#so it had to have been there since 1983 at least

[jasontoddsmommyissues]

I finally started reading Flight of Icarus and I’m so confused because it’s implying Wayne and Eddie don’t live together…even though Eddie literally flat out says he lives with Wayne in the first episode of the season?

[enhaflixer]

newly turned vampire! riki x 400 y/o vampire f!reader - VAMPIRE SUPPORT GROUP

pure crack. fluff. i def got an ask for this but rn i cant find it at all.

-

You've been dead for 400 years, but nothing has made you feel more alive than watching this disaster unfold.

The vampire support group meets in the basement of an abandoned church—cliché as fuck, but the rent is cheap. You're only here because eternity is boring and watching newly-turned vampires panic about their condition provides at least mild entertainment. Four centuries of existence have left you with few novel experiences.

Until him.

He slouches in fifteen minutes late, wearing sunglasses indoors, at night, in a basement. Riki Nishimura, according to the name tag he reluctantly sticks to his leather jacket (which still has the price tag partially visible underneath the collar).

"Sorry I'm late," he says, clearly not sorry at all. "Had some, you know, vampire business to take care of." He flicks an imaginary piece of lint from his shoulder.

The support group leader—Gary, turned in 1983, still wearing the same outdated suit—gestures to an empty folding chair. "Welcome, Riki. Would you like to share your turning story with the group?"

Riki slides into the chair like he's auditioning for a yakuza film. "It's whatever. Got bit last week. No big deal." He shrugs with such calculated casualness that you have to press your lips together to keep from laughing.

"The transition can be traumatic," Gary offers. "It's okay to have feelings about it."

"I don't really do feelings," Riki says, adjusting his sunglasses. They slip down his nose, revealing eyes that are very obviously bloodshot from crying. He pushes them back up with his middle finger, trying to make it look intentional.

You've watched newly-turned vampires react in every possible way: the screamers, the deniers, the embracers, the religious crisis-havers. But you've never seen someone trying so desperately to seem unaffected while clearly being a complete internal mess.

"So what can you do?" asks another newbie vampire, Emma, turned three months ago. "Can you transform into a bat yet?"

Riki scoffs. "Transformation is for vampires with something to prove. I'm secure enough not to need to show off."

You know—everyone knows—he can't transform. Most new vampires can't. But his absolute commitment to this façade is fascinating.

"What about blood?" asks Gary. "Have you adjusted to your new diet?"

Riki pulls out a thermos with skull stickers on it. "It's fine. I'm on this special blend. Very exclusive." He takes a sip and visibly gags, then pretends he was just clearing his throat. "Smooth," he comments, voice strained.

It's too much. A small laugh escapes you.

His head whips toward you, noticing you for the first time. You, with your simple black turtleneck and jeans—no need for gothic theatrics when you've been dead since the Edo period.

The moment his eyes land on you, he chokes on his blood drink. Like, actually chokes. He spends a good ten seconds coughing into his elbow while trying to look like he's just thoughtfully clearing his throat.

"You okay there?" you ask, deadpan.

"Yeah, totally fine. Just, uh—" he straightens up, runs a hand through his hair, and somehow manages to make it worse. "Just giving my professional assessment of the, uh, acoustics in here. Good echo. Very... echo-y."

"Fascinating analysis," you reply, face completely blank.

He stares at you for a beat too long, then realizes and quickly averts his gaze, pretending to be deeply interested in a water stain on the ceiling. A faint reddish tint creeps across his pale cheeks—he must have fed recently for that to be possible.

"And you are...?" Gary prompts.

"Riki. I said that already," he mumbles.

"I meant her name," Gary clarifies with infinite patience.

"Oh." Riki's eyes dart back to you, then away again, like he's afraid looking directly at you might turn him to stone. Which is ironic, considering the whole vampire thing.

You don't volunteer your name. Names have power, and you've learned to be selective with yours over the centuries. But something about his painfully obvious awkwardness makes you say, "You can call me Y/N."

"Y/N," he repeats, like he's testing how it feels in his mouth. "Cool name. Very... name-like."

"Jesus fucking christ," mutters Emma under her breath.

The group moves on to discussing practical matters—how to get blood legally, avoiding sunlight, explaining to family why you can't do brunch anymore. Riki interjects occasionally with comments like "Sunlight? I think it adds character to just power through the burning" and "Family? I'm a lone wolf. Always have been." This last comment is immediately undermined by his phone lighting up with a text that clearly reads "MOM: Don't forget to call Grandma tomorrow, she's making your favorite cookies."

He hurriedly flips the phone over, then glances at you to see if you noticed. You maintain your perfect poker face, honed over centuries of watching humans make fools of themselves.

Throughout the meeting, you catch him stealing glances at you approximately seventy-three times. When you make eye contact, he either pretends to be looking at something else or gives you what he clearly thinks is a cool, aloof nod. It's like watching a middle schooler with his first crush, except this middle schooler has fangs.

"Before we conclude," Gary says, checking his notes, "a reminder that Councilwoman Bathory will be conducting inspections next week. All newly-turned vampires must register with the Council to receive their blood ration cards."

Riki perks up. "The Council? Like, vampire government? That's a real thing?"

You roll your eyes. "Of course it's real. Who did you think keeps humans from finding out about us? Pure luck?"

"I figured it was just, like, an understanding," he says, waving his hand vaguely. "Nobody talks about it because it's cooler that way."

"Yes," you deadpan. "Vampire society has survived for millennia on vibes alone."

Emma snorts. Gary shoots her a look.

"The Council is very real," Gary explains patiently. "And very serious about registration. Unregistered vampires are considered rogue and... well, it doesn't end well."

Riki's attempt at looking unimpressed falters slightly. "What happens to them?"

"They get staked," you say bluntly. "Or worse."

"What's worse than getting staked?" he asks, sunglasses slipping down his nose again.

You just stare at him flatly. "Use your imagination."

When the meeting ends, you find yourself lingering. He's trying to look disinterested, scrolling through his phone, but his thumb isn't moving. He's just staring at a black screen while casting furtive glances your way.

"First meetings are the worst," you say, approaching him.

He jumps like you've shocked him, then tries to play it cool by leaning against the wall. He misses the wall entirely and has to quickly readjust. "Nah, it was cool. Good to know there are other vampires out there, I guess. Not that I need, like, community or whatever."

"Of course not," you agree flatly. "You strike me as someone who has it all figured out."

"Exactly," he says, missing your sarcasm entirely. He runs a hand through his carefully disheveled hair. "So... you come to these things often?" He immediately winces at his own cliché.

"Only when I'm bored. Which is frequently, after a few centuries."

His eyebrows shoot up above his sunglasses. "Centuries? Holy shit—I mean, that's, uh, cool. Very cool. You don't look a day over..." he falters, realizing he doesn't know how to age you.

"Four hundred and twelve," you supply.

"Right. I was gonna say that."

"You know," you say, your lips curving into a slight smirk, "technically that makes me the ultimate cougar. I've got about four centuries on you."

His mouth falls open slightly before he catches himself. "I, uh—I mean—"

"I've literally known shoes that lasted longer than your entire existence," you continue, enjoying his flustered reaction. "I was drinking blood when your ancestors were still figuring out indoor plumbing."

"That's..." he swallows hard. "Actually kind of hot?"

Now it's your turn to be surprised, though you mask it better than he does. "Interesting response."

He shrugs, a hint of genuine Riki breaking through the cool façade. "What can I say? I've always been into older women. Though usually the age gap is more like five years, not five hundred."

"Four hundred," you correct.

"My bad. That makes all the difference."

For the first time in decades, you laugh—a real, unguarded sound. His eyes widen at it, like he's witnessing some rare astronomical event.

"You know," you say, "the sunglasses at night thing is very 1980s. If you want to seem current, you might want to update your 'cool vampire' aesthetic."

He whips them off so fast you're surprised they don't break. "These old things? I don't even like them. Just, you know, had eye surgery. Laser. Very... futuristic."

Without his shield, his eyes are a warm brown, currently dilated from the darkness and from staring at you like you're the last blood bag in a famine. They're surprisingly gentle for someone trying so hard to seem tough.

"There's a night market that caters to our kind a few blocks from here," you say. "They sell blood that actually tastes decent, unlike whatever you've got in that thermos."

"It's not that bad," he lies, clutching the thermos defensively.

"It's pig blood cut with iron supplements and probably hot sauce to mask the taste."

He stares at you. "How did you—"

"Four hundred years, remember? I've seen every trick." You turn toward the exit. "Coming?"

"With you? I mean—yeah, sure, whatever. I'm not doing anything else tonight. So yeah. Cool. Let's do it. The night market. Together. Walking. Side by side. Cool." He's nodding way too much.

"Or I could just go alone," you deadpan.

"No!" He clears his throat, lowers his voice. "I mean, no, I'll come. It's fine. I'm fine."

As you lead him up the basement stairs, you catch him frantically checking his reflection in his phone screen. Except, of course, there is no reflection—a fact he seems to have momentarily forgotten in his panic. He pockets his phone with a muttered "fuck."

-

The night market exists in a dimensional pocket beneath an ordinary-looking pawn shop. To human eyes, it appears closed, with dusty guitars and outdated electronics visible through grimy windows. To supernatural eyes, the neon sign reading "OPEN 24/7 FOR THE ETERNALLY DAMNED" is unmissable.

"No way," Riki breathes as you lead him toward the entrance. "I must have walked past this place a hundred times."

"That's the point," you say, pushing open the door. A bell jingles, but instead of the cheerful tone humans would hear, it emits a low, ominous toll.

The shop owner—a wizened, ancient vampire named Ichiro who came to Japan even before you did—looks up from his newspaper. "Y/N," he nods respectfully. His eyes slide to Riki. "New pet?"

"New community member," you correct, though you're amused by how Riki puffs up indignantly at being called a pet.

"I'm nobody's pet," he mutters, trying to appear intimidating. On a scale of one to threatening, he ranks somewhere around 'disgruntled kitten.'

Ichiro snorts. "Of course not." He turns back to you. "The usual?"

You nod. "And something palatable for the newborn. He's drinking pig swill."

"I told you, it's a special blend—" Riki starts, but Ichiro is already laughing.

"Follow me," the old vampire says, lifting a section of the counter. "And don't touch anything unless you can afford to replace it. Some items are older than your entire bloodline."

As you browse the market, Riki trying desperately to look unimpressed while clearly fascinated, you become aware of Council enforcers moving through the crowd. They're looking for unregistered newborns—apparently there's been trouble with newly-turned vampires killing humans.

"We should go," you murmur to Riki, whose face has gone even paler than vampire-standard. "Now."

You guide him through the back of the stalls, taking a circuitous route to a secondary exit you know from centuries of visiting the market. Once outside, in a quiet alley behind the pawn shop, you explain the situation.

"So there's killer newborns out there?" he asks, genuinely concerned.

"Seems like it," you reply. "Which means you should lie low for a while. Go straight home, stay inside, don't talk to vampires you don't know."

"But I barely know any vampires," he points out. "Except you. And Gary, I guess, but he's—"

"Riki," you interrupt, "I'm serious. This could be dangerous. Someone might be targeting new vampires."

He studies your face, seeing the genuine concern there. "You're actually worried. About me."

"I'm worried about the situation," you correct.

"Right." He doesn't look convinced. "So, this is goodnight then?"

You nod. "Go home. Stay safe."

"You too," he says, then adds awkwardly, "I mean, obviously you can take care of yourself. Being super old and all. Not that you look old. You look great. For someone born when people still thought the plague was caused by bad smells."

"Miasma theory," you provide.

"What?"

"That's what it was called. The theory that disease was caused by bad air."

"Cool. Very cool scientific fact." He shifts from one foot to the other. "So, uh, will I see you again? At the next meeting maybe?"

You consider him for a moment. There's something oddly endearing about his transparent attempt to seem aloof while being so obviously eager. It's been a long time since anyone looked at you the way he does—like you're the most fascinating thing they've ever seen.

"Probably," you say noncommittally. "If you don't get yourself staked before then."

He tries to look offended, but can't quite hide the smile tugging at his lips. "As if. I'm very stakeable. I mean un-stakeable. Fuck."

You roll your eyes, but there's no real annoyance behind it. "Goodnight, Riki."

You turn to leave, but his voice stops you.

"Y/N?"

When you look back, he's closer than you expected—he must have moved toward you without your noticing, which is unusual given your heightened senses. There's an intensity in his eyes that wasn't there before, a momentary break in his carefully constructed cool-guy persona.

"Thanks," he says simply. "For helping me tonight. For not laughing at me. Well, not laughing too much."

The sincerity catches you off guard. "You're welcome."

He nods, then seems to gather his courage. "Can I ask you something? Why did you help me? I mean, I'm nobody to you. Just some random newborn vampire you met at a support group."

You consider how to answer. The truth is, you're not entirely sure yourself. Maybe it's boredom. Maybe it's curiosity. Maybe it's the way he looks at you, like you're something special rather than just another ancient creature going through the motions of immortality.

"Let's just say you're more interesting than most," you finally reply.

"Interesting?" he repeats, a slow smile spreading across his face. "I'll take it."

There's a moment of silence between you, charged with something unexpected. His eyes drop to your lips, then back up to your eyes, a question in them.

"I should go," you say, but you don't move.

"Yeah," he agrees, but takes a step closer instead.

You can smell the blood on his breath—Jin's special blend, rich and complex. His pupils are dilated, whether from the darkness or from looking at you, you're not sure. Probably both.

"This is a bad idea," you murmur, even as you find yourself leaning slightly toward him.

"Probably," he agrees. "But I'm full of bad ideas lately. Becoming a vampire. Wearing sunglasses at night. Crushing on someone who was alive during the Spanish Inquisition."

"I was in Japan during the Spanish Inquisition," you correct, your voice softer than intended.

"Right." He's close enough now that if either of you still breathed, you'd feel it. "Still a bad idea though?"

"The worst," you whisper, and then close the distance between you.

The kiss is electric—literally, a small spark of supernatural energy passing between you. His lips are cooler than a human's would be, but still impossibly soft. He makes a small, surprised sound against your mouth, like he wasn't actually expecting you to kiss him, before responding with unexpected intensity.

For someone so awkward in conversation, he's surprisingly confident in this. His hand comes up to cup your face, touch gentle but certain. When his tongue traces the seam of your lips, you grant him access, and the kiss deepens.

You can taste the blood he's consumed, feel the newborn vampire energy thrumming through him—wild and untamed compared to your carefully controlled power. It's intoxicating, this blend of inexperience and eagerness. His fangs accidentally graze your lower lip, drawing a drop of your ancient blood.

The taste hits him like a drug. He groans, a deep, primal sound that resonates through you. His hands tighten on you reflexively, pulling you closer.

"Fuck," he breathes against your lips. "You taste like...I don't even have words."

"Four hundred years gives the blood a certain complexity," you murmur, slightly dazed yourself. It's been decades since you've allowed anyone to taste you.

He stares at you, wonder and desire naked on his face. All pretense of coolness has evaporated. "Can I—"

"No," you cut him off, regaining your composure. "One taste is all you get. For now."

His eyes widen at the implication of 'for now.' "Right. Cool. Very cool. I can work with that."

You step back, creating some distance between you. The kiss was more intense than you'd anticipated, and you need a moment to collect yourself. Four centuries of existence, and you're rattled by a kiss from a week-old vampire with a cool-guy complex and a price tag still visible on his jacket.

