#author: erica waters

[authorunpublished]

Book Review: All That Consumes Us

Title: All That Consumes Us Author: Erica Waters Genre: Young Adult, Horror, Fantasy, Paranormal, Gothic, LGBTQ+ Rating: 5 Stars Description/Synopsis: The students in Corbin College’s elite academic society, Magni Viri, have it all—free tuition, inspirational professors, and dream jobs once they graduate. When first-gen college student Tara is offered a chance to enroll, she doesn’t hesitate.? …

[free-air-for-fish]

[13] Chapter 16 Review Syndicate: The Restless Dark

Every once in a while, I’ll read a book for Chapter 16 that turns me on to a new author, and in this case, that author is Erica Waters. Her YA horror novel The Restless Dark had me hooked once I saw the cover, and it only got better from there. Her other novels are on my TBR list, and I hope to get around to Ghost Wood Song very soon. Cover of The Restless Dark by Erica Waters The Restless Dark…

[ghostchems]

infernal - terzo x f!reader - part five

art by the incredibly talented @piaart!

author’s note: finally have this finished but man is it hard to be satisfied. i keep wanting to work on it and work on it but i also really wanted to get this out! also don't even know if this is good teehee. lots of awkward here. 4.9k words. part one/two/three/four. ao3 linky.

The date is going surprisingly well. You chose an Italian spot (ha!) and have had your fill of lobster ravioli and Cabernet Sauvignon all while you learned more about Dylan since he graduated high school. Went to a state school in the middle of bumblefuck, drank and drank some more, got overly into the college culture (emphasis on cult) and tipped a few cows in his time. It aligns perfectly with the slivers of information Catherine gave you through the years, though he’s mentioned nothing of the steady college girlfriend he supposedly had. Interesting. You laugh at his dumb jokes. You’re smiley. But it does feel like an act that’s partially fueled by alcohol and having someone’s attention on you.

He’s still talking but you’re admiring his small, button nose, how his brunette locks shape his face and his bright smile. You can’t help but think his face is a little too smooth, though. Has this boy been through anything meaningful? Has he suffered at all in his shiny little life? Your mind drifts back to Terzo’s rough hands and how they felt on you earlier that day. He forced you to your knees and it was clear that it wasn’t the first time he’s done so. You can still taste him on your tongue.

“You haven’t told me about your job! Aren’t you like an assistant?” Dylan snaps you out of it and you offer a shy smile.

“Yeah! I had to get out of that call center, man. It was like draining my life force. Not that this isn’t difficult but it’s nice to not be yelled at by some rando on the phone for hours a day.” You toy with your glass of wine.

“So, like what do you assist in? Is it just you?”

Huh. You’ve never really explained exactly what you do to anyone. Not even Catherine or Erica — you only really focused on Him. That won’t go over too well in this situation, will it?

“It’s just me and it’s mainly house maintenance right now. My boss’ place was a disaster when I started.” Perhaps the most watered down description of your job.

“So you’re like… you’ve cleaned it up?” There’s judgment in his voice that’s immediately sobering. He stares at you blankly.

“I guess I meant more like projects. The last big one was fixing up his yard. I had to manage the budget and scheduling of the landscapers and stuff.” Your voice is flat.

“Oh, okay gotcha.” Dylan nods and he is back to smiling. You’re seething on the inside. Was your answer acceptable to him? “What’s your boss like? Is he a guy?”

What the.

“Yeah, he’s a guy. He’s a little weird. Definitely eccentric. I’ve tried not to pry too much into his personal life, you know. Boundaries and all that, but when I first started he had me sort out some of his things and it looked like he used to be the lead singer in a band.” Another oddly phrased question. At least now you’ve been prompted to bring up the man you haven’t been able to stop thinking about.

“Oh, shit! That sounds awesome! What band?”

Oh, do you hesitate. A long silence stretches between you two.

“I’m… I’m not sure I should say. I don’t want to blow up his spot or anything.” You’re sheepish suddenly and Dylan notices.

“Aw, come on. Who am I gonna tell?” A good question. You drum your fingers on the table, thinking about how you’ve never really told anyone who your boss actually is.

“Catherine will tell me if she finds out.” A warning, last one until the big reveal. Dylan nods enthusiastically, some of his hairs falling into his forehead. For a split second you think that maybe if you were younger with much less life experience perhaps he would be perfect for you. But you know too much and you know that he wouldn’t be able to give you what you want. “It was Ghost.”

“Oh.” He makes a face and leans back in his chair.

“Oh? Sorry, is that not impressive enough?”

“No, no. It’s still cool. They’re just… I don’t know.”

Do you continue this conversation? Do you care what he thinks? You don’t…but your curiosity gets the better of you.

“What is it, Dylan? Are they lame? I’ve tried to… you know, not dig too deep into it because I feel like that would affect my professionalism.” That and you didn’t want to completely pry into the man’s life.

“Oh, I get that. Uhhh, I mean they’re not REALLY metal. They say they’re metal but they’re not so it’s just a little weird.” He shrugs and crosses his arms. You knit your brows together because you have absolutely no idea what he’s talking about.

“Right. Okay.”

“Yeah, I mean, they are basically like pop. Not metal, not at all.” He sounds so impassioned and you nod along but it feels inappropriate. Why is he so pressed? It turns you off even more and you do everything in your power to get this date wrapped up. You are done drinking and you’re too full for dessert. Responses shorten and eventually you’re out front on the sidewalk waiting for an Uber. Dylan has insisted on waiting with you and hovers just a bit too closely by your side. He seems a little oblivious to how this date has gone, bless his heart.

“Well, this is me.” Awkward, so awkward. You move to get into the car but Dylan stops you by your arm and leans in for a kiss. It’s truly over before it starts, a quick peck before he pulls away with a smirk. You are dying on the inside.

“We’ll hang out again soon, yeah?”

“Sure. Yes.” You lie and hurry into the Uber, wanting nothing more than this wretched day to finally end.

Terzo blinks awake. The cool air of the night pricks his cheeks. Leaves crunch beneath his soggy socks. He coughs, blood spilling from his mouth and splattering on his thick chest hair. A robe hangs loosely from his shoulders. Terzo’s eyes drift down to his hand to see he’s wearing his black gloves with sharp, golden nails. He squints and there’s something black stuck to one of the points. Gaze drifts to where he is. His driveway. A breeze rolls by that sends shivers down his spine as his eyes focus on your car.

He’s slashed one of your tires.

Terzo cackles wildly upon this realization. This is new even for him and his weird, otherworldly tendencies. Could be straight up mental illness. He takes a few lumbering steps forward before crouching to eye the tire, surveying the damage. Completely shredded with the rim touching the ground. There’s a familiar buzzing in his skull, a buzz that he used to get while performing. How far he had fallen. Still, he’s delighted with himself. A fitting punishment for the way you crushed him earlier. What hubris you had for leaving your car on his property. Rage shoots through him for a quick moment, the thought of you spending the night with your date crossing his mind. Would this boy drop you off in the morning? He could plan for that.

In his fits of unsatisfying sleep, ideas for being cruel sprang to his mind. He’s settled on ignoring you for most of tomorrow, to have you toil away waiting for any kind of attention but to no avail. Terzo would be watching you the whole day, of course, hidden away in dark corners and peering down from atop the grand staircase. He has always been the best at sneaking around undetected out of all of his brothers, having avoided so many moments where his father could have reamed him out due to this expertise. Primo and Secondo weren’t so lucky.

Sharp pang in his chest from thinking about them.

No, no. He must focus on you. He pushes the thoughts back to the void. You’ll be trapped here at the end of your workday because of this, wouldn’t you? That’s when he’ll reveal himself. He’ll torture you. Tease the information of your date out of you.

How well could it have gone when you are so devoted to him?

The house is cold without him, a shiver running down your spine every time you found yourself in a dark corridor. You try to keep your thoughts to a minimum and are somewhat thankful that the contractor was able to come today. He’s a quiet man but seems to enjoy your cheerfulness which breathes life into an otherwise miserable day. Between directions and answering questions, you would wander the first floor and hover by the stairs, listening for any signs of life only to hear silence. The last time you saw him flits through your mind — the pressure of the hand on your neck that forced you to the ground seconds after he angrily spat in your face seconds after he kissed you. What the hell. You should be furious at him for treating you that way, for leaping over the carefully placed boundaries the two of you have been dancing around for weeks.

But instead you sigh dreamily. You burn for him. Cheeks grow hot just from thinking about his rough hands on you. You hope he’s okay. And you’re sure he is, he’s a big boy.

The fact that you’re more worried about his feelings than you are about potentially losing your job over this is not lost on you. You’ve lived in constant fear of getting fired over the smallest mistakes since the start of this job but you are oddly calm about this situation. This feels like a natural progression. There was going to be a time where you had to confront this strange connection and you would rather it happen sooner rather than later with the way things have been going. As painful as it would be (emotionally AND financially) to say goodbye to him maybe it would be best for it be sooner rather than later.

The day goes by at a painfully slow pace with no sign of him. Anxiety builds and builds as you watch your clock tick down on your phone. You’ve taken to painstakingly wiping down every single mirror on the first floor (there is an absurd amount of them) because it takes up time and gives you something to focus one. After a while interacting with the contractor becomes painful for you, too heightened to be able to function in a normal social setting. You send him home early with a smile, being Friday and all, and you continue carrying out your mirror mission. This takes you to around 4:30 at which point you say “fuck it” and decide it’s time for bed! What is the point of even being here anymore when you could be under your comforter with a pint of chocolate chip ice cream as you ponder your existence?

It was an easy decision.

You meander out the front door, making sure not to slam it shut but have it at least be somewhat loud to announce your exit. Yes, you are stooping that low. A quick wave of relief washes over you because you made it. The day is over and while the issue looms you are at least out of his domain. Car keys jingle in your pocket. You make quick work of the walk from the porch to your car until the state of your tire stops you in your tracks.

“Oh my god!” You’re in disbelief. It’s like an animal chewed through the rubber. Your rim is on the ground. Tears start to well up in your eyes. This is it. This is the thing that’s pushed you over the edge today. A frustrated screech bubbles up your chest.

“Come back inside.”

You freeze as soon as you hear his voice. Spinning on heel, you turn to face him. He’s standing with his arms crossed, leaning against a column on the porch. His dress shirt is the darkest black you’ve ever seen, partially unbuttoned to show off thick chest hair and cut slacks show off his strong thighs. Did he get dressed up for you? His paint is crisp and hair is slicked back neatly. Fuck, he looks good*.*

“I can get an Uber?” A question as if you’re asking him permission, taking a few tentative steps towards him.

“Hmmm. No. I’ll call you a driver.” A rough response but you can’t help but feel warmth blossom in the pit of your stomach. “Get back inside.” Terzo growls, his gaze stern and pointed. He leaves you alone in his front yard. You feel silly by how hard your heart hammers in your chest but this is what you’ve been wanting all day. A moment passes by and you work up your courage to go inside and take your punishment. Thoughts of your shredded tire fade.

You walk inside the foyer and follow the sound of clinking glasses, finding him at the bar in the den. Terzo’s gaze falls to you then he directs you to the couch with his eyes. You silently follow the order and sit on one of the couch cushions furthest away from him. There’s a lump in your throat, fidgeting with your hands as you wait for him to join you. Eventually he turns around to face you with two drinks in his hand, one a red martini with a lime green umbrella and the other a pint full of something gross looking - not beer but still brown? His face is blank and you try to match his energy but it’s hard to keep your blush at bay. You reach out to take the martini from him but he pulls it back out of your grasp and instead presses the pint into your hand. The smell fills your nostrils: whiskey. Yuck. He runs a hand through his hair as he takes a seat on the other side of the couch, allowing for plenty of space between you two.

“You’ve called the driver already, right?”

“Yes.” He rolls his eyes but you’re still not sure you believe him.

Terzo’s arm stretches across the back of the couch, gloves just brushing your shoulder. Your grip on your whiskey tightens. This isn’t his usual charming aloofness, there’s something cold and cruel bubbling beneath the surface. Still, you want nothing more than to speak to him, even if he’s obviously pissed at you. He lifts his other hand up to his face, admiring the sharp golden nails adorned to his leather gloves. Eyes slowly drag from them to settle on you, gaze so piercing and yet uninterested in you.

“So, you had him pick you up here, si?”

“Yeah, but—“

“Drink.” He points at your glass and narrows his eyes. Not playing around. You do as he says and take a sip. “Keep drinking.” Lip twitches in a faint show of satisfaction as you bring the glass up back to your lips and take a deep gulp. There’s delight in his eyes and you’re more than happy to play the game just to see more of it. Your eyes twitch and you cough once you set the glass, the whiskey burns your throat.

“It was convenient for him.” Words are rough from the sting of alcohol.

“Ohh, was it now?” Terzo growls and digs his nails into the couch, tearing into the fabric. The sound gives you goosebumps. You open your mouth but he’s too quick. “Finish your drink.” He snaps, daggers for eyes that sends a chill down your spine. You swallow thickly and toy with your glass with the tips of your fingers before bringing it back up to your lips. Head tips back, the room swirls and you swallow down the rest of the liquid.

“Gross. Ugh.” Grimacing as you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. “It’s less of a drive for him and I’m a pushover, okay?” You sigh, only partially joking. His eyes noticeably soften. You sink deeper into the cushion. “I said yes to this date because it was with my best friend’s older brother who I’ve known forever and I’ve always had a crush on him.” Terzo’s fingers shift from the couch to your shoulder, his nails just short of tearing through your shirt, his anger coming back up to a simmer just below the surface, but you continue on unafraid.

“I had to see what would happen. You have to understand… you build the thing up in your head as something perfect and special but then when you actually actually experience it…” You deflate and you eyes wander away from him, wanting to look anywhere else. “It’s never as good as you imagined it. Plus, he was a garbage kisser.” You immediately regret the words as soon as you say them. They hang heavy in the air and the air catches in your lungs. You feel him shift on the couch but you can’t bring yourself to look until his his hand curls around by back of your neck and forces you to look at him. Eyes sharp like knives.

“You let him kiss you.” A statement, not a question. Terzo makes you watch as he slinks closer to you. There’s like a current coming off of him right now that has you paralyzed even though you so badly want to protest. You whimper, words getting caught in your throat as he reaches for you. He grabs you by your waist with the tips of his claws poking against your skin, that delicious danger teasing you as always. “How did it compare?” Terzo trills, a charming smile with vicious edge. Hoo boy. Blood rushes to your cheeks.

“It didn’t compare at all.” You whisper as you try to sink as far into the couch as possible. Not because you don’t want to be close to him but you’re confused. Everything about this feels like a trap, like one wrong answer could set him alight but you’re not exactly fighting it. Instincts are telling you to run but you stay exactly where you are. Terzo’s hand drift up your sides, suggestively squeezing you in all the right places until he’s holding you by your shoulders. He’s smiling wider than before and there’s glee in his eyes — he’s pleased with you. A torrent of heat shoots through your core. He doesn’t say anything, merely taking in your reactions to his touches. His finger tips glide across your top, nearly clipping right through it until his hands settle around your throat. He squeezes just enough to make you gasp for air, then leans in to you, pressing his forehead against yours. You can feel his hot breath on your lips.

Tease.

“I could hurt you.” Terzo muses against your lips, lashes fluttering and eyes wide. There’s a slight tug at the corner of his mouth. Silence passes comfortably between the both of you as you take in each other’s breaths and warmth.

“I know. I’m… afraid of that. But it’s why I’m here.” You feel drunk, the words just tumbling out of you but you don’t care anymore. He is so close to kissing you that you can nearly taste him but instead he pulls away with a wry smile.

“Your glass is empty.” Terzo snickers and then jumps up in a way that can only be described as cat-like, snatching the glass from your hands. You’re left hot and bothered as he turns his back to you to saunter over to the bar. Alone with your thoughts while you watch him pour you another generous whiskey. Oh no. Oh no. You can still taste it on your tongue and it is not for you. But when he turns around with the warmth and charm you’ve been wanting all doubts are gone. You’re going to be messy tonight and that’s just that. When he turns back to face you he’s at least given you half of what he did the first time, walking slowly over to where you’re sitting on the couch.

He looms over you as your eyes drift up to meet his gaze and he audibly growls. You suck in a sharp breath, your nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs. Terzo lifts a hand up and brushes his thumb along your jaw before tilting your chin up. He brings the glass to your lips and tips it back. You part your lips, the whiskey burning as it spills down your throat. He continues to pour until you can’t keep up with it and it leaks out of your mouth and down your cheeks. You gasp and he flings the glass down onto the side table as he crushes his mouth against yours, unable to keep away from you any longer.

And you certainly don’t care that he all but purrs into your mouth, soft lips moving against yours. He cups your face with his gloved hands, leather thumbs caressing your cheekbones as he slips onto the couch beside you without breaking the kiss. Fingers curl around his wrist and you press in close to him, losing yourself in how he tastes. His velvety tongue probes your mouth as the kiss grows in intensity. Deep pants try to keep your feet on the ground but you’re off in space, exhaustion and comfort mixing in a way that has you floating. Terzo pulls away from the kiss and you can hardly open your eyes. He gently guides your head to his chest, stroking his fingers through your hair.

“You never called me a driver did you?”

“Oh no. Never considered it.” Terzo squeezes you in his arms.

Oh, he’s so warm. A rumbling groan falls from your lips as his wraps his arms around you, just holding you there. Your limbs relax and you sink deeper into his chest as he starts to rubs up and down your back. In that moment you know you’re a goner. A deep, sleepy sigh falls from your lips and in a matter of minutes you are out cold.

Terzo almost feels guilty for being such an ass. Almost. He feels for you, he can relate to realizing that something isn’t all it was cracked out to be. At least for you it was a childhood crush and not being raised for one person. But still, he was a tad mean wasn’t he? It was necessary and the tension… the tension had been so delicious. Watching you squirm under his intense stare. And you just did what he said, unquestioningly, even when had you drink and drink and drink. Adrenaline is pumping through him and he struggles to contain himself— he must not go any further, despite how tempted he is. He could get away with it. You’re so soft, so pliable and so wanting. Terzo can feel the heat radiating off of you, no doubt from the alcohol and your closeness. He could slip his hand between your thighs and give you exactly what you want.

