing on their front porch in the distance.

While the pair unloaded their meager belongings from the truck, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of bitterness that clung to her. She resented her father for uprooting their lives once again, dragging her to this dismal trailer park in the middle of nowhere. 

But beneath the anger and resentment, there was also a flicker of something else—a glimmer of hope, perhaps, buried deep beneath the layers of disappointment. Maybe Hawkins could be a fresh start after all?

As Y/N finished unloading the last of the boxes from the truck into her room, she couldn't help but feel a sense of dread creeping over her. Her first day at Hawkins High in two weeks weighed heavily on her mind, how long would she be in Hawkins? Will she fit in enough? Will making new friends and meeting new people even be worth it?

The girl then glanced up at the trailer park's entrance sign through her room's window, the words "Forest Hills Trailer Park" taunting her with its irony. The park was far-fetched from the suburban neighborhoods she had grown accustomed to in her childhood, thanks to the money her mother had left behind that is now gone due to her father’s irresponsibility after his decline.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Y/N took cautious footsteps to her kitchen, passing the empty halls into the living room filled with moving boxes. She made her way to the kitchen and opened the small white fridge the previous tenants left behind, seeing it empty.

“No dinner tonight, birdie.” Y/N’s father spoke with a trace of alcohol lingering from his breath, calling the girl a familiar nickname—recalling the better days she shared with both her father and mother. 

“I’ll go to the store first thing in the morning,” He declared, and Y/N turned around to see him walking toward his room with a pack of beers in hand, stumbling slightly.

The girl harshly shut the fridge door, a look of resentment growing in her eyes. “You thought to bring yourself a pack of beer but didn’t think to pack any food?” She snapped, watching her father stop in his tracks. 

“You’re a fucking adult, you should think to pack your own shit.” He turned around, eyeing the girl’s frustrated figure standing at the fridge.

“I’m sixteen years old. We both know you won’t be the one going to the store tomorrow,” She hissed, growing more irritated while eyeing the pack of beers in her father’s hands. 

“Then starve, ungrateful brat.” Her father spat back, retreating to his empty and undecorated room.

Y/N sighed, hungry and defeated—treading her way out of the kitchen and back into her room. She opened the door to the dim lighting and walked toward a pile of boxes, then sat on her knees to begin unpacking. 

The first thing she pulled out of the boxes was a sketchbook with a set of colored pencils. She carefully held the sketchbook in her hands, opening it and skimming through the pages of her drawings that hundreds of hours had been spent on.

There were drawings of wildlife, landscapes, and people she would observe. One of her drawings that always stood out to her was Watson Falls from Oregon in 1982 where she previously resided before her move to Indiana.

It was one of her favorite places that her father had relocated to in his search for work, just as he had moved to Hawkins and the dozens of places before. The girl was not one to belong to a big social crowd, not wanting to get attached—knowing she and her father would pick up and move time and time again.

With a sigh, she closed her sketchbook, setting it with her colored pencils on top of other unpacked boxes. She took a deep breath and moved her hair out of her face, crawling over to her mattress in the corner of the small room, arranging the sheets and pillows she had thrown onto it amidst the unpacking. She laid down, staring at the bland ceiling, letting sleep consume her.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

Y/N sat crisscrossed on the damp ground with her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she felt a sense of calm wash over her. There was a slight breeze that caressed her cheeks, with her hair flowing in the wind. 

The girl’s face was tinted with a slight pink as sweat began to trickle down her forehead due to the summer heat. The dense woods behind her trailer stretched out before her with the sounds of cicadas and other wildlife filling the thick, hot air.

With each stroke of her pencil, the girl captured the beauty of the landscape—the gnarled branches and twisted roots weaving together in a mesmerizing dance with sunlight peeking through the trees. As she worked, a strange sensation crept over her—an odd prickling at the back of her neck that sent shivers down her spine.

Glancing up from her sketchpad with an odd feeling, the girl's heart skipped a beat as she saw something glowing an orange and red hue in the darkness of the woods as the sun began to set. Overcome with curiosity, the girl hesitated for a moment before standing to investigate. With her sketchbook tucked under her arm, she ventured deeper into the forest, the dense undergrowth rustling beneath her feet with each cautious step.

As she rounded a bend in the woods trail, the girl stumbled upon a clearing bathed in an ethereal glow. In the center stood a gnarled oak tree, its branches reaching skyward like twisted fingers grasping at the heavens. She began to hesitantly reach towards the mysterious glow, her hand becoming damp as she made contact with it, the other side foggy.

With a gasp—she suddenly pulled her hand back, watching as a figure moved toward her through the other side. The figure made its way even nearer to the entrance, and the girl watched with wide eyes as its shadow covered the hue of the portal. 

Its presence was overwhelming and filled the girl with dread, not quite understanding what she was looking at. Before she could even process what was happening, a gnarly hand with long claws suddenly burst through the portal, a thick slime covering the girl’s face from the impact.

With a sudden jolt of fear, she turned and fled, the sound of her footsteps echoing through the woods as she raced back toward the safety of her trailer. She used her sleeve from her flannel to wipe the disgusting slime off of her face with terror overcoming her body. 

Even as she put distance between herself and the mysterious portal, she couldn't quite shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air—something was not right. Whatever that thing was, it did not belong here. 

No one would believe what she saw.

The girl swiftly opened her trailer door, rushed inside, and slammed the door shut behind her, catching her breath from running, putting her hand on her heart. The familiar voice of her father sent a chill down her spine as she read the clock—9:04 PM.

“Where the hell have you been, Y/N? You were supposed to be back by eight, sharp.”

The air was suddenly thick with tension. The girl stood by the front door as her eyes met her father's unsober ones. The trailer reeked of alcohol as her father's face grew more and more red with anger by the second. 

“I’m sorry, I lost track of time. It won’t happen again.” Y/N softly spoke, beginning to trail her way back toward the safety of her room.

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Her father stumbled his way over to her, beer in hand, grabbing the girl’s arm.

“Away from you,” She coldly stated, harshly pulling her arm away from the man.

“Yeah, run away from your problems just like your mother did,” Her father spat, and the room was silent for a moment, with tension suffocating the air. Suddenly—the girl grabbed the beer bottle in her father’s hands and smashed it onto the floor, with resentment growing in her expression.

“You little shit—you think you can do that? This is how you treat me? After everything I’ve done for you!” He slurred, his voice rising, looking at the glass shards from the beer bottle that covered the floor.

“Done for me? You’ve done nothing but ruin everything!” Y/N shouted back, her voice cracking as she felt tears forming, her next words hesitating for a moment.