Pathetic.

And yet.

"Go home, Riki," you say, your voice steadier than you feel. "Stay safe."

He nods, still looking slightly dazed. "Yeah. Home. Safety. Got it."

You turn to leave, using your vampire speed to put some distance between you before you do something even more foolish.

"Y/N!" he calls after you.

You pause, looking back over your shoulder.

He's standing there, hair mussed from your fingers, lips slightly swollen from your kiss, looking simultaneously like the disaster he is and something unexpectedly precious.

"Just so you know," he says, a genuine smile breaking through his usual smirk, "I'm totally cool with the age gap. I've always said age is just a number."

"In my case, it's a pretty big number," you call back.

"More to love!" he retorts, then immediately looks mortified at his own words. "I mean, not love. Obviously. Just a figure of speech. Very casual figure of speech."

You laugh despite yourself. "Goodnight, Riki."

"Goodnight, ancient one," he replies with a mock bow.

As you disappear into the night, you hear him whisper, "Holy fucking shit" to himself, and then a triumphant "YES!" followed by what sounds suspiciously like a victory dance.

Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

And yet, for the first time in centuries, you find yourself genuinely looking forward to next week's support group meeting.

Maybe immortality isn't complete bullshit after all.

[gunsandspaceships]

MCU Timeline: Captain America: The Winter Soldier

This one is even worse than Iron Man 2.

1942 - James Barnes joins the US Army.

Winter 1942-1943 - Barnes undergoes military training at Camp McCoy, Wisconsin.

As you can see, Bucky was born twice: in 1916 and 1917. Let's move on to the next exhibit.

Winter 1943-1944 - Steve Rogers saves more than 1,000 people by breaking Hydra's blockade. Peggy's future husband is among them.

Early 1945 - Sergeant Barnes fell from Zola's train, lost his left arm, but somehow survived. He is found by Red Army soldiers and taken to Hydra's lab.

Before March 5, 1945 - Rogers disappears in the Arctic.

Note: As you may have noticed, this movie made a mistake where it said it happened in 1944 and also in 1945 (Bucky's "death" and Zola's capture + ~2 days later). To avoid this mistake, I assumed it was December 31, 1944 - January 1, 1945. But I forgot about this newspaper that says "March 5, 1945". The title can be interpreted in many ways, but one thing is for sure - the event did not happen on March 5, because that is the date the newspaper was published. We need to go back at least one day.

March 1945? - Hydra branch in the Ukrainian SSR replaces James Barnes' lost arm and puts him into cryogenic sleep.

Note: These flashbacks of Zola talking about "new fist of Hydra" and "putting him on ice" make no sense since Zola was captured by SSR and imprisoned at the time. Either this took place years after the fall (was Barnes kept on ice this whole time?) and Zola was left alone at some point and somehow made his way to the USSR, or these parts of his memories with Zola are fake (and he's not in the room during the procedures) and were implanted in his brain by Hydra. Or was it just his imagination that created these memories to replace the lost ones? This movie gives more questions than I can get answers from it.

~August 14, 1945 - The US recruits German scientists, including Arnim Zola.

"After WW2" - S.H.I.E.L.D. is founded. SSR's federal functions and responsibilities are consolidated into the new organization.

1953 - Peggy Carter gives an interview about The Howling Commandos in New York.

Before 1970 - some recruited German scientists of strategic value (including Zola) are transferred to S.H.I.E.L.D.

1972 - Arnim Zola receives a terminal diagnosis and uploads his consciousness on 200,000 feet of databanks.

December 8, 1973 - Jasper Sitwell is born in Norfolk, Virginia.

1984 - Natalia Alianovna Romanova is born.

Note: In Black Widow we see a different year and a more precise date of "December 3, 1983". At this point I don't know which date is correct, so I'll just leave 1984 for this movie.

December 16, 1991 - the Winter Soldier kills Howard and Maria Stark.

Between 1990 and 1992 - Nick Fury serves as the Deputy Chief of the S.H.I.E.L.D. station in Bogota, Colombia. Alexander Pierce serves there in the State Department. Fury rescues Pierce's daughter, who has been taken hostage by rebels. Following the incident, Pierce joins Hydra.

As of September 18, 1992 - Alexander Pierce serves in the US Department of Defense.

Between 1995 and 1997 (5 years after the Bogota incident) - Pierce promotes Fury to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

Note that Fury has both eyes here. As we know from the movie Captain Marvel, he lost one of them in 1995. Shown here is the swearing-in scene for a position that could be one of the two mentioned - Fury to Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. or Pierce to WSC Member. The latter doesn't make much sense because members of the council are higher than the director. So it's assumed that Fury becomes Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., which couldn't happen while he had both eyes.

Before 2012 - at Fury's request, Alexander Pierce becomes a member of the World Security Council.

2009 - in Odessa, Ukraine, while on a mission to escort a nuclear engineer from Iran, Natasha is wounded by the Winter Soldier.

Between April 2012 and April 2014 - Steve Rogers kisses someone.

Early 2014 (before the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D.) - Baron Strucker and Dr. List use the Scepter in experiments to create mutants. Two survive - the Maximoff twins.

The main events of the movie take place in the second half of April 2014.

Why: It's impossible to determine the dates from the ones mentioned in the movie ("04/14/13" or "10/12/2013") because they a) contradict each other; b) say it's 2013, but as we know from IM3 and Thor: The Dark World, S.H.I.E.L.D. was still operational throughout 2013. So we'll have to treat them the same way we treated the dates on screens in IM2: disregard. Some (MCU Fandom Wiki) think it's March, which can't be true since in Washington D.C. in March you'll either see bare trees or cherry blossoms. The latter will last until mid-April. We don't see any of that in the movie, so we have to assume it's later, but not too far since some people are still wearing jackets. So we're looking at the second half of April - early May. May is definitely Marvel's favorite month.

No dates this time, kids. It's a mess, so I won't risk putting them in and will stick with "Day #".

Day 1:

~6:00 - 6:39 am - Rogers meets Sam Wilson. Natasha takes him on a S.H.I.E.L.D. mission.

Rogers, Romanoff and STRIKE are sent on an unmentioned mission near India.

Why we have to assume there was another mission before the ship was hijacked: Rumlow says the ship was hijacked by pirates 93 minutes ago. No one could get from Washington to India in 93 minutes, and I'm not even talking about reaction time and briefing. So we have to come up with this solution: Fury gave them another mission in India, then the pirates he hired hijacked the ship, and it "just so happened" that Rogers and Romanoff were nearby to be included in the response team.

Evening in DC/Night in Mumbai - The Lemurian Star mission in Indian Ocean, near Mumbai.

Day 2:

Fury shows Project Insight to Rogers.

Rogers goes to The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.

Day 3:

Morning - Rogers visits Peggy in the UK.

Note: Some people think she is shown in a nursing home in DC, but that doesn't make sense because after leaving S.H.I.E.L.D., Peggy returned to England (her S.H.I.E.L.D. file) and her funeral in CW was in London. So we have to assume that after visiting the museum, Steve went to the airport and spent 7-8 hours flying to the UK. He arrived there in the morning, visited Peggy and returned to the States to visit Sam at the VA in the evening and be home after sunset.

Fury learns that he does not have access to the Lemurian Star files and that "he" took the access "himself". He goes to Secretary Pierce and asks to postpone the launch of Project Insight.

Fury is attacked by Hydra agents and the Winter Soldier.

Evening - Rogers visits Wilson at VA.

Maria Hill comes to DC.

Night - Fury hides in Rogers' apartment. He informs Rogers that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been compromised and is then shot by the Winter Soldier. Fury manages to give Rogers the Project Insight flash drive.

Batroc is captured in Algiers.

Day 4:

1:03 am - Fury "dies".

Morning - Rogers meets Pierce.

STRIKE attacks Rogers in the Triskelion elevator.

Fury is taken to a secret location by Hill and his doctor.

Rogers throws away his S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform, returns to the hospital to retrieve the drive hidden there, and reunites with Natasha, who tells him about the Winter Soldier.

Under Pierce's manipulation, the WSC members reactivate Project Insight.

Rogers and Romanoff hack a flash drive in a mall.

Hill arranges a fake funeral for Fury, which is scheduled to take place on Friday.

Night - Steve and Natasha reach Camp Lehigh in NJ. They find Zola's servers, learn of Hydra's plot, and are attacked by a S.H.I.E.L.D./Hydra missile, but survive. Zola's servers are destroyed. Steve escapes with unconscious Natasha before STRIKE finds them. Rumlow calls in the Winter Soldier.

The Winter Soldier is at Pierce's house. He is given 10 hours to kill Natasha and Steve.

Pierce kills his housekeeper, Renata.

Day 5:

~7 am - Romanoff and Rogers return to Washington. They arrive at Sam Wilson's house.

Between 8 am and 2 pm - they steal an EXO-7 Falcon suit from Fort Meade, Maryland.

~3 pm - the trio capture Agent Sitwell, who tells them about Zola's algorithm and the goal of Project Insight - to kill anyone who poses or will pose a threat to Hydra (including them, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange, Maria Hill, president Ellis and Tony Stark).

6 pm - the Winter Soldier and other Hydra agents attack the car with Rogers, Romanoff, Wilson and Sitwell. Sitwell is killed. Rogers finds out that the Winter Soldier is Bucky Barnes.

Barnes escapes. STRIKE apprehends Rogers, Romanoff and Wilson.

On the way to the execution site, the trio is rescued by Maria Hill and taken to Nick Fury.

8 pm - Pierce resets Barnes, who begins to regain his memories.

Night - Fury and Co discuss the situation and prepare a plan to stop Hydra and destroy S.H.I.E.L.D.

Day 6:

Project Insight launch day.

This is where the timing gets really confusing. The coordinates the characters give us are inconsistent: at night, Pierce gives Bucky 10 hours to kill Steve and Nat, and it can't be later than 3 pm. Lunch time limits us to 11 am - 3 pm, and then Natasha says there are 16 hours left until Project Insight launches, which can't be earlier than 10 am (in the scene with Rogers, before he stole his old uniform, it was already daylight, he needed time to do the heist, and when they arrived at the Triskelion, the original launch time was 2 hours later), but no later than 11 am (Pierce said it would be in the morning). And if you count 16 hours back from 10 am, you get evening, not lunch time. And Bucky's 10 hours have already passed. My solution - I would rather assume that the Winter Soldier was unable to track his targets in time and was late, plus Natasha rounded the clock so it was closer to 17 hours than 16.

~8 am - Rogers steals his World War II uniform from The Smithsonian National Air and Space Museum.

~9 am - Rogers exposes Hydra. Project Insight is launched 2 hours earlier.

The Battle at the Triskelion.

Afternoon - Brock Rumlow is taken to a hospital with serious injuries.

Senator Stern arrested by FBI.

Day 7, morning - Steve Rogers wakes up in the hospital with Sam Wilson at his bedside.

After the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D. (AFS), May 2014:

~A week AFS - Natasha is questioned at a hearing of the DoD committee.

~A week AFS - Bucky visits the Captain America museum exhibition and learns about his past (determined by the growth of his facial hair).

~2 weeks AFS - Rogers, Wilson, Fury and Romanoff meet at Fury's gravesite. Fury heads to Europe (determined by Fury not having a black eye anymore).

Sharon Carter joins CIA.

Maria Hill is hired by Stark Industries.

MCU Timelines: Phases One and Two

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 10

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: And we’re back! In today’s episode, we have a very special guest. 😉

Also, just so you guys know, my podcast interview with the Idling in the Impala podcast is now live! For all the timestamps of key moments, fic recs, and SPN writer shoutouts, see this post (you'll find the link to the video there too).

Song Inspo: “Wicked Game” by Chris Isaak

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, drug use, PTSD, violence, and another big reveal…

🎵 YouTube Playlist || Spotify Playlist

🎙️ Series Masterlist

Part 10: I Need a Hero

Revenge could wait for one more day.

It all can wait, Ben thought. Despite how vehement he was yesterday, today, he was reminded of how good it felt to sleep in a warm bed with a beautiful woman. 

He laid there behind you, on his side. He’d woken up to the sound of music somewhere downstairs, maybe in the dining room.

What time is it? It was hard to remember to keep track of that now, even with the digital clock on the nightstand. It was only midnight, but to his body, it felt like morning.

You were dead asleep. Occasionally you let out soft hums, and other semi-arousing sounds. His lips tugged upward.

Still moans in her sleep.

He drew down the comforter and sheets slowly from your back. He was greeted by smooth skin, except where some marks had been made permanent. His fingers traced carefully over a rough, scarred patch of skin above your hip, as if you had been tased there repeatedly.

His jaw clenched. He could still remember the sounds he used to hear—your screams through the walls of the compound. He remembered when you eventually stopped begging for it all to stop.

“You’re saying this is my fucking fault?!” he said. “Yes! It is your fault. Because you’re too much of a mean, callous, arrogant, entitled, selfish, fucking asshole to see that everybody hates you!” you spat. 

For so long after that day, he hated you. He told himself that he didn’t give a shit about whatever was happening to you, because you clearly didn’t give a shit about him.

But the long months wore on to longer years, alone in the dark. Too often, your words would rattle through his head, reach through his chest with ragged claws. No matter how much he fought it, all he had time to do when he was alone, was think.

He vacillated between stubborn, angry indignation, and rethinking every interaction he had with you, with Countess, the rest of the team, and beyond. Slowly, he allowed himself to retrace his steps. If only in his mind, he began to regret certain things…at least where it came to you.

Ignoring you was both harder and easier, since he couldn’t see you.

That all changed a few days ago.

Eisenstein returned to his cell, but this time he wasn’t alone. Two guards held you bound and gagged. You were just as shocked to see him as he was you.

It felt like he was suspended in time.

He saw the signs of aging in your face, but it didn’t matter. Even now, you were beautiful.

The spell of it broke when they threw you down onto the metal table usually reserved for him. He saw now that they had you in a straitjacket to keep your hands covered. The anger built inside him, almost incandescent in his veins.

“What the fuck is this?”

 The doctor held a glass syringe in his gloved hand. He drew closer to you with slow, measured steps.

A realization soon dawned on Ben, no matter how much he didn’t want to admit it. He saw your terror, the way you wordlessly pleaded with him, asking for help with your eyes.

Part of him still hated you, but he couldn’t take it. He wouldn’t allow this sick bastard to hurt you again. Not right the fuck in front of him.

You were still his.

His hand traveled down your bare shoulder, over the gentle slope of your side, and down the curve of your hip under the covers. You shifted and hummed, edging toward wakefulness. Ben settled in from behind, protectively embracing his body around yours in a perfect fit. He began kissing along your neck, slowly.

“Hmmm I’m sleeping,” you said, keeping your eyes closed. He smirked. His lips became more insistent, along with his hand spanning your thigh.

“Wake up, then,” he said. He teased the shell of your ear with his tongue, dragged your earlobe between his teeth. You shivered.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you retorted, smiling.

Ben huffed. “Yeah, keep being a fucking brat. That’ll get me to stop.”

His beard rasped against your skin as his lips found a path down the column of your throat. Acquiescing to open your eyes, you sighed, tilting your head back to give him more room. Meanwhile, his cock pressed insistently against your ass.

You smirked and shifted your hips, grinding back against him. “Maybe I like working you up.”