But it wouldn’t be fair to you. Terzo wants you coherent and focused when he takes you. Plus you’re adorably snuggled against him right now, your soft breaths against his chest. He’s longed for this and you did not disappoint. Wait a minute. Are you sleeping? He is about to fall apart, his arms wrapping so much tighter around you. The urge to keep you safe, to keep you here and never let you leave overcomes him*.* He squeezes your hand that is clutched to his chest and then gingerly picks it up and places it back in your lap.

“Sleepy?”

You lift your heavy head to look at him and good god do you want to be asleep right now. A tender smiles breaks out across his face as he swipes some of your hair from your eyes. A stark contrast from how close he had just been to strangling you.

“Take the guest room tonight, puffetta. I will bring you some clothes.” Terzo pulls himself to his feet. “Meet you up there.” He’s so soft, so different than how torturous he was of you earlier. You’re sure he’s heard what he’s wanted to hear from you but he’s unpredictable. Something you liked about him. There’s an unknown darkness that lies beneath his charm and good looks and it calls out to you. You’ve never felt this way about anyone. How could you ever get away now?

You blink and realize that you’re alone. You’ve been alone. Oh shit. Scrambling off of the couch, you trip over your own feet with the effects of the whiskey hitting you hard.

Ah, the guest room. A cramped space with antique furniture that could use some time and attention. The overall theme of the room is… dust. You’ve brought up having the dresser refinished or even repainted and replacing the peeling wallpaper but it’s low on the list of priorities. You push the door shut and give a soft sigh of relief. Shoes come off. A lamp on the bedside table barely illuminates the room and a folded pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt are waiting for you on the bed. Eyes scan over the remainder of the comforter and pillows, wondering if anyone had ever slept here. You can’t help the feeling that you’re being watched but maybe the fact that you’re about to wear your boss’ clothes isn’t meshing well with the practically decaying room.

“Whatever.” You huff to yourself and undress with the grace of a toddler, kicking your pants off and throwing your removed clothes into a pile on the ground. Sitting down on the bed, you pull up the sweatpants and they are loose as they settle around your waist. The shirt slips over your head and swallows up your upper body. Did he purposely give you his largest clothing to make you feel small? It is so cozy, though. You wrap your arms around your body and flop back onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the blankets. Comfortable heat spreads across your skin from buzz of the alcohol. Limbs go limp and your eyelids grow heavy, a deep sigh falling from your lips. Fading fast.

The piercing ring of the rotary phone cracks through the air and you jolt upright and wide awake. What the? You don’t remember seeing it when you came in and it’s not like it blends in — it’s bright red with intricate black etchings along the base and the handle of the receiver. Not a speck of dust on it. The phone rings again, somehow louder and more harmful to your ears than before. You blink and suddenly you’re standing directly in front of the dresser with one hand curled around the receiver. Heart is pounding in your chest and ears. Something is calling out to you. Answer it. Answer it. Answerit. answeritansweritansweritanswerit.

You pick up the phone to silence. Then chittering. The receiver is hot on your cheek. Something pricks your ear but you can’t pull away. There’s a squelch. A screech. More screaming. It only gets louder and louder, needles in your ears, pain shooting through your brain. You can’t breathe. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers and shuffle your bare feet against the cold floor, the only thing you’re able to get your body to do other than press the phone so hard against your head. The closer you listen to the screams the more familiar they get, growing in intensity, pain and volume. Burning, the receiver is burning now and yet you can’t move, you can’t get any relief. The phone cord is nearly completely tangled around your wrist and you’re sweating, gasping for breath, and crying without even realizing it. The screams finally subside, replaced by a cold, dead silence.

You hang up the phone.

Suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over you and you collapse onto the bed. The world spins as you sink into the soft mattress, the dial tone still echoing in your ears.

[steddiebang2024]

The Hand That Feeds  |  Teen and Up |  82k

Author: @jaytriesstrangerthings  

Artist @hullomoon

Beta Reader: @roomwithanopenfire

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington & Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington & The Party, Steve Harrington & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Joyce Byers & Steve Harrington, Corroded Coffin & Steve Harrington

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, The Party (Stranger Things), Dustin Henderson, Will Byers, Mike Wheeler, Lucas Sinclair, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Eleven | Jane Hopper, Erica Sinclair, Corroded Coffin (Stranger Things), Gareth (Stranger Things), Jeff (Stranger Things), Unnamed Freak (Stranger Things), Joyce Byers, Wayne Munson, Jim "Chief" Hopper

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Steve Harrington has bad parents, Eddie Munson is a good friend, Hurt Steve Harrington, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Protective Eddie Munson, Touch Starved Steve Harrington

Trigger Warnings: Parental Neglect, Parental Abuse, Panic Attacks, Self Harm, Self Harm Scars, Period Typical Homophobia (slight)

↳ Keep reading below for a sneak peek!

Summary: After an altercation with his dad, Steve hides away in the pantry in his kitchen and calls for help on the walkie-talkie. Luckily, Eddie is awake and comes to the rescue, stealing Steve away to stay at the Munsons’ until it’s safe for Steve to go back. Steve hates when either of his parents come home to visit, especially when it’s his dad. It feels ridiculous to say but Steve thinks he’d rather face another Demogorgon.

A Demogorgon will smell blood in the water and kill on sight, but Mr. Harrington has a habit of dragging it out and making sure his prey knows they’re bleeding. The monsters under the bed are nothing compared to the monsters down the hall, Steve’s an expert. He’s known for a long time now how messed up it all is, he knows he needs out, needs help, but it feels impossibly hard. It’s normal for him and he’s dealt with it this long, he just needs to tough it out until he can afford his own place.

It doesn’t occur to Steve that he has a plethora of people willing to fight monsters at his side, whether the monsters are from the Upside Down or his own home. With the help of his monster hunting crew, Steve escapes his parents and learns what love is really supposed to be.

[sheisjoeschateau]

"Oh, so we DO love Steve... | PART VII

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ SERIES MASTERLIST ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Steve Harrington x Bauman!fem!reader enemies to lovers, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, upside down mayhem, S2-S4, post S4 universe hot-take, end-of-the-world / dystopian setting, ugly fights turned smut (...but with hella plot). 18+

CHAPTER VII WARNINGS/NOTES: t.w.'s - strong language, ruthless banter, mentions of death, injuries, end-of-the-world terror talk, newfound shared codependency (but like it's healthy imo also it's valid lmao) jealousy. 18+

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this chapter is honestly a gahdamn MF feast. a favorite of mine NGL, for a multitude of reasons. Murray high key pops the fuck off like the boss bitch he is and takes us on a long lecture of a journey to visit the lordt of truth bombs. Eddie has zero chill. Robin is the bestest-best-fwend and platonic-with-a-capital-p soulmate to our boy. Dustin is a dingus. LUCAS BE SEEIN' THINGS. Hopper is Joppering. Nancy and Jonathan get a clue. Mama Steve and the kids are in full swing. We get a cutie cameo from Harrington's signature yellow sweater.

And our lovebirds finallyyyy......well.....say the magic word that they're feeling hehehe:)

ISSA LONG ONE. PROOFREAD UNTIL MY EYES BLED. IF THERE ARE STILL TYPOS, SORRY BOUT IT. 18+

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Steve knew he would have to face downstairs again at some point before the morning.  Definitely before everyone else went to bed.  But he couldn’t bring himself to.  Not yet.

Because right now, you were fast asleep in his arms.  Laid carefully on your back for the sake of your bad shoulder, with your head turned into his chest.  Steve was propped up on an elbow, facing you with his other hand gliding his fingertips to trace your arm draped across your chest.  He drew shapes up your arm, now adorned with his yellow crewneck, up to your jawline so that he could tuck your hair behind your ear. 

And all the while, he just stared at your chest – comforted by the steady rise and fall.  It kept him sane.  It kept his eyes open.  It kept him from letting the nightmare return.  You slept so peacefully, he might never have known you’d been dead in his arms earlier that day.

“You are beautiful, Steve Harrington.”

Your words from last night ran through his mind on a loop, like a VHS tape on replay.

“I can’t stand you.”

You’d said it in the warmest voice Steve had ever heard in his life.  Somehow, those words meant more to him than I love you.  Because when he said it back, he realized it meant the same thing. 

“I can’t stand you either.” 

I love you too.

Steve carefully placed his forehead against your temple, eyes fluttering shut and breathing you in.  Something danced inside of his stomach.  It ached, it burned and it warned him of all the things he feared feeling the most for anyone except the girl downstairs who had made love seem lost.  He never wanted those feelings to return again for anyone else but her – Nancy.  And yet here he was: every one of those feelings rushed back tenfold, for the girl upstairs in his guest bedroom lying beside him.  The girl who had ruined the chance at a life for him with Nancy Wheeler.  The girl he swore was the reason he was robbed of all things good.  Robbed of love.  True love.

But he no longer loved Nancy Wheeler. 

Steve Harrington loved you.

Downstairs, everyone is quiet but productive. 

Joyce is organizing the last of the stashed supplies.  The kids are eating some bowls of hot soup, served up by Murray.  He had to stay busy and shake off the frayed nerves.   Otherwise, he’d go berserk.  Completely berserk.  Joyce gently helped him but knew better than to baby him.  She was surprised to find Erica walking over, offering to help serve up some glasses of water or sodas for everyone.  To everyone’s surprise, they operated well.  Like chef and sous-chef.  What an unlikely duo.

Hopper and El were talking in the living room about the potential new plan, and Mike moved from the table where he sat with the kids and teens to join them.

Steve could hear them all down there, the ambience muffled on the other side of the closed door separating you both from the rest of the world outside of each other's arms.  He could have fallen asleep right there with you if he let himself.

But a soft knock on the door made him crane his head to look towards the source of the noise.  With one last look at you, he carefully slipped his arm out from underneath you.  You never stirred, the rhythm of your breathing still intact and your mind lost in sleep.

Steve wasn’t sure who to expect on the other side of the door.  But as he ran a hand through his hair, he found himself not caring. 

Turns out, it was Murray.  He stood with two bowls of hot soup, now staring into the eyes of Steve Harrington — who he begrudgingly noted still looked dashing, despite his towel-dried bedhead and tired eyes.

Seriously, no one should make a t-shirt and sweatpants look that good. 

Your uncle cleared his throat.  “Uhh, I made some soup.”

Steve gave him a timid but grateful nod, taking one of the bowls.  Glancing back over his shoulder, Murray followed Harrington’s gaze — back at you, sleeping in bed. 

“She’s still out,” Steve told him. 

Murray nodded.  “I’ll keep hers warm downstairs.”  An awkward silence fell over Murray and Steve, but finally your uncle continued.  “Listen, why not come down?  Let her rest, get yourself some water or — a sandwich maybe, to go with the soup.  Erica says she’ll make them but I'm reallllly not feeling confident about that.”

Steve allowed himself a soft chuckle at that, biting his lip and glancing back at you. 

“She’s alright,” your uncle assured Steve.  “Trust me.  I keep having to remind myself that, too.”

Steve was glad that the two of them could relate on that — endlessly worrying about you.  He was also glad that your uncle wasn’t giving him shit for it, and honestly Murray was extremely pleasant when he wasn’t being an ass.  It took Steve by surprise.  No wonder you two were related.  With a reluctant sigh, Steve agreed to follow Murray downstairs for some more grub.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Steve’s eyes first landed on Nancy sitting with Robin and Joyce.  She looked over at Steve with her big blue eyes, which danced with longing.  Steve’s doe brown eyes didn’t return it, but he lightly smiled in her direction anyway.  Robin immediately perked up, jogging over to Steve from her seated position on the floor.  She grabbed him for a tight hug, and he made sure not to spill his bowl of soup.

“Sorry sorry, I’ve just — been worried sick.”

“S’okay, Robs,” Steve murmured, appreciating the comfort.  She pulled back to look at him, giving him a sad smile.  She wanted to ask him a million questions, but knew it best to save it for later.

“C’mon,” Robin told him, tilting her head towards the kitchen.  “Let’s go grab some crackers or something to go with that soup, which you need to eat.  Don’t even think about not eating, Steve.  I’m serious, okay?”

Steve listened to her keep rambling on as they walked into the kitchen, where Erica and Lucas were bickering about PB&J’s, and Murray stepped in to take back his title as head chef.  Eddie and Jonathan were sitting at the dining table, clearly in deep conversation but ceasing once they noticed them walking in.  Jonathan gave him a pitying look, while Eddie flashed a dopey grin to try and hide whatever serious talk was just going down.

Dustin, Mike and Will all rounded the corner as Steve moved to sit at the bar.  They all sat next to him happily.  YAY, MOM’S HOME.

Steve ruffled Dustin’s hair absentmindedly as he sipped on his soup and stared down at his spoon.  Erica was shoving a very haphazard looking sandwich in front of him while Lucas told him he’d spit it out after the first bite, which sent all the kids into a frenzy of bickering, lighthearted insults and witty comebacks.  Steve sighed, content as he ate several mouthfuls of the sandwich while listening to his kids squabble.

Jonathan was shaking his head over in the corner, observing this.  “Guy’s a hero to those kids,” he murmured, only loud enough for Eddie to hear. 

“Babysitter turned full-time mom turned hero,” Eddie smirks, amused.  “Dude’s a legend.”

Jonathan scoffs, amused but also not.  “Wasn’t always...”

Eddie clocks what he means by that.  He knew King Steve, too.  But Eddie can see a twinge of something else in Joanthan’s eyes, surprised to see it.  Jealousy.  It’s subtle.  Not toxic, or even remotely a threat. 

That is, until Jonathan sees Nancy moving to take a sandwich from Erica — her eyes wandering over to Steve and the kids.  She looks enchanted, melancholy.  Is she sad?  Why is she sad?

…why is she sad looking at Steve?

Jonathan’s brow furrows.  Eddie decides he better speak up and interrupt whatever he’s thinking.  Because he sees it too.  Uh oh.

“Trust me, he was a dick.  I know.  Told him so myself.”  Eddie tries to make light of it, grinning.  “But I think sometimes…some folks just need a big thump on the head.  Shit, I did.  I used to run away from alllllll my problems.  Hell, I…I’ve even had my share of making others feel small, just so I can feel big.  Not in a bad way, though.  Never mean.  Just…immature.  Y’know?  Point is, I’ve been there too.  Maybe not as big a dick as Harrington…”  He snorted.  “No pun intended.”

Jonathan whipped his head in Eddie’s direction.  What did that mean?

Eddie quickly tried to cover up his reference to the Hawkins High heartthrob’s manhood.  “I just mean, I just mean — like — we’ve all been dicks.  You know?  Big ones.  Small ones.  Medium…sized…ones.”

He counted at least 5 perplexed blinks from Jonathan.  Eddie sighed, exasperated with himself.  “The point, the point.  We uhh…we live and we learn.  Right?”

Jonathan finally let his tense shoulders loosen up at that, but he glanced back at Nancy – who was still watching Steve as she got herself a glass of water and letting Robin ramble to her.  And Jonathan also watched Steve, who was now telling Dustin to share the box of crackers with everyone and not hog them from everybody. 

It began to click for Jonathan.  The longing stares.  The unusually strained affection between him and Nancy, ever since he got back.  He knew that was partially his fault, if not entirely his fault, given him pulling away from her after moving to California.  But then he got back to Hawkins, and realized the second he saw her that he’d been a fool to think he would ever be better off without her, or convince himself that she could be better off without him.  One look at her made it all go away.  They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and Jonathan was definitely aware of that now.

But had it made Nancy’s heart grow fonder, too?  For Jonathan?

…or had distance made her heart grow fonder for someone else…

Someone else who she had distanced herself from once before, when she found love and comfort in Jonathan Byers’ arms.  Harrington had been away from Nancy when she was around Byers, and then Byers was away from Nancy when the world went to shit again, putting her back around Harrington again.  No Byers in sight.

…was this karma?  Jonathan Byers was beginning to wonder that.  Was this what he got for so confidently whisking Wheeler away from Steve back in high school?  Is this what he got for thinking he was safe?

…maybe that is what Steve meant when screaming at him earlier, as they tried to pump you back to life.

“DON’T YOU DARE FUCKING STOP.”  Jonathan would never forget the way that Steve’s sounded as he spewed at him.  Broken, anguished and betrayed.

“IT’S NOT WORKING,” Jonathan had wept bitterly.  “IT’S TOO LATE.”

When Nancy had chosen Jonathan, Steve never got mad.  He never got mad at either of them.  He told Nancy he got it; that it was okay.  And he never said anything to Byers about it.  Next time they ran into each other, it was just tense silence.  Steve might have picked a fight with Jonathan once before, that damn morning in the alleyway when Will was still missing.  But that was 2 years ago now, and it felt childish compared to everything that had happened since then.  Steve’s anger then was so subdued to what it could have been, and he never explored anger towards Jonathan once he had successfully managed to take his girl.

But the way that Steve Harrington looked at Jonathan now, while you were dead beneath their hands, was fueled by anger.  Red hot and flaming.  He looked ready to finally unleash on Jonathan, ready to blame him for his existence and how it only brought Steve grief.  For once, Steve Harrington looked rightfully angry with Jonathan Byers for being the source of his pain.  Steve looked ready to punch him square in the jaw and beat him up the way he’d had his own face beat up by not just Byers, but also Billy Hargrove and the Russians.

“DON’T SAY THAT.  NO ONE GAVE UP ON YOUR BROTHER, YOU THINK YOU CAN JUST GIVE UP ON US NOW?  THINK ANY OF US WANTED TO STOP WHEN WE THOUGHT IT WAS TOO LATE?  FUCK YOU, BYERS.  FUCK YOU.”

Jonathan deserved it.  He completely deserved it.  All of it.  It had been a long time coming, and while it was over 2 years past due…he took it.  All of it.  Even what was still left unsaid.  Jonathan let Steve verbally rip him to shreds before Eddie took over and brought you back to life with Steve instead of him.

And that’s why now, as Jonathan watched Nancy catch him staring at her — looking caught as she tried to give him a smile — he let it happen.  He just gave her a reluctant smile back, accepting his fate.  Because now, after what he had seen today, he realized that Steve wasn’t even a threat.  Maybe a month or so ago, he would have been.  But that wasn’t the case now, which he only knew after seeing the way that Steve clung to you and sobbed uncontrollably over your lifeless body – then afterwards, when you were alive again. 

Steve no longer pined for Nancy Wheeler.  He pined for you. 