“Mom would be ashamed of what you’ve become.”

Her father staggered closer to her, the scent of alcohol thickening as it entered the girl's nose. “You think you can talk to me like that?” He asked, coldly.

“I’ll teach you—you little brat, some fucking respect.” He then turned around and stumbled toward the kitchen, opening the fridge to grab another beer. 

As the girl turned around to exit the situation and retreat to the safety of her room, she was suddenly met with a beer bottle struck at her from across the kitchen into the living room, barely missing the side of her face and smashing into the empty, undecorated wall in front of her next to the hall.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She screamed, turning around, the feeling of betrayal flooding through her system.

“You like that, huh? You like to smash stuff? I’ll show you what it’s like!” Her father screamed back, grabbing the whole beer case from the fridge, smashing it onto the floor. The girl’s body filled up with fear, and she fought tears, helpless, watching as her father found more and more items from the kitchen to destroy.

Abruptly, he stopped everything he was doing and angrily staggered into the hallway toward the girl’s room, kicking the door open with his foot.

“No, no, what are you doing?!” Y/N followed him into her room, tears now streaming down her face, watching as he searched erratically through her messy, unpacked room, throwing things out of his way—smashing her belongings in the process. 

He seemed to have found what he was looking for, reaching for her sketchbook that was under her pillow. “Don’t!” She screamed, throwing herself toward him to try and grab her hard work carefully drawn on all the pages.

“This is what happens when you disrespect me!” He shouted throughout the trailer, opening her sketchbook and tearing it in half. The desperate girl threw a weak fist at her father’s chest, watching as anger boiled over in him. 

In a flash, her father struck her, sending the girl reeling into the wall. She began to sob, feeling the betrayal sting and bruise her face, watching as her father continued to tear up the pages she spent hundreds of hours of her time on.

Y/N and her father constantly fought, but never on this level—this was the first time he’d ever laid hands on her. Her father threw the shredded paper onto the floor and left her room. She looked around, seeing her belongings shattered from the fight. Her body trembled, and she crawled toward her destroyed hard work. 

The girl attempted to piece the pages back together, but hopelessness began to infiltrate her body. Through her tears, she noticed as the room flooded with bright flashes of blue and red lights coming from outside her window, and she squinted, spotting police vehicles.

In the other room, the girl’s father silently cursed at himself and staggered his way to the living room. The flashing red and blue lights of police cars illuminated the front yard, lighting up the darkness from the night outside. 

Y/N’s father looked out the window next to the front door, seeing the chief of police step out of his vehicle. His expression was grim as he made his way up the trailer porch, firmly knocking on the front door.

“Chief of police, Jim Hopper, open the door!” He knocked loudly, his voice commanding as he announced his presence. The door swung open, revealing Y/N’s father—Thomas, who was visibly agitated. The sight of a policeman momentarily sobered him, but the anger in his eyes remained.

“What do you want?” Thomas snarled, alcohol reeking from him, attempting to block the chief's view of the chaotic scene inside.

“There was a noise complaint, step aside,” Hopper ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Pushing past Thomas, the six-foot man entered the living room and took in the scene—the broken lamp, the smashed objects and alcohol, and a girl with tear stains standing in the hall, holding the side of her cheek.

“It’s just a small mess, my daughter over here had a meltdown, she just got a bit clumsy, I—” Thomas started with an excuse, his voice full of hidden guilt as the chief examined the scene.

“You’ve done enough,” The chief stated coldly to Thomas. “Sit down and don’t move.”

The tall-figured man, Hopper, turned his attention to the girl with his demeanor softening slightly. He took light steps toward her, asking quietly, “Can you take your hand off your face for me?” 

The girl looked behind the chief to her father for approval, but the chief intervened. “Don’t look at him, kid, look at me.”

She reluctantly moved her hand to her side, clenching her fist, not making eye contact with the authority figure as he examined the bruise forming on her cheek with tear stains covering her face.

“It’s going to be alright.” Hopper fondly spoke as he put a reassuring hand on the girl’s shoulder, before turning around and putting his attention back on the drunk. 

He pulled out his handcuffs, looking at Thomas. “Put your hands up, you’re under arrest for domestic violence. You have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in court.”

“What?!” Thomas slurred defensively. “Tell him, Y/N! I didn’t do that to you!” He desperately pleaded as his daughter watched him get handcuffed by the chief with tears in her eyes. The police chief took the man outside, shoving him into his partner's vehicle. 

“You didn’t even have a warrant, you can’t arrest me!” Thomas argued inside of the vehicle.

“I’m surprised you’re even sober enough to have that thought,” Hopper shook his head, slamming the door shut. “Well Chief, he technically is right, we should’ve had a warrant.” The other officer with brunette hair and glasses spoke, giving a slight shrug.

“I’ll meet you at the station,” he tells the other officer, brushing him off, beginning to make his way back to the trailer. “I’ll take care of the kid.”

𝐇𝐚𝐰𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

“And then that’s when he struck you?” A police officer with dark skin questioned the girl who was in a rather fragile state, holding an ice pack to her cheek. Her eyes were on the clock—10:48 PM. 

“Y/N?” The same voice resurfaced, while another intervened.

“Give her a break," The girl looked up, seeing it was Chief Hopper who spoke.

“Go home, guys, it’s getting late. I can handle this.” The chief commanded his officers, and they agreed, packing their things to get a night's rest at home.

The chief's attention shifted to the girl sitting down. “Look, kid… you can’t stay at your house until you have an adult guardian staying with you,” he started, fondly. 

“Do you have anyone you can call? Any other family?” He gently questioned, watching as the girl shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She slowly shook her head with a carefully guarded expression. 

The officer sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. He couldn’t bear the thought of watching this girl go through the foster care system—knowing all she needed was a stable environment, especially at the end of her teenage years.

“Alright,” he nodded to himself. “Your father will be going through court for custody over you for domestic violence charges. The system will place you in foster care for the time being. But I have an offer,” The chief raised his eyebrows and watched as the girl shifted her guarded expression to him, listening. 

“I can pull a few strings, and as long as you’re comfortable with it, you can stay with me, kid.”

The girl was silent, observing the chief. He had a soft and unsure expression written on his face, and his mustache covered his lips, while his chief hat hid his brunette hair. The girl's eyes were guarded but vulnerable, the man could see it.

“Thank you,” She started speaking softly, pausing. “I don’t want to go into foster care... I love my dad, but he’s… this fight was different.” She paused again, changing the subject, shaking her head.