“Oh yeah?” He moved your thigh over his to spread your legs for him. There the warm, blunt tip of his cock pressed at your entrance, nudging you open with shallow thrusts. You moaned in response, reaching back to slip a hand in his hair.

You were a wanton little thing, he thought, even as he reached around to bury his fingers in your pussy. Already finding wetness between your folds, he gathered some of it and rolled your clit smoothly between his fingers. You gasped his name, your hips bearing down against him.

He took the opportunity to sheathe himself all the way inside you, until his hips were snug against your ass. You made a sound of pleasure that had his balls clenching on reflex. Your voice was a curse, even without your powers.

For once, he fucked into you slowly, with long, unhurried strokes that still managed to rock the bed. Ben was surprised the frame and springs hadn’t given up yet.

“You’re fucking mine, you hear me?” he said, close to your ear. He punctuated his words with deeper thrusts. “Say you understand.”

“Yes,” you agreed on a gasp.

“Yes, what?” He laid more tantalizing kisses along your neck and jawline. “Tell me.”

“I’m yours,” you said, in a coarse whisper. Ben claimed your lips in a kiss, before he kept moving inside you in languid strokes.

You were a moaning mess, your eyes squeezed shut. You grabbed at your breasts and kneaded them yourself, rolling and pinching your nipples. He strummed more insistently on your clit, until he felt your inner walls finally start to throb around him.

Your orgasm hit you in a slow, long wave as you pressed your face into your pillow. And you clenched so impossibly tight on his cock, it triggered his release as well. His arm curled around your middle and pressed you tight against him as he uttered a sharp grunt. He finished hot inside you, panting heavily into your neck afterward.

“Well, good morning,” you quipped, despite trying to catch your breath as well.

Ben’s hazy reverie broke into a chuckle. He dropped a lingering kiss onto your shoulder.

“It’s the middle of the night,” he corrected.

You shrugged. “Whatever.”

When he pulled out of you, you shivered a little. He rolled onto his back, and regardless of the mess in the sheets, you turned over to rest your elbow on his pillow, leaning over him.

“I should probably tell you something,” you said.

He eyed you in suspicion. “What now?” 

You smiled and laid a hand on his chest, dragging your nails through the fuzz there.

“My family’s from Brooklyn, not a small town in Indiana,” you confessed. "Made it up to make me seem more...down to earth. Doe-eyed and likeable."

Ben’s brows shot up. He took a moment to process that information, then he shook his head.

“Fucking figures.” His arm lowered to curl around your lower back, caging you against him.

“I grew up in a brownstone that we had to share with two other families,” you said.

“So you were broke.”

“Yep. When I was born, my family spent all their savings to contract with Vought, to give me Compound V,” you explained. “Their plan was something like, if I became a famous superhero one day, I’d bring us out of our shitty life.”

Ben sighed, shaking his head. “So they pimped you out to Vought.”

“Essentially,” you said. You paused. He could see it was difficult for you, but you talked more about your life—the expectations from your parents, the training, the grueling schedules and the robbing of your childhood. 

“When my mom died, I…I realized just how much they took from me,” you said, gazing up at him. “Isn’t that horrible?”

Again, Ben shook his head. His hand had been caressing up and down your back, but it stopped now. Part of him was still reluctant, but he told you about the biggest lie of his life. That he hadn’t grown up poor or struggling. That his father practically owned half of Pennsylvania, and Ben had been a spoiled rich kid. He’d also gotten kicked out of boarding school after starting a fight.

“My father said I wasn’t worthy of his name,” he said, with a wry turn of his lips. “So I went out, talked to some of his golf buddies in the War department, and got myself into the Vought program. I became Soldier Boy.”

You listened with rapt attention. Not interrupting him, just giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“When I came home after the war, my mother was just as proud as she’d ever been,” he recounted. But he didn’t smile. “My father took a good look at me, maybe for the first time in my life. And you know what he said?”

You gave him a questioning look, silently prodding.

“He said I took a short cut. ‘A real man wouldn’t have cheated,’” he said.

When he eventually met your gaze, you at least didn’t look pitying. Just understanding.

“I guess we both have daddy issues, huh?” you said.

Ben shook his head. Then he eyed you. “You don’t look that surprised by all this.”

You smiled, a little sheepish. You stroked your thumb across his chin.

“I can sense when a man is lying to me, remember?” you said pointedly. “I clocked you a long time ago, pal. Mostly any time you told some fake war story... You didn't fight in the war, did you?”

He frowned in offence, even though you both knew he couldn’t deny it.

"I was there," he said.

You gave him a knowing look. "Ben."

"I fucking would've, all right, but by the time I got there it was pretty much..." He waved a dismissive hand. His brows were crunched along with his worsening frown. You felt his embarrassment, and as a result, his agitation. You were glad to finally get the truth in his own words, but you didn't want to work him up in that way either.

You tried softening him with a kiss to his cheek. You rubbed a soothing hand over his arm.

“So what do you want to do when we get our lives back?” you asked, purposefully changing the subject. “After the whole payback thing.”

Ben sat up with you against the headboard. His upset slowly faded away with your ministrations, your gentle touch, and his expression fell into contemplation.

“I always thought I had time, but uh…I thought I’d eventually settle down. Have a couple of rugrats of my own. Raise a family,” he said. “Thought I could do it better than my old man.”

You tilted your head at him with a certain measure of surprise. Out of everything he might’ve said, that one didn’t occur to you. Although, with his upbringing, you supposed it made sense. You smiled.

“You might have a few of those out there somewhere,” you said.

He chuckled. “I've always thought so.”

He looked at you in a way he hadn’t before, a bit gentler, with something else you couldn’t name. Your face warmed as something fluttered in your lower belly.

“So tell me then. What do you want?” he asked.

Once you worked through that bit of nerves, you thought about his question. It took you longer than you thought it would to come up with an answer, but when you did, it was the most honest thing you could think of.

“I want to be happy.”

He paused, not expecting that answer. Then he nodded, with a short hum.

You sighed. “Okay, if you really want to go after Vought, I think I have an idea of where we should start.”

I can’t believe it. This thing still fits me pretty well, you thought. You twisted in the mirror to examine yourself in your old black and violet supe suit, though you didn't bother with the mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was already with your generous host, sat with widespread legs on the couch while he smoked a large blunt. His smoke coiled out lazily.

“You gotta believe me, I didn’t know what they were planning,” said Arthur Cohen. AKA: The Legend. He had been forced into a chair, though Ben hadn’t bothered tying him up. The man knew better than to make a false move. He was a decade older, and lucky for him, even wiser.

His penthouse apartment in New York looked more or less the same. Hit records and old successful movie posters adorned the walls, like a true has-been.

“Yeah, you said that fifty fucking times already,” Ben snarked. “What you haven’t said, is why.”

“To be honest, I never asked,” Arthur said. His expression soured. “Stillwell and Stan Edgar shivved me out of that decision, those uppity fucks. Then they got me fired on some technicality.”

“Allegations of embezzlement, or so I heard,” you said, reentering the room.

Arthur raised a finger. “Not true. That money was well earned backpay.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I know you’re lying, right?” You approached the men and crossed your arms. “What’s the lay of the land now?”

“Well, Stillwell’s the new me. Stan’s the new CEO. They disbanded Payback after you disappeared. The others are either working new gigs or are in early retirement. But I heard Vought’s working up to creating a new team.”

You nodded and shared a glance with Ben. He looked a little too chilled out right now. Apparently, Arthur had the good stuff.

“Before we jump into the frying pan with this, I want to go see my family,” you said. “Would you…want to go with me?”

Ben blew out more smoke, gesturing at Arthur. “I’ll keep this one company until he finds our old team. Make sure he doesn’t fuck off to Rio.”

You felt the sting of disappointment, but you sighed and agreed.

“Just…wait for me to get back before you go anywhere,” you said. You saw Ben prickle a little at being “told” what to do. You lowered down to his lips.

“Please?” you said, plying him with a kiss, and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “I’ll be back soon.”

He tightened his hand on yours. His gaze drew over you, briefly with more clarity through his high.

“Fine,” he said. “Be careful.”

You nodded with a smile, giving him one more kiss goodbye.

Your father was the longer drive north than your brother’s house in Queens, so you headed up to find the former first after borrowing a car from Arthur. According to him, your father had moved upstate to Albany after your “death.” 

Now, you understood why.

He lived in a two-story house on a whole acre of land, complete with three cars, a pool, and oh yeah, his new girlfriend. She looked good hanging off his arm in Atlantic City, as you saw from a picture on the wall—after you broke into the house, that is. To be fair, they’d left the sliding glass door open in the backyard.

Your dad was dressed like he just got home from the golf course, walking over from the kitchen to the living room. He dropped his glass of wine in shock when he saw you standing there, admiring the only framed picture of you, your mother, and Chris on one of the display shelves. Glass shattered across the hardwood floor.

“Hey, Dad,” you said. You turned to him, not bothering to hide your disdain.

He gaped for a few seconds as he tried and failed to make his mouth work. He pointed at you with a shaking hand, your name finally falling from his lips.

“It’s a beautiful place,” you said. You gestured widely at your surroundings. “It’s nice to see that you finally got what you wanted.”

He tried to go to you, to embrace you, but you held out a hand. Your lips trembled as you fought the onslaught of your emotions. If he touched you, you might not have been able to control your actions.

“Did you give any of the settlement money to Chris and his family? Or did my death just make you rich,” you asked.

Your father’s eyes closed. He released a heavy sigh before he was able to meet your gaze again.

“He wouldn’t take any of it,” he admitted.

Your tears stung in your eyes as you smiled a little. “Sounds like him.”

“Where have you been?” he asked. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

Again, he tried to get closer to you, and again, you held him off.

“The only thing I need from you is to keep doing what you’re doing,” you said. “Keep living your life like you no longer have a daughter.”

With that, you stalked out of the house and shot out the door, back to your car, no matter how much he called out after you. You got into the driver’s seat and beat the wheel once, twice, venting your frustrations. But you forced yourself to take in deep breaths to calm yourself. You wiped the tears from your eyes.

He wasn’t worth it.

You wondered if you should go see Chris though. Would it be safe for him and his family? Was Vought watching them as a contingency, if you ever escaped?

You weren’t sure. You rucked through your purse lying in the passenger seat for the weird “cell” phone Arthur had lent you. You wanted to check in with Ben first, before you went anywhere else.

You started to dial, but a gloved hand shot out and injected a needle into your neck. You startled at the sharpness and the feeling of a chemicals rushing through your body. Your eyes darted to the rearview mirror.

All you saw was a blurry, black mask.

Meanwhile, Ben was fucking plastered.

He had been ever since you left yesterday morning. In his unrest, he’d moved on to a handful of whatever opiates Arthur kept in his medicine cabinet.

Christ I’m fucking bored.

He glanced down at the phone in his lap. The one Arthur gave him, along with a list of numbers that had been taped to the fridge. The first number on the list was the cell phone you were carrying. Ben read the rest of them.

Pizza place. Chinese. Swedish massage—hmm, there’s an idea. Handy man. BEST escort service…

Ben rose a brow. An inebriated smile curved his lips.

“What makes it the best escort service?” he asked, and loudly. Enough that Arthur came over from where he’d been making calls in his office, trying to find the rest of his former teammates’ whereabouts.

Arthur raised a brow at him. “You sure that’s a good idea right now?”

Ben shot him a terse warning look. The other man raised his hands.

“Eh, I’m three times divorced. What do I know?” he said, but he sighed and gave Ben a long look. “It just seems to me that you and Sirena got a good thing goin’, that’s all.”

The thought of you managed to cut through the haze of drugs clouding Ben’s mind. He frowned.

“That’s how Missus #1 caught me, with one of my ex-assistants in the jacuzzi,” Arthur said, with a mild grimace on his face. “She got that house in the divorce. Well, that and the kids.”

Ben looked over at him blankly.

Heaving a sigh, Arthur went back to his office.

Ben glanced down at the list of numbers in his hand, and the cell phone in the other. What the fuck was taking you so long then?

He dialed the first number on the list—your number. It rang several times, but you never answered. He called you again, waited a few minutes, then called you a third time. You weren’t answering.

His frown worsened, along with a suspicious prickling up his spine. Fuck...

He'd felt it the moment he let go of your hand, but he'd been too out of his mind to actually listen to his instincts; the same ones that warned him not to let you out of his sight. And more importantly, not to let you go.

He got up from the couch and stormed into Arthur’s office, shoving the door open. Arthur jumped in his seat. 

“What? What’s the matter?”

“She’s not picking up the fucking phone,” Ben said. He paused. “Something’s wrong.”

Arthur didn’t ask him the predictable question: how do you know? He just took in the look on the supe’s face and knew it wouldn’t be wise arguing. He tried calling your father's home, but all the man would say was, "She left. She's gone."

Arthur hung up with the man, and for a long moment, he sat pensively while Ben angrily paced the small office, like a tiger confined in its enclosure.

“It’s possible that Vought knows you guys made it back,” Arthur said. At the dark look on Ben’s face, the other man rubbed his chin with a sigh. “Okay. I’ll try to track her down for ya. In the meantime, I’ve got Countess’s address. Maybe she'll even have an idea of where to look for Sirena.”

He slid a piece of paper toward Ben across his desk. He grabbed it, pointing a threatening finger at Arthur.

“Find her.”

You woke with a groan. You knew a drugging when you felt one, and this was it. Someone had given you a powerful sedative.

You were alone in a white padded cell, lying on a cot. It was all too familiar.

Except for the tall figure in black standing in the middle of the room, watching you. You gasped with a jolt, pressing your back against the wall after you sat up. You almost couldn’t believe your eyes.

“Irving?”

Black Noir stepped closer until he was sitting beside you on the cot. Tentatively, he raised a hand up to touch your cheek with gentle, gloved fingers.

Your shock gave way to anger. You slapped his hand away.

“What are you doing?!” you said sharply.

Noir backed off at once, as if you’d struck him a real blow. He got up, went over and grabbed a dry erase board that had been lying against the far wall, along with a marker off the floor. He wrote something down on it, then he showed you.

You shouldn’t have come back to NY.

You frowned, both at what he “said,” and in confusion. Why wouldn’t he just talk to you?

“What did you expect?” you asked incredulously. “For me and Ben just to disappear forever? To let you keep ruining our lives?”

Noir paused at that. He tilted his head with a long look at you. With your abilities, you were able to sense that he was disheartened, and even angry. He erased the board with his arm and wrote something else.

Do you love him?

You blinked at the question.

“Who?” you asked, even though you knew.

Soldier Boy

Emotion rose high in your throat, but you worked past it with a swallow, and a deep breath.

“That’s none of your business,” you said.

Noir just stared at you, his head tilting forward. The longer he stood there, watching you, waiting for an answer, the longer you prickled with unease.

He erased the board and wrote the same question again. He held it out for you to see, shaking it once in emphasis.

Do you love him?

You hesitated, but you didn’t want to lie anymore, even to yourself.

“Yes, I do,” you said. “I know what he’s done, believe me, but he isn’t a monster.”

Noir’s head twitched. You felt his anger intensify. He dropped the board onto the floor, startling you, but all he did next was slowly raise his hands to take off his helmet. He showed you what was left of his mottled, disfigured face—the burnt skin and the divot in his skull that had never fully healed.

Your mouth parted in shock as tears sprung in your eyes. You tried to avert them, but Noir stepped forward and grabbed your jaw, turning your face up to his and forcing you to look. Your lips trembled, but you met his gaze unflinchingly.