Not for long, though.  Honestly, it was as clear as day that whatever was going on between the two of you was mutual.  The way you held Steve earlier, comforted him — assuring him that it was alright, you were alright — and how you stroked his leg in the living room before he helped you upstairs and disappeared for a couple of hours into your assigned guest room… Jonathan knew, along with Eddie, that Steve Harrington’s heart was in your hands, and yours was his. 

It’s what Jonathan and Eddie had brought up at the table.  Not the whole “why hasn’t Steve unleashed his anger on me until today” aspect of things.  But the fact that you and Steve, who seemingly could not stand each other, now seemed like a pair.  

Nancy moved to sit next to Jonathan, who awkwardly poked at his soup bowl and did his best to fake a smile.  Eddie watched them, knowing.  Man, he could really use one of his guitars right now to pluck out the tension…

Lucas was saying something about Max needing to be checked on upstairs, which made Steve quickly shove the last of his sandwich into his mouth so that he could come help him and Erica along with Will, El and Mike.  They all made their way up, and Dustin stayed behind.  He moved over to the big kids table, bringing the box of crackers over with him.  He plopped down next to Eddie, who was grateful for the comic relief after the tense talk at the table.  Robin moved to bring over fresh cups of coffee, sitting between everyone.

“So uhhh, we gonna talk about it?”

Dustin’s question made everyone freeze. 

Robin cocked an eyebrow, leaning onto her elbows to sip her coffee.  “About what…?”

“About Bauman and Steve, and how we all clearly did not see it coming.”

Robin choked on her coffee.  Nancy stiffened next to Jonathan, which he didn’t miss — considering her hand was resting on his forearm.  Eddie drummed the table awkwardly while nodding and staring straight ahead at absolutely nothing. 

“Yeeeeeee-up, caught me off guard,” Eddie said.  “I’m normally good at picking up on that shit.”

Robin was still working on clearing her throat.  “Look, we don’t know anything yet —”

“He’s literally your best friend, Robin,” Dustin accused with an eye roll.  “If any of us know, you do.”

“Well my strange, tiny friend,” Robin quipped wryly, “I’m afraid I’m just as in the dark on this as you are.”  She sighed, leaning back in her seat with a flash of concern in her eyes.  “I really should have seen it coming, though.  I was so sure he was just gonna keep on hating her guts.”

“I still don’t understand why he hated her at all,” Dustin said, adorably naive. 

Eddie smirked, uneasy.  “Meh, not important.”

“Seriously, they got along just fine whenever we fought the demodogs,” Dustin continued, oblivious.  “And at the snowball, but then after that he just – went at it with her all the time, even though they would both still hang out with us.  Like an old married couple.”

Nancy listened intently, trying to keep up and put the pieces together.  Because truly, she herself had been wondering what changed.  But she had been so focused on her life, in her own world with Jonathan and their jobs, she really hadn’t paid much attention to the fact that you and Steve had gotten along at the start, then not at all, and now…well…

Robin puffed out a breath of air.  “Maybe they’ve just…gotten closer.  You know, found a way to get along.  Murray’s an ass, and even though she’s not and I love her, Steve’s not exactly the easiest to get along with even though I love him —”

Dustin scoffed.  “Robin.  He kissed her.”

Eddie clicked his tongue, trying to think of Metallica lyrics and avoid looking in Nancy or Jonathan’s direction.

Robin stared.  “What?”

“When?”  Nancy’s voice startled the room, and Jonathan seemed to cringe at it.

“Dustin,” Jonathan sighed.

“Today,” Dustin kept talking.  “Whenever we…brought her back.  He — he kissed her.  He literally bawled on top of her and wouldn’t let her go.” 

Dustin’s eyes lost all of the annoyance, now looking sad as he thought back on it all.  Robin stared at him along with Nancy, barely breathing.  Even Eddie looked over at him. 

“I’ve never…I’ve never seen him that upset,” Dustin murmured.  “Steve’s never sad.  Not like that.  I’ve never even seen him cry.  Not once.  Robin, did he ever cry while you both got tortured in the Russian chambers?”

Robin thinks back on that, gnawing at her lip, deep in thought.  She shook her head, realizing… “No.  No, he didn’t.  Just – panicked, but not…he didn’t cry.”

“Exactly,” Dustin says.  “Because he’s awesome.  He’s brave, and cool, and awesome.  Steve doesn’t cry.  Today?  He bawled.”

“Seeing someone die in front of you does that, man,” Eddie pointed out, melancholy.  “I know I did whenever Chrissy died… You cried today.  I did.  Byers did.”

“Not like that,” Dustin insisted, voice firm.  It made everyone go quiet again.  “Not like that,” he repeated.  “That’s how I would have cried if…like, if Suzy died.  Or how Lucas did when Max died before we got her back.  How Hopper and Joyce would.  How Jonathan and Nancy would.”

That made the present couple go stiff.  But Jonathan nodded, eyes boring a hole into his coffee mug.  “S’true,” he mumbled.  “If that were you, I would.”

Nancy looked at him, eyes guilty.  Of course, it was the same for her.  But she couldn’t focus on that right now.  Not now that her collective thoughts and observations were confirmed.  Now that she knew for sure…

“It’s not a matter of if they’re into each other,” Dustin kept going, certain.  “It’s a matter of when.  When did it start and how were we blind?”

But no one could answer that.  Robin couldn’t, and she was shocked that she couldn’t.  She knew her best friend all too well.  How had she not seen this coming?  How could she not have sensed that his never ending hatred towards you was slowly developing into liking you?  Maybe even loving you…?

Eddie had only started sensing it that day.  Until then, he had been the one to encourage Steve to go after Nancy.  To get her back, win her over.  But that stopped whenever Jonathan came back into the picture, of course.  He knew better than to cross that line.  Still, he knew that Harrington loved her and pined for her.  He also knew why Harrington couldn’t stand you, along with Robin.  They adored you, hoping at some point that you both could just become friends who tolerated each other.  Eddie never thought it would become more than that: a civilized friendship.

And Nancy felt something heavy sit on top of her chest that she really could not seem to accept yet: the truth.  She lost Steve.

“Alright, guessing game is over.” 

Murray’s voice rounding the corner made everyone jump, and he eyed down everyone at the table as he walked in with his empty soup bowl.  He made for the sink, turning on the faucet with his eyes still glued to the five people seated at the dining table, who stared back awkwardly.  Finally, he looked down as he washed his dish.

“Take it from the witchdoctor of love: those two had it coming.”

Eddie cocked an eyebrow, completely amused. 

Jonathan, however, was not.  This was so karma.

“...had what coming?” Dustin asked. 

Robin shot him a look — bless his little naive heart.

“Psh, c’monnnn,” Murray said, rinsing the bowl.   “The sexual tension.  The incessant arguing.  Harrington’s personal utmost disdain towards her.”

Nancy spoke up, unable to help herself.  “But…why though?  She didn’t do anything wrong.  Why would he have disdain towards her…?”

Jonathan hated how irritated Nancy’s question made him feel towards her.  It irked him deeply, but he just let it fester quietly as he sat there staring down at his cup of black coffee and having no choice but to listen.

Murray looked at Nancy with the most condescending expression, uncensored as fuck.  “Honey…really?” 

Off Nancy’s clueless expression, Murray rolled his eyes in the back of his skull as he slapped the faucet off before whirling to face them.

“Once upon a time, two years ago: you and Jonathan came over to my bunker — uninvited — waltzing your way into my business, along with my niece’s.  Thankfully, to our benefit, you helped us crack the case and — not so much to our benefit — onboarded us into your mess.  But rewinding back a few slides, you two stayed over because of the vodka coursing through all of our veins and tried to convince the two of us — AKA yourselves — that you two were just friends.  Which was the biggest load of unbelievable bullshit you both could have told me, and that’s after you told me everything pertaining to the absurdity and pure insanity regarding the upside down.  But really, it was a great belly laugh for me and my niece, so thank you.  Thennnn, my niece offered to let you both take her bed — not buying a lick of it, and suggesting you both stop being in denial.  On top of that, as a former student at Hawkins High, she knew King Steve very well.  She knew how Wheeler and Harrington both started dating, and how much closer the two of you —”  (he gestured between Jonathan and Nancy) “— had gotten since Will Byers went missing then got rescued.  Because my niece isn’t stupid.  She could’ve been class valedictorian if she’d wanted to, but — being like her cynical uncle — she didn’t wanna.  She’s a street-smart annnnnd booksmart cookie.  She knew you both were bound to let the trauma bond get you both together, and that genuine love had formed between the two of you way more than it had between her and Steve.  So she called it out, after being fed a bunch of coo-coo-bananas nonsense from you guys in my casa about being 'platonic.' " 

Eddie's jaw was practically touching the table. This was literally the best story he's ever heard, and it had just freaking started.

Robin felt like she was watching a movie in her mind, one in which her best friend was the main character and she was rooting for him like life depended on it.

"Fast forward to the lab, El’s grand return, Will’s exorcism, the demodogs, the Snowball, and our little house party that followed —” (he pointed at Dustin) “— you forgot that part — turns out, Jonathan Byers can’t take his liquor, so what does he do?  He goes over to my niece, who’s standing in the kitchen — like so,” (he gestured to himself) “ — and starts profusely thanking her in a string of loud, slurred, drunken words, about how he was chosen one, and how he got the girl, alllllll thaaaaannnksss toooo myyyyyy niiiieeeeeccccce."

Nancy's blood ran cold. What? 

"And because it was such a small house, no offense Henderson, unlike Casa Harrington — the king himself heard it all.  Every lick of it.  So of course, who’s he gonna hate with a fiery burning passion more than he ever could hate Jonathan Byers for stealing his girl?  The person who told him to do it.  Myyyyyy niece.  Because he can’t hate Nancy Wheeler, never-ever-ever could he hate the girl he swore was the love of his life.  And he couldn’t even hate Jonathan, because what had he done except be the victim of King Steve’s incessant bullying and his horrible posse of friends in high school while his brother was missing in another dimension?  But Steve had to hate someone.  To loathe someone, blame someone, more than himself.  So he chose her.  He chose my niece — and by extension me, but mainly her.  Because she was a part of the gang now, and around way more than I ever have been around you kids.  Which is to be expected.  So blah-blah-blah, hate-hate-hate, fight-fight-fight — soooo muchhhh traaaauma.” 

Murray paused for dramatic effect, soaking in everybody's faces, then continued. 

“...and what happens when there is trauma?... bonding.  Trauma bonding.  Forced alliance.  The need to put aside your differences, so that you all can just get along and survive.  And that leads to talking…which leads to more fighting…eventually, tears.  Lots of ugly words that can’t be taken back.  And then…suddenly…”  Murray snaps his fingers.  “Common ground.”

No one has made a sound, hanging onto Murray’s every word.

“Vecna ends the world.  At least, Hawkins.  We all somehow manage to survive it.  We all need somewhere to goooo…and we wind up here.  In a house, all underneath the same roof.  Forced to coexist.  Therefore, newfound respect and understanding is acquired when in close quarters.  Just as the two of you, Ms. Wheeler and Mr. Byers, found in my bunker.  Steve and my niece found themselves forced to live with one another, the space between them closing in.  Gap by gap, inch by inch…until…”

Murray made a gesture that looked like that of a magician, everyone’s eyes following.  “Magic.”  He walks closer, slowly.  “Some small talk becomes bigger talk.  Some childhood trauma that decorates the walls of Harrington’s house becomes the topic of conversation.  My niece just so happens to be a really good listener, and Steve happens to be in need of one.  They both discover they’re the only child in both their families.  His parents are absent.  Hers were barely ever present, before surrendering her to both mine and my mother’s care.  But she doesn’t mention that yet, no — why?  Because she’s listening.  Relating.  Understanding.  Meanwhile, Steve feels heard.  Seen.  Relevant.  Important.  Like maybe whatever he has to say matters.  Fast forward some more, blah-blah-blah…some more co-parenting later…which honestly, is the only reason those two maintained some sort of peace in the first place — aside from the inevitable perils that we all have had to face and be paid to keep our mouths shut about…”

Murray points to Dustin, who stares at him — agape. 

“You kids are the damn glue holding those two doomed enemies-soon-to-be-lovers together.  Not that you knew that.  You’re kids, and you don’t know that shit yet.  Which is good.  And they love that.  Steve might hate her, but he’s not gonna make you kids hate her.  And she finds him infuriating, but she isn’t gonna let you all know that by persuading you to feel the same.  Because he loves you rugrats, and you all love him…and you rugrats love her, as she loves you.  Fast forward to a night when all the kiddos are fast asleep, and the adults get a night to themselves with some cups of chilled vodka that fuels everyone’s laughter and newfound liquid courage — but just enough to give a light buzz, rather than sloshed drunkenness — the enemies, who’ve now become somewhat of friends…realize that they feel more.  Or at least, that’s what I observed.  Grilled my niece about it, that night before bed — and next thing you know — she is the victim of Uncle Murray’s love-talk lectures.  Just like you two were.  She’s swearing up and down that she cannot stand Steve, and that he cannot stand her.  She insists they are mortal enemies.  That he hates her.  Will forever hate her.  And then…that rambling turns into truth.  Admittance.  Denial, still.  But it’s enough to go off, allowing me to paint the picture and speak the truth into the world out loud: WE DO LOVE STEVE.”

Nancy freezes at that, eyes wide and heart blue.  She swallows thickly, and Jonathan feels sick.

Murray's conductor waving hands settled down, ready for the grand finish.

“...someone had to love Steve.  But it wasn’t you, Ms. Nancy Wheeler.  Not forever, anyway.  Not in the desperate, novel-esque ways we all read about or see in the cinemas.  But it was her.  You liked Steve, so that she could love Steve.  And he loved you, so that he could hate her…only to realize that he loved her. Deeply...madly...and truly.”

Murray leaned back, letting his rant come to a full stop.  The air was so thick, you could cut it with a knife.  Mouths agape, brains fried and heartbeats racing.  They were stunned into shocked silence.  With a sigh, Murray made for the fridge.

“Do me a favor…”  He grabbed some juice, along with the vodka, pouring himself a cup.  Then, with a severe look in his eye, he faced the group again. 

“Don’t make a damn fuss about it yet, yeah?  Not yet.  Not to them.  Wanna do it with each other, go ahead.  But maybe lay off them for a bit, will you? Hmm?”

Everyone was surprised at the uncharacteristic parental tone in Murray’s voice and the look in his eyes.  They felt parented now.

“Maybe let the shock of this newfound realization they both just came to accept barely before my niece stopped breathing today…I dunno…simmer down a bit, yeah?”

Dustin gulped, nodding.  Robin did, too.  Eddie had pretty much bitten his nails down to stubs at this point, and Jonathan had shrunk so far down into his chair he was practically on the floor now.  Meanwhile, Nancy looked like a heartbroken child who’d just been told that Santa Claus wasn’t real.  With that, Murray raised his glass of jungle juice and exited the kitchen — vanishing, leaving the group to sit there in their own unsettled energy.

So when Lucas, Erica and Steve all shuffled back down the stairs, it alarmed them.  Robin stared at Steve and the kids, while Eddie rose to stand and grab the box of crackers from Dustin.  Jonathan swigged his coffee.  Nancy just stared at Steve helplessly.

“Alright, who needs more food before we all turn in for the night?” Steve asked as he moved to put away the sandwich fixings with Erica.

Nobody spoke, making Lucas look at them with a quizzical expression.  Erica did the same, stopping as she went to put the sleeve of bologna back into the snack pan.  Steve had been busy picking up discarded bowls and plates before he finally looked at everyone, too.  He cocked an eyebrow, confused.

“You, uhhh…you guys okay…?”

Robin tried to speak, choking on air.  Steve squinted at his best friend.  Finally, she found her voice.  “Sorry.  Got the jitters.  Too much coffee.”

She stood up hastily, collecting everyone else’s cups — even Jonathan’s, who was mid-sip.  Robin avoided Steve’s gaze as she dumped them into the sink with a very fake, wide toothy-grin.  She hummed while rinsing the cups, and Eddie clapped his hands together when rising to stand himself. 

“Better, uhh, go re-dress my, uhh — dressings.”

“I got you,” Robin said, splashing the hot water and dropping the sponge so that she could hurriedly dry off her hands and follow Eddie out of the room – giving Steve a quick kiss on the head.  He watched her go, curious. 

But then he saw Jonathan and Nancy sitting over at the table still, along with Dustin — who was staring back at him sheepishly.  The curly-haired kid stood up, clearing his throat and shuffling over with the now very-empty box of crackers.  He whistled while tossing it into the garbage and moved to finish the dishes.  That definitely made Steve raise an eyebrow.  But he figured it was out of pity, so instead he just gave the kid a pat on the back and ruffled his hair before going back to tidying up the kitchen.

Nancy felt queasy.  Really queasy.  And looking at Steve was not helping, especially being seated next to Jonathan.  She rose to stand, making him look at her back with queasiness of his own.  He watched the back of his girlfriend as she started to turn to look back at him…and when she couldn’t, it made his heart sink.  She walked towards the living room, disappearing behind the wall.  But not before passing by Joyce, who made her way into the kitchen to give Steve a motherly touch on the arm.

“Dr. Owens will be here first thing in the morning,” she told him, reassuringly.  “Real early.  Probably 6AM.  Hopper’s letting Murray know.”

Nancy refused to let herself cry that night about Steve Harrington and her newly unrequited love.

Jonathan watched his mom comfort Steve, and while it made him grateful it also made him sad.  Steve sighed with relief as he thanked Mrs. Byers, and when his mother began to help him find some temporary pain medication that Dr. Owen’s instructed her to give you, he decided he couldn’t listen anymore and left.

“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with her, do you?” Dustin asked.  “You know, heart-wise or anything…?”

“She’s gonna be fine,” Joyce told him sweetly, rubbing Steve’s back as he leaned against the kitchen counter with a tense back.  “Her heart, her shoulder, her mind.  Everything.”

Steve took deep breaths, and Erica would have hugged him if she weren’t so profusely against giving anyone any sort of physical affection. 

Lucas, however, did move to squeeze Steve’s shoulder next to Joyce.  After all the comfort he’d gotten from him after Max died, then got brought back…and still received, with her being in a coma…Lucas understood Steve’s pain. 