“I wouldn’t mind staying with you while this is figured out.”

"Alright then, let’s get you settled in tonight," The chief fondly smiled, reassuringly placing a hand on the girl’s tense shoulder as she nodded.

𝐀 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐋𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫

The evening settled over Hawkins, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink. Y/N found herself nestled comfortably in the chief of police’s trailer that was isolated in the middle of the woods.

The warmth of the crackling fireplace enveloped her as the fall season approached, offering solace and a sense of security that she hadn't felt in a long time. A new sketchbook Hopper had gifted Y/N upon hearing of her interest in art sat in her lap as she sketched the sight of the fireplace. With her pencil in hand, Y/N sat opposite Chief Hopper, the sound of the fireplace filling in the silence. 

“How are you feeling?” The man started up some conversation, glancing over at the girl. 

“Considering the circumstances, I’m alright,” She bluntly stated, observing the beer bottle in Hopper’s hands with pill bottles scattered across the coffee table in front of him, before shifting her focus back on her sketchbook.

“Good. That’s good.” The chief nodded, listening to the fire crackle throughout the trailer until Y/N, sat across from him, broke the silence. 

“You know you should stop with that stuff, being Chief of Police and all,” she suggested, giving a small shrug as her pencil glided across the page she was working on.

“That might be a good idea, huh?” Hopper remarked, giving a soft chuckle as he slowly began to realize that the kid had a point, thinking about how it might even trigger her looking back at the conditions of her father’s home, with beer bottles smashed across the house and pills scattered in the kitchen. Thinking about her father, he remembered the status of Thomas's case.

“Your father’s court date is in December… in the meantime, he legally can’t contact you.” Hopper started the difficult subject, watching as the girl continued sketching in her book. The date in the corner of the drawing read August 3rd, 1983.

“He’s been released from jail, and he has the option to fight for custody against the state in his court hearing," The man added.

“And if he doesn’t?” The girl asked quietly, attention still on her sketchbook. 

“You’ll belong to the state.” Hopper reluctantly finished, silence filling the air once again, with the girl momentarily pausing her sketching.

“Anyway, the first day of school is tomorrow… have you met anyone you’re going to school with yet?” Hopper changed the subject, in hopes to lighten the grim mood.

“I haven’t had the chance to go out and meet anyone,” She stated, quickly ending the conversation, leaving Hopper to wonder what else to talk about with the girl before bed—until he decided to just leave it.

"Alright kiddo, I’m going to hit the hay. I’ll take you to school in the morning.” Hopper stood up, retreating to his bedroom. 

“Sounds good. Thank you,” Y/N softly replied, hearing a gruff “mhm” from the man as he departed to his room. As the night grew later and the fire dwindled to embers, the girl prepared for bed, her mind buzzing with anticipation for the day ahead—her very first day at Hawkins High.

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worlds apart navigation next chapter

taglist: @anqelically @cupofjoekeery @steviespookie @hailqueenconquer @just-tiredman @x-theolivia @fuckshitslover

[someforeignband]

yes frances is after frances from dirty dancing! (and he’s spent the last 3 months begging eddie for another cat to name johnny)

[steddieas-shegoes]

There’s too much pressure on him.

He can’t fuck this up.

Eddie keeps looking at him, suspicious but not saying anything. Thank god.

Robin keeps giving him tiny pep talks when they manage to find a few seconds alone: “you got this” and “I promise he feels the same way” and “if you don’t do it now you’ll regret it forever.”

The last one isn’t so much a pep talk as a threat, but it still does the job.

He shakes his hands out, like he’s about to jump in the pool for a swim meet.

He bounces on his feet, slaps his arms like he’s warming up before taking the court for a must-win basketball game.

He looks and feels incredibly stupid and he’s certain that someone will see him acting like this and have questions. He just hopes it’s not Dustin. Or Max. Or Mike, Jesus Christ.

He sneaks away when the announcers give a five minute warning to the countdown. He needs a minute alone before he potentially ruins one of the best friendships he’s ever had besides Robin.

He hides in the bathroom, looks at his reflection in the mirror and tries to smile. He used to be so confident, used to be able to tell himself to make a move and make it successfully. But it used to not matter, not like this does.

No one has ever mattered the way Eddie does.

And fucking this up will ruin a lot more than just his friendship with Eddie; it’ll ruin the entire group’s dynamics.

No more hanging out at the arcade while the kids play, no more bringing snacks to game nights, no more adults only movie nights to make up for the shitty movies the kids make them watch during family movie nights.

No more getting high in Eddie’s bedroom while he plays his guitar, only trusting Steve to see how he still struggles with some chords because his fingers have more nerve damage than even the doctors know.

No more falling asleep on the couch while Eddie reads to him or tells him made up stories that turn into campaigns for the kids.

No more swimming in Steve’s pool after midnight, when Steve is scared, but wants to face his fears with Eddie by his side.

The bathroom door opening startles him from his morose thoughts, and he rushes to try to close it.

“Chill, man. Just me.”

Eddie.

“Sorry, must’ve zoned out.” Steve pretends to wipe his hands on the towel hanging by the sink. “All yours, man.”

Steve starts to leave when Eddie’s hand curls around his shoulder, tugs him back.

“You’ve been weird all night, Stevie. What’s goin’ on? Worried about having to see Nancy and Jonathan kiss?” Something’s off with Eddie’s voice towards the end, like he was going for teasing, but lost the effort halfway through the question.

Steve could hear a one minute warning from the other room.

His heart rate quickened.

“No. That’s not it.” Steve gulped. “I’m fine. Just worried.”

“I don’t think you need to worry.”

As if Eddie would know.

“I’ll just head out there-“

Eddie pushes him against the back of the bathroom door, hands on his chest and eyes boring into his.

“You were worried about kissing me, right? I didn’t imagine the way you avoided me all night and the way Robin kept poking me and looking at you anytime someone brought up kissing at midnight?” Eddie looks like he’s back in the boathouse, looks wild in a way Steve kind of loves, but probably needs to settle. “I haven’t imagined the way you look at me, have I? Like, the crush on you is probably out of hand, but I couldn’t have made up the way you always fall asleep on my shoulder when we try to stay up too late and your hand always finds mine and-“

Steve couldn’t take it. He could listen to Eddie spiral all night or he could just do what he was pretty sure they both wanted and just kiss him.

So he does.

He leans forward and kisses his lips, hopes that the way Eddie’s fingers curl against his chest doesn’t mean he’s about to push him away.

It’s short, and Steve’s hands are stuck at his side while he waits for a proper reaction from Eddie, who is frozen other than the fingers digging into Steve’s chest hairs somewhat painfully.