When he seemed to be satisfied, he released you and stepped back. He placed his helmet back on.

“I understand why you hate him,” you said at last. “But you made your choice when you let them take me too. You…you changed everything for me.”

You were satisfied to feel a lance of Noir’s guilt. You had scars too, and most of them weren’t physical.

“I’m not going to apologize for my choices now,” you said, with a firm glare. “So unless you’re going to kill me, you can fuck off, before I scramble what’s left of your head.”

Your eyes glowed with your power. You opened your mouth to begin your siren’s song, but Noir turned on his heel and exited the door, leaving you alone in the cell.

A fucking chimp sanctuary. Really? Ben thought as he broke into the boundary of the reserve. About a quarter mile into the tall grass, he found a large, if rundown country style house in the middle of the woods.

“Yes, Big Daddy. I’m almost ready for you. Just let me heat these up…”

Ben raised a brow, but he gritted his teeth and kicked through the front door. There she was, Crimson Countess in all her glory, holding a set of anal beads.

She gasped at the sight of him, but she ignored the “client” on speaker on her landline phone, and dropped the beads so she could aim a fiery blast at the intruder.

Ben jumped out of the way and tossed his shield. It hit her square in the chest and sent her flying back into the wall, destroying a bookshelf and the dining table. He walked over to it with slow, heavy steps.

She raised her head with a groan, but then, her eyes watered with disbelief…and fear, when she looked up at him.

“Ben?” she said. “My God…it’s really you, isn’t it? You... you look the same.”

“You don't,” he remarked. He lowered down to grab her by the collar of her suit and raise her out of the rubble.

“How much did the Russians pay you, Donna?” he asked calmly.

She struggled to escape, her nails scraping at his gloved hand. He tightened his hold.

“They didn’t,” she admitted. Tears leaked from her eyes under her mask.

“They didn’t pay you anything?” he said through clenched teeth. “Then why?”

You know why, came sneaking voice in his mind. He tried to pay it no heed, but Donna sneered at him.

“Because,” she spat. “I fucking hated you. We all did.”

Ben’s lips pulled at a humorless smirk. His chest prickled with heat. “I should’ve known you were a bunch of sniveling, backstabbing, fucking cowards.”

“Kill me then,” she taunted. “Is that gonna make you feel better? Going to make you feel less empty inside?”

Ben’s chest began to get that nuclear glow, but he managed to fight it down, back into embers.

“Not yet,” he said. He drew her in closer. She held onto his wrist, her feet scrambling over the debris on the floor.

“I need to find someone,” he said. “And you’re going to help me.”

Ben and Donna sat across from each other on her living room couch, with the landline sat between them. The phone was on speaker as it rang. The longer it took, the more annoyed he became.

“This better work,” he said. She gave him a flat look.

Finally, a woman answered the phone.

“Good afternoon. Stan Edgar’s office. How may I assist you?”

“Hi Gloria, it’s me, Donna,” she said. “I need to speak with Stan as soon as possible, please.”

“Ooh, I’m afraid he’s in a meeting.”

“Trust me, he’s going to want to take this call.”

“Hmm, I’m afraid his next availability isn’t until next week. And next month if you want an in-person meeting.”

“Just tell him to call me back asap!” She said, hanging up the phone in a huff. Ben gave her an unimpressed look.

“That was your big fucking plan?” he said.

She huffed. “You think breaking into Vought is going to be easy? Let alone finding that weasel. He’s got the best security money can buy, and by the way, finding where they’re keeping your little girlfriend isn’t going to be any easier. They could’ve stashed her literally anywhere by now.”

You think I don’t fucking know that? Ben got up from the couch with an angry breath. He turned away from her and rubbed at his beard in contemplation. He shouldn’t have let you go anywhere alone.

I should’ve been there. The thought gripped him, deep in his gut. Guilt was an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling.

“We’re going to need help,” Donna said.

His bad mood took a turn for the worst. He glanced back at her.  

“What, the rest of the fucking Scooby gang?” he snarked.

“Or you can try going in alone, guns blazing,” she shrugged. Her sharpened gaze met his. “How fast do you think they’ll kill her, just to spite you?”

Ben’s jaw clenched. Donna leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms.

“Or worse. They’ll put you back in a box and ship you back to the Russians,” she said. Her snide smile had him clenching his teeth. “Either way, you’ll never see her again.”

With everything in his being, Ben wanted to fry this bitch to Kingdom Come.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Pack a bag. We’re leaving.”

Donna’s expression fell. “What?"

"You heard me!" he barked, grabbing her arm to pull Donna to her feet. "Get the fuck up."

She struggled against his grip. "Where’re we going?”

“To find those fucking Twins.”

They took her car, a tiny sedan. Evidently, the end of Payback hadn’t been good for Donna’s career. Arthur had told him that, irony of ironies, she now sang at a Soldier Boy tribute act at Voughtland to pay her bills. And as he’d seen earlier, she needed to pad her income in other ways.

She was driving them up to Vermont. It was going to take days, and Ben was already sick of her.

It was a small blessing when they stopped at a gas station in the nighttime. She gave him her credit card to buy some snacks for the road while she filled up the tank. (He took the keys with him as insurance that she wouldn't bolt with the car.)

He returned with a far bigger bag than she expected. She forgot what a human garbage disposal he could be. He tossed the card back at her.

“Your card’s maxed out, by the way,” he said.

She glared at him, but she endeavored to let it go with a sigh, raising a hand to her temple. How the fuck had this become her life?

To minimize being overheard, she stepped closer to him while the gas pump kept going on her car.

“Gunpowder is the easiest one to find next. Mindstorm’s probably hiding in a hole in the middle of the woods some-goddamn-where,” she said, keeping her voice down. She gave her unwanted companion a sly look. “Though I’m thinking you want Mindstorm to stay wherever he retired.”

It brought up an unsavory memory.

After the team turned on him, Mindstorm had been the one to lock his gaze on Ben. For a moment, his feet had been rooted to the ground while Mindstorm tried to shove him deep into his mind. It had given someone the opening to slip a mask of Novichok over his face. He suspected it had been Countess.

Now, Ben turned to her with a glare at her audacity.

“You know, for a massive cunt, you’ve got some brass balls,” he said dangerously. “How the fuck didn’t I see what a vindictive little snake you were from the beginning?”

Donna scoffed in derision.

“I’m vindictive? Says the cheating, lying, bastard,” she snapped.

“Oh, shut your hole. You knew what I was doing, and you didn’t give a shit,” he said with a glare. He leveled a finger at her. “You used me to get exactly what you fucking wanted. Fame, money, and all the perks that come with it.”

Her lips pursed, like she didn’t want to admit it. But if they were airing out dirty laundry, then she wasn’t pulling any more punches.

“Well, I wasn’t the only one. Was I?” she said. “Anyone who ever smiled at you, fawned over you, or sucked your dick was trying to get something from you. Or, they were scared of you. Because you’re a bully. A fucking monster. And sooner or later, Sirena won’t be able to stomach you anymore.”

The thin leash on his temper finally snapped. He reacted, reaching out to grab her by the throat. He was truly thinking about breaking her neck.

Donna choked for air and gripped his wrist. “Without me, you’ll have no one. Good…fucking…luck finding her.”

Ben was furious, but he battled it down, expelling a breath of frustration.

He released her. She coughed and gasped and stumbled a few feet away from him, glaring at him all the while through her fear.

When she was eventually able to stand again, she and Ben shared a look of mutual loathing, but also, of understanding.

It was an uneasy truce. For now.

You were quickly unraveling alone in the dark.

You felt the phantom cold of your old cell. No matter how you rubbed your arms through the leather of your supe suit, you couldn’t get warm. You released a shaky breath and swiped at your tears.

You missed Ben. He had to know by now that you were in trouble, but you didn’t know if he’d know how to find you. Or worse, if they found him first.

You steeled yourself and tried to calm your panic. You counted to thirty. Your eyes flit to every small detail of your cell that you could name: the small crack in the gray linoleum tile, the line of ants slowly creeping along the corner, the brittle wool blanket you were sitting on, laid over your cot.

When your breathing was steady, you tried to think. You didn’t know where you were, of course, but you could try to sense how big the building was.

You did something you rarely did. You cast your awareness outward as far as you could reach.

There were very few male energies, and you only picked up on a few scattered thoughts.

Until you found one. It felt…strong, but young. A kid?

Jesus Christ, what’re they doing in this place? you thought.

What…who’s there?

You heard the voice in your mind, small and afraid and lonely. Before you could answer him, the door of your cell opened to a few familiar faces.

There was an older man in a lab coat that you recognized, but you couldn’t place his name until you read his monogram. Vogelbaum. Followed by Stan Edgar and Black Noir, who came to stand behind you. You knew that if you made any wrong moves, Noir would kill you this time.

Quickly you read their energies as you observed them.

Vogelbaum gave off mild interest in you, but it felt clinical. Stan felt resigned and calculating as he took you in.

“For what it’s worth, I do wish it hadn’t come to this, Sirena,” Stan said. “We didn’t intend for you to get caught up our deal with Russia.”

He may have been telling the truth, but that didn’t mean you cared.

“You’re in the most secure lab we have,” he said, gesturing to your wall-to-wall cell without windows. “No one knows you’re here, and no one will find you.”

You smiled dryly. “So what do you want from me?”

“I want to know how you and Soldier Boy escaped the facility in Russia,” he said, gathering his hands behind his back.

What he really meant was, How did you escape? So we can make the next cell even more effective.

You leaned forward and spat at his shoes.

Black Noir grabbed you by the back of your neck and yanked you back. Your jaw clenched in anger, but you didn’t struggle. Even if you opened your mouth to sing, Noir would snap your neck before your powers had time to affect him.

Stan remained unaffected by your outburst, though he glanced down at his shoes.

“These are handmade Italian leather,” he remarked.

“Even if you find Ben, you’ll never be able to kill him,” you said tersely.

“We don’t need to kill him. Nor will we need to find him,” Stan said. “He’s already looking for you.”

Your eyes widened. Your heart swelled with both hope and dread, though you tried to hide it.

“We have a plan to neutralize him. Several, in fact,” he added, and spread his hands wide. “Until then…welcome home.”

Smug bastard. You glared back at him.

He left, along with Vogelbaum. Black Noir glanced back at you once, then he was gone.

The lights in your cell turned off, leaving you in darkness. You heaved a breath and couldn’t help the tears that found hot paths down your cheeks. You curled your knees up on the cot and held them to your chest.

You squeezed your eyes shut, as if you could pretend the room wasn’t pitch black. You focused your breathing, in and out, until your heartbeat began to slow down from its panic.

The kid, you remembered.

You licked your dry lips and tried casting your awareness out again. When you found the familiar energy from before, you reached out to him.

Hey, are you there? you prodded.

Who the hell are you?

It’s okay. Don’t be scared, you said, and you gave him your name. Are you locked up here?

Y-Yeah.

I’m sorry to hear that. I am too.

How can you be talking to me…in my head?

Well, it’s complicated, you admitted. It’s a new power I’m trying out, thanks to my time as a human test subject.

Something told you this kid knew the feeling.

What’s your name? you asked.

Um…John. I’m John.

  AN: 🤭 Oh, yeah, we're going there.

How did you like getting Ben's perspective on things? And his "forced" team up with Countess to find the rest of the cast of Payback. 😬 What could possibly go wrong?

Next Time: 

Ben hated to admit it (so he wouldn’t), but she had a point. It took him a minute to wrangle in his ire, taking deep breaths to try and calm the power inside him. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t.

This time, it actually did.

His hand fell back to his side, letting the younger man breathe freely.

“Let’s go.” Ben turned on his heel and headed out.

“Where, uh…where’re we going?” Charlie asked, rubbing his sore neck.

“Looks like we’re getting the team back together,” Ben said grimly.

He tilted his head.

“Well. What’s left of it.”

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 11

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[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 9

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

July 1983

There is a crackle and a pop that comes from the fire that dances before you. Fiery like an angry monster erupting from his hibernation, ready to feed. The wood sizzles, as the last bit of sap cooks from the bark. Moisture drains as the wood turns to ash.

Your eyes train to the open night sky. Trees touch the air reaching out to the heavens above. Pine has become one of your favorite scents since coming out to camp here nights ago. This is one of the final nights all together.

That being said, you’re a bit melancholic about going home tomorrow. At home, you won’t have the dramatic retelling of woodland monsters by Eddie who ghosts over the flames, and nearly commands them to bend and to turn. You won’t have Gareth’s half decent cooking that sits just right in your belly, and not making you bloat out until you’re about to burst. Freak quietly eats the leftovers from dinner time. Hot dogs. Potato chips. It’s all quite typical of a camping trip. And, Jeff, who plays you songs on his harmonica that he says his grandfather taught him ages ago. You’re immersed in the experience, truly.

Jeff puts down the harmonica a moment, and Eddie files his stories back between his ears. The conversation is light. Although, there is a line crossed eventually. Gareth storms off down a darkened path to a lake of water to get some air. You tell the group that you’re going to the bathroom quickly after this happens.

You sneak around the campers, and take a flashlight with you. The pathway is a straightforward slope. Even if you somehow veered off the path and onto the thick wood, you would hear the water and still push forward until you hit the lake.

The large moon overhead mirrors into the water, along with its friends - the stars. Ripples in the tide gently caress the sand leaving soggy wet trails. You can find Gareth making purchase against a fallen log not too far from the path.

“May I join you?” You clear your throat, adjusting the flashlight to the beach floor when Gareth squints at you.

Gareth doesn’t have much to say to you. It’s not you that has him irritated after all. He drops the tension built at the base of his jaw, and his shoulders follow.

You take this as an invite, and you scoot not-so-close next to him. The sea speaks to you. She says so many words without saying anything at all. The freedom to travel the world, and to touch so many people. She’s home to many creatures. And, abused by so many humans. They take advantage of her generosity, and thus is the meaning of womanhood. You could shred your English teacher apart for giving you a scalding hot ‘D’ on your essay about femininity. For him, the world bended on hand and knee.

At least you wouldn’t have to take a class with him this upcoming year.

“Moon’s big,” you bite your tongue for such a silly little thing to say.

Gareth kicks the sand and the pebbles at his feet, “I know they’re just teasing me because they’re older.”

Their conversation grew childish, as Eddie had picked on Gareth for his lack of experience with women. It nicked a hole in his pride, or perhaps invited the shy little boy to rise to the surface after all of these years. Truthfully, the sting of Eddie’s comment isn’t what bothers him. The other guys laughs. It’s all a joke to them. But, internally Gareth has been struggling. All by his age, the boys had at least one date under their belt.

You inhale deeply, which grabs Gareth’s attention. With the moonlight caressing your skin like a tender hand holding up your chin to bless you even more beautifully than you already are, Gareth knows how screwed he is. Jeff has told him to back off. He insists that you’re Eddie’s girl. You’re fueled by a secret passion that burns only for Eddie.

That might be true by the way you laugh undeniably hard whenever you are left together. Oh, your laugh is a fresh breeze on a hot day. Warm sun punches his body. The leaves on the trees begin to shake. Finally, the wind kisses his ears coolly in a most needed sort of way.

In a way, he needs you to laugh at him like that.

“Don’t let them get to you,” you shrug your shoulders up and down. The flashlight has fallen into the sand, while still on. Shadows of their toes hit the beach sand making silly little puppets. “You don’t have to go around sleeping with every girl you see. I’ve never . . .”