No one knew it, but Lucas had secretly caught onto Steve’s feelings for you whenever he went to visit Max in her room one morning but heard you both sitting in there.  Selfishly, he’d stayed behind the cracked door to listen in…and it made him freeze in place.  They way you and Steve bonded, despite all the rivalry between you both.  The way you both spoke to one another in Max’s presence, like she was keeping the storm at bay despite being asleep.  Lucas felt as though he was listening to a conversation taking place between two fighting parents, who were finally finding common ground.  He had secretly listened like a little kid, leaning against the wall, giddy and heartbroken at the same time.  Lucas wasn’t sure why, but he knew.  He just knew.  You two were crazy for one another.  Maybe because he and Max had their struggles, too.  Maybe something about the way Steve pushed you, and you pushed Steve — maybe it reminded him of them, just as older teens.  Steve was his hero, and you were Max’s.  He would give anything to talk with her about it, to hear whatever she had to say about the two of you…the unlikely duo…

But he didn’t say anything about it.  He felt it best not to push anything.  Not yet.  When Max woke up, he would.  But maybe now, he wouldn’t have to.  Because Steve had been faced with the possibility of losing you.  And if he was gonna mess that up, then that's preposterous.  Then Lucas would say something.

***

That night, Steve crawled back upstairs and ran into Robin coming out of his bedroom, having just discarded Eddie’s only wound dressings in the hallway bathroom and changing into her pajamas.  She was staying in Steve’s room, per usual.  And she wondered if she might have just caught him coming upstairs to sneak into your room and not his.  At this rate, nothing was a surprise anymore.  Thanks, Murray.

“Hey, dingus,” she grinned.  Steve grinned back. 

“You gonna finally get some sleep?” he asked her.

“Yeah,” she nodded, gesturing to the blankets in her hands.  “Was just gonna go give Eds some fresh blankets.”

“Lemme know if you need help with that, seriously.  His wounds, I mean.  I’ll have Dr. Owens check on him tomorrow too, whenever he comes to check on Bauman.”

Robin nodded, biting her lip.  God, she wanted to ask him so many questions.  Hug him.  Tell her best friend to spill the damn beans.  Demand him to cry, to break down in front of her.  To scream.  To laugh.  Anything.

“Robs, you good?”

“Steve, I love you,” Robin blurted.  “Like – love you to death.  Best friends forever.  Just — just…”  She bit her lip some more, trying really hard to think before she speaks.  Steve waited patiently, a bit nervous.  Robin sighed.  “Just know that…I’m here.  And I’m always gonna be here.  Supporting you, with…whatever you need.  Even if that’s to shut up and just help you with something and not ask you any questions.  Alright…?”

Steve’s eyes sparkled, and he stitched up the distance between them to give her the tightest of hugs.  His best friend of a soulmate.  Platonic with a capital P.  Robin hugged him back fiercely, dropping the blankets.  She sagged with relief.  Thank God.

“Don’t wait up for me,” Steve mumbled into her hair.

“Cool.”

“Bed’s all yours.  Spread out.  Starfish.  Steal all the covers.”

Robin snorted into Steve’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.  “Okay.  Cool, yay.”

Steve chuckled too, squeezing her to death.  He really did have the best friend in the world.  They swayed a bit like that for a moment, content and comforted in each others’ embrace.  Then finally, Steve pulled back and Robin ruffled his hair.  He rolled his eyes, swatting at her lightly as she grinned wide.  Scooping down to pick up the blankets, he handed them back over to Robin.  She smirked.

“Is she a cover hog, too?” Robin teased.

“Didn’t you say you wouldn’t ask questions?”

Robin saluted, making her way towards the stairs.  “Sir, yes, sir.” 

Steve could finally breathe for the first time all day, aside from whenever you were safely in his arms.  Knowing that he had his best friend on his side without needing to have a full blown conversation about anything yet…that really helped lighten the load a bit.  He exhaled deeply, letting the relief seep into his bones as he made his way to his bedroom door.

***

Once inside, Steve felt his heart swell.  There you were, tucked in bed still, sleeping peacefully.  Steve walked over to crouch over and kiss your forehead, gently stroking your hair.  He noticed you seemed to still be in the same position.  Almost like you hadn’t moved at all.  He looked at the clock.  It’s…been hours.  Several hours.  At least 4.  He looked back down at you, seeing how still you were in the dark. 

His heart stopped.  Were you too still?

Steve placed a trembling hand underneath your nose, too shaky to be able to tell.  But when he felt nothing, he frantically grabbed your wrist — yanking it off your chest to feel for a pulse —

You moved, stirring awake and looking at him groggily.  Steve just about collapsed, clutching your hand and bringing it to his lips as he sunk down onto his knees.

“Jesus Christ,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand and another to your palm.

You groaned lightly, moving to turn towards Steve and yawning.  He melted. 

“How long have I been out…” you asked him sleepily. 

“Hours,” he told you.  “Which is good.  You need sleep.”

You sighed, eyes fluttering tiredly.  “M’hungry.”

That made Steve grin ear to ear.  “I can fix that.  Want me to bring it up here?” 

A grin slowly made its way onto your face too, and you nodded gratefully.  Steve squeezed your hand, leaning forward to peck your forehead and your nose and your lips before promising you he would return. 

When he did, he came back with the bowl of hot soup that your uncle had kept warm for you along with water and some pain medication.  You were sitting up now, leaning against Steve’s chest as he sat with his legs caging you in and leaned up against the headboard.  You had just taken the medication a few minutes earlier, now sipping on the hot soup and a tall glass of water that Steve held onto for you.

The little bedside table lamp cast a soft glow in the Harrington’s upstairs guest bedroom, and the sound of light rain outside of the window filled the room along with the plink of your spoon against the soup bowl.  Steve felt grounded as he kept his arms around your waist, circled around you as he held you close.  His chin sat on top of your head, and the scent of his lavender shampoo in your hair filled his senses with peace. 

“What’s your favorite color?”

Steve’s question surprised you as you slurped another spoonful of soup, but you swallowed and felt the corner of your lip twerk up into a little smile.

“Yellow.”

Steve felt himself smile at that, squeezing you a little tighter.  “Guess this shirt was a good choice, huh?”

“Yeah, I’m glad you bought two.  Rich kid perks ain’t so bad.”

There was lightheartedness to your tone that Steve found himself adoring.  Craving, and yearning to hear more of – should time be on all of your side, in this godforsaken town. 

“I wonder if Vecna’s rockin’ my other one down there.”

“Nah, the dogs are.”

Steve snorted, giving your hips a little squeeze and pressing a kiss to your temple.  You sighed against him, sinking back and placing the bowl of soup onto your lap.

“What’s yours?” you asked him curiously, watching the shadow of the raindrops on the ceiling as they slid down the window. 

“Blue.  Sky blue.” 

You hummed, placing one of your hands that sat on your stomach onto his and interlacing yours fingers.  “Like a pretty, non-upside-down clear blue sky?”

“Schyeah, that.”  Steve rested his chin back on top of your head as he glanced out the window, the black sky and rainfall sending a shiver down his spine.  He wondered if the world would ever feel normal again…

Steve decided to ask you more normal questions, wanting to pretend that none of the dystopian reality just outside his house was real — just for one night.  He asked you what your favorite movie was, shocked to find that you loved romcom’s.  Especially Endless Love, Pretty in Pink and Working Girl.  He wasn’t sure why he thought you’d say dark movies, or maybe sci-fi hits.  Maybe Steve didn’t know what he expected you to say.  But regardless, your answers fascinated him.  He loved learning why you thought Sigourney Weaver’s character was misunderstood in Working Girl, which led to you both discussing women in the work force and how they should receive higher pay – equal to the men.  Steve agreed with you, liking how passionate you were about it yet graceful and humble at the same time.  You were smart, but somehow underestimated.  It was strange.  You were strange.  Turns out, he loved ‘strange.’

And it also turns out, Steve liked not only action flicks — but dramas, too.  Footloose and Baby Boom were on his list of guilty pleasure movies.

“Baby Boom??” you asked incredulously.  But you weren’t mocking him, rather genuinely intrigued and amused.

“Hey, it’s adorable,” Steve defends himself with a fake scoff.  “She adopts a damn baby and raises her as her own.  Be nice.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, tilting your head back to look at him.  “God…no wonder you love those kids so much.  You’re a natural born mother.”

“Okay but seriously, since when did I become mom and not dad?”

“Apparently, I’m dad.”

“Again: since when?” Steve's tone made you chuckle deeply.

You and Steve talked until your tongues were tired, eventually having moved to lean back onto the pillows.  He rested his head into his palm, propped up on an elbow and stroking up your side as you both enjoyed innocent pillow talk.  Softly spoken voices, hushed just enough to hear one another.  Real hearty laughter that you both muffled into your palms, or each others’ necks, so that you wouldn’t wake anyone.  Sweet confessions about food preferences, least favorite holidays, questioning religion while wanting to believe in a god.  How Steve thought that vodka was the kiss of death, while you found cigarettes to be disgusting.  Steve craved strawberry ice cream, while you were a sucker for plain old vanilla.  He loved diners, and you did too.  He swore pancakes over waffles, and you made it very clear that French toast was the clear winner.  It was a give and take conversation, and you both found it resulted in far more agreements than not.  It was the loveliest conversation that either of you’d had in years.  Maybe ever.  Not just with each other…but with anyone at all.

“So…six kids and a Winnebago, huh?”

Steve’s eyes danced in the moonlight, looking at you with pure adoration.  Shyly, he tucked your hair behind your ear, slowly nodding.  “Heard that, huh?”

You gave him a little smirk.  “It was a pretty small Winnebago.”

He shook his head fondly, then — “Yeah.  Turns out being an only child gets to you.”

You nodded sadly.  “Yeah.  It does.”

Steve hated that you knew that same loneliness.  But then again, was that what made you both see each other so clearly?  Is that why you knew his deeply rooted longing and misery better than anyone else?  Is that why maybe, just maybe…in telling Nancy to run off with Jonathan…you were protecting him?  He wondered these things as he looked into your angel eyes, not knowing how in the world he could have not looked at them like this before…especially right when he met you.

You told Steve how you’d always wanted a dog growing up, which led to his immediately confessing he wanted a lab or golden retriever.  You nodded eagerly.  Yes.  Those, or a border collie.  A dog that felt like a true family member.  Even a stray mutt who needed a home.  You both laughed at the funny names you both wanted to name them as kids.  Winston, Jeffery, Petunia, PeeWee, Pumpkin, Count Duku.  When Steve suggested pancakes as a name, you had to literally turn your head into the pillow to keep your laughter from roaring through the room and waking the household.  Even Steve felt like he’d pee himself from laughing so hard, watching you laugh so hard. 

God, you were beautiful.  You were so beautiful.

…when you smiled up at Steve, bashfully, he realized that he’d said it out loud.  “So are you,” you breathed.

Steve shook his head.  “I’m not, though.”

Your brow creased.  “Yes, you are.  You know you are…and if you don’t –”

“I don’t.”

“Well, you are,” you said simply.

Steve pressed his lips together, self-conscious.  How had he felt so damn confident all those years in high school, even middle school, but not now?  You reached up to push back some of his perfect hair, caressing his cheek. 

“I haven’t been,” he confessed, almost in a whisper.  “Not to you.  I’ve been ugly.  Really ugly.”

You looked into his guilty eyes, but Steve couldn’t find any anger or sadness in yours.  Just understanding and forgiveness.

“I was, too,” you admitted.

“No,” Steve shook his head, adamantly.  “Not like me.”

“Steve, I wrecked your life.  Well, your love life.  But still, I wrecked it.”

“No, you only wrecked it when you left it,” Steve confessed, bitter at the memory but not at you.

Never at you.  Never again.

“Telling me I deserve better, and I…told you that you deserved…nothing.”  He visibly winces at his own words.  “God, I’m so sorry —”

“Steve,” you stopped him softly, cupping his cheeks.  “Don’t.  I’ve forgiven it.  Really.  You didn’t know.  You were hurt.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Steve whispered, looking at you with those beautiful doe eyes that shone in the moonlight.  “I actively made a point to stop hurting people, and I did it again anyway.  Worse.  Way worse than my stupid King Steve days.”

You shrugged, trying to make him smile again.  “King Steve was pretty amateur compared to the hard ass you became.”

Steve bit back a laugh, maybe even some tears.  Still, he let the joke land.  You crane your neck up to nuzzle his nose, making him sigh and return the eskimo kiss.  Then you hissed in pain, letting out a little groan.

“What's wrong?” he asked worriedly, brow pinched.

“Stupid shoulder,” you muttered.  “My ribs, too, damn…”

Steve looked down at your ribcage sadly, splaying his fingers there against your skin underneath his yellow crewneck.  He sighed.  “That’s because of me,” he confessed sadly.  “Pounding on you nonstop today with the compressions.”

“Well in that case, I’ll take it.  Pain’s good.”

You winked at him, and Steve tried to let that comfort him.  It did, for the most part.  Your oxygen intake really made it worth it, in the end.  He leaned down to press his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as you did the same. 

“I don’t know where we’re headed,” Steve whispered against you.  “Hawkins.  The country.  The world.”  He paused, breathing you in.  “Just know I want you there.  All the time.”

You smiled, eyes still closed, heart fluttering.  “Good.  You’re stuck with me, Harrington.  Bothering the ever-living shit outta you.”

“Bother me till I go insane,” Steve breathed, nuzzling his nose against you and grinning like an idiot.  He felt happy.  Absurdly happy.  Who thought that was possible?

“...Steve?”

He opened his eyes slightly, finding yours were already looking into his.  He waited, pulling back nervously.  Which is stupid, considering you’d just told him you felt the same way.  That you wanted to stay by his side, no matter what happens.  So why was he thinking that just changed within a 3-second timespan?  Why was he suddenly worried that you —

“I love you so much.”

19 years flashed before Steve’s eyes at that moment.  His childhood.  His pre-teens, and all the teen years that followed.  He thought back to every single I love you that had been spoken to him.  It hadn’t been many.  At least not many that meant anything to him.  He could count on one hand the amount of I love you’s that meant something to him over the course of 19 years.  But now, he could count on one finger the one that meant the very most to him.

“I love you so much, too,” Steve breathed, eyes glassy and mesmerized as they looked back into yours.  “God, you’ve no idea, I…”

Steve felt overwhelmed.  He scrunched his eyes shut, resting his forehead to yours again and caressing your cheeks.  He pecked your face, every inch of it, slowly.  Little kisses peppering your face.  “I love you so much.”

He could have bawled on the spot if he weren’t so completely entranced, swept up in the tidal wave of joy that splashed across his heart, mind, body and soul.  Steve could bawl about it later.  Right now, he simply leaned into your touch and vowed to never let you go.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

bless Murray and his impeccably uncensored madness. about time he set everyone straight, damn.

as alwaysssss, thank u for reading :) this series is so much fun. please comment, it always makes my day.

TAG LIST [if I forgot u, pls lmk and pls forgive me]

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[madelynraemunson]

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

strip club owner!eddie x fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!reader

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄���𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ MDNI

Chapter 015: Eddie, Do You Copy?

Learning about, understanding, and loving all parts of Eddie.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 5.8k words

disclaimers — fluff, grief, flight of icarus easter eggs bc of eddie’s mom, ANGST, talks of childhood abuse/negligence/foster care, implied domestic violence, homicide, cancer, mentions of suicide, mentions of underaged drinking/drug use if you squint, lil modern-nostaglia moment btwn eddie and the boys (as a treat ✨), erica and wayne cameo yayyy

author's note: eddie is so boyfriend in this chapter 🫠 happy holidays, you filthy animals ♥️

“I put the record on, wait till I hear our song. Every night I’m dancing with your ghost.”

♡

Your eyes accommodate the first beacon of light as thirst creeps its way into your system.

6:38 AM.

Quietly chucking the covers off, you find yourself hobbling over Eddie in attempts to get to the kitchen. You can only hope that it doesn’t wake him.

Eddie responds with a low grumble. Followed by some mumbling and flailing. And then you watch as he shifts around, doing his best to return to the state of comfort he was in before his sleep was interrupted.

But if he’s anything like you — which you know for a fact he is — his cranky self is most likely awake by now and just pretending to be unconscious to avoid early morning conversation.

To put it to the test, you press a soft kiss onto Eddie’s forehead. He smiles.

You smile to yourself. Called it.

When you get to the kitchen, you seek out Eddie’s Garfield mug for your reservoir of choice. And as it fills with water, the bedroom adjacent from his captures your attention.

Steve’s door is open. A huge indicator that he’s still not home.

Judging by the energy levels of everyone last night, you assume it’s because they were still out partying. And for Steve’s sake, a part of you hopes it’s also because he went home with somebody.

Once you’ve got your water, you sneak back into Eddie’s room, using the newfound, natural light to really study it.

You would’ve thought it was an extension of Steve’s room, not Eddie’s. Everything’s a posh navy blue, something Eddie wouldn’t be caught dead in if he had been anywhere else.

But the corner of his room is more like him, decorated with vinyls and a Crosley just like your sister’s. There were records of his favorite metal bands: Sabbath and Maiden. Anthrax, Metallica, and Judas Priest. And the unsuspecting like Elvis, The Doors, and Pink Floyd. Even country — both old and new, Johnny Cash and Chris Young — followed by a wide selection of Chicago blues and bluegrass.

The rest of his personality could be found on the bulletin board sitting on his desk.

Hand soap, dryer sheets, FUCKING DO PAYROLL

Eddie’s to-do list. You let out a soft chuckle.

Familiar faces canvas the board. There’s photos of Eddie, Jeff, Gareth, and Grant. A picture of him with his uncle — Young Eddie with his hair buzzed and Uncle Wayne’s a subtle gray, most likely Eddie’s doing.

There’s a photo of Steve and Eddie at a Colt’s game. Eddie and Dustin. And Eddie with Will at what looked to be a D&D convention of sorts.

But one photo catches your eye the most.

‘MOMMY & ME: LIZ + EDDIE , 1994’

His mom’s name was Liz. You graze the picture of Liz holding a baby Eddie in her arms. On her face was a dimpled smile like no other, the love-filled look in her eyes having been shielded by her thick wavy brown hair.

But you didn’t need to see her eyes to know how much she loved Eddie. You see it in how she’s holding him, gently pressed to her chest while she supports his neck, his beady brown eyes staring at her with the same amount of adoration.

It all reminds you of Mom. You’re almost certain there’s a picture of you two like that, but it’s back home with Billy… evidently a forbidden turf to trek.