“Eddie?” He asks after a long silence.

“Steve, shut up. I might be in a coma still. Or those stupid bats got me and I’ve spent the last few months dreaming up a somewhat regular life.”

Steve smirked and placed his hands on top of Eddie’s, slowly unfurling the fingers and holding them in his.

“Eddie.”

This time, Eddie managed to look at him, and his shoulders fell as he seemed to catch on that he wasn’t dreaming or dead.

“Can I kiss you again or are you gonna panic?”

Eddie let out a strangled noise and nodded.

“I need a yes or a no, Eds,” Steve laughed.

“Yes. Please. Always yes. Kiss me for every single minute of 1987 if you want. Start and end the year kissing me. Kiss me until I-“

Steve shook his head, so stupidly fond of this man, and leaned in to kiss him again.

This time, Eddie managed to kiss him back, lips not as firm as they parted beneath Steve’s.

And this time when he pulled away, Eddie’s eyes slowly blinked open, and he was smiling.

“Can’t believe you did this on New Year’s Eve. How stereotypical. You’ve turned me into a stereotype. How could you do this? Stevie, I’m so ridiculously in love with you, but you really should’ve done this yesterday or something.”

“I love you, too.”

Eddie snapped his mouth shut, eyes going wide as his cheeks turned a bright red.

“I have really gotta learn to shut up. I blame Robin for the rambling.”

Steve’s hands wrapped around Eddie’s waist, pulling him closer as he kissed his forehead with a laugh.

“I think you had this problem way before you hung out with Robin.”

“How would you know, sunshine?” Eddie faked annoyance, but the term of endearment gave him away completely.

“I just know you pretty well. And I love you.”

“So you’ve said.”

“You have too.”

“I have, haven’t I?”

They both stared at each other in silence for a full minute before bursting into laughter.

Someone banged on the door as they rested their forehead against each other, laughing through another kiss.

“If you’re all done making out in there, some of us have been holding it since last year!” Max’s voice rang out.

“That joke doesn’t really mean anything when last year was two minutes ago, Maxine!” Eddie yelled back, not pulling away from Steve.

“I will use Steve’s bathroom if you don’t come out in five seconds!”

“God, please no.” Steve said as he pulled away and opened the door. “You suck so much.”

“Not as much as you apparently,” Max said back as she pushed past them and slammed the door.

“I didn’t even get to the sucking yet,” Eddie whined. “Why is she so mean?”

“She’s a teenage girl. They’re all like that.”

“Thank god I never liked them.”

“Never?”

“Steve, I was so busy trying to hide how hot I thought you were, I didn’t even notice girls.”

“Seriously?!” Steve laughed. “That must’ve been terrible for your image.”

“Yeah, well, now I think I’m the one terrible for your image, so I guess it worked out for me,” Eddie smirked, kissing Steve’s cheek.

“Very funny. Now back to the sucking thing…”

“Oh my god, I can hear you!” Max yelled from in the bathroom, causing Steve and Eddie to roll their eyes and laugh.

“That’s okay, we’ll just go upstairs, won’t we?” Eddie said loudly.

“Yep, I think that’s where we’ll be for the rest of the night!” Steve said back.

“Just go away!” Max yelled as the toilet flushed.

Steve did lead Eddie upstairs, and they definitely did intend on using a few minutes of privacy to their advantage, but were interrupted the moment Steve’s pants were unbuttoned.

Mike Wheeler would probably never recover from seeing Eddie’s lips on Steve’s neck, but maybe he’d at least learn to knock on doors before opening them.

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

How Steve and Eddie accidentally have a baby:

Robin's cousin just had a baby through a turkey baster. Robin and Eddie are hanging out when Robin brings it up.

Eddie: There's no way! It doesn't seem possible.

Robin: Dude, you're carrying around your own turkey baster.

Eddie: Nope. Nope. Nope. No way!

Robin: We have the material. We have an actual turkey baster. Let's test out a theory.

Eddie: And if it does work?

Robin: Then you and Steve get a baby like you've been talking about.

Eddie: You know, maybe Steve is right. Maybe we shouldn't hang out without him.

Robin: Coward.

Eddie: . . .

Robin: . . .

Eddie: *narrows eyes* Do it.

A couple of months later. . .

Eddie greeted Steve with a kiss as soon as he walked into their home and snuggled into his arms, squeezing him tightly.

Eddie: So, how mad would you be if I told you that I got your platonic soulmate pregnant?

[eclipnet]

a ramble on the influencer arc :)

i think one thing that we all can agree on regarding green's arc, is how uncomfortable the videos are getting the longer green's channel goes on

which, even if its obvious i feel like thats 100% intentional

in my opinion, i feel like the point of all this is that its supposed to be uncomfortable to us, its supposed to make us feel like 'is this going on too far ?'

because, that's the point

how many times can you go on youtube, and from the super, big, obvious content farming youtubers do you see and either think 'this is obviously clickbait' or 'this is obviously too far of an idea'

i think green's arc is reflecting the state of how youtube is nowadays, and not only that but the whole obvious idea of how fame can truly change someone

speaking on how fame can change someone, im going to bring up green's 'eating grass' video

that was uncomfortable to watch, we can all agree on that

and honestly, if you think about it, you'd probably think 'thats so stupid, i would never eat grass for a bit'

and honestly, between the first two videos on green's channel, if you asked him to eat grass when he had give or take 200 subscribers, he wouldn't do it

but with around 500k people, if making a video suffering for a few seconds of eating grass meant you had the chance to get some numbers next to a like button and a few dozen comments, you'd probably atleast consider it, which is what green did

and also, we all rightfully hate on green, rightfully so, he's being a jerk to his friends

but we, as viewers are also not innocent

with every click of a video, every time we press a like button, everytime we comment either validating green or telling him 'this is too much', its still all numbers with a sprinkle of validation here and there to him

with every comment on green's short, saying 'i'll do whatever you guys want me to !!', how many of the comments told him to eat grass for our own entertainment ?

every video since the minecraft vlog has been because of us viewers

'green you should add thumbnails'

green makes thumbnails

'green you should make a minecraft vlog'

green makes a minecraft vlog

'green you should make a tiktok account'

green makes a tiktok account

'green you should make a prank video'

green makes the prank video

every video since he's blown up, every thing he's done, has been because of us viewers

and i think the point of this is to say, is despite youtubers and content creators being refered to as 'influencers', the audience is the true influence.