Your confidence fails you right then. Simply, you didn’t want to seem suggestive towards Gareth. Well, in case a situation like that might happen. That’s not to say that it would. But, you know - you have a long life ahead of you and Gareth isn’t the worst looking guy you’ve seen. Or, calling him not-the-worst sounds wrong. That’s not what you meant.

Gareth bursts your train of thought, “I’ve never even kissed a girl. Shouldn’t I have at least done that?”

Was he really asking you for advice? Sure, your first kiss was soggy and far too wet for your liking. You could have sucked face with a frog, and he would have been kinder than- oh, it doesn’t matter. First kisses are always less amazing than what you expect. That’s why you practice.

“There isn’t a timeline on this sort of stuff,” you explain to him. “It just sort of happens. Some people don’t get kissed until they’re forty.”

Gareth’s half glare shuts your mouth, before you could make him feel any worse. So, you’re not good at this? Who knew?

“I cannot wait for my first kiss to be when I’m forty,” he snorts lightly. “Eddie’s already-,”

You jerk your head, but the end of the sentence never falls out of his mouth. Gareth’s quite red in the face, and he doesn’t dare turn his head back to you.

“Eddie can do whatever - whoever he wants,” you pretend like the bomb Gareth dropped doesn’t bother you, but he watches your shoulders bend slightly.

According to Jeff, you’re Eddie’s girl. They’ve spoken a lot. Jeff’s advice is to back off, before Gareth gets bitten. Knowing Eddie, he’s a shark that could take you down whole if he wanted too. That’s not to criticize his close friend. It’s just that keeping you so close, but to not make a move on you is beyond childish to think of. He has to understand that one day someone will come along and ask you on a date. That they’ll sweep you off your feet. You deserve to be loved, and to be held. Not kept under Eddie’s shadow.

Oh, God. Can Gareth risk loosing Eddie as not only a friend, but as a major part of a band they created. This band means everything to all of its members. The sound is so unique, and so new. They could really be going somewhere with this.

Gareth decides in that moment that he would rather chance making the band a success, and to keep everyone and everything the same as it has always been. One day he can wake up without humming to the tune of you. That the scent of your perfume doesn’t send him into a trance-like-state of utter silliness.

The burn in his belly aches. Gareth stares into the sea, as though he’s thrown his greatest secret, and his greatest worry into the ocean. She swallows the message whole. Yeah, if only that works. He hangs his head.

Your fingertips grace the top of his left shoulder blade. Even though his jacket, Gareth can imagine the softness that the pads of your fingers provide. Soft and smooth ridges pepper alonghis hidden skin like a well-rehearsed song and dance.

“Gareth,” the sound of your voice melts him. “Are you okay?”

Gareth cocks his head in your direction. You watch in waiting as his eyes fall to your lips. Hopefully, he doesn’t see you tremble too.

There is a moment that the both of you share in complete silence. The waves quiet themselves. The trees no longer move, but rather watch the scene unfold in front of them. It’s perfectly romantic.

Hot breath hits your face. Gareth has become closer to you, or maybe you moved to him. You swallow thickly. He licks his lips.

Pause.

There is a thrust of wind that hit the both of you, but doesn’t cause either of you to break away. It only moves you closer. Hand in hand.

“Fuck it,” Gareth mutters to himself, and closes the gap.

Slotting his lips against yours, Gareth could swear he hears the heavens calling from beyond. You tangle your fingers into his hair, holding on for dear life. While Gareth’s lips aren’t classically trained, you hold out for practice. The message is clearly written. His nose bumps against yours, and you hum through locked lips. Gareth sneaks his grip on you around your waist, below your jacket. The skin there is cool. Shivers wrestle up your spine. you around the waist below your jacket in a bold move. You gasp.

As the kiss ends, you both find pulling away to come too soon. Sneaking in one or two more small kisses, your eyes do finally meet. Your lips are swollen and damp, and so are Gareth’s lips. Somehow you’ve tangled yourself into him. Threatening to swing your legs back over his lap, Gareth grasps the back of your knee with his hand.

“Stay,” he stammers out of breath. “Please.”

You nod - completely winded yourself.

“Maybe you could use a bit more practice?” You pinch your fingers together with a suggestive smirk playing against your lips.

Gareth cackles into the sky, then lets his head fall back to you. “Seriously?”

You nibble your bottom lip.

Gareth brings his lips to yours once again bringing your two bodies into one shared unit. You wait to slip into something deeper that he isn’t quite ready for yet. Instead, the two of you spend far too long enjoying the moment.

There is a group of campers not far away wondering where you have gone off too. Robin rides into the darkness with the assistance of a flashlight to use the bathroom. Hopefully, you haven’t died in there yet.

Robin does catch up with you two in the sharp fork that’s along the pathways. If you head upwards, you’ll begin to smell the bathrooms not too far away. Down the hill is the short walk to the lakeside where you’ve just come from.

“I went to the bathroom, and then I went to find Gareth,” you explain rapidly to Robin.

While she knows that could be a lie, Robin has had far too much pop and she does really have to go to the bathroom. She leaves you there, and she will forget about finding you two suspiciously in the woods together.

Upon returning to the camp site, you hadn’t talked about if either Gareth or you wanted to tell the others about what has just happened. It doesn’t seem as though you’ll get a chance because Gareth is whisked off in a drunken apology from Eddie. Gareth tells Eddie not to sweat it, then accepts a marshmallow peace offering.

You too return to the fire opposite side to Gareth. A poker is offered to you, so that you might stick marshmallows on the ends to cook them. That is one of your favorite parts to a camping trip - it used to be your favorite.

Perhaps, something has changed your mind. Something sweeter has come along. It's like the scent of a new book. Sweet and woodsy. You’re just unfolding the pages to this novel.

Gareth’s gaze softens as he catches you looking right at him, and you blush while tucking your lips into each other.

You can’t wait to read this book.

-> <-

[August 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur

[skyeeuphixia2]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙴𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝

𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝟷 ~ 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙽𝙴

'The Vanishing of Will Byers'

...

November 6th, 1983

Hawkins, Indiana

...

The low sound of Blondie's 'One way or another' quietly fills her room, hardly audible over the soft strumming of her guitar. Y/n was led back casually on her bed, her well-worn instrument in her arms as she focused on the song quietly playing, attempting to learn it by ear. She would have the music louder, it would be a lot easier for her to learn it that way, but after three noise complaints that week from neighbors, she wasn't eager to push her luck. Right as she was getting the hang of it, she heard shouting from outside her bedroom window.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

She chuckles, setting the guitar to the side, pushing herself off her bed, and going to the front door, opening it just in time to see Will Byers speeding past the house.

"I'll take your X-men 134, Goodnight Y/n!" He shouts, a triumphant little grin on his face as he disappears down the street.

"See ya, say hi to your brother for me!" She shouts after the boy, amusement dancing in her voice. A few seconds later, her younger brother slowly rolled to a stop in front of the house, staring after his friend, panting slightly.

"Son of a Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

Y/n, who had been watching the whole thing with her arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe, a knowing smirk on her face, "Bet another comic?"

"What do you think?" He grumbled as he dragged his bike over to the garage.

"You gotta stop starting races when your opponents are already in front of you, now in you come, leftovers in the microwave, just gotta heat it up," She says, ruffling his hair playfully as he passed her into the house. "Yeah yeah," he grumbles, but he couldn't stop the small smile that was tugging at his lips.

"So," She says, sitting across from Dustin once he had heated the pasta Skye had made earlier, sitting down to eat it, resting her chin on her hand, "how was the campaign, it had to be at least 8 hours this time,"

"Ten!" He corrects, through a mouthful of pasta.

"Impressive, so how was it?"

"It was all going really well until the Demogorgon got Will,"

"Why didn't he just cast protection?" she asks, shrugging her shoulders in question as if it was the most obvious choice to make.

"Thank you!" Dustin says, throwing his hands in the air, "That's exactly what I said to do but he went- this is so good -but he went with Lucas' idea to cast fireball instead!"

"Stupid move," she shrugs, shaking her head.

Dustin's eyes squinted at her wrist as he took another bite, "where'd you get that?" He asked, looking at the simple gold bracelet on her right wrist, his voice slightly muffled by his full mouth.

"First of all, gross, second I bought it the other day,"

"With what money?"

"Money I got from babysitting Will two weeks back and Lucas 3 days ago, cause I, unlike you, save my money, maybe you should have considered doing it before betting away your comics," She quipped back, taking his plate when it was empty, and putting it in the sink.

Y/n had been the official babysitter for the 4 boys since she was 13, well technically not Mikes cause Nancy could babysit him, but Nancy would always invite Y/n over when she was babysitting and she often ended up being the one to entertain Mike, so she was essentially Mikes babysitter. "Now, bed, it's a school night," she says pointing down the hall to his room.

Dustin trudged his way to his room, not without grumbles and protests, but he knew his older sister was right. "Night,"

"Night Dust," she smiled. She pulled him into a quick hug, which he gladly accepted, before they headed to their rooms, the quiet hum of Blonide's song still lingering in the air.

...

Y/n trudged out of her room the next morning, already running late. She had thrown on a random band T-shirt she'd grabbed off the floor, paired with jeans, her dark blue striped number and black boots. Her hair was slightly messy, but that was a priority, getting out the door on time was, she had a hair brush in her car anyway.

"Morning sweetie," her mother, Claudia, calls from the couch, their cat, Mews, curled up on her lap. "Can you wake up Dusty?"

She rolled her eyes slightly as she made her way to his room, "I really need to get him an alarm clock that works for Christmas, or ten,"

She knocks a few times. No response.

With a sigh, she slowly pushed the door open, finding her brother sprawled out on his bed, his blanket half on him, half off the bed, a star wars comic fallen lazily on the floor, his hand dangling above it, he had likely fallen asleep reading it. "Dust, up you get," she yawns, turning his light on for a rude awakening.

"No," he grumbles, pulling the blanket over his head.

"You get up in five minutes I'll give you a lift to school," she bargains.

Dustin instantly shoots out of bed, almost tripping over himself, "I'm up!"

Y/n chuckles as she leaves the room, going back to the kitchen. She starts prepping some toast for Dustin when the phone rang, she grabbed it, tucking it between her ear and shoulder. "Hello?"

"Hi, Y/n, it's Joyce," she heard from the other end, the older woman's voice fast and slightly nervous.

"Oh hi Joyce, what's up?" She asks.

"Nothing, nothing, just wondering did you see Will ride past last night?"

"Uh, yeah I - hold on - DUSTIN HURRY UP! -sorry, yes I did, He rode back with Dustin, why?"

There was a small pause and a sigh from the other end, "Um...nothing. Don't worry I just..." Joyce sighs, clearly uneasy, "I haven't seen him this morning,"

Y/n frowned, setting the butter knife she was using to butter Dustins toast down, "Strange...he came back last night right?"

"I was at work and so was Johnathan," she admits, clearly trying to stop herself get worked up.

"Ok, well don't panic just yet, maybe he just went in to get some homework done," she comforts, hearing the tension in Joyce's voice.

"Yeah...maybe," Joyce agrees, though she didn't sound all that convinced.

"I'm taking Dustin to school today so I'll keep an eye out for him,"

"Thank you so much, Y/n," finally a hint of relief in her voice.

"Don't worry about it, sorry but I really gotta run, I'll call you once I'm at school,"

"Thank you again, bye,"

Y/n says a quick bye before hanging up, her stomach twisting slightly. Had Will made it home last night? He seemed perfectly fine when she saw him. She cared for all three of Dustin's best friends like they were her brothers, so if any of them weren't ok, she'd drive herself crazy trying to help them.

"Dustin I'm leaving without you!" She shouts making her way to the door and grabbing her bag.

Before she was able to reach the door, Dustin came barreling around the corner, snatching his breakfast out her hand as he ran past towards her car. She sighed, shaking her head with a small smile. She had a bad feeling about today.

...

After dropping Dustin off at school, and failing to spot Will or his bike, Y/n made her way to her school. As promised, she gave Joyce a quick call to let her know what little she had found. She pushed her worries aside, at least for now, and stepped inside the building into the bustling school hallway, instantly she spotted her friends Barb and Nancy at their lockers, she smiled to herself and made her way over to him.

"We just made out a couple of times," she heard Barb tease Nancy, who rolled her eyes, so Y/n came up to them making obnoxious kissing sounds.

"Ooo Steve shove your tongue down my throat," she said in her best imitation of a lovestruck Nancy, causing the brunette girl to gag in horror.

"Oh my God it was not like that," She blushes furiously, practically hissing at her as Barb tries her hardest not to laugh.

"I hope not. God knows what you could've caught, I don't want to know where that tongue has been," she grimaced, leaning on the locker by Barb, the redhead laughing at Y/n's clear disdain for the self-titled 'King Steve'.

"Seriously Y/n? Can't you just give him a chance? He's not that bad," Nancy huffed, trying to defend her boyfriend.

Y/n gave her a look, one that clearly screamed 'do I look like I'm joking?'. Y/n had her reasons, good ones as far as she was concerned. It was a long time ago, back when she was a freshman, Y/n would spend her free periods in the schools practice rooms, renting a school guitar to play as she refused to use her Dad's old one they had at home, and couldn't afford a new one. One day, she made her way to the practice room, only to find the guitar she rented completely smashed on the floor. The school had blamed her for the damage, forcing her to pay for the damage, her having to use all her savings, and on top of that, she had been banned from using the practice rooms or renting school instruments again.

It hadn't taken her long to figure out who the real culprits were, she had spotted Steve, Tommy H, and Carol, laughing to themselves while she was being scolded by the principal. Now she was stuck using her dad's old guitar which was out of tune, and she hated using anything of her dad's.

To Steve, it was probably just another meaningless day. A joke. Something he'd already forgotten.

To Y/n, it was the day she decided she hated Steve Harrington.

And now he'd taken a liking to her close friend. Fantastic. Thankfully, she and Steve never really interacted. She made sure to avoid him like the plague whenever he was around, and she planned to keep it that way.

"Nance seriously, you're going to be so cool now it's ridiculous," Barb says, a small hint of disdain in her voice, popularity changed people, and Y/n and Bard didn't want to lose their friend to the likes of people like Tommy H and Carol.

"No I will not," Nancy insisted, shaking her head.

"We're serious, Nance," Y/n says, "You better still hang out with the redhead nerd and Y/n 'the loser' Henderson," She says, referring to names that Tommy H and or Carol had so graciously given them over the years.

"Yeah, if you start hanging around Tommy H, or Carol-"

"Ew gross! It was just a one-time-" Her voice trails off as Y/n and Barb raise their eyebrows at her, "Two-time thing," Y/N opened her mouth to respond, but Nancy suddenly noticed a folded piece of paper in her locker. Curious, she grabbed it, unfolding the note as Barb and Y/N peered over her shoulder.

Meet me in the bathroom - Steve

"You were saying?" Barb says smugly, Y/n crossing her arms unimpressed, Nancy looking at the two of them coyly before wandering off in the direction of the bathroom. Barb and Y/n both look after her, each of their smug looks slightly disappearing, both of them slightly sour by their friends new company.

"The bathroom, real classy Harrington," Y/n says rolling her eyes slightly.

"Didn't you know, all the best love stories happen in the bathroom," Barb jokes, causing both girls to laugh as they wander to their first class, at least Barb wasn't changing anytime soon.