At least there’s still the memory of it. But like the bond with your twin, it’s also growing to be distant.

Your eyes and tears trickle down to another picture of her on Eddie’s bulletin board.

It’s of Toddler Eddie now with Liz in what looks like a kitchen. He’s standing on her feet and, judging by the motion of the picture, is dancing along to a song that was probably playing on the stereo. Behind the two of them sat piles and piles of CDs, all of which were all of the blues.

“She was pretty, wasn’t she?”

Eddie is behind you now. He smiles at you with a dreamy gaze, beaming at the mere fact that the two women who made him happiest could be visually processed in the same frame.

You gulp.

“Really, really pretty,” you insist. “You have her smile. A-and her hair.”

"Yeah, I look a lot like her," Eddie chuckles with a hint of pride. He grazes the photos of her in the same way you did. "She’s influenced me a lot growing up. Bet that's why my sperm donor can't stand me."

You carefully dissect his choice of words. There’s a lot of resent for Alan Munson on Eddie’s part. You don’t blame him, if what Billy discovered had been true. It’s the same reason you and him resent Dad.

Eddie fixates on the expression on your face. He knows why this is so moving for you.

“It never gets easier, does it?” he questions, hinting at your own ongoing struggle with grief.

You cross your arms and shake your head. Softly you mutter, “Never.”

You feel stupid. Eddie’s doing his best to navigate his own baggage, yet you still found a way to make it about yourself.

He pulls you close and wraps his arms tenderly around your waist. Eddie doesn’t have to say it to reassure you that your burdens are safe in his presence. You can just feel it. Two traumatized individuals understand each other in a way others can’t.

“Time just keeps going,” you speak again. “Everyone moves on and you’re kinda just…stuck in place.”

“World just keeps going. Grief doesn’t care about your plans when it blindsides you, taking you for everything you’ve got.”

You swallow hard as Eddie’s words sink into you.

Tragedy just feels so non-consensual. No one ever asks for it to happen.

You and Billy can’t even go surfing without thinking about Mom. Whenever you try you both always end up fighting. That’s why Max tends to go alone or with her own friends.

“I have to stay away from a whole genre of music because I’ll burst into tears,” you scoff in agony. “Billy and I can’t even listen to Iration without thinking of our mom.”

“Can’t listen to Muddy Waters without thinking of mine.”

You and Eddie sway in place to the tandem of your beating hearts. It’s a breath of fresh air knowing you have each other now.

After a while, he ruffles your hair and spins you around so that you can face him.

"But enough about that," Eddie attempts a smile. He rubs your shoulders and you hum in awe. "This is supposed to be a happy time."

"Happiness and despair can coexist," you sniff. “Duality, remember?”

Eddie smiles. It's a you're right kind of smile. "I was yesterday years old when I learned that."

He kisses your forehead and soon you two are in the shower, rinsing up and mentally preparing for the long day of errands ahead.

You’re the first to hop out and get dressed, eager to devour a bowl of oatmeal before tackling the day.

"Hey… babe?" Eddie calls out to you from his closet.

The pet name almost sounds too natural rolling off his tongue. But then again he is the owner of a strip club, and was married for a few years before meeting you.

“Yeah?” you call back, heart skipping a beat.

“Can you make me a coffee while you’re out there?” he requests. “The usual black drip coffee with some hazelnut? Please and thank you.”

“Of course, hun.”

You can get used to this.

So you make your way back out into the living room and kitchen shortly after, practically skipping. But the person you see in the kitchen — with tired eyes and a bowl of his own oatmeal in hand — stops you in your tracks.

"Morning, Hargrove," Steve responds.

You're so dumb. You've gotta start realizing that when you sleep with one of them, the other may pop in at any minute. After all, it’s their townhouse.

As frozen in place as you are, you do your best to shoot Steve a shy little wave. Again, the look on his face indecipherable.

"Morning..." you pathetically respond.

Steve eventually grants you a wave back. He pokes around at his oatmeal while you make your way over to the fridge, your cheeks flushing a timid red as you do so.

You move in a way that seems like you were way too conscious of your actions. Even Steve notices. But he keeps trying to eat, his spoon clinking against his bowl as he intermittently clears his throat, all an attempt to fill the void of silence.

"Did you have a fun night?" you question. "You know... bar-hopping."

"Yeah, I did," he replies. "Argyle had to get cut off cuz he was being real extra with it."

"Oh geez."

"I know."

“How was Max?”

“She was fine,” Steve shrugs. “The bars use the same 21+ wristbands Hellfire does so we were able to sneak her in no problem. Chrissy made sure she got home safe. The girls were just stoked they finally got to have a carefree night.”

“That’s so good,” you breathe a sigh of relief. “I’m so happy for them.”

“Yeah,” he nods in agreement. “I’m really happy for them too. Seems like they needed it.”

Finally, your friend decides to address the elephant in the room.

"We uhh..." he begins. "We should probably end what we have going on here. Just so no one gets hurt."

“I think that’s a smart idea too,” you mumble as you nod.

You make your way over to Steve, stunned that he doesn’t shy away from you when you invade his personal space. Instead he leans into you, opening up his lap so you can maneuver between his legs.

You know, like how friends usually talk.

“It was fun while it lasted…”

"I know. I just feel so bad..." you choke, rubbing his arm softly. "I’ve wasted your time."

"I wouldn't say that," Steve refuses, shaking his head rapidly. He touches you back, running his hand across your arm. "I've thoroughly enjoyed your company."

Eventually his hand intertwines with yours.

There’s a heaviness in the room and something tells you that Eddie is near, looming at the foot of his room so that your business with Steve remains uninterrupted. He knows there’s some dust that still needs to settle. And he will linger until it does.

"You helped me get out of a really dark place," Steve admits. "And Eds too, I'm sure."

You look back towards Eddie's room.

“It wasn’t my intention to fall for him,” you say. “It just…happened. The connection, i-it’s...”

“I know…” Steve soothes you. “Been pickin’ up on that for a while. If you think I’m blaming you, I’m not.”

Steve urges you to meet his gaze again. And when a teardrop falls from your eye, he uses his thumb to wipe it away. Tells you to stop, before he too starts crying.

"This is... a huge step for him," Steve manages a grin. “I don’t think you realize, Shy Girl.”

"Yeah, I bet," you nod. "After Isabelle..."

"Yeah, Isabelle and everything else that dude's got going on," he confirms. "This is really good for Eddie. I can tell. It’s why I think it’s best that we part ways.”

Steve eventually does cry too, but it’s a rather suppressed one. The both of you take turns wiping each other’s tears, embracing the presence of each other for just a short while longer before needing to distance yourselves indefinitely.

You’re never going to forget Steve Harrington. His charm. His integrity. His everlasting devotion to the ones he loves most, and how he’d — time and time again — go to the ends of the earth for them. A noble soul in the highest regard. A true king.

“Thank you for being so kind,” you say to him. “You made my first week in Indiana a lot less intimidating. I hope you’ll still be around.”

“Of course I’ll still be around,” Steve chuckles. “Look at our friend group. Look at where I live.”

You share a laugh with him again.

“Ain’t no getting rid of me that easy, Hargrove.”

“I can sure try though, right?”

“Now why would you do that?” he banters sarcastically, chuckling into you.

He kisses your cheek softly one last time. Finally, Eddie’s door swings open, prompting you and Steve to asunder from one another.

“RISE AND FUCKING SHINE!” Eddie announces his entrance. “Both my soul and thine.”

You get out of Eddie’s way so he can go over and hug Steve good morning. Eddie then breaks the hug with a peck on the cheek and rough slap to Steve’s ass. Steve winces but you can tell he enjoys it.

“Mwah!” Eddie cheers. “Love you, babyboy. What you got going on today?”

“Oh, just gonna work on the online biz for a bit,” Steve mumbles as he ushers his hands through some paper. “Then ’m gonna start recruiting peeps for my other new job.”

“I forgot you dropship now,” Eddie says. “How’s that going?”

“Really fucking good,” Steve smiles. “I shouldn’t count on it too much though. It’s why I also have Newby’s. Speaking of which…”

Steve hands you a flyer. You take it from his hands.

NEWBY’S COFFEE ROASTERS: Even Superheroes Need Coffee!

Steve explains to you that a new coffee shop is taking over Family Video’s old suite. The owner grows his own coffee beans and all syrups are organically made from Hawkins locals. And since they’re a Mom and Pop shop, they were really going to need some help.

“If Maxine is still looking for a job, she’s more than welcome to apply,” Steve says. “We’re gonna need baristas. And we’ll be coworkers so whenever she’s on, I can drive her to work.”

“That sounds like an awesome gig for her!” Eddie pitches in. “Free coffee for employees too, I’m guessing.”

Steve nods at Eddie’s remark.

“That’d be amazing,” you blush. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“Thank you, Stevie,” Eddie parrots you. You elbow him playfully.

“Yeah, anything for you guys. I’ll put in a good word for her to Bob. He’s the owner. Great guy.”

“And what about this owner, huh?” Eddie chimes in. “Hope you can pull some strings and snag me some of those magic beans as well. I’m gonna need it. I also don’t mind paying full price cuz it’s goin’ to Newbs.”

“T’yeah with your job? You can have all the beans you want.”

“Mm, speaking of which,” Eddie scoffs as he stares at the time on his Apple Watch. “It’s almost time.”

Steve imitates Eddie’s gesture. Your eyes dart between the two of them, confused about the context of the whole ordeal.

“What are you guys-” you begin.

“Ah, buh-buh!” Steve stops you. “Wait for it…”

You look at the time on your phone to feel some sort of involvement as well.

7:59 —> 8:00

Eddie’s phone rings.

"An everyday thing," Steve tsks, shaking his head, resuming his breakfast as he does so.

"First problem of the day," Eddie looks at you. "It’s always something with Hellfire. From the moment the day begins...Yello?"

It’s Lucas. Sinclair never really calls unless it’s a dire situation, so you listen closely, doing your best to make out what he’s saying on the other line.

"I can't come in tonight,” is what it sounds like.

"Uh, why the fuck not?" your man demands. He places a sassy hand on his hip. "We need you for front of the house."

"Erica's sick and my car is in the shop."

"I'll pay for your Uber, you're coming in."

"I think it's covid. I don't wanna spread it to anyone if l've been exposed."

"It's not fucking covid, you guys have been jabbed more times than I can count for school."

The two continue to bicker back and forth like they’re brothers. Steve excuses himself from the narrative, going over to the kitchen sink to wash the dishes.

You watch Eddie as he lights up a pre-roll, taking a frustrated drag from it while he listens to Lucas’s, probably bullshit, excuse.

Eventually there’s a scuffle on the other line. Something something, “GIMME THE DAMN PHONE” followed by a “NO” followed by a “PHONE. NOW”. Eddie’s drags from his blunt grow increasingly slower.

Then another person speaks. The voice belongs to a girl. She sounds slightly younger than Lucas. And she sounds sick. And angry.

"Listen here, Ed-NERD Alan Munson," the girl hisses sassily. " I KNOW I did not just hear you tell my brother that he is coming in even when HE TOLD YOU why he can't. It's giving desperate. It's giving exploitation of your employees. If you want my brother to come in for a half shift at your stupid gentlemen's club then you best pull up to our residence, YOURSELF, with them spicy chicken wings level Creeping. Death. My tongue? It needs to be on FIRE. My eyes? They need to be burning from the temperature and sauce. My sinuses? BOYYY, you better be-LIEVE they oughta be SO CLEAR, I could cough up a loogie, SPIT IT OUT THE WINDOW, and have it smack you RIGHT UPSIDE THE HEAD SO HARD you won’t even THINK about forcing my brother to do something he isn’t comfortable doing again. Keep trying me, motherfucker. THE FUCK WRONG WITCHU."

Steve is flabbergasted. Eddie's mouth is wide open. You would’ve thought Lucas’s sister was on speakerphone but she wasn’t.

You're scared of Erica Sinclair. And so is Eddie, the way his eyes widen at her spiel. If Lucas's sister ever got into a heated argument with Billy, Billy would go home crying.

“And some sweet potato fries," she adds softly. "Please. Do we have a deal?"

"At your service," Eddie deals her a salute through the phone, even though she can't see it. "Anything Applejack wants, she gets. I'll be over after my Meijer run."

"As you should, sir."

Eddie turns to you after he hangs up the phone. "Don't ever own a business."

——————— 🛒—————

“WE GROW UP AND MOVE AWAY... The seasons pass, but the monsters stay.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪

Hellfire is Eddie’s baby. The man lives and breathes that strip club.

As much as you’ve already harbored that suspicion, you didn’t realize his work-life balance was practically non-existent. Running errands. Frequent call-outs. Always having to prepare for the unexpected. But that’s the price one pays for owning a business. It also only seems to get harder and harder when you’re a handsome business man like Eddie, someone with the drawing power like that of a 13,000 gauss magnet.

“Mike to Munson, do you copy?”

You and Eddie have hit the road now, ready to start your errands run before your shift begins. As Eddie drives, he has you hold his phone up for him while he speaks to the boys in their group FaceTime call.

“Copy,” Eddie responds. “Thank you for covering ground, dear Paladin. It is because of you we are no longer… short staffed.”

God, they’re such dorks. You’d cringe if Eddie didn’t have the sex appeal of a Roman god.

“It’s the least I can do,” Mike insists. “Taking inventory as we speak. We need more ground chili and pop cans. Cola and Fanta, please. When you go to Meijer.”

“Done deal,” Eds nods. “Who’s doing side quests?”

“Me!” Will chimes in. “Doing silverware, stainless steel, and just helping Jonathan open up the bar.”

“Thank you, Byers-squared.”

“And I’ll sweep and do windows,” Dustin adds. “We’ll figure out the front house situation as it unfolds. Gonna be a little late. Getting gas.”

Eddie places a firm palm over your hand. He smiles at you when you look over.

“Running errands with Shy Girl, we’ll see you soon.”

“Pulling in now. Over.”

“Us too. Over.”

“Over and out, boys.”

————- 🚐———-

After your Meijer run, you and Eddie stop by CVS for Wayne’s medications and the ‘morning after’ pill. And shortly after that, you two haul ass to the other side of town to scoop up Nina.

Eddie gives the young dancer a ride to work almost every day. He also smokes her out before the shift, evident by her waltzing in stoned out of her mind all the time. It brings you peace knowing the whole story now, and that there truly is nothing more to it than that.

“Your boyfriend really needs a new car,” Eddie huffs to Nina as she climbs into the backseat. “Been telling him that shit’s on it’s last good tire.”

Figuratively and literally. The 90s Buick that you caught sight of shortly before Nina shuffled in can only be described as a lost cause. Nina knows it too, the way she scowls at the thing.

She tsks as she clicks her seatbelt in place.

“Duh, Eds. What do you think I’m saving up for?”

Eddie holds up an eighth.

“I can think of a few things,” he chuckles. “I take it you’re a fan of all things eco mode.”

“Hey, it’s 2022, of course we’re going green.”

Eddie grins. “I like how you think, sweetheart.”

Nina looks over to see who’s in the front seat. Her eyes glimmer when she realizes it’s you.

“Oh, hey Shy Girl!” she cheers.

You smile at her contently. Securely.

“Hey, Neens.”

Eddie starts up his van once again.

“Alright everyone,” he says as he shifts gears. “Hold onto something. We’re on a tight schedule so expect some Eddie Stops.”

“Not this again,” Nina mutters.

“Oh boy…” you add.

SKRRRT!

———— 🏠 ————

After dropping both Nina and the groceries off at Hellfire, you and Eddie set out to Forest Hills Trailer Park to visit his infamous Uncle Wayne.

“Wayne’s the man,” Eddie boasts as he drives on. “Taught me how to fish. Somehow taught me how to drive. Automatic and stick.”

He laughs at that one.

“Even took me out of the foster care system when I was 16. I lived in his old room for years while he took the pull-out couch in the living room.”

“Foster care?” you echo as he nods. “He was tired of you jumping from home to home?”

“Nah, I just kept running away,” Eddie cackles. “If a kid was ever in the police station for something, nine times out of 10 it was probably me. I was stressing way too many people out, Uncs probably felt bad for them.”

“But he also loves you, I bet,” you grin. “You’re his nephew, Eddie.”

Eddie smiles too. “Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

Eddie pulls into an empty dirt road just yards from the estate. You two climb out of the van together, slamming the doors in unison.

Eddie leads you up the stairs by the hand, then uses his other one to wave at old neighbors close by.

“Hey y’all! How ya doin’?” he exclaims. He lowers his voice when he speaks to you. “Those are the Johnsons. Their sons were frequent customers of mine in high school.”

Your eyes widen in shock. Eddie waves to another pair of neighbors.

“And those are the Jacobsons. I bought their sons alcohol their senior year for homecoming. Buncha lightweights though. Wouldn’t recommend.”

“Well aren’t you a hero,” you jest.

“Hey, someone’s gotta pay the bills,” Eddie shrugs, half-jokingly. “You would think 40 years at The Plant gave you a decent insurance plan but that wasn’t the case. Had to help Wayne out for a fat minute. Still do every now and then.”

Eddie shifts closer to the door and gives it a couple knocks. He leans his head towards the doorframe, placing his lips just inches away from the chipped, painted wood.

“Wayne Munson,” Eddie bellows in his playful, deep voice. “It’s your friendly neighborhood pharmacist here. I’ve come with your percs, your piss pill, and your Motrin.”

Percocet and Motrin.

Two very strong pain killers. Hearing those names send chills down your spine. Those are the same meds Mom overdosed on when Billy found her.

But given Wayne’s circumstances, it’s not too much of a concern. According to what Eddie has told you, his uncle had just retired and is very frail. Heavy machinery and long hours can do that to someone. Just constant, chronic pain.

The door swings open and you hear Eddie greet Wayne like a grateful man would greet his dad. “Hey, Old Man! How are you?”

“Hello, there my boy. Agh, watch it. ‘s hurtin’ again.”

It didn't seem like anyone was at the door when you look over. But that was because you were looking about two feet too high.

Your eyes travel to the level at which Eddie bends down and there you see Uncle Wayne, having wheeled himself to the door to greet Eddie with a warm hug.

Oh this goes deeper than you thought.

A nose cannula. Yellow grippy socks. The wheelchair that housed his thin, fragile body. The navy blue Pacers beanie that concealed the fact that the man had very little hair.