[cloudycleric]

i thought it was hilarious when people thought will might seriously turn evil & join vecna when vecna literally spent over 3 years of his life traumatizing him like will would have to have some serious stockholm syndrome

[coniangray]

NEW BIKE SCENE CONFIRMED THE TIMELINE (I think)

If you look closely, mike will and holy wear the exact same fits with the previous scenes they filmed, especially mike.

He wore this exact same outfit in the official duffers bts in his room, in the mileven roof/will field scene, the barn with robin and the school.

Will also wore this in the official bts, the barn and I think his scene with hopper in the field/him standing alone in the radio station.

My guess on the timeline is:

Day one:

Mike gets bullied at the school by Andy in the morning with Dustin, then Dustin visits Eddie in his grave and sth happens there (as we saw from the Eddie bts pics).

I also think will is staying over at the wheelers, that's why he's with holly and Mike, they're basically babysitting her and that's before she went missing and even before her vision with 70's Henry creel.

The bike scene might have happened after the barn.

I think the barn took place the same day as the school in the afternoon, and they took an overnight staying alert and safe(??) that's why they're wearing the same clothes still. St4 hawking hang wore the same thing 2 days in a row when max was cursed.

So school first, then grave scene, then mileven rooftop/will field scene, then barn, then bikes (the next day) and then holy goes missing.

The mansion with the files and the candy striper is set on another episode I think.

That's all for now, Also there's sth like a radio/walkman in front of Mike's bike so I think this scene is them trying to catch a signal of some sorts, considering theyre biking near a restricted area.

Also yes, Twitter, I know they film out of order I'm not that dumb Im just gathering scenes to connect to the timeline thanks.

[gardensnakie]

[fastcardotmp3]

stranger things au where when it's all done, instead of the general fandom usual of NDA's and cover stories, those guys at the NINA Project figure out a way to use that same technology that brought El's memories back to instead wipe the memories of anyone involved in saving the world/ anyone who saw anything abnormal and replace them with the mundane.

It's the only foolproof way to make sure that none of That gets out, to make sure that no one decides to go poking around again 10 years down the line or write a book or a song or a movie that hits a little too closely to the truth, and the government loves themselves something that seems like a foolproof plan.

But what does this mean for our heroes? They don't remember the circumstances that brought them together, only the cover memories that were inserted in their place. They don't remember why they care so deeply for one another because a summer scooping ice cream or a walk through the woods or an-- impromptu game of baseball???-- doesn't quite line up with how it feels.

It feels bigger than that. It feels--

There are explanations for Steve's scars, he remembers a big dog and a trip to the ER, he remembers getting in a car accident and the seat belt coming loose enough to get stuck across his throat instead of his chest. He remembers-- blood on his hands, blood on his clothes, the outline of a man torn half to shreds--

He remembers a bad trip with Robin, but sometimes Robin will say something and it's-- when we got drugged- took those- when we uh, y'know tried LSD that time?-- fuzzy because of the bad trip of it all.

It's easy to accept the truth as the truth, because he remembers. It's easy, for years, to let the truth be the truth, to forget entirely that there are pieces that don't make sense, that there's no reason he should be as close with Dustin Henderson as he is because wait how did we meet? over a missing cat? It's easy, to just let it be true, because the love is there and that's what matters.

The love is there for a year and two and five and ten and Steve's life isn't always easy, in fact he's gone through his fair share of therapists for the insomnia none of them can explain, the confusion that both him and Robin talk about sometimes in the dead of night but can't remember talking about in the morning.

Eddie gets medicated for some sort of psychosis for a while because he had years of these intense night terrors that he could never explain to people, screaming at the top of his lungs, but the minute he would try to tell a shaking and terrified Steve or Robin or Nancy or whoever was present what it had been about he would just sob with frustration because he couldn't remember.

Max has a condition which made her lose her eyesight rapidly as a teenager, who has chronic pain that no doctors have ever found a real cause for despite Steve dragging her to appointment after appointment with fierce protectiveness in his eyes and voice, a desperation that there has to be a reason.

It's easy to accept it as the truth, that they all gravitated towards each other because they're all just a little fucked up in unrelated ways. That they connected to one another because oh you get scared sometimes too? scared like I do? scared like no one else understands?

Lucas starts spontaneously sobbing when some Kate Bush song plays on the radio in 1992. Can't explain it except that it hurts.

Nancy goes to a shooting range and feels her hands go steady for the first time in years in '93. She's never shot a gun before.

El Hopper had a traumatic enough childhood that doctors say she likely won't ever remember all of it, that her brain is protecting her, that-- that's probably true. They're doctors. They know better than Steve, they know about everything except why Max's legs hurt so bad she can't move sometimes.

They know everything except why Eddie can't feel pinned down without having a visceral belief he's dying.

They know everything except why Jonathan swears that their old house used to be painted a different color in the living room.

There are explanations for Steve's scars. He remembers a big dog.

Sharp teeth. Snarling.

He's in his thirties when he kisses Eddie Munson for the first time, because they're fucked in the head in the same ways, because no one else has ever gotten close enough to see the scars and hear the screaming and feel the desperation and not suggested maybe you need bigger help than I can give.

He's a grown man, and it's easy to believe the truth of his past, easy to think that growing older means it's supposed to be a little fuzzy around the edges, and that's okay because this feels bright and clear and technicolor, this thing with Eddie who has run away and come back half a dozen times but always does come back.

Whether he goes to Seattle or LA, New York or Boston; whether he and Steve are in the same place at the same time for more than a couple of weeks, he always comes back, they always find their way back to each other no matter where in the world, except--

Except there.

Everyone left that town with a haste-- or was it one at a time? No, it was the Byers first to California, except-- didn't Will graduate from that school? No. Because El went to school in Chicago at the same time that Robin started college there and she helped Will apply to the Arts Institute and--

And it was Max who went to California-- no, she was from there, but she also-- did she go back?

And why does Steve remember the house he grew up in but the minute he tries to step outside the back door onto the patio in his mind, out by the-- with the blue light and--

"Have you ever been back?" he asks Eddie one day, 32 years old and living in Chicago now full-time together. Robin's just down the road, Nancy's at the Tribune, Argyle has been franchising that coffee shop of his, is opening a spot here in town near his friends who he met when--

"Back where?" Eddie trails his hands through Steve's hair, laying half on top of each other on the couch and listening to some old tape of Jonathan's.

"Where we're from."

Eddie's fingers slow to an almost still and Steve props himself up to watch the way his brow furrows in concentration.

"Why would we go back?" he asks, and Steve has this flash-- like they've had this conversation before.