...

Y/n sat in her literature class, head resting in her hand, elbow propped against the desk. She usually enjoyed English, but Mr. David had a way of making even Hamlet sound like white noise. She was quickly snapped out of her thoughts however when there was a knock at the door, Chief Hopper stepped in, looking as uninterested in being there as Y/n felt about the lesson.

"Sorry to bother you," he says addressing Mr David with a nod, "I need to borrow Y/n Henderson," 

Murmurs spread across the classroom as all heads turned to her. Y/n blinked in surprise, glancing at her teacher. He gave her a quick nod, granting permission. She hesitated for a second before standing up, shrugging at Nancy and Barb as she passed their desks.

Y/n followed Chief Hopper through the halls of the school, eventually out of the building, confusion growing with each step. "Um, excuse me, Hop? What's this about"

"You'll see soon enough, kid." He replies, not sparing her a glance as they continue walking which did nothing to ease her nerves. A pit begins forming in her stomach as they go to his truck, both of them getting in as they silently drive, the only sounds being the occasional sigh from Hopper, it wasn't long until they pulled up at Dustin's school.

Her nerves spiked. Something was really wrong. 

When Hopper led her to the principal's office, she felt her stomach somehow sink further. Inside, Dustin, Mike, and Lucas sat on the couch, looking just as confused as she felt. Another officer stood nearby, arms crossed.

"Sit," Chief Hopper told her as he sat opposite the boys. She sits on the armrest of the sofa next to Dustin.

"The hell did you do?" She whispered to him.

"Nothing!" He whisper yelled back at her. Hopper asks them about Will and that's when it hit Y/n, Will was still missing. The four boys all start to talk over one another, talking about when they last saw him, which way he goes home, trying to be helpful but just pissing Hopper off, Y/n was about to speak up also, but seeing the chiefs patience already wearing thin, she held back.

"Okay, Okay, Okay, one at a time, all right? You," he says, indicating to Mike, who nods, ready to answer any question that the chief had, eager to help search for his best friend. "You said he takes what?"

"Mirkwood,"

"Mirkwood?" He asks sceptically, squinting at him. The three boys nod at him. Hopper looks over towards the other police officer, "You ever heard of Mirkwood?"

"I have not. It sounds made up to me-"

"It's not, it's from the Lord of the Rings," Lucas explained.

"Well The Hobbit," Dustin instantly corrected. Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose, time and place Dust, time and place.

"It doesn't matter Dustin," She says leaning down, telling him off quietly.

"He asked!" He argued back, only for Lucas to mock him and the two to start arguing, Mike trying (and failing) to mediate them, Hopper trying to get them to shut up with little success, so he lets out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. 

"Boys!" Y/n shouts, all three of them shutting up under her harsh glare, shrinking back into the couch slightly, "Thank you,"

The chief set her an approving look before looking back to Mike, "You," 

"Mirkwood, it's a real road. It's just the name that we made up," Mike informs him, before Y/n steps in for them, knowing that, while enthusiastic to help, they'd just give a bunch of information that wouldn't matter.

"It's where Cornwallis and Kerley meet," She clarifies, and the Chief nods in understanding.

"Yeah, yeah I think I know it-" He says leaning back presumingly to talk to the officer just to get interrupted by Mike.

"We can help you if you want!"

"I said that I know it!"

"We can help look," Mike protests, Lucas nodding while Dustin lets out a small 'yeah'. However, the idea is immediately shut down by Hopper, Lucas and Dustin opened their mouths to argue, but Hopper raised a firm hand.

"No. After school, you are all to go home. Immediately. That means no biking around looking for your friend, no investigating, no-nonsense. This isn't some Lord of the Rings book."

"The hobbit..."

Y/n looks at her brother and hits his shoulder and when he looks up to protest she just shakes her head at him. Hopper stands up and looks down at all of them, his voice low and commanding, "Do I make myself clear?"

All four of them nod.

"Good, you're dismissed, except you," He says pointing to Y/n who nods and stays seated while the boys get up and file out, all muttering under their breath. 

Hopper sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "You still their babysitter?"

Y/n crossed her arms. "Pretty much, yeah."

"Right," he said. "Then I need you to keep them in line. Make sure they go straight home after school. No sneaking off, no riding around at night—nothing. I don't want them out there."

She nodded. "Understood, Hop."

"Good." He gave her a firm look. "I mean it, kid. Keep 'em safe. Like you always do. Like I know you can,"

Y/n exhaled, suddenly feeling the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

"I will."

...

Dustin, Mike and Lucas all trudge out of the building after what felt like the longest day of school of their life. Sitting through class, pretending everything was normal without Will, it was torture. The only thing on their minds was figuring out a plan to find him that night. As they reached the parking lot, they spotted Skye leaning against her car, arms crossed, waiting for them. She waved them over.

"What are you doing here?" Mike asks as they approach her.

"Well first off, Dustin doesn't have his bike so I'm picking him up, and secondly, I'm taking you two home,"

"But we both have our bikes," Lucas points out after he and Mike exchanged looks.

"I know you do, but I'm here to make sure that you're not gonna ride to Mirkwood, I'm driving you straight home and that's where you're going to stay, get your bikes, and put them in the trunk," She says, leaving no room for arguments as she gets in the driver's seat, Dustin joining her in the passenger's side as the two boys sigh and go to grab their bikes.

Her grip on the wheel was tight as she drove, Y/n was worried about Will, not just Will, she was worried about Johnathan and Joyce as well. She's incredibly close with Johnathan, they first met when Dustin met Will and the rest of the party two years ago when they moved to Hawkins, and the two of them have been close ever since, sure they didn't hang out in school all the time, Johnathan preferring to be alone, but they knew they were friends, and that's all that mattered. She hadn't seen Johnathan at school that day, he'd probably skipped to look for Will, but she couldn't blame him, she knew she would do the same if Dustin went missing...god she didn't even what to think about the possibility. Just the thought alone made her feel sick.

They were nearing Lucas' house when she caught snippets of the boys muttering in the backseat, Dustin twisted around to whisper to them. "We'll have to wait until later—"

"Meet at my house—"

"We should bring flashlights—"

Y/n narrowed her eyes and slammed on the brakes, just enough to make their heads jolt forward slightly. "Woah, woah, woah, let's stop that conversation right there," 

"Y/n-" Dustin tries to argue, but Y/n doesn't let them get a word in.

"No listen to me, you are not, under any circumstances to go out on your bikes around that area, or looking for Will, especially after dark. The chief is right about this one guys, this isn't a fantasy book or a campaign, this is real life, and it's scary and it's dangerous. The best thing you can do for Will right now is listen and cooperate with the police, and not become the next kid on the milk cartons. Please...if you're ever going to listen to me, let it be now," She says, practically begging them as they all look down guiltily and nod. "Thank you, Lucas we're here,"

Lucas grabbed his bike from the trunk, murmuring a quiet "Bye" before heading inside. Next was Mike's house. As soon as they pulled into the driveway, he hesitated before getting out. "Y/n..." he started, looking like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he just gave a small nod and closed the door behind him.

Now, it was just her and Dustin.

The ride home was quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.

When they finally arrived home, Dustin started heading to his room, however was stopped when Y/n called out to him, "I'm serious, Dustin," 

"Hmm?" He asks, turning around to look at her, confused. She steps over to him, her expression softer as she looks down at him.

"I'm serious, no going out to look for him. I know you want to find him, I want him home safe just as much as you do," She takes his chin in her hand gently, tilting his head up so he was looking at her proparly, "But I don't think my heart could handle it if anything ever happened to you," She says, her voice full of emotion.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around her middle, hugging her tightly. Y/n exhaled, hugging him just as tightly in return. When they finally pulled away, she ruffled his curls. "Go get some rest, nerd."

Dustin smiled softly before heading to his room. Y/n stood in the hallway for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. She just hoped to God they listened.

...

It was late that night, past the time that their mother had gone to sleep that Y/n hears a small thump, and a hushed 'shit', from outside. Frowning, she sat up and looked outside her window just in time to see Dustin pedaling past the house on his bike, no question where he was going.

"Son of a bitch," She mutters before throwing on a jacket, and running out the house, grabbing her keys and getting in her car, "Always the goddamn babysitter!"

It was already drizzling rain as she reached Mirkwood, finding three familiar boys stood just outside the police tape that was blocking off the woods. As soon as her headlights washed over them, they all froze like deer caught in the beams. Slowly, they turned to face her, blinking against the glare.

"Y/n?" They all call out.

"Are you shitting me?!" She yelled at them, Y/n slammed her door shut and stormed over, her boots crunching against the damp earth.

"The hell are you doing here?" Lucas asked her, still squinting against the headlights, causing her to scoff sharply.

"What am I doing here? I could ask you three the same thing. What did we talk about?!" She yells at them, her hands on her hips as she glares at them all with disappointment.

"We can't just sit around while Will is missing Y/n, now you can either protect us or leave us to get lost as well," Mike says stubbornly, ducking under the tape and wandering into the woods, without waiting for a response, closely followed by Lucas. Dustin hesitates and just looks at his sister, who huffed and snatched a spare flashlight off him.

"Manipulative little shit," She grumbles as the two of snatching a spare flashlight from his hands before following the other two into the darkening forest, as the rain starts to get heavier. 

They felt like all of them had been searching for hours, all of them starting to lose their voices from the constant shouting of Will's name, all of them soaked all the way through, exhaustion starting to set in, Dustin falling behind slightly.

"Guys I really think we should turn back," He says, sounding tired and worried.

"Really Dustin?" Lucas argues back, already gearing up to start another argument. Mike and Y/n look at each other, both rolling their eyes and allowing the two boys to argue, there was no telling them at this point. They let them argue until they heard the rustling of leaves, like something around them was moving, Y/n tensed and looked at Mike, who was already looking at her with a concerned face, signaling that they had heard the same thing.

"Dustin shut up," Y/n straining to get a better listen.

"I'm just saying that-"

"Shut up," Mike hisses this time, all of them now listening out, a small rustle comes from behind them. Hoping it might be Will they all point their flashlights in that direction, but nothing.

Another rustle comes from behind them once again, and they all point their flashlights, this time the light falling on a girl. She couldn't be anywhere older than the three boys, shivering in nothing but a soaked, oversized yellow t-shirt. Her head was buzzed, and her wide, terrified eyes darted between them.

"Holy shit..."

(fin)

author note:

hello lovelies, this is all very spontaneous, I haven't tried to write a story following a series or film for years so we will see how it goes and if I commit.

please go and read: just friends by user_is_nonexistant and my bestfriends ex by skullarr as they were big inspirations for me to write my own story (both on wattpad)

hope you enjoy xx

Taglist: @snegyysnapped

Let me know if you want to be added/removed <3

[intothedysphoria]

Steve wasn’t sure which was worse. That the nightmares had started again or that Dustin had developed an obsession with Simon and Garfunkel.

Things had consistently been off since 1983 but they’d quickly gotten far, far worse since their latest trip to The Upside Down.

Dustin had brought back an eel. At least Steve thought it was an eel. He hoped it was an eel.

It was in a glass tank above Dustins bed, it had a foul temper and ever since it had entered Hawkins, strange and awful things had started happening to Neil Hargrove.

Steve didn’t feel sorry for the man, he was an asshole.

It was the fruit going bad after two hours on the shelf he was concerned about. The scorch marks on the grass. The nightmares.

It was always the same. There was a boy his age, with golden hair, running through a field. He’d fall deep into a well then Steve would wake up.

The boys name was Billy. Steve wasn’t sure how he knew this. He just did.

The eel started to grow. It had a particular fondness for Cherry Coke and Max for some reason. Why Dustin was feeding it Cherry Coke, Steve had no idea.

The day the eel got too big for its cage was the day Steve had a genuine fear of reliving the Dart situation.

Of course, that coincided with the nightmares getting worse. Well, some of them included him having sex with Billy, so maybe he was having a sexuality crisis. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The well continued to plague his dreams as well. Deep and cavernous, it swallowed Steve time and time again.

There was only one thing for it. Steve was going to talk to the eel.

Maybe dragon was more apt at that point. The eel had grown ten times overnight and stared at him from a roof with clear blue eyes.

Billy’s eyes.

The dreams shifted after that. Billy started talking to him. Really talking to him.

He was eighteen years old, he was Max’s missing older brother and he’d fallen into a cursed well. No he wasn’t really a dragon, no he wasn’t a demogorgon and yes, he was gay.

He gave this delicious little wink to Steve before the dream shattered apart.

Of course the well was a fucking portal to The Upside Down. Steve had no idea what exactly had happened to Billy but he borrowed every single folklore book from the library.

There didn’t seem to be an answer. At least not at first.

There was one book that said Billy needed to be faced with his greatest torment. Only then he could be free.

Well, it wouldn’t hurt to try.

Neil Hargrove wasn’t exactly smart. It hadn’t taken Steve much work to lure him out into the woods, just a few goads. Just enough to get to the hill that Billy had made his home (much to Dustin’s grumbling disappointment). He was also very loud

Billy took one look at Neil and ripped out his heart.

Then he collapsed, shimmering and shrinking as his body changed into something altogether more human than before.

The eighteen year old that lay before Steve was toned, with golden skin and hair and a tattoo of a skull on one arm.

He blinked at Steve, obviously dazed, then held out a weak hand and an obviously rehearsed smirk.

“Hey sexy, wanna go out sometime?”

Steve would not be held responsible for the tears that started to run down his cheeks.

They did go out. Eventually. Once Billy had healed.

And Steve only found the occasional dragon scale in the shower.

*Loosely based the Northumbrian folktale The Lampton Wyrm and I mean LOOSELY*

For @harringroveobsessed

[kerink]

i cant sleep so i wanna talk about the different ways i conceptualize cecil's age. to me there are 3 domains i consider: chronological, physical, and functional

for his chronological age, we know cecil was a teenager in 1745 making him more than 279 years old. this one's pretty straight forward.

for his physical age we have to do some math. i've broken it down in greater detail before, but the tldr of that post is that (in my estimation) cecil physically ages 4-8 years for every 49 years he's alive. given how much wtnv likes a 1:10 ratio, i'd actually be willing to bet my math in the original post is close but wrong and cecil ages at a 1:10 rate. if cecil was at least 15 in 1745, and if he was stuck at 19 for at most 100 years, that would make him around 33 physically.

cecil's functional age i've never seen talked about and i haven't had a lot of chances to talk about before, so this was the main motivator for this post. cecil isn't just a man, he is The Voice. and since huntokar found night vale after it was founded and didn't break time until 1983, we can assume there was something supernatural about cecil before her involvement.

leonard burton was host of nvcr for "an uncountable number of years" and cecil has said he didn't recall anyone being host before him.

cecil interned under him from at least 1745 until ww2, likely after pearl harbor (1941) since cecil stated america was involved in the war at that time. so cecil interned for ~179 years and has been hosting for ~83 years

it's unclear when leonard died, i've detailed the murky timeline on his wiki page, but cecil had been hosting for between 38-60 years when he did. when leonard died he was crossing the street outside of nvcr, which i interpret this to mean leonard was still involved even after he retired, likely continuing his mentor role informally or else helping cecil as a consultant.

no matter how long cecil had been hosting, 38-60 years is a drop in the bucket compared to "an uncountable number of years." cecil as The Voice was still very new, functionally very young, when leonard died.

this continues the theme of cecil's life: that he's abandoned too young and before he's ready. i read cecil's lack of on-air professionalism to be a reflection of that; just like how he struggled and lashed out and acted up after his mother left he's doing the same thing on the radio. he didn't have anyone to show him any better. we aren't seeing cecil the 279 year old immortal or cecil the 33 year old man, we're seeing The Voice who is still only a child

[tobbesdiscordkitten]

Aww, I'm glad I could provide the details you're looking for! ^.^ I can assure you, anon, that people know about Axl and Erin, they just don't like talking about it, and I don't blame them lol. It is a rather complex matter. One that is depressing, to say the least. I will try my best to explain what happened in their relationship while analyzing the outcome(s) on why certain situations unfolded the way they did. The reasoning wasn't "just because he or she felt like it." There's much more to the story. And I'll try to provide both perspectives so we have a clear, broader picture.