Wayne’s face was extremely chiseled in, deeming him malnourished and underweight. The bags under his eyes that drooped heavily against his sockets took up a good portion of his face — nearly half.

You look at the place behind him. His trailer had lots of rails installed, Ensure protein shakes for adequate nutrition, and the pull out couch was set up to look like a bedroom, with a collapsible dresser right beside it that was nearly lost in a sea of orange medicine bottles.

The realization nearly knocks the wind out of you.

Wayne is sick. He almost looks terminal.

It feels like the ground had opened up and swallowed you whole. Your knees feel wobbly like gelatin, but Eddie is too busy reuniting with his father figure to notice. When he turns back around, he pulls you into him, with the biggest smile on his face.

“There’s uh, someone I want you to meet,” Eddie says to Wayne, his cheeks now a deep shade of pink. “This is Shy Girl.”

“Shy Girl,” Wayne smiles the same bright smile that Eddie has. “So you’re the THEE Shy Girl that my Eddie’s been rambling to me about. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sweetheart.”

You meet Wayne where he’s at, shaking his cold hand at eye level and giving him the warmest smile you can.

“It’s nice to meet you as well, Mr. Munson.”

“Mr. Munson,” Wayne smirks cheekily. There’s a hint of who he used to be when he does that. He was most likely a firecracker just like Eddie, evident by how the two start poking at each other in a teasing manner. “Didn’t realize we were at a business meeting. In that case, we shall not waste any time. You and Eddie can come on in now, Miss Hargrove.”

Butterflies form in your stomach. You never told Wayne your last name.

And soon you’re in Wayne’s trailer, Eddie’s old home before he grew his wings and left the nest. A bittersweet energy floods the room. It only becomes more prominent when you see Eddie and Wayne holding hands as they make their way inside.

“Welcome to my office,” Wayne proceeds, carrying on with the banter. “I’ve got some tea in the cupboards, as well as some stale saltines because this one over here thinks I should watch my sodium intake. You’re more than welcome to help yourself.”

“Thank you so much,” is all you’re able to say.

“No worries, doll.”

Wayne darts his gaze back over to Eddie. “Anywho. Now that the formalities are over… son, I need to take a shit.”

The same dry humor too. You giggle and glance over at Eddie while he grimaces at Wayne in annoyance. But, since it’s not his first rodeo, he obliges, unlocking Wayne’s wheelchair to wheel him over to the commode that was concealed behind a DIY curtain.

“Did you do your exercises today?” you hear Eddie ask him.

"I tried. Got tired ‘bout halfway through.”

“What are your oxygen levels looking like?”

“Satting 88 percent without my oxygen. 93 percent on three liters.”

“That’s what we like to see. Good job, baby. I’m proud of you.”

You stand off to the side, giving Wayne as much privacy and dignity you can throughout this very intimate ordeal.

While Eddie is away with him, you keep yourself distracted with Wayne’s mug collection, as well as the array of trucker hats that decorated one of the four walls. You take a look at what’s on the TV: The Price is Right is just about to go on a commercial break. And on the coffee table rested an assortment of dated magazines, all going back to as early as 2008. Ah yes, recession core.

Within a few short moments, Eddie comes back out. You study him as he makes his way to the kitchen to wash his hands, making faces at the friendly neighborhood cats who liked to make themselves at home on the porch.

“Anyways!” Eddie exclaims. “I’m gonna start making Erica’s wings cuz we got everything here.”

He starts back over to you.

“But before I do, want me to show you my old room? It’s like a huge time capsule. Wayne hasn’t touched it since I left.”

You can barely meet his eyes. Eddie is acting way too normal about this. Or maybe you’re too dramatic.

He sees you frowning, thinking.

“…You okay?” he attempts with you.

"Eds... I didn't know," you whisper softly.

But Eddie smiles a bit. "That's okay. I initially didn't want you to know."

"How bad is it?"

"Stage 3. Lung cancer."

"How long has he had it?"

"Siiiince… March of 2020?” Eddie recalls. "We initially thought it was covid because of all the pulmonary stuff..."

He gestures around his own lungs.

"So what started out as a — rather intimate — nose swab turned into a biopsy that turned into getting a team of specialists….”

He glances over at Wayne to make sure he’s still okay.

“To having uncomfortable talks with the case worker about...exploring other options... And then to me being his full-time caregiver."

"March of 2020..." you recall. "Isn't that the same time you and Isabelle got divorced?"

"We were finalizing it..." Eddie corrects you. “But that’s neither here or there.”

“And Hellfire?”

“We were struggling for a bit not gonna lie,” Eddie chuckles. “It was during the start of covid and no one wanted to leave the house. Even when the babes were smoking hot.”

Holding up a palm, you stop him from explaining any further.

“So let me get this straight,” you state. “Your piece of shit dad UNALIVED your mom in cold blood when you were a kid, your father figure has cancer. You somehow manage to care for him full-time all while basically living at Hellfire, your business that your ex wife tried to SABOTAGE; which led to you getting arrested and released on bail up until your trial where you were then proven NOT GUILTY. But even then, your reputation still remains slightly tainted because almost everyone in Hawkins is a narrow-minded, self-righteous prick who weaponizes religion to get an upper hand? And they know you’re an easy target so that’s exactly what they did in this case, making your life and Wayne’s a living hell when it was the last thing you two needed at the time?”

“It be like that sometimes.”

Eddie flashes you a sarcastic, ‘I’m alive’ peace sign. He’s not helping.

Your heart just about shatters.

Eddie has suffered so much. But he hides it so well with his never-ending sarcasm and Munson magic.

And to think all of this — Hellfire, Wayne, and divorcing Isabelle — went down a couple years ago. He still had his childhood to sort through. If that's even plausible.

“It’s also kinda why Chrissy and I were screwing around,” Eddie adds, snapping you out of your thinking. “Apparently I was constantly depressed and she wanted to keep me distracted and all. Again, fun. But very short-lived.”

You fall into him and squeeze him tight. Eddie is almost taken aback by it. But nevertheless, he returns the favor.

"Are you alright?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" you demand. "You have all of this going on and you're asking me if I'm alright?"

Oh, how lonely Eddie must’ve felt through all of this. You just want to hold him. Take away all of his pain.

It’s always the angels on earth who get sent to hell and back. Eddie deserves the world, and you’re going to go your best to give it to him.

"Are we alright?" you question him.

"Of course we're alright," Eddie insists, ruffling your hair like it’s the silliest thing you’ve ever asked him.

He pulls away from you. Rubs your back delicately as you soak in all of this new information.

“You sure you want to sign up for all of this?”

You are absolutely more than sure.

“Now why would you even ask that?” you choke. “You know my stubborn ass. I’m not backing down without a fight.”

“Yeaaah,” Eddie squints. “I guess you are pretty stubborn.”

You fall into one another again, kissing each other like it’s the air you need to breathe. Eddie delicately cups your face with his hands, relishing in the last couple of smooches before he pulls away.

“I like stubborn though.”

“You and me, Eddie.”

“You and me, sweetheart.”

“Eddie!” Wayne calls, innocently interrupting the moment. “I’m done, boy, now come help me get up.”

“Comin’!” Eddie cranes his neck, shouting in Wayne’s general direction. He kisses you one more time on the forehead before excusing himself. “Be right back, babe.”

You and Eddie leave for Hellfire shortly after spending a little bit more time with Wayne.

The entire ride there, you let Eddie talk about his memories with his uncle… how he’s attended homecoming rallies, talent shows, graduations, and the less-than-celebratory court hearings — loving Eddie unconditionally through thick and thin. He was there for Eddie’s senior prom, snapping photos of him with the boys and his date Ronnie, who was also his best friend at the time.

Wayne was also there for Eddie’s wedding, even though he didn’t particularly like Isabelle. Again, every milestone, Wayne was there for.

You fawn over Eddie as he continues to talk, the spark in his eyes never leaving for as long as it’s about his loved ones. You can only hope he talks to Wayne and the others about you in the same way.

You can’t believe this is real life.

From here on out, it’s going to be you and Eddie. And you’re going to be by his side no matter what, because he’s proven to you that he is committed to doing the same.

From here on out, it’s going to be Shy Girl and Eddie… and nothing… NOTHING will ever change your mind or get in the way of that.

🏷️ tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

[queer-book-character-tournament]

Characters, book, and author names under the cut

Tara Boone/Penny - All That Consumes Us by Erica Waters

August Mulvaney/Lucas Blackwell - Psycho by Onley James

Ariadne O'Neill/Elena Quesada-Cruz/Chikondi Daka/Jack Vo - To Be Taught if Fortunate by Becky Chambers (sorry hit the character limit which cut off the name in the poll)

Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish - The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater

[fandoms-in-law]

Diving Down

A continuation sort of of this au idea

Summary: Some of the party find out Steve's a mermaid through S4

Author's note: I'm trying to get the scripted fics from my notebooks typed up this weekend but can't figure out how to carry this on later so it's open ended for now.

/\

“I’ll dive down.” The decision wasn’t one Steve was focusing on. It was logic, cold and necessary now they knew the gate was at the bottom of the lake. He didn’t wait to argue at all, just threw his jumper off while speaking, dropping his jeans and diving in.

Nancy of course had tried to argue anyway and he was glad to not hear anything she started to say until he’d let himself flip through the movement encouraged by his legs fusing into the tail. “Steve – We should have – What?”

Popping back up on the boat he took the torch Eddie had wrapped in a plastic bag from his stunned friend. “I said I’d dive down, stop yelling. It’ll help if something down there tries dragging me through.”

“You have a tail?” Robin asked, equally stunned. Out of everyone she was the most likely to know, but he’d expected he to have either forgotten or dismissed the comment during Starcourt as a joke.

He looked back into the water and shook his head. “Long story and there’s a gate to a hell dimension to check: Not the time for this.”

Steve dove down, leaving everyone in the boat sharing looks of confusion or stunned bewilderment.

“So you didn’t know Steve’s a mermaid? Or is the surprise being played up just for me?” Eddie eventually asked, breaking the silence.

Nancy turned a glare on him snapping, “No!”

“He mentioned it once last time this happened. Should’ve known he wasn’t lying.” Robin admitted, shrugging, but focusing on the water her best friend was under.

Watching from the shore, Max dropped the binoculars as Steve got off the boat, looking at Dustin expectantly as she asked, “Steve’s a mermaid?”

“What? That was something from the gate!” He immediately protested, squinting over the lake before trying to snatch the binoculars.

“No. That was Steve getting a tail and diving down.” She insisted, waving out where once again they could see the tail vanishing into the water and keeping the binoculars out of his reach.

“Let me see!” Dustin tried to snatch it again.

She glared, crossing her arms in a gesture very similar to Steve. “He’s underwater now Asshole! You won’t see anything.”

/\

After the Hawkins group managed to regroup Steve stood with arms crossed, watching them all and preventing any next steps planning being done. “The only one who didn’t stand a chance of seeing was Erica but just so it’s plain, I’m merfolk. If you tell the government or even anyone else in our group or especially my family that you know I will be murdered.” He stated, more seriously than most of them had seen.

“Steve, don’t-” Nancy huffed, already turning away and grabbing her notepad to try and make them plan.

He glared and that was enough for everyone to pay attention. Nobody had seen him get angry at Nancy, not enough to cut her off. “Not an exaggeration. My father will kill me if he realises anyone else knows. Do Not Tell Anyone!”

“Okay, but do we need to, like, get you away from your parents after defeating Vecna and clearing my name? Should that be the next fight on our list?” Eddie asked, looking concerned.

“He won’t do anything as long as nobody knows. I got the pool. That’s more than Mom ever got. So no. Let’s focus on things we can actually fight.” Steve repeated.

[pinkeoni]

Peter Pan Parallels: Is The Upside Down Neverland?

Lately I've been thinking about Petergate and I came up with what possibly could be another angle to the already complicated Peter situation— what if the name Peter is a reference to Peter Pan?

I don't think this is the only reason that the name Peter becomes prominent, although the show itself does seem to contain other references to Peter Pan, and even creates a correlation between the Upside Down and Neverland.

Peter Pan as a character has origins in early works from author J.M. Barrie, and the Peter Pan story as known today originated in a play written by Barrie before being adapted into a book and subsequently several film adaptations. The story of course being about a young boy named Peter who brings some kids to a magical land where they can never grow old.

It's written very small, but Peter Pan is on the season 4 DNA board!

There are a few instances about never growing old in the show, and they usually come from Will or involve Will.

The first instance is from season 3 during the rain fight, where Mike exclaims that they "aren't kids anymore" and they can't "play games for the rest of their lives." This is then brought up again by Will in season 4, but in a much more hopeful lens.

And then we have the Upside Down, a magical land that appears to be somewhat stuck in time.

I say "somewhat" because I'm honestly unsure if the UD actually frozen in time, or if there is just an impression of Hawkins the night that Will was taken. However, the emphasis this season on clocks as well as Nancy's mention of being in the past does at least allude to the idea of being frozen in time.

Does the UD actually function like Neverland and keep someone from aging? Will was only trapped in there for a week, not enough time to see if there was any anti-aging going on. Henry was in there for a few years, however since he changed so much physically it's hard to tell if he aged at all (and given that he was in his 30s, any aging wouldn't have been very apparent)

ALTHOUGH there could be a point to be made about the fact that Will and Henry were both able to survive in the Upside Down for as long as they did in the first place, maybe it has to do with both of their powers, but perhaps the UD was preventing them from dying?

Starting with Will, we know that he was in the UD for a week without any food or water. The body can survive that long without food, but water is another thing. The show makes a point to have Erica say this in season 3:

—which leads me to believe that they want to draw attention to the fact that Will was miraculously able to survive for so long in a place without any water. Perhaps the UD was able to keep him alive?

Something similar happens with Henry, too. It seems like his body was adapting to the new environment overtime, but still the details of his survival are vague and his ability to stay alive after all that time is still rather anomalous to say the least.

There's an indirect reference to the UD as Neverland in season one, when Troy states that "Will is in fairyland now with all the other little fairies." and while YES he means this in a derogatory way, the dialogue is still a way to point at the fact that Will really is in a magical land, and possibly even a hint at his powers.

Notice as well how Will's light magic bares a resemblance to pixie dust from the Disney movie.

Between Henry and Will, we can see both of them as being Peter Pan-like. Henry as Peter as in the one who lures children into his magical fantasy land, or Will as Peter the boy who doesn't want to/has trouble growing up.

Another aspect of Peter Pan is his shadow, which is detachable and seems to have a mind of its own. Which reminds me a lot of this:

Barrie's intentions behind what the shadow represents is pretty vague, although it has been tied to the idea of wholeness, Peter's attachment to the human world as well as duality, wholeness, and lightness within dark and darkness within light. (more to come later)

[alivingfire]

he'll see i'm not so tough

a @steddiebang fic

author: alivingfire artist: @knitsforthetrail betas: hibiscus & @hamiltonsteele

150k | explicit | tags: steve as kas the betrayer; secret relationship since s2 planned posting dates: november 21-december 2

When Steve gets trapped in the Upside Down, Vecna offers him a deal: become lieutenant of the monster armies and gain some of Vecna’s power, in exchange for being the bait to lure his friends back to rescue him. Steve takes the deal, believing wholeheartedly in the Party’s ability to save him and finally kill Vecna, but discovers quickly that his power to infiltrate the memories and dreams of people in the real world is very limited; in fact, he can only visit one person in his new monster form. 

Thus begins Steve’s haunting of Eddie Munson, who, coincidentally, has been in love with Steve since they started secretly hooking up after a Halloween party in 1984.

“Something wrong, Munson?” says a voice, and Eddie yelps and rolls out of bed. 

When he pops up on the other side, he sees a very alive Steve Harrington perched on his own bedroom windowsill. His face is exaggeratedly wild and sharp, and his hair is windswept. His skin is silvery-blue in the moonlight. His fingernails are dark and long and curved like claws. He’s in a Hawkins Swim t-shirt and light wash Levi’s, and there’s dried blood on his bare arms.  

He’s like the film negative of a boy Eddie knows by heart, like a cover version of his favorite song.  

And then he smiles, and his teeth are sharp.   

“Hey, babe,” Steve says. “Did you miss me?” 

Eddie, bravely, faints. 

longer excerpt under the cut:

The vine around his left wrist uncurls, and Steve lifts that arm automatically to see his palm glowing like a lantern, and more than a dozen strings of light shooting straight up at the sky. The strings are golden-hot and hard to look at, too much on Steve’s overloaded senses.

“Look at that,” Vecna says, moving that large clawed hand from Steve’s face to wrap around Steve’s free wrist. “That’s a power I never gained, try as I might. All that love and affection you have for your friends has connected you securely to them. Even as a dead man, you have ties to the world above. Eleven did not plan for that. Could not plan for that.”  

Steve stares at the lights, too, and the more he looks, he feels like he can see differences between them. One seems weaker than the others and looks like wood smoke and has a ruddy red tinge that, for some reason, Steve knows is the string tying him to Will Byers. One is pinkish and looks wrapped in lace: Nancy. Robin’s looks like water dripped with nail polish, swirls of navy blue. He can pick out Dustin’s, then Lucas, El, Max, Jon, Erica, even Mike. Eddie.

He can’t think about this. He rips his gaze away. 

“Why are you showing me this?”  

“I can teach you how to visit them. How to talk to them,” Vecna says. “Through dreams and hallucinations, yes, but you could see them, and they could see you. See that you’re alive.” 

“But trapped.” 

“Yes,” Vecna says. “The only way either of us could ever truly leave this place is if Eleven opens the gates back up, or if Max dies to finish the ritual I began. And I’m assuming you’re not willing to do that second option.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“As I thought. So, here is my deal: if I give you my powers, it would not be for free. You will act as my lieutenant here in this realm. You will control the beasts in my stead, and do as I command. If you are convincing enough, your friends will come to rescue you, and when they do I won’t make you fight them, but I will be there to welcome them, and this will finally be finished.” 

“Then why would I do this?” Steve laughs, incredulous. “Why would I draw them here, if they’re just going to die for it?” 

“Because you doubt me when I say that I would win against them,” Vecna says. He lays it out like a winning poker hand. “You believe in your friends. You believe they could beat me. And if they do, you could be saved.” 

“And if I say no?” Steve asks. 

Immediately, the pain comes pouring back, his vision going blurry, the colors fading from the world, his mouth filling once again with blood. His thoughts are slow and dripping. He groans and slumps forward, barely held up by the vines around him. 