Like they've talked about where we're from before, although the name of the place never crosses their lips.

"I dunno," Steve slumps into Eddie's chest. They're getting older though so maybe just, "nostalgia?"

"Are you feeling nostalgic?" A rediscovered rhythm to gentle nails across his scalp. Soothing.

"It's where we met," Steve says. It feels true, although when he thinks about it-- "remember? How we met?"

"I..." Eddie's jaw clicks. It does that sometimes, on the same side with the scar.

There are explanations for Eddie's scars too-- a drug deal gone wrong, too many guys with too may knives-- or was it broken beer bottles? They used those as weapons, yeah. Tattered clothes and tattered skin and blood on Steve's hands--

No. He wasn't there. Blood on-- it was Dustin who found him? No. Wait, it was Wayne. Wayne found him, yeah, exactly--

"We met there," Eddie's gripping Steve's hair now, by the root. "We met back there. High school. Do you want to go back?

"Why would we go--"

Steve startles himself with the words, like they just-- like they weren't a choice to say, like they said themselves, like--

"Ed."

Breathing is tight. Steve sits up straight and looks at him. Scars on his face. Eyes so big and deep they hold endless histories--

"Eddie, do you want to go visit-- visit, uh, you know?"

"Why would we--" Eddie claps a hand over his mouth and hums out a sound of frightened discontent. "What. What the fuck."

"How did we meet, again?" Steve swallows. Eddie stands up, paces to the other side of the apartment.

"High school."

"How in high school?"

"Steve, I stopped taking those meds because they didn't help, but this isn't helping me not feel fucking certifiable either--"

"Eddie, I don't remember."

"Okay, so we're getting old!"

"We're not even middle aged!"

Eddie stops where he stands, shakes his head, and Steve watches him because it's easy to watch him, easy to look at the life they've lived and accept that they found each other, fell in love, because no one else gets what it's like to be fucked in the head. To know what's true and still feel wrong in that truth.

To believe it and still get lost in it.

Eddie clenches down on the tremble of his jaw and his eyes go big and imploring.

"What's happening, Stevie?"

There are explanations for all of it, but no one has ever been able to explain Max's pain or Nancy's sharp-shooting or Robin and Steve's inability to get drunk without losing it or the color of the paint in the Byers' old living room in that fucking town that Steve can't even think the name of--

"I'm calling Robin," he says, already striding across the floor. "I want to go back."

There are explanations.

Maybe that's not good enough anymore.

[rumpled]

Andreas Pietschmann as The Stranger in Dark (2017-2020)

[axquiva]

in tears over this segment from Noah Schnapp´s interview with Variety on coming out

full interview here

[katsu28]

even after all these years

pairing: Eddie Munson x reader

summary: based on the prompt “i take my little sibling to their school’s halloween carnival and you’re one of the volunteers/workers there and you’re super cute” but slightly different

warnings: light swearing, bats

a/n: is it even legal to finally be posting a halloween fic in december? let’s pretend it is and i’m not criminally late with it! but in my defense, i started writing this before halloween and then just never finished it </3

navigation + taglist

Eddie didn’t want to be here. Now don’t get him wrong, he liked Halloween just as much as the next person, but being around all these people that were ready to hunt him down and burn him at the stake just months ago, who were now pretending like it never happened, just didn’t tickle his fancy. 

But Dustin and Steve were very adamant on him coming with them, and as much as he wanted to decline, he couldn’t. 

So now here he was, shuffling behind his friends as they wandered around the Hawkins High parking lot that had been converted into a makeshift Halloween carnival, trying his best to ignore the stares and whispers aimed his way. 

Eddie was no stranger to them, but these were different. He wasn’t just a freak, he was a so called “murderer”. Even though his name had been cleared a long time ago. 

“Dude, you look like you’re about to piss yourself. Relax.” Steve’s voice drew him out of his thoughts, his eyes flicking to the brown haired boy currently raising a brow at him. “You’re fine, Munson.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Whatever.” Eddie muttered, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denim jacket sulkily. 

Dustin cast a glance back at him, frowning when he saw the older boy kicking a rock down the gravel path, much more interested in the toes of his dirty sneakers than anything else around him. He felt bad for dragging Eddie here when he obviously wasn’t having any fun, but it was good for him to get out more. He’d barely left Steve’s house at all the past seven months, only managing to drag himself to Hellfire meetings and to give Dustin an occasional ride home from school. 

“Hey, you wanna come with me to get my face painted?” Dustin asked excitedly, making his way back to tug on Eddie’s sleeve with a grin. “I was thinking like a huge spiderweb, straight across my cheek. Pretty badass, don’t you think?” 

“I guess.” Eddie shrugged, instantly feeling guilt pool in his stomach when he saw Dustin’s shoulders slump. So he tried his best to remedy it by plastering a smile on his face, clapping him on the back and pulling him closer by the collar of his jacket. “That does sound real badass, Henderson. Lead the way.” 

Dustin perked right back up, launching into a mindless ramble about some species of spider that Eddie wasn’t paying attention to all that much as they made their way through the crowds of kids and parents to the face painting table. Immediately plunking into a free chair across from one of the Hawkins High science teachers, Dustin started talking again, probably forgetting that Eddie had come with him. 

Eddie, on the other hand, was about ready to ditch him, since he was getting a few weird looks as he just stood in the middle of the array of tables awkwardly. 

“Hey, I know you. You’re—” 

“Yeah, yeah, Eddie the freak, satanic worshipper, murderer, yada, yada,” He grumbled, deciding to slouch over into another flimsy plastic chair with his arms crossed over his chest to get out of people’s way, barely hastening you a glance before focusing his scowl on the worn out knees of his jeans. 

“Uh…okay. That’s not what I was thinking of though.” You frowned. “Hawkins middle school debate team, sixth grade.” 

Eddie’s eyes snapped up, widening in horror at the sight of you. You, out of all the people he could’ve snapped at.

He remembered you, and he definitely remembered that year. The year he went to live with his uncle, which then turned into two, then three, then the rest of his life. 

He’d been having trouble adjusting to being moved around so much, so he’d started acting out. Arguing with teachers, interrupting class randomly, cutting school, the whole nine yards. Apparently, he was so good at arguing with authority figures, they decided to stick him on the debate team as punishment. But honestly, it wasn’t so much of a punishment when he realized that you were also on the debate team. 

Bright eyed and bushy tailed with the brightest of smiles, you were Eddie’s first crush. You were one of the only people who didn’t treat him like a total freak, sitting with him during debate practices and talking to him when no one else would, even going so far as to share your snacks with him. You never brushed him off or called him a weirdo, and you’d even kicked Tommy H in the nuts one time when he made a dig at Eddie’s clothes. 