After I'm done sharing this novel, I don't want to discourage you, or have you view Axl in a negative light. He was going through his own personal issues at the time, and while that doesn't justify what he did to Erin, it explains how broken of a man he was, trying to fight off his own demons, only to be consumed by them.

**trigger warnings for sexual abuse, rape, and violence**

Erin Everly and Axl Rose

In 1986, Erin and Axl met at an L.A. party. This was Erin's first relationship while it was Axl's second relationship. His first girlfriend, also high school friend, was Gina Siler, and they dated between 1982-1983. Since Erin didn't have any sexual encounters with other boys prior, she wasn't very experienced in "pleasing" Axl. I can imagine she lost her virginity to him, but it sounded like Axl wasn't willing to teach her how to please him in the bedroom. Instead, Axl wanted another girl to tutor Erin, but the idea never came to fruition, probably because Erin would've been against the idea.

The two lived in an apartment and Erin did modeling on the side to support themselves while Axl was involved in his bands. Erin mentions how Axl had a quick temper and that little things would set him off, like stubbing his toe, being woken up from a phone ringing, or hearing Erin cry in the bathroom. This caused him take out his anger on her. She suspected it was because she was an "easy target." On one occasion, Axl removed all the doors from their hinges in the apartment so he could monitor Erin's movements. During one of their many arguments, Axl, who weighed 140 lbs at the time, pushed an entire piano from the balcony's window. He even yanked telephones from the walls and destroyed various items.

Meegan Hodges-Knight, Slash's then former girlfriend, and Erin's roommate, described some disturbing encounters between the two. "I'd wake up to Erin saying, 'Please, stop. Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, and Axl screaming at her... And then, all of a sudden, he'd come out and he'd like, break all of her really precious antiques, and she would be, 'Please, don't break them, please.' And trying to get them back from him. And he'd push her and he'd break everything he could get his hands on...l remember sleeping and waking up to a crystal flying over my head, shattering on the floor."

One night, while Erin was wearing a see-through tank top and panties, Axl dragged Erin by the hair, kicked her with his cowboy boots, threw a tv set at her, and spit on her. Let me just clarify something here. We don't know what happened on this particular day, or night, that made Axl snap. Maybe it was because Erin was wearing this attire, or maybe something else happened that pissed Axl off, and he took his anger out on his girlfriend. My other guess is... Erin was wearing this while Meegan and Slash were there, and Axl thought it was immodest and had the mindset of, "she should only be wearing this stuff around me, not flaunting it around other people" kind of thing. But I can't confirm, it's only a theory.

Moving on. Erin was in a bikini, probably getting ready to sunbathe, until Axl ordered her to take it off. Once she did he tied her hands to her ankles from behind, put masking tape over her mouth, wrapped one of his bandanas around her eyes, and led her into a closet, naked, where she remained for several hours as Axl talked to one of her friends in the living room. Later, when Axl returned to the closet, he untied Erin, picked her up, and tied her, face down, to a convertible bed. He then raped her anally and forced his cock into her mouth.

Hopefully you're not too traumatized, anon. I would like to switch gears here and talk about Axl's upbringing. I'm not sure how much you know about him, so this might either be new information you haven't heard before, or old news lol.

Axl's childhood was a nightmare and it began when he came out of his mother's womb, literally. His father molested him when he was a baby, then, by the age of two, his dad kidnapped him and anally raped him. His mother left his first dad and found another husband where they had two more kids, Amy and Stuart. But his stepdad wasn't any better. He would take Axl to a museum on multiple occasions and rape him in the men’s bathroom stalls. His stepdad would also beat both him and Amy, even sexually abusing her. As a result of what both his fathers did to him, Axl was terrorized by nightmares throughout his childhood. This abuse also distorted his relationship with how to treat women. It made him view sex as an act of power and how sex leaves other people powerless after the deed is finished.

Axl noted, “I’ve had a lot of hatred for women. Basically, I've been rejected by my mother since I was a baby. She picked my stepfather over me ever since he was around and watched me get beaten by him. She stood back most of the time. Unless it got too bad, and then she'd come and hold you afterward. She wasn't there for me. My grandmother had a problem with men. I've gone back and done the work and found out I overheard my grandma going off on men when I was four. And I've had problems with my own masculinity because of that. I was pissed off at my grandmother for her problems with men and how it made me feel about being a man."

I don't think his mother could've done much by standing up for own children because his stepdad might've beaten her too. And if she did, they all probably would've been living on the streets with no food or a proper roof over their heads. But, again, these are my own speculated thoughts.

Anyways...back to the main lovebirds of this story. In 1987, Axl and Erin attended a barbecue at somebody's house in the Hollywood Hills. One spectator noticed how Axl took his anger out on Erin in public, not being phased by other people watching, as he pulled her hair and beat her up.

On April 27, 1990, Axl showed up at their condo, located above Sunset Strip, unannounced at 4 a.m. He told Erin he had a gun in his car and that if she didn't marry him he'd kill himself. What a way to propose, right? You might be thinking, "He didn't give her a choice. He threatened that decision on her.” I've thought that way about this situation for a while until another thought crossed my mind recently. By this point, Axl and Erin argued a lot. It was like a routine. Axl must've thought Erin didn't love him anymore and if she didn't marry him he had nothing else to live for since the love of his life would leave him. He probably felt like his life didn't matter if he couldn't have her, his sweet child. Luckily, Erin said yes, but she would have to fight to save him.

In the Don't Cry music video you see Axl and Stephanie fighting over a gun. This actually happened between Erin and Axl. Erin was in a physical match, trying to snatch the gun away from him. This went on for a while until Axl decided to let Erin win. So he gave up and let her have the gun, ending the fight.

Erin and Axl’s wedding photo

The two got married and by September Erin found out she was pregnant. They both always wanted to start a family, and this was a sign that their relationship was gonna get better in the future. Unfortunately, that was all short lived when Erin had a miscarriage in October. A few days after finding out, Axl got arrested for hitting his neighbor over the head with a wine bottle.

This event is pretty insane. Axl says his neighbor was "crazy" and that she was an obsessive groupie who played his own music loudly in her room. His neighbor, on the other hand, claimed Axl was the one playing loud music. She confronted him in the hallway that night, at 2 a.m., with a bottle of wine in her hand. I'm not sure how full or empty it was but it seems she was drinking from the bottle and she might've been tipsy. They got into an argument and Axl grabbed her keys, tossing them out his window. Axl claims that after he did that he closed the door and his neighbor started smashing her body against the doorframe, giving herself bruises. However, his neighbor said that after he threw her keys out the window he grabbed the wine bottle, draining the rest on the floor, and smashing it across her head. The police report indicated he emptied the bottle but no shards of glass were on the floor. I guess it was a matter of how hard he hit or not striking her at all.

Axl’s arrest in 1990

In 1991, Erin was cleaning Axl’s CD collection when he snapped at her for doing so. Erin states, "I didn't think I could survive mentally any longer; I was dying inside...At the door I turned around and said, 'I want you to look at me, because you're never going to see me again.’” Erin left Axl. He tried winning her back by writing her letters, sending her flowers, and caged birds for one full year. It was clear the two would never get back together again.

During her testimony in court, Erin reveals that Axl believed her and Stephanie Seymour were sisters in a past life and they were "trying to kill him." She also shared how Axl believed he was possessed by John Bonham. Not only that, Axl told Erin how she was an Indian who killed all their children, and that was the reason why he was so mean to her in this lifetime.

Many people, including Axl, have cited Erin to be the aggressor in the relationship and that Axl was only defending himself. A friend, who agreed to speak for him, conceded that the couple "did have a combative relationship. But," she adds, "Erin portrays herself as the victim and him as the evil aggressor. From what I witnessed, she was the aggressor." Maybe Erin might've pushed Axl's buttons a bit too far, resulting in numerous heated backlashes of shitting on each other. Did Erin not know her limit with Axl or did she know and choose to ignore it until he ruptured?

I have my own thoughts about Erin. I often think Erin was a very naïve, childish girl, who clung onto Axl like a needy puppy, mostly in times when he needed some space.

Even though they are a few years apart, I feel she was emotionally immature for him, whereas Stephanie was emotionally mature. Then there's arguments of how she was the keg to the gunpowder in their relationship. They both did things that hurt each other and they both made mistakes. They're both to blame. They have even acknowledged what went wrong in their relationship. One of the problems was they were both broken and they didn't know how to save each other because their inner kid loved each other too much.

This was Axl and Erin's relationship in a nutshell. You might be mortified at what you just read, but I assure you... Axl is in a much better frame of mind now and he got the help he needed. Erin might not be fully over him yet. I mean, how could she? He was her first true love. In 2013, she did sell all of his love letters, private pictures, clothes, and even his journals. Why she did this, I am not sure. But it was wrong on so many levels. I heard she might be writing her own book which may go into more detail on what else happened in her relationship with Axl. Keep in mind, though, her story is one-sided, as it is through her own perspective and not his. If she publishes it, and people read it, make sure to take into account how he was feeling and what might've provoked him. There's always a reason why shit happens the way it did.

If you have anymore questions or would like to discuss their relationship further, feel free to reach out! I'm curious to hear your own thoughts on this, anon <3

[abandonedography]

A Well-Preserved Abandoned Time Capsule House

Along a scenic road lies this incredible time capsule house with everything left behind. This large home built in 1956 features interior design elements from the 70s including shag carpeting in the bedrooms, a carpeted wall in the primary bedroom, appliances from the same era, and even an Asian-themed tiki bar/room in the basement. There are several personal items left behind as well from clothing, to photos and even letters from the children to their father.

The Home was owned by a German man named Hans. He was born in 1923, and he married a woman named Emma at a relatively young age. Hans was a school teacher by profession, teaching at a nearby school. He was a hard worker and was always furthering his education, as seen in several certificates found throughout the home. I believe he also had a small business selling renewable energy sources such as solar panels and wind turbines which he operated out of a separate part of the home. In his spare time, he liked to build and maintain his elaborate model train display in the basement.

He and his wife Emma enjoyed travelling and did so often until finally deciding to settle down. They had two children, Adele and Michael. They led an idyllic life for a few years but as time went on cracks began to emerge in the marriage. Emma decided it was time to leave and she moved with their children a couple of hours away from Hans.

Hans moved on and met a woman named Ida. Michael would occasionally send letters to Hans and from what I read, they did not have the best relationship. Michael being very religious, was always optimistic they would see each other during the holidays but from the sounds of the letters, that likely didn't happen. He was also upset about the fact that his father did not call him regularly. In one of the letters Michael said that after a phone call with his father, he was scared to death of visiting him after speaking his mind. Emma did not get along well with her ex husband and this likely played a role in the ability for the children to visit with their father as well.

Life continued on for both families until Hans passed away in 1980, he was only 57. Ida lived in the home until at least 1983 as seen in a handwritten letter from Michael addressed to her. At some point after that, Ida moved to Pennsylvania since she likely had friends/family there. The house has sat abandoned ever since.

Emma passed away a few years ago but I have not been able to find out any information about Adele. Michael however spent a lot of time in school training to work in a religious-related field. He had inherited a strong work ethic from his father, reminiscing about how Saturdays were work days and how that impacted his life. He has since found a very rewarding and successful career in religion.

source - video of the house

[aetlasx]

prologue

pair: eddie munson x witch!reader

summary: Ah, memories. You journal your first day of high school, but things quickly take a turn just a few weeks later.

tw: menstruation, pad/tampons, bullying, name calling (pls lmk if there’s anything I missed)

a/n: just stick with me lol. he’ll be in the first part. Also, this is an AU!! For spooky season!! thank you so much for reading!!

*the chat font is the diary entry and it goes back to normal at the end*

August 22nd, 1983 It's been a few months since i've written in this thing. I thought it'd be a good time to start now since I finally made it to high school!

You know what that means? Four more years till I leave this shithole!! Better than five. June was actually waiting by the door when I got home, she really wanted to hear every detail of how it went. I told her about my classes, I have Jonathan in two and Nancy in several. I told her how the school and people were so different from anything I was used to. But, it doesn't take her long to find something wrong with the way I think. She started with her usual warnings and advice, all the things I need to avoid, all the mistakes I shouldn't make. I know she's just trying to protect me, but it feels like she can never have trust in her little sister.

On the other hand, at least Teddy asked if I had fun. He's always been the one who knows how to lighten the mood, especially knowing how his wife is. He asked about my teachers and any clubs that looked cool enough to join. He even asked about Jonathan and Nancy.

Jonathan was definitely not as excited as me. He's quite, but he's always been that way.I know that his mom was excited for his first day of high school, she even convinced him to bring his camera. Right now, I'm trying to convince him to join the newspaper but he just shrugs me off. And Nancy, well, although it's been one–girl is practically glow. Within just 8 hours of the school day, she was able to meet a boy. She kept gushing about him and is pretty excited for the rest of the school year here. I'm genuinely happy for her.

Before June could add her two cents, I interrupted her with how I stopped by Aunt Claudia's after school to see how Dustin's day went. He was already sprawled out on the couch, 'exhausted' from fighting with his new math teacher. It had been a bit since I had seen them, I slaved away my summer at my job so stopping by, I felt grateful that they weren't even mad. I'll have to start hanging out with him again.

Anyways, I’m determined to make the most of freshman year with my friends. I’m ready to prove that I’m more than just a product of this stupid town.

Wish me luck!!

September 16th, 1983

I think I lied. I don’t know where to start…but a four year wait is too long. I don’t know where it all went wrong but it started over the weekend.

Sometimes I’d like to think that if my mom was still around, this wouldn’t have happened. Hell, June is like my mom, why did it happen. I’m talking about mother nature’s gift. It seemed as though no on thought to inform me that a girls first period would be this chaotic.

Nance and I had a movie night planned. I hadn’t really talked to her much, only in class, because her new boy toy or whatever—Steve Harrington, was taking up most of her time. I thought this would be a good time to just catch up and gossip, I was wrong. That Friday was horrible. I ended up throwing up, getting the chills, my body ached to no end. But I was still determined to make movie night happen, especially since June and Teddy were gone for the weekend.

As I was dying on the couch, Nancy finally showed up. But to my disappointment, it was only to cancel. Her and Steve were going out on their first date. I don’t know if it was how hot I was feeling or my intestines twisting, but black spots started clouding my vision. I just remember her screaming for Steve and once I knew it, I woke up in the hospital.

What I’m about to write, I’ll say with confidentiality…probably because I’m the only one reading this. Whatever.