“Then I leave you like this,” Vecna says. “It won’t take long for you to die. Your friends will never know what happened to you, and I will spend as long as I need to working to get back to the other world without you. And I’ll have help, because your friends cannot keep the government from meddling once more. Every crack they make in the barrier between worlds is one I can exploit. I will get through some day. At least this way, you have a chance to stop me. You have a chance to live again.” 

Steve breathes unsteadily and looks back down at his palm. He thinks about those tiny connections to people that he loves, and thinks about leaving them to fight this fight without him. 

It’s stupid. He isn’t the person who should be making this deal. He knows that Vecna manipulates and twists to get what he wants. But his logic makes sense, too. 

Steve doesn’t know what to do. He’s not the planner. He’s not the right one to choose this. He’s- 

Two weeks. Robin, Dustin, Eddie, Erica, Max, Lucas, Eddie, Jon, Will, Mike, Eddie, Joyce, Claudia, Wayne, Tommy, Carol, his parents, Eddie- they all think he’s gone. He remembers how he felt when Hopper died. He can’t- 

His jaw creaks when he opens his mouth. 

“Fine,” he says, pain cracking his voice into something horrible, weak, pathetic. He sucks in another breath. “It’s a deal.”

[twig-tea]

9 People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

Tagged by @visualtaehyun and @thegalwhorants 💕

3 ships

Need to limit myself because there are too many good couples in media! The three I'm most enjoying in what I'm watching right now are:

Qian and Yuan from Unknown

Kazuhito and Natsukawa from Living with Him / Kare no Iru Seikatsu

Aylin and Luna from 23.5

First ship

I've answered this before but I was reading galwhorants' answers and suddenly the words "world shaking" popped into my head, and I remembered that the main site I used to read Ami/Makoto (sailors Mercury and Jupiter from Sailor Moon) fanfic was on worldshaking.net so I looked it up and that site has been rebuilt and some of the fanfic restored! So if you are curious about what babyqueer me was reading ~1997 it's still around and you can go see for yourself (shout-out to the author & curator Erica Friedman who was [and still is] a mentor and community-builder for so many of us; she was the one who organized Yuricon which is still an excellent resource if you want to get into or understand the history of yuri!).

Last song

I'm a quiet TXT fan and I've been enjoying their new mini album; the last song I listened to was Quarter Life (which has the unfortunate effect of making me feel old since I'm long past the quarter-life crisis age lolol but it makes me nostalgic for the pop punk heydays):

Currently reading

I finished book 1 and am chipping away at book 2 of MoDu (Silent Reading); it is such a satisfying read! I need more hours in the day so I can keep reading it.

Last movie

I just finished the short Burmese film Khar Taw Mi (another Trust Entertainment work centered around Thingyan, this time around the cultural performance aspects rather than the water party parts, so lots of traditional music and dance). If we're talking feature film, hmm, I think it was either Doi Boy (2023) or Past Lives (2023), I can't remember the order I watched them in; I watched them both in March (and both were very good).

Currently craving

Honestly, what I most want right now is spoons to do the things I've been dragging my feet on doing. Food-wise, I was giving a colleague tips on visiting Newfoundland and now I'm craving soft-serve creamsicle ice cream, which I've only ever had in St. John's.

No-pressure tags! And if you've already done this one tag me in the comments: @lurkingshan (since we fought over ships last time); @happypotato48; @sorry-bonebag; @my-rose-tinted-glasses; @telomeke; @waitmyturtles; @bengiyo (especially for the movie question); @thisonelikesaliens; @hyeoni-comb

[asteraceae-blue]

Irrlicht: Chapter 1

Published on AO3

Authored by AsteraceaeBlue (Helianthus-exilis)

For @miabicicletta with decadent 1980s Dana Scully vibes and love

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

Down the dry gullies of the mountain stream

I calmly wend my way

Every river will reach the sea

Every sorrow, too, will reach its grave

~ Franz Schubert

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Martha’s Vineyard, 1983

Saturday, June 25th, 7:15PM

Crimson droplets stained the chipped white porcelain of the sink, turning pink as they were caught up in the swirl of the water cascading from the rusty faucet. She watched the mini whirlpool of color disappear down the drain. It would have been mesmerizing, beautiful even, if she didn’t know exactly what it meant. If it wasn’t so fucking sad. Watching part of her life skip away down the drain, her heart pounded out a rhythm that seemed to match the thud of the bass from the band playing on the other side of the bathroom door. Some local group, busting out covers of Creedence Clearwater and Van Morrison, amongst others. 

When the pointillism of blood finally stopped, she reached over to the paper towel dispenser and grabbed a few, running them under the water before pressing the wad to her nose, wiping away the evidence of her frailty. Her hands trembled and the towels were rough and smelled like damp cardboard. She shoved the balled up mess into the garbage can next to the sink and washed her hands. She looked in the mirror; a little pink, like she’d only blown her nose. That’s all anyone else would see or think.

Dana Scully reached behind her back and tightened the strings of the black waitressing apron wrapped around her waist, smoothing out the front and adjusting the black tee shirt with Gill’s Grill, Steak & Seafood printed in white. A giant harpoon underscored the words, driving home the nautical theme, as though every restaurant on the Vineyard didn’t have something to do with boats and fish and shells. She was just happy the dark color hid so much when it came to stains. She redid her ponytail, taming fluffy copper flyaways, pinched her cheeks to pop some color back into them, and turned to push her way out the door.

The sound of the band hit her full force, jolting her back to the present. A small crowd had gathered in front of the stage at the far end of the bar, swaying with pints of beer to “Bad Moon Rising.”

It was about as close as the Transatlantic set got to Woodstock.

When her roommate from Maryland offered to set her up with a summer job on the Vineyard, Dana was hesitant. She pictured a lot of boat shoes and Jackie Kennedy types and wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it. Luckily, Gill’s had a nice balance of the upper crust and the working man who supplied them with their main courses. The latter tended to be bar flies; fishermen who were after a cold beer at the end of a long day of sun and fighting fishing nets. Having grown up in San Diego Navy housing and Annapolis Harbor, Dana had a soft spot for the salty workers. She felt better with them around.

She caught Erica’s eye from across the dining room as her roommate finished taking drink orders from her table. Waiting by the drink station, Dana fiddled with straws and neatened stacks of soda cups that didn’t need neatening.

Erica walked up to her, grabbing a tray from the pile and loading up cups with Pepsi and water.

“Thanks,” Dana said, helping her fill the drinks.

“Hey, no problem,” Erica assured her. “You feeling better?”

“Yeah. I think I just, um, ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

“Okay,” Erica said, looking at her sideways. “If you need to go back to the house, you can. I can cover you.”

“No, no,” Dana insisted, shaking her head. “I’m fine now.”

“M’kay,” Erica said with a smile. She hoisted the tray of drinks onto one hand and winked. “I got this. You can get their food. I’m predicting cheeseburgers cooked to a hockey puck and fish and chips they’ll think is too fishy.”

Dana smiled and watched her walk back to the table, her blonde perm barely contained in a braid. Bright and athletic, Erica was at Maryland on a volleyball scholarship and majoring in history. She had an inherent discipline that reminded Dana of her father. It was a good presence to have as she navigated the chaos of physics and pre-med. It kept her going in some of her hardest moments, when she was ready to say it was all too much. Erica would be there, waiting to tell her a ridiculous story from practice, or drag her out for a jog, or remind her that college degrees last longer than boyfriends (wink wink). Even if she had no idea what, exactly, Dana was struggling with, she was there to help keep the faith.

Dana took a quick breath and pulled her order pad from her apron pocket.

Sure enough, the fish and chips tasted too fishy.

An hour and a half later, she scraped the uneaten clumps of the dinner into the trash in the bustling kitchen, wondering how anyone could waste so much food. Her parents would never have put up with it, still didn’t put up with it even though three of their four children were grown and out of the house. Granted, the punishment had shifted from smacked bottoms to looks of judgment, but the implications were equally strong - you don’t take basic comforts for granted.

Apparently, her fellow waitress Janie was having the same struggle with her own customers that night. The tall brunette stormed into the kitchen holding a plate brimming with a juicy steak, baked potato, and vegetable medley.

“Sonny!” she fumed, tossing the plate onto the busy window. “Table three claims they asked for medium and they have their panties in a twist that this is not medium. It’s too pink.”

The middle aged line cook who’d been at the helm of Gill’s kitchen for the better part of a decade loomed over the pass-through and looked like he was about to spit onto the dinner. He placed a beefy hand on the edge of the porcelain and spun it around to glare at the steak.

“It’s fucking perfect,” he snarled, chewing on a toothpick that was only a placeholder for the cigarette that was waiting for him on his break. “You wanna ask them to come back here and show me how to cook a fucking medium steak?”

“You want I should do that?” Janie snapped back, hand going to her cocked hip. “Just toss it under the goddamn broiler for thirty seconds, send it to hell, if they burn their mouth they won’t complain anymore.”

Sonny grabbed the edge of the plate and turned towards the line with a look that could murder. She was the only one in the entire place who could talk to Sonny like that and not end up in the dumpster out back. Janie huffed loudly and crossed her arms as she collapsed against the wall.

“I can’t believe I took this job again this year,” she griped, snapping bubble gum between her teeth, talking to no one in particular. Dana listened out of courtesy more than anything as she finished clearing her dishes before adding them to the busser’s tub. “One more year. One more goddamn year and I’ll be done with cosmetology and then I’m done with these idiots.”

Whether she was referring to customers or coworkers, Dana wasn’t sure and she didn’t find out. Erica opened the back door, returning from her garbage run, a smile on her face. She clocked Janie immediately.

“Hey Janie!” she called out, eyebrows raised with a twinkle in her eye. “Spooky’s back!”

“Shit, really?” Janie panicked, suddenly checking her bustline and her hair.

Dana watched her with confusion.

“Who’s Spooky?” she asked.

“Local boy,” Erica told her as she meandered over, leaning on the wall next to Janie. “Janie’s had a crush on him since they were kids. But then, she’s had a crush on every boy on this island since she was a kid.”

Janie elbowed her.

“He’s a fucking catch,” she insisted.

“You just like anyone who comes with a little drama.”

“I don’t care what he comes with, only who,” Janie replied, innuendo dripping from her mouth. She hiked her black suede skirt up a few inches. “Where is he?”

“Where else? Lurking around the field out back with a flashlight.”

Janie hustled towards the backdoor without so much as a thank you.

“Hey, Jesus, at least take some trash out with you!” Erica called after her.

The door slammed shut. Dana looked at Erica.

“Spooky?” she said with a dubious expression.

“Fox Mulder. Can you believe his parents did that to him? I’d just about die if I had to walk around with a name like that.”

“What’s his deal?” Dana asked, unable to stay her curiosity.

“He’s kind of the local intrigue,” Erica said. “Family has money. Dad has some high level government job and there’s always black cars coming and going from the house. He just got back from college - England.”

Dana rolled her eyes. For a traveling Navy brat of a Captain, none of that impressed her all that much. 

“That’s it?” she said.

Erica glanced around, looking like she was making sure no one was listening, though it was unnecessary. The kitchen staff couldn't care less about their conversation. She leaned in a little.

“His kid sister was kidnapped when he was, like, thirteen. They never found her.”

Dana’s breath caught in her throat. Her hands tingled and she forced herself to breathe.

“Why, um, why do you call him Spooky?” she asked, desperately trying to sound casual.

Erica smiled.

“Ever seen The Twilight Zone?”

“Ladies, you gonna stand there and chit chat all night or you wanna serve people food at some point?” Sonny yelled from the line, shoving plates into the window. He slammed his palm on the bell. “Pickup!”

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Gill’s Grill, 10:23PM

After pocketing decent tips and finishing her side work as the last of the patrons drifted out the door, Dana said goodnight to everyone. She slipped out the side door, heading for her dusty hand-me-down Ford wagon. It was parked in the corner of the lot in front of a stand of bushes and overlooking a coastal meadow that dipped towards the ocean. Dana breathed deeply, filling her lungs with the scent of salt air that she could practically taste, refreshing her mind after the inundation of stuffy kitchen fumes and dining room smoke. 

Circling around to the front of her car, she leaned against the hood and rested for a moment, taking the weight off her sneakered feet. 

Her legs ached, probably more than they should at the ripe age of nineteen.

Her mother hadn’t wanted her to work that summer. She was so worried about her health, insisting that the best thing for Dana to do was come home and rest between years of study. But Dana knew the financial strain her education was putting on the Captain, and with Charlie coming up right behind her for college she saw no choice other than to roll up her sleeves and earn some money. Besides, she was doing relatively well that summer. She had more energy. She barely knew she was sick most days, until the tingling began in the bridge of her nose. 

She stared out into the darkness, the lights from the parking lot providing a curtain of security as she listened to the sound of other workers getting into their cars and leaving for the night, the crickets singing in the grass of the meadow, and the radio playing Motown in the kitchen as the busboys finished their cleanup.

A beam of light caught her eye off in the distance. It bounced along, sweeping this way and that over the meadow, the trees and bushes, moving parallel to the parking lot. She realized it was a flashlight. The person holding it slowed and stopped not fifty feet from her, aiming the light down at a forty-five degree angle towards the ground. Squinting, relieved of the shifting beam of light, she could just make out the shadow of a person standing in the field of summer grass beyond the lot. As her eyes adjusted, the shadow sharpened to reveal a young man, tall and lanky. Brown shaggy hair spilled back as his face tipped up, his serious eyes staring upwards at the stars. The image made her sad in a way she couldn’t articulate. She looked away, feeling as though she’d intruded on an incredibly private moment.

Quietly, she pulled the keys out of her purse and pushed away from the hood of the car, walking towards the driver’s side. She gently opened the door, then paused, her hand stilling on the metal frame. Feeling horribly voyeuristic, she took one last look at the man standing in the dark, gazing upwards with a lost expression. For one fleeting second, she thought about going to him to see if she could help. But help with what? What could she possibly say? She didn’t even know him.

Dana slipped into the worn leather seat and started the car, keeping the headlights off until she’d turned the wagon in the opposite direction of Fox ‘Spooky’ Mulder.

[averyqueerhalloween]

Horror & Thriller Books with Queer characters: 🏳️‍🌈🎃

The Girls Are Never Gone by Sarah Glenn Marsh

Ace Of Spades by Faridah Àbíké-Íyímídé

Sawkill Girls by Claire Legrand

Burn Down, Rise Up by Vincent Tirado

Interview With The Vampire by Anne Rice

The Coldest Touch by Isabel Sterling

Murder Takes The High Road by Josh Lanyon

A Dowry Of Blood by S.T Gibson

The Taking Of Jake Livingston by Ryan Douglass

Summer Sons by Lee Mandelo

Catherine House by Elizabeth Thomas

Manhunt by Gretchen Felcker-Martin

The Honeys by Ryan La Sala

A Lesson In Vengeance by Victoria Lee

The Diviners by Libba Bray

Her Body And Other Parties by Carmen Maria Machado

The Route Of Ice And Salt by José Luis Zárate

The Dead And The Dark by Courtney Gould

The City Beautiful by Aden Polydoros

The Picture Of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Carmilla by Sheridan Le Fanu

Tell Me I'm Worthless by Alison Rumfitt

Queen Of Teeth by Hailey Piper

Our Wives Under The Sea by Julia Armfield

Sorrowland by Rivers Solomon

What Moves The Dead by T. Kingfisher

The Cabin At The End Of The World by Paul Tremblay

It Came From The Closet by Various Authors

House Of Hunger by Alexis Henderson

What Moves The Dead by Ursula Vernon

These Fleeting Shadows by Kate Alice Marshall

Night Of The Living Queers by Various Authors

Just Like Home by Sarah Gailey

They Drown Our Daughters by Katrina Monroe

Graveyard Of Lost Children by Katrina Monroe

The River Has Teeth by Erica Waters

Hell Followed With Us by Andrew White

The Spirit Bares Its Teeth by Andrew White

Dead Flip by Sara Farizan

The Many Half-Lived Lives of Sam Sylvester by Maya Macgregor

Things Have Gotten Worse Since We Last Spoke by Eric LaRocca

Everything The Darkness Eats by Eric LaRocca

Into The Drowning Deep by Mira Grant

Plain Bad Heroines by Emily M. Danforth

The Monster of Elendhaven by Jennifer Giesbrecht

White Is For Witching by Helen Oyeyemi

The Promise of Lost Things by Helena Dunbar

Prelude For Lost Things by Helena Dunbar

My Dear Henry by Kalynn Bayron

All The White Spaces by Ally Wilkes

As I Descended by Robin Talley

This Is Where We Talk Things Out by Caitlin Marceau

[catesartworks]

Isekai Maid Asks Pt.3

More asks under the read more! Very long, I go into depth about some of the titles from the maid slapping masterlist

Content Warning, I talk about slavery, human trafficking, stalking and physical abuse within the context of the story

Made some edits on 7/5/2023! :D

Thank you so much! :D

I did like “No More Turning a Blind Eye” at first until the gentrification storyline where the main couple decide to kick out all the people living in poverty so they could build an art center and destroy their homes. Apparently I was supposed to root for them? It was so disturbing I had to stop reading it and I couldn’t enjoy it anymore. Now it serves as a reminder of just how low nobility can sink to get what they want.

For the next one, I wouldn’t say I hate “I am the Real One,” I still love a lot of things about it but after a certain point it kind of became slow so I had to take a break from it. I also wasn’t a fan of how they handled Cosette’s maid. She’s basically Kira without the money, and I think she would’ve been a good character if they gave her a chance. She did it all for her younger brother, who was ill, and was going to risk hell and high water to make sure he was provided for.

Thank you so much! I have a few:

Beware the Villainess  (Great to start after watching Bakarina)

The Monstrous Duke’s Adopted Daughter

The Villainess’ Stationary Shop (So fun!)

Not Sew Wicked Stepmom (So Cute)

Master Villainess the Invincible (Martial Arts Villainess, we need more of this!)

Thank you!

As for Erica, she lived in a part of Limpette was being colonized by the invading nation of Teffrah. They set up segregated neighborhoods with only Teffrah nobles, which is where she grew up. The nobles in Teffrah like to come to Limpette for it’s environmental beauty, but discriminate against the population that lives there.

Erica was set up with Mr. Katopodis because his family had a summer home there and they wanted him to get remarried so he could have a male heir. 