So when you moved out of Hawkins, he was pretty bummed. But now you were back, and he still felt the same butterflies in his stomach right now that he did back when he was twelve. 

“What was that about being a murderer?” You tilted your head at him in confusion, to which he shook his head quickly. 

“Nothing! I’m not—my name was cleared, I didn’t, uh, I didn’t murder anyone!” He tugged at the collar of his jacket awkwardly, half expecting you to shoot him a weird look. 

But you just smiled, laughing a little bit. “That’s always good. Hi, Eddie.” 

“Hi,” Eddie said sheepishly, holding up a ringed hand in greeting. “I didn’t know you were back.” 

“Yeah, I’ve only been here for a couple weeks…” You trailed off, fiddling with your paintbrush. Hoping I’d magically run into you somehow, you wanted to add. But you didn’t. “I like your hair. Much better than the buzzcut.” 

Eddie’s hand flew to his unruly curls, trying his best to smooth them down even the tiniest bit. You remembered what his hair looked like? More importantly, you remembered him? 

“Oh, uh, thanks. I like your hair too.” His words came out in an awkward jumble that you just beamed even brighter at, eyes crinkling at the corners. I like your hair too? Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

You didn’t seem to think it was stupid. “You’re sweet. How’ve you been? What’ve you been up to?” 

Eddie shifted in his seat uncomfortably. What had he accomplished since the last time he saw you? 

He’d become a drug dealer, started a club that everyone thought promoted Satanic worship, been accused for multiple gruesome murders, almost died in Hawkins the horror dimension, came back, and was now even more of a loser freak than he’d already been.

“Uh, not much. Nothing too interesting.” He mumbled. “So…what, uh, what brings you back here?” 

“My grandparents’ house was damaged in that earthquake back in March and they came to live with us right after, so we’re just here trying to…hopefully salvage some stuff, maybe see if we can fix it up.” You shrugged, waving your brush around aimlessly. “Honestly, I don’t think there’s too much we can do, that was a pretty intense quake.” Eddie didn’t mean to, but he flinched a bit at your mention of the quake, seeing as what really happened was so much worse than a natural disaster. 

You noticed, instantly scrambling to rectify your statement with flaming cheeks. “I mean, obviously, you knew that, you lived through it. Sorry, that was really insensitive of me, I don’t—” 

“It’s fine! Don’t worry about it.” Eddie shook his head quickly, brushing it off. “I’m—I’m okay.” I nearly got eaten alive by demon bats from hell, but I’m okay. Obviously he couldn’t tell you that. Not only would he sound absolutely insane, but it would definitely scare you off, which is something he really didn’t want. 

“Right, well, anyways—” You started, but were cut off by a cleared throat from a quite severe looking woman with a clipboard standing a few feet away, who was aiming a very pointed looking glare in your direction. Leaning in a little closer, your nose wrinkled in distaste, voice hushed so as to not draw her attention even more. “That’s my supervisor. She thinks I talk too much, paint too little.” 

“Supervisor? Aren’t you a volunteer?” Eddie whispered, brows furrowing. 

You shrugged. “Apparently this whole carnival thing is super serious this year.” 

“Uh huh, because painting pumpkins on kids’ faces is such a serious thing.” 

“According to her, it’s pretty much the most serious thing in the whole history of serious things.” 

“Seriously?” 

“Seriously.” 

You had to clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from bursting into laughter, such a simple act that still sent a shot of warmth through Eddie’s chest. It also garnered the attention from your supervisor, whose angry steps quickly spurred you back to business as usual. 

“And what would you like painted on your face today, Eddie?” 

His lips quirked into a miniscule smile at your sudden forced enthusiastic tone, which brought a flush to your cheeks. 

“Sorry,” You apologized sheepishly. “Too teacher-y?” 

“I’d say just enough teacher-y.” He observed, nodding thoughtfully. “Reminds me of Mrs. Paulson from middle school. Y’know, the old lady who always smelled like pepperoni.” 

“Pepperoni Paulson, I remember her,” You nodded as well, then squinted at him suspiciously. “Wasn’t she arrested for public intoxication a few years ago?” 

“Yeah. I stand by my point.” 

You let out a noise of indignance, eyebrows creasing and nose wrinkling in such an adorable way that Eddie almost felt the need to turn tail and run. 

“Okay, asshole, what do you want painted on you?” You huffed playfully, poking his arm with the pointy end of the brush in your hand. 

Eddie scratched at his nose. “Eh, I dunno. Surprise me.” 

“You sure you wanna give me free reign after that smug comment? Might just draw a dick on your face to be funny.” 

He couldn’t help it. A snorting laugh fell from his lips at how utterly serious you looked as you dipped the brush into the colorful array of paint in front of you. 

You were the first person outside his friends not to tiptoe around him like he was about to snap at any second. Maybe it was because you had no idea what had really happened in Hawkins, but he didn’t really care. He wasn’t used to it, but he liked it. He really liked it. 

Both Steve and Dustin’s heads whipped around at the sound of Eddie’s laughter, regarding each other with identical wide eyed stares before gawking over at him. They hadn’t heard him laugh in months. They didn’t even know he still could laugh. 

But there he was, sitting at the face painting booth across from you, head tipped back, shoulders shaking, looking…happy. 

Eddie, on the other hand, felt like he was about to spontaneously combust at your close proximity—your fingers gripping his chin to keep him still, the delicate swipe of your brush across his cheek, your knees wedged between his own to get the right angle for steady strokes. How you radiated vanilla and cinnamon and the kind of warmth that spread through his own body with every carefully controlled breath he took. 

To make matters worse, your tongue poked out from between your lips in pure concentration, something Eddie realized you had in common. Though he probably wasn’t as cute when he did it. 

His gaze bounced around, focusing on anywhere else, anything else but you. 

“You look kinda uncomfortable right now, Eddie,” You said softly, your breath a barely there puff of air across his skin that still had goosebumps raising on his arms. “Are you okay? Do you need me to stop?” 

“No, I’m—I’m good! It’s just…cold out today.” He finished lamely, fingers fiddling with the rips in his pants. 

“It is.” You concurred, smiling softly. “I gotta say, I definitely haven’t missed Hawkins in that area.”

Hawkins has definitely missed you, Eddie thought. Okay, maybe not Hawkins. Just me. 

The paint on his cheek was cold too, but it did nothing to quell the flame of his cheeks to rosy red the more he realized that twelve year old Eddie would give anything to be where he was right now. Hell, even himself from a few months ago would’ve had an aneurysm if he knew that he actually had the chance to talk to you again. 

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, jerking him back to reality. “Alright, take a look, tell me what you think.” You passed him a small mirror, leaning back in your seat. “You can tell me if you hate it. I’ll just go curl up in a ball and die from embarrassment.” 

“I won’t hate it, I promise. I—” He glanced in the mirror, stopping mid-sentence when he saw what you’d created oh so carefully. A flurry of tiny bats scattered across his cheek, the black paint a stark contrast to his pale skin. 

“Oh my god, you hate it!” You moaned, hiding your face behind your hands. 

“I don’t!” 

“You so do!” 

“Y/N, I promise I don’t hate it. See, look,” He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket hastily to reveal a similar grouping of bats tattooed on his forearm. “More bats.” 

The scars marring his torso and chest twinged, not out of pain, but as a reminder. Bats. Obviously, he couldn’t tell you the real reason why he wasn’t too fond of bats, but he’d sooner face the Upside Down again than tell you he hated what you’d done. 

“Oh, okay. Good. Because I was afraid I just blew my chance at impressing you after all these years.” 

“You—you wanted to impress me?” He asked incredulously, eyebrows furrowing. 

“‘Course I did. Feels a little late to admit this, but I totally had a crush on you in middle school.” 

“You did?” 

“I did. I was even thinking about telling you before I left, but it just…didn’t feel right, y’know? Dropping such a big thing and then bailing?” 

“Y/N, you moved away, that’s not bailing.” Eddie shook his head, then inhaled a sharp breath. “I—I actually liked you too. And I wanted to tell you back then, but then you…y’know, moved, and I thought I’d lost my chance.” 

It suddenly felt a lot harder to breathe, but you managed to utter your next words despite it. “But now I’m back.” 

“Now you’re back,” He repeated. “You’re back, and I get another one.” His hand came down on your knee, the warmth of his palm sending a different kind of warmth to your cheeks. “I still like you. I don’t think I ever stopped. I actually think it got worse—no, not worse! Liking you was never a bad thing, it was a really good thing. It has been a really good thing, I just—I didn’t know if I was ever gonna see you again, and now that I have, I…am totally rambling, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to—” 

“Eddie—” 

“—overload you with my feelings, I just felt like it was something I should tell you, since—” 

“Eddie,” You repeated, your hand blanketing his on your jeans. “Stop talking.” His mouth snapped shut immediately, brown eyes wide. “I still like you too.” 

“You…you do?” You nodded. “Even after all these years?” Another nod, this time accompanied by a soft smile. 

“Even after all these years.” You echoed, tapping along the rings adorning his knuckles. His fingers twitched, aching to entwine with yours, but he was afraid that he might be hallucinating right now. There was no way in hell you felt the same way, now or ever. He wanted to pinch himself, but he felt it might be weird. 

You could tell by the way his mouth dropped open the slightest bit that the cogs in his mind were working overdrive, so you decided to take matters into your own hands. “I’m gonna kiss you now, Eddie. Feel free to stop me.” 

Eddie wasn’t going to stop you. He’d never even dream about it. 

When your lips touched his, he could swear that he was dreaming—that any second now, he’d wake up in his own bed, back to the reality where this whole thing never happened. Where you were still god knows where, miles and miles away from Hawkins, probably not even paying him any mind at all. 

This time, he really did pinch himself, and he was beyond pleased to realize that this was real, that you were in fact here, kissing him, right now. He leaned forward into you, one hand sliding around the back of your neck while the other cupped your cheek tenderly. Yours came up to grip at his biceps, fingers curling into the worn leather of his sleeves as if you were securing him place, making sure that he couldn’t slip away the way he did all those years ago. 

And when his hands moved down to your chair to drag you a little bit closer, you took that chance to take his face in yours, tracing the curve of his jaw lightly as his mouth moved against yours eagerly. 

Both of you seemed to realize that you were in a public place with lots of people around at the same time, pulling away from each other swollen lipped and a little breathless, but still with identical stupid grins on your faces. 

“Oh no,” You pouted, holding up your hand for him to see the splotches of black paint smudging your fingertips. “I ruined my hard work.” 

“Looks like you’re just gonna have to do them all over again.” 

“Looks like it.” 

“Can I make a request though?” You raised an eyebrow at his sheepish turned suspiciously giddy grin. “No more bats.” 

“I knew you hated them, you asshole!” 

“I said I didn’t hate them! They’re really good, but bats are just…not my thing.” 

“Says the boy with the bat tattoo.” 

Cocking his head to the side, Eddie ignored you, instead opting to lean in and kiss you again, and of all the ways he could’ve changed the subject, this was by far the best. 

Eddie had never been so grateful for his friends’ constant pestering and dragging him everywhere he didn’t want to go, because it led him back to you, the one that got away. Twelve year old Eddie knew it was you, current day Eddie knew it was you, and now you knew it too. 

He’d thank Steve and Dustin later when he had the time, but not now. Eddie was too busy planning out all the things he wanted to say to you and do with you before his luck turned and you were gone again. Though if he’s being honest, he doesn’t think you’re planning on leaving anytime soon. 

Neither are you. No way in hell were you thinking about leaving when coming back to Hawkins got you paint smudged fingers, some closure, and finally Eddie Munson. 

Even after all these years.

taglist!

@wittiestrain184 @milkiane @pastel-abyss-x @liltimmyst @lilygreennn @nia-um @pinkdaiisies @maciiiofficial @oliviah-25 @scoopsahoykeery @eddiesquinn @bubsonnobx @yearningforeddiemunson @sanzu-holic @cityofidek @strawberry-canyon

[pennywises]

⚠️ REPOSTER ALERT

if you attach gifs to your fics, gifmakers still deserve credit for those gifs and you're stealing and reposting otherwise. infuriating because the search function is so easy to use and posts the credit instantly! easier process than saving and reposting and generally being a big 'ol headache.

that said, if you've made austin butler gifs, mainly from the bikeriders and elvis, you may want to check @pxnsneverland and in particular their fic tag. there are a few different fandoms with similar reposting, like stranger things. i've tagged some folks whose work i recognize, but there are a ton i don't. hoping to get the word out so folks can block if they'd like to, since of course this person ignored me.

editing with additional blogs this person has so people can block if they'd like to, since they also have gifs reposted on these: xxyouaremysunshinex, waystobewixed, kingoftheneverwoods, and kingoftheneverwoods-archive.