1) Yes, Nasir regretted killing Zoe. He was definitely gro//omed by the female lead, Belliana and was taught that she “saved him” by buying him and turning him into a slave. He thought that because she did favors for him and allowed him some level of freedom that he was better than other slaves and that Zoe didn’t appreciate the female lead’s supposed generosity. He ends up killing Zoe by accident, but he convinces himself that it was for the best.

It wasn’t until he wanted to get married to a woman he met that the Belliana showed her true colors and forbid him. She was one of those people who thought, “if I went back time and there was slavery, I would buy them and treat them nice!” But at the end of the day she was just another slave owner.

Belliana refused to let him get married because she wanted to avoid her own death flag, and she even had the woman he wanted to marry sent away to die. In a rage, he kills Belliana.

2) Bridgette tends to internalize the justifications that the stories make for female leads to abuse their workers. It’s true that stealing is wrong in general, but she was basically a slave to the female lead and was never compensated. Belliana stole the fruits of her labor from her.

Bridgette has done wrong in the past, but cannot always remember. Her memory isn’t perfect, but she has done things like murdering a noblewoman, delivering poison, hitting other maids.

3) Clara’s ending had her being given a sum of money by Phoebe after Phoebe dies. She leaves the manor and lives happily.

Clara as a character wasn’t liked from the beginning due to audiences being distrustful of any female character other than the protagonist. Comment sections were waiting for Phoebe to stand up to Clara, who they thought was too greedy for a maid because she was beloved by people in the story.

Audiences hated it so much that they harassed the author into making a new version of the story to cash in on the isekai craze. The author noticed that a crack ship formed between Prince Dimitri and Phoebe, it shot up in popularity and audiences wanted them to be together.

 That is how “Flowers Thrive in Autumn” became a new novel starring the reincarnator Phoebe called “The Wicked Woman Delivers”. In this version of the story, Clara is secretly revealed to be a “white lotus” character who frames the newly reincarnated Phoebe and must “be taught her place” as a maid. It sold very well, but the author hated it and she took a break from writing because of all the stress it caused her.

4) Reincarnators, when discovered are quietly approached by the military and asked if they have information on weapon development. The Teffrah military is especially interested in trying to build airplanes and colonizing surrounding countries.

Reincarnators, particularly ones in nobility are allowed to roam around as long as they contribute to society and bolster Teffrah’s “superior” image.

The abundance of reincarnators also play a huge role in the general support the nobility has for eugenics and maintaining the class system, because they want the general population to believe that only nobles can create generation defining art, music, and technological advancements. It also fuels anti immigrant sentiment.

A lot of reincarnators are from the commoner class in the future, but many usually get caught up in the glamor of being a noble and allow inequality to continue because the class system personally benefits them, or they’re overwhelmed and prefer not to get involved in trying to tackle societies problems.

The type of reincarnators that come into the world are extremely specific, and not to get into spoiler territory, but there is a reason why so many office workers get isekai’d into Teffrah.

5) I’m not sure I would want to do that trope. It’s been used a lot and I don’t think I can do anything new with it that hasn’t already been done.

Thank you! As a fellow autistic person, I’m happy you identify with Marina! 😊

Thank you very much for reading Isekai Maid! I really appreciate it. ^ ___ ^

1) I’m not entirely sure I can add more to the list, but I’ll try and update it. I know there’s more to the list than what I’ve listed, but the maid slapping trope isn’t a pleasant one for me to look at so it might take me a while.

Reading those kinds of scenes gives me flashbacks to when I worked in fast food service, and seeing the comment sections basically cheer for the kinds of people who made my coworker’s lives miserable,or made them cry and over the pettiest things like food not being hot enough is kind of exhausting.

As for Villainess Reverses the Hourglass, I have to say I do enjoy the manwha a lot since it’s my gateway to Otome Isekkai, but it has some ISSUES, especially with it’s discussion of politics. Some of my issues goes into spoiler territory, and I feel like some twists end up undermining the themes of the overall story. I love a good revenge story, though, and it was one of the earlier stories I read in Otome Isekai. So yeah, not everyone’s cup of tea and I get that.

2) For “Author of My Own Destiny”, yes, it’s pretty gross to give her dirty mop water. Yuck! But this maid character doesn’t act like a person, she is an obstacle to be hit and smacked by the noble MC Fiona as a cheap power move with little to no true consequences.

Hitting maids (even terrible ones) as a trope has never been about justice. It’s always been about reinforcing class dynamics and suppression of the lower classes by portraying commoners as greedy and abusive to prop up noble protagonists. It implies that if nobles don’t “correct” commoners, they will get “out of control.”

Protagonists, who when confronted with nobles who do identical things, let them off the hook/delay accountability or attempt to be cordial with them (such as in the case of Fiona).

Let’s not even get started on male leads in romance fantasy/Otome Isekai, who do all sorts of crimes like stalking, harassment and other forms of abuse and are romanticized for it because they are nobles.

These stories are power fantasies, ones where readers who might have been abused by people in power themselves and want justice vicariously through fiction. But between a noble and a commoner, there are no stakes if the MC is a noble. The noble has everything at their fingertips to win.

And what is odd about the whole sequence in “Author of My Own Destiny” is that Fiona (the MC) does the following:

She slaps the maid twice

Splashes her with the mop water

Calls her lowly due to her class, mocking her for being a commoner

Threatens to cut out her tongue

Threatens her with magic

Internally is disgusted that a commoner/maid would look a noble in the eyes.

In the next chapter, Fiona directly passes by the stepmother, Countess Green, the cause of all of this. Her stepmother who verbally abuses her, makes her life miserable and has most likely been encouraging the evil maid’s behavior. The ultimate showdown, right?

Since what happened to Fiona was such a horrible experience, you’d expect her to unfold the same amount of abuse tenfold on the stepmother. Right?

But she doesn’t. Fiona, who the chapter before was slapping a maid and making threats to cut out the maid’s tongue, suddenly goes “I don’t want to cause any trouble.” 😔

She even says “I wish I could slap her (Countess Green)” UM what?? Fiona, girl you were slap happy last chapter, what’s stopping you? SLAP that noble!

Literally a chapter before she was hitting a maid for all of the abuse she suffered, but now when she has the ability to stand up to the person who made all of this happen in the first place, NOW she backs out?

From a meta point of view, Fiona lets the noble slide, but gets violent with the commoner. There is no true accountability if one party is condemned due to status, but the other gets away scot free because they’re a noble. Who’s power fantasy is this? Who does it serve?

The only reason is because she knows she would get struck back, and it would cause a problem she can’t prepare for. This isn’t the power fantasy I want. Accommodating to the nobles who do harm to you, but smacking any commoner who crosses you. That isn’t power, I don’t know what that is, but it’s not justice.

Edit (07/5/2023):

SPOILERS for chapter 24:

The stepmother only gets smacked once she loses her status. Not only does Fiona refuse to confront her stepmother on the abuse she instigated through he maid, but she is also allowed to get away for presumably weeks after in incident where Fiona slapped her maid around.

Another interesting note is that Fiona is much more violent with the commoner maid than her noble stepmother. Even when she does finally slap the stepmother, it’s only one and done. She doesn’t manhandle her like the maid.

And that was only when she was sure there would be no consequences for her actions and her stepmother lost her status. When it comes to nobility, only when she is sure their wealth would be stripped does she begin even thinking about striking them. 

End edit

It’s interesting that the justifications of hitting maids is often brought up, because every comic I have on the list justifies the maid abuse by basically saying “those dumb lowly maids were being uppity to me, a noble! >:(”

I am the Real One: A maid badmouthed Keira’s lineage in “I am the Real One” SMACK!

The Lady Needs a Break: Rubia wanted breakfast and was given a lower quality than usual food - SMACK!

Duchess’ 50 Tea Recipes: The maids didn’t tidy up Chloe’s room and help her get dressed, they were also, like, totally mean girls to her even though she is the lady of the house and could easily fire them -- SMACK! Slap the head maid and threaten her coworkers!

Solitary Lady: The maid gives Hillis cold water, is slightly annoying? Hillis throw water on her and threatens to chop her hands off (this is actually what I based Lady Deliliah’s remarks on)

These stories all have the same excuses. All of their maid abuse was justified in some way by the story by making them all stereotypically evil. It’s easier to overlook the social implications of a noble hitting a maid if the maid totally deserves it because she secretly kicks puppies and steals food from orphans?

That’s why I tend to look at the meta implications of the trope more than the in- universe explanations because these maids dress like working class women, many come from lower status,  so the logic would be that they would be trying to supporting their families and want to just do their jobs. But these evil maid characters don’t act like they have anyone who depends on them to keep their job.

The maids are essentially a stand in for what are essentially high school/office level “mean girls.” Why not fire them if they’re so bad at their jobs and harass people? You can’t fire “mean girls,” you work with you HAVE to interact with them at some point. You can, however, fire a maid because being a maid is a job and she works for you.

Even a noble household, no matter what they would think of the MC, would be in big trouble if they let commoners mistreat their family member and drag their name through the mud. It could easily be a gateway to disrespecting them and their own power/influence.These stories pretend that maids have so much power and the nobility who employ them have very little to stop them.

But at the same time, noble MC’s can hit, smack, and thrash their maids with no consequences whatsoever, but can’t fire them? The power dynamics are completely dishonest.

And what pains me is that people in service positions CAN be dicks, or abusive. But at the same time, many don’t last long and there is a reason. If someone is spreading rumors, talking shit about their employer’s kids, not doing work, etc then ideally they’re outta there because work needs to get done. But even so, toxic workplaces exist everywhere and people slip through. People who are horrible do end up with those who are vulnerable. And when this happens, accountability is essential and justice is needed. 

If majority of these stories even touched on this subject knowing this, and how someone like these maid characters even made it in such a workplace while being uncooperative and unhelpful, then it would be really fascinating and open up questions on how to better improve workplaces. You could talk about how who gets promoted, favoritism, discrimination, etc.

But most on my maid slapping masterlist don’t. To these stories, a maid’s status is the worst thing about them if they aren’t submissive. 

This evil maid trope also undermines the impact of abuse main characters have suffered too, because it makes a big point on how low the status of the maid is committing the abuse, instead of the abuse itself being detestable and worthy of accountability.

And that honestly really sucks. It’s not right, that isn’t the author’s intention, and I feel like that shouldn’t be what I take away from this story.

[steddiebang2024]

in the heat of the summer (you’re so different from the rest) | Explicit | 60k

Author: @strangethetimes

Artist: @xandriumbat

Beta Reader: @steddie_steddie

[Link to fic] |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Minor Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler, Eddie Munson & Nancy Wheeler, Minor Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson & the Party, Minor Steve Harrington & the Party, Minor Eddie Munson & Wayne Munson.

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Mike Wheeler, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Will Byers, Erica Sinclair, El/Jane Hopper, Max Mayfield, Wayne Munson.

Tags: Post-Season 4, Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Falling in Love, Sort of Slow Burn, Light Angst, Implied/Referenced Mental Illness, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Suicide and Suicide Attempts, Implied/Referenced Period-Typical Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Eventual Smut, Top Steve Harrington, Bottom Eddie Munson, Summer Vacation.

Trigger Warnings: Implied/Referenced Mental Illness, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking, Implied/Referenced Suicide and Suicide Attempts, Implied/Referenced Period-Typical Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse.

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Around the third time the trailer got vandalized, Eddie had something of a meltdown. Over a year had gone by since his name was cleared, but the people of Hawkins still hated him and the thought of leaving was just that. A thought. It was getting to be a bit too much — suffocating, actually — and he told Steve that he had to escape. Even if only temporarily.

And that was the thing about Steve, he made things happen. More than that, he had a good track record for blowing Eddie’s expectations out of the water. He snagged the key to his family’s lake house in upstate Michigan and told Eddie that it was theirs for all of August.

It probably wasn’t the smartest thing to agree to. Spending an entire month with the guy he had a huge crush on? In a beautiful waterfront cottage, no less? It was a recipe for disaster as much as it was an alluring siren’s song, but Eddie wasn’t really known for his sense of self-preservation.

So, for the next four weeks, he had to try and keep his wayward heart on a tight leash (or risk ruining his friendship with Steve forever). But, through bonfires and bed sharing, through county fairs and karaoke, through sunbathing and skinny dipping, it wasn’t going to be easy.

[comicbookddr]

SERICA WEEK DAY 3: PROMISES

Word Count: 1,305

Summary: Erica makes Sarah promise they will read the new Dusk novel together, no matter how long it takes for it to come out.

click below to read!

Erica was wrapped in blankets, sitting cross-legged on her bed, staring at her laptop as an article about Dusk illuminated her face in the darkness. She piled a handful of popcorn into her mouth, spilling half of it onto the bed. Her hair was tied up - as always - and her thin red glasses laid on the bridge of her nose. She picked up her phone and frantically attempted to start a call. 

Sarah was staring at her phone, tears rolling down her eyes as she tried to look at herself through the front view camera, seeing nothing reflected back on the dark side of the screen. Her phone blinked awake as Erica called her. She wiped the tears away and cleared her throat, attempting to answer in a cheery voice. 

“Hey! What’s up?” 

“Did you hear?!” She asked, her eyes darting around, expecting the worst. 

“No, what’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong,” Erica said, “I was just wondering if you had seen the announcement!” 

Sarah blinked. Erica waited for her to respond. To break the awkward silence, she said, “They’re making another Dusk book!” 

“Really, that’s cool!” She wanted to be excited for Erica. She tried to sound normal. All Sarah hoped is that it would work. 

“The author just announced it, and even though it will take some time to come out, there’s already rumors about another movie adaptation! Isn’t this the best?! We’re gonna get more people to join the Dusk fan club!”

She let Erica go on over the phone while trying to make herself tired. Tea, warm water on her face, even laying down; it did nothing. Erica yawned and let her voice get lower energy as the night rolled on, desperately wanting to get every thought in her head out to her very best friend. Sarah desired to feel that same excitement that her friend did, she wished to live the life she did only a few weeks ago, and somehow go back to before she ever met Jesse. She never thought she would wake up one night and never go back to sleep, and watch as everyone around her aged more with every day while she only stood still. 

“That’s what I would want if they ever made a TV show,” Erica said, leaning on her desk and rubbing her eyes. She tried not to let out another yawn, but it escaped her mouth without her permission and she apologized to Sarah while taking off her glasses to try and squint them awake. 

“I should let you get some sleep,” Sarah said, sitting on her perfectly made bed, the sheets yearning to be pulled back and to be rested on again. 

“When the book comes out, we need to read it together, have our own book club, like the old days,” She said, taking down her ponytail to get ready for bed. 

“Okay, we will,” Sarah responded. She slid on the floor next to her backpack to get some homework done. She was starting to get behind on her math assignments. 

“Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Right as she hung up and started to get her work out, there was a voice at her window. 

“What are you doing?” 

She flipped her head around and peered over her bed to see Jesse standing at her window, grinning and eyes glowing. 

“Nothing,” She whispered out in a shaky breath. 

“Let’s get out of here,” He said, as a demand. Sarah knew “no” wasn’t a sufficient answer for him. She learned that the hard way. 

-

Sarah squeezed a bag of blood into a mug while standing in her kitchen. 

“You know that’s gonna be really hard to clean,” Erica said. She came in from the hallway and stared at Sarah in a perplexed way. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and down to her hips. 

“I don’t like drinking out of the bag! It just feels weird sometimes.”

“Oh, and a mug is gonna be better somehow? It’s gonna get all over your mouth,” She commented, while Sarah took a sip anyway. When she leaned the cup back there was a pale reddish orange stain all on her upper lip. Erica couldn’t help but giggle. 

“It’s like Got Milk, but much more morbid!” 

“I was gonna wash my face soon anyways,” Sarah said, grabbing a paper towel and wiping the blood away. 

There was a ring at the doorbell, and Erica went to answer it. 

“Hide your blood mug, or else they’re gonna call the cops on us.” 

Sarah quickly lowered the mug into the sink and watched as Erica answered the door. A delivery man was on the other side, and he handed Erica a package while she signed for it. 

“I wonder what it could be…” Erica said with a smile. She brought it over to the kitchen and started attempting to open the box. Sarah grabbed her mug again and took another sip. 

“How you can drink that cold is beyond me,” Erica said while trying to peel the tape off the seam. 

“Warm blood is overrated.” 

“Yeah, like you would know! Blood from a beating heart is the best, it's the way we’re designed to get our food.”

“I’m not gonna argue about this with you again. And just rip the box open! You’re taking too long.” 

As Erica ripped the box so hard that half of it fell to the floor, she yanked out what was contained within it and squealed with excitement. 

“It’s here!” She exclaimed, jumping up and down and holding the item to her chest. 

“What is it?” 

“It’s the book! The book! It’s finally here!” She responded, “And look! I bought two!” 

She handed Sarah half of the package, revealing it to be the Dusk novel that was promised to them years ago. Sarah took the book and looked at the cover. A painted cover of werewolves and fairies surrounding the main characters, all with their fangs out and pale faces. 

“I’m gonna start reading mine right now!” She said, cracking open the hard cover and running her eyes around the first few pages. 

“They have fairies in this now?” Sarah asked, barely recognizing the characters behind the main three in the front. 

“Yeah, don’t you remember? They were introduced in Dusk V.”

“I don’t think I’ve read that far…”

“What?” 

“I’ve seen all the movies, but I’ve only really read the first book. And that was a long time ago.” 

As Sarah was confessing, Erica had already fled to the hallway, and came back with a large stack of books. 

“You’re gonna have to read these before you can get to the new one,” Erica said, placing the stack in front of her friend. 

“You’re kidding! I don’t have the time to read all of those!” 

“Well you’re gonna!” Erica said, folding her arms and walking away. 

Sarah stared at the giant stack and grabbed the first one off the pile. Her eyes graced the cover of the second book, all with characters she recognized and a tight feeling of something longing within her chest. She remembered the first day her and Erica bonded over the Dusk novel and movies. A time that felt like decades ago that just slipped through her grasp and stung a little when she thought about it. Those book covers meant more than just stories she missed out on; it represented time she would both never get back and also continue to live with, forever. 

She grabbed the giant stack and hulled them to her room and placed them on the same floor, and leaned up against the same bed frame she had done that night the new book was announced. This time, she wasn’t going to be interrupted in her own time, she was going to reclaim it. She was going to keep her promise, no matter how inconsequential it may have seemed.