A period is probably normal for all females. What’s not normal is having to go to the hospital and having your best friend’s boyfriend make fun of you because the doctor called you a late bloomer. I mean, she apologized but, if I could’ve just died on that bed, I wouldn’t be here.

Even June lectured me when I interrupted her weekend getaway. The whole ride home she kept complaining and saying ‘how could I not know’ and ‘you just gave us another unnecessary bill’. Like, sorry my baby’s natural response has ruined something for you.

Fuck. That’s not even the worst part. When Monday came back around, everyone was looking at me when I walked in. I know how cliche it sounds after what had just happened but knowing how popular Harrington was and who his friends were, he had already told the whole school by now. During gym, Carol and a few other girls threw pads and tampons at me. I got called ‘Bloody Mary’ and ‘Leak Freak’ in the hallways, at lunch, and anytime anyone had the chance. I tried to stay strong, I even hoped Nancy would say something to me during class or at least when she saw me but she just looked at me with sympathetic eyes. It’s just hard to believe that a few weeks ago, everything was fine. We were making fun of our teacher, gossiping with Barb, and even went shopping but I guess things change. Now when I look at her I’m just consumed with rage.

Jonathan has been supportive, though. The evening I got out of the hospital, he had actually brought over some of my favorite snacks and listened to me cry all night. Even when the mocking was bad, he’s stuck by my side. He’s told some kids to fuck off, walks me to class, and I’m grateful, don’t get me wrong but knowing that I have to wake up and go through it again doesn’t really ease my pain.

I feel like my chances of making friends and actually joining some clubs are ruined. When I try talking to some new, they give me dirty looks. When I go to ask about different clubs, they turn me away. I’ve lost hope. Thought this was suppose to be a fresh start but I guess not.

And just to add more salt to the wound, I haven’t been able to sleep. Every time I close my eyes and drift to away, I’m met with such an unsettling environment. The atmosphere is thick, groggy, red. It’s coated in fog, but a man I’ve never seen before always walks through it. He says his name is Henry, he starts talking about my worries and pain. It’s always the same—he says he’s ‘there to help me’, he’s there to ‘take away the pain because he knows what it’s like’. I truly don’t know what has caused my subconscious to create things like this but I guess I’m just tired of feeling like shit.

I don’t even know why I bother keeping a journal around. Sometimes I feel like I won’t even be here in the future to reminisce on the shitty days like this. Why would I even? I guess it’s just easier to write these things down than having to say them out loud. I thought I’d be able to make my sister, aunt, cousin, and friends proud, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this.

Closing the diary, the blonde places it back in the shoebox you hid it in. Pushing it back under your bed, standing from the place he sat. A satisfied smirk on his face.

He’d been following your turmoil closely, knowing that this was just the turning point. Your struggles were feeding into his plans. This entry was straw that broke the camels back—your vulnerabilities, your fears, and your desperations. It was almost too easy.

“Your suffering is almost poetic,” Henry said to himself, walking out of your room, your house, determined to take action now. He planned to finally confront you, to force you to acknowledge the full extent of what your destiny could be with his help—with what he had to offer.

[north-noire]

do you have some headcanons about henry and charlie in your au you can share? :3

Hello hello, anon! Thanks for the ask! Sorry that this took so long! Okay, first things first: Yes, they're both neurodivergent/autistic. While they're both unaware of that fact (because let's be real, the 1980s time period wasn't as aware of that kind of thing as we do now), they both do kinda understand that they both have their little routine everyday and sometimes they both need some time to themselves. It's that little mutual silence they have with each other when they both work together on their own thing. They both also don't like crowds, but they've just learned to deal with it. And of course, they both love learning about each other's interests and tend to help each other with them! More headcanons under the cut + bonus for Puppet-Charlie and Henry stuff!

Some more headcanons around 1983-era:

Henry and Charlie both love tinkering with their interests - Henry tinkers with robots and inventions and gadgets and whatnot, while Charlie tends to tinker with her old toys and usually modifies them to her liking.

Henry was a former toymaker that worked in a relatively modest toy company before he had agreed to partner with William's business venture, so he'd sometimes make her toys when she was younger. Charlie also grew up with some stopmotion movies and shows that she'd loved, so when Henry gave her a camera on one of her birthdays, she would make stopmotion animations using the toys he gives her and sometimes modifies the toys to be more flexible, or to change their appearance for the stopmotion animation. Charlie also becomes interested in things like puppeteering and miniature sculpting.

They both love drawing! Henry's art has more boxy and mechanical concepts and the like because of his work and just mostly drafting stuff (sometimes he draws people, usually doesn't end up liking them), while Charlie just draw concepts for her little puppets/miniatures, similarly mechanical like her father's, and has a hard time drawing people.

Henry starts to cook more after his wife's late passing for the sake of Charlie, since Charlie tended to miss her mom's cooking. He tries his best. Charlie usually helps him!

Henry makes sure to attend Charlie's baseball games.

They definitely had went to Disneyland at least once, courtesy of William. They both had a grand old time there!

Charlie's flannel shirt was a hand-me-down from Henry's! She loves matching with her father, so she adopted it for herself. Whenever Henry sketches/works on the animatronics, Charlie just sits down and watches her father work/draw. Henry doesn't mind, and usually asks about a few ideas or concepts he has and asks Charlie if it's interesting.

BONUS: Post 1987 Puppet-Charlie and Henry stuff!

Henry learns to sew more clothing to reuse Charlie's old clothes so Puppet-Charlie could get to wear some of her past outfits if she wanted to. Thrift stores and garage sales are their best friends!

Puppet-Charlie sometimes constricts herself around her father. She's clingy, but Henry doesn't mind at all.

Puppet-Charlie doesn't really need to sleep, so if Henry falls asleep or needs to sleep, she watches over him.

Henry and Puppet-Charlie used to hate long drives. Now they've learned to love it.

Rainy days on the other hand... it's complicated.

Eating "together" was pretty hard for them at first (since Henry is the only one eating), but after some time, they eventually gotten used to it.

Puppet-Charlie had attempted to drive, and she's still learning with Henry's guidance! Henry is just scared because Puppet-Charlie tended to always miss the stop-lights/signs.

Henry retro-fitted an actual jack-in-the-box music box so that Puppet-Charlie can listen to it whenever she wants.

The only times that Puppet-Charlie haven't been weirdly remarked to (by teens and adults anyway, most kids are intrigued/awed by Puppet-Charlie) is Halloween. Both Henry and Puppet-Charlie just kind of deals with it and had gotten used to it. It's not like Henry doesn't get weird remarks either from carrying/walking around with this tall lanky "daughter", so they mostly avoid people unless necessary.

Well, this is how much I can sort of recall at the moment, if I'm revealing more and more, you'll likely find out in more chapters of the fic! If you've made it this far, well, congratulations, and thank you for taking the time to read through ALL this! I hope this answers your question, anon!

[greenfiend]

i just read your time travel theory and all i keep thinking about is how in back to the future 2 marty and doc travel to the future and biff finds the time machine and works it in his favor so when marty and doc travel back to present time everything is wrong and they have to travel all the way to the beginning. have you had any thoughts on such a twist? (by the way i love all your theories and you blow my mind with every single one)

Short answer: a big huge YES!!!!!!

I actually allude to this idea in this post!

I believe that we have already seen aspects of the show inspired by Back to the Future Part II.

For example: newspapers indicating different timelines. Just one example is the differences between the Will articles… the Henry-Edward Creel articles are another major example of this. -> click here for info on that. Credit to @aemiron-main for these amazing finds.

Another one is the Dustin and Mike walkie-talkie scene- it’s a reference to the first sequel of BttF (since it was the only one of the movies where they used walkie-talkies!).

Now for some stuff I think we WILL see referenced from the movie…

Now, I believe it’s very telling that they put “William” rather than “Billy” on the gravestone and that they played the song “Dear Willy” in the background of this scene. They are obviously alluding to the other William here as well, and possibly to a separate timeline where he died on November 6th, 1983. Not unlike how George Mcfly was murdered in the alternate 1985 in Back to the Future part II.

If true, then I’m even more inclined to believe that Lonnie is the #1 suspect. Lonnie being our Biff… and possible step father to Will…

Look at their similarities… “[He] always did have a way with women.” 🤢

Then, of course, we must have a scene like this one.

The alternate timeline!!! There’s absolutely at least one of these, possibly more. For this scene, I like to envision Dustin being the one to explain this to everyone.

Now for my favourite idea…

Our characters travelling back to a previous moment within the show! Ah… movie magic. I cannot tell you how much I love this concept. Blew my mind as a child. Look at how the events of the first Back to the Future movie were occurring as a second Marty was on a separate mission desperately avoiding detection from his past self. Time travel can be confusing as heck but damn it’s fun.

I will say that I do not think time travel within Stranger Things will occur in the same way as it does in Back to the Future. It’ll be different somehow. I mention a pretty *wild* idea here.

Now. Here are some things I’m nearly confident about:

Will will (or has) travelled to the past. SO much evidence of this, it’s nearly undeniable.

Mike *somehow* is their “ride” back in time. This is heavily implied when Dustin calls up Mike for a “ride” while the DeLorean is shown on the big screen.

Multiple timelines exist, and we will likely see them or at least learn about them.

Vecna, Mike, and Will are the characters most associated with time and time travel.

Ahhh I love time travel and Back to the Future. The Duffers clearly do too! Back to the Future has been referenced since episode one when we first saw Will in that classic red “life preserver”. The references go deeper than most people realize too. I gotta say too, the whole play being set in the 50s, with the parents as teens, is very reminiscent of Back to the Future as well!

I would not be surprised at all if they referenced this classic sequel a fair bit in the final season!

[tyrian-witch]

Chapter One: The Vanishing of Will Byers

“So, you’re like, new here?”

You’re not sure why Steve suddenly decides to strike up small talk with you at this moment or why he’s asking such a stupid question as that when you’re certain he knows damn well he hasn’t acknowledged your existence till now.

“Sure… I guess…?” you murmur, eyeing him skeptically with a shrug.

Woah! Long first chapter incoming! Took me a good while to finish it but I did say I’d take my time with this fic, didn’t I? I’m doing anything but writing my term paper for art history lol, but hey! Here it is at last! Hope you enjoy! :D

Warnings: my crappy writing, language, use of y/n, brief mentions of paranoia, brief mentions of scars and a pinch of a blood reference, reader not knowing how to deal with being asked stupid questions, mentions of violence and the use of a gun, courtesy of a shady woman in an overcoat.

masterlist • series masterlist • previous part

~~~

November 6th, 1983 - Hawkins, Indiana

When you leave The Hawk, the night is dark and chilly as the cold air bites your face. You’ve been working at the theatre since the summer, and despite the job being kind of slow from time to time, it definitely keeps you busy.

You normally take day shifts, but lately, with school being demanding, you’ve decided to work nights.

You say goodbye to your co-worker, Kat, waving at her with a skeleton gloved hand.

She waves back and smiles. “See ya tomorrow, Y/N.”

You pick up your skateboard and begin to make your way home. The only thing that accompanies you on your journey is the sounds of crickets chirping and the soft thrumming of the orange street lights. Zipping along the way, you find that it’s peaceful.

This is when you feel the most alone in the world. It’s your favourite thing; skateboarding when the sleepy town of Hawkins is quiet and there’s almost no cars or people around. Maybe this is what it’s like when the world comes to an end one day. Nothing ever happens and it’s peaceful this way - you don’t need to share the road or sidewalks with anyone - it’s just you and your thoughts.

Maybe it’s just because you’re a loner at heart.

This moment of peace doesn’t last too long, however, when a prickly feeling creeps in. You can’t help but feel that, somehow, you’re being watched. Despite the uneasiness it brings you, you shrug it off - you try to, at least - and place your headphones on over your black toque. You’re glad you remembered to bring it with you today, otherwise your ears would have been thawed out by now.

Slowing down for a moment, you press play on your Walk-Man, followed by the sounds of Maria Callas drowning out the ambiance of the chill November evening - her operatic voice rings through for the remainder of your journey. It seems to ease the strange feeling from before, but because you’re a tad bit paranoid, you adjust the volume and lower it enough just so you can hear the outside world. It’s best to listen to opera on full volume, but right now, you need to be vigilant, just in case.

Curse your paranoia.

The strenuous ride feels as if it stretches on forever, but really, you eventually get closer and closer to home and you’re comforted by the fact that you’ll get to collapse in bed the second you get there.

Well… not unless you eat something first.

The feeling of being watched slowly subsides when you make it to your neighbourhood, surrounded by houses with their lights on, sprinklers watering the front lawns and it brings you a sense of safety.

What were you worried about again?

When you feel it’s safe to turn the volume back up, Maria Callas’ voice crescendos as you near your house. You always had a soft spot for opera, and she is no exception. Looking at you first glance, no one would probably guess you like opera music, let alone listen to Maria Callas of all people, but you figure your style has something to do with that misconception. You know what they say though: Never judge a book by its cover or some crap.

Her voice continues to crescendo when you step foot inside before finally coming to a dramatic halt. Shutting the door with your back, you exhale as you lean against it and kick off your shoes. Your entrance signals to your aunt that you've made it home and she comes to greet you when you fix your slip-on Vans nicely on the shoe rack.

"Hi, honey," she greets you, smiling, "are you hungry? I made meatloaf for dinner, there's some left over in the kitchen."

You nod, composing yourself from your exhaustion and slide off your headphones to lay rest around your neck. "Yeah, I could eat."

She examines your face for any injuries, eyes landing on the scar you obtained on your chin a month ago. You had slipped and fallen into a boulder while skateboarding, immediately rewarded with a bleeding gash - you made it the rest of your way home like a champ, but when Marsha had seen your face that day, she was hysterical. Out of being (over)protective, she had tried to ban you from skateboarding, but you managed to convince her otherwise.

Since then, she’s been constantly checking for any new injuries while giving your board the evil eye.

When she sees that your face is unscathed, minus the aforementioned scar and the faint, barely-there one on the bridge of your nose (a story for another day), she nods in approval.

“Glad you’ve made it safely.”

You hum in amusement and shake your head. “Yes, I am very much alive and well. Now what was it you said about dinner?”

~~~

Safe to say, you harffed down the meatloaf like a starved woman. It's not particularly your favorite meal, but you'd eat just about anything when you’re insatiably hungry. Also, you couldn't tell your aunt you disliked meatloaf after all this time of eating it since you moved in. She doesn't need to know.

You have no issues with being blatantly honest about a lot of things, but sometimes, once in a while, you hold your tongue - not for the sake of pleasing the other person, but rather, it was okay to be quiet about some things.

Besides, what’s the point when you’re just starving right now? You’ll eat just about anything on any given day, even if you don’t like it all that much, but you were taught to not let your food go to waste at a very young age. Most kids are always picky, treating their parents like they’re some kind of damn restaurant and forcing them to accommodate to their every bratty demand.

Not you, though. If you ever pulled that when you were little, you certainly would have gotten an earful, or worse: a good old fashioned spanking.

Nonetheless, even if meatloaf isn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to you, you still eat it because why waste it when the hands that prepared it for you took the time and love to make it?

Naturally, you’re a grateful person, so when you finish your plate after practically inhaling its contents, you thank your aunt and take care of your dishes - another thing you were taught at a young age, and rightfully so - it’s shaped you to be self sufficient, which you’re glad about. You’d be surprised at the kids your age who didn’t know how to do a simple chore.

When you trudge up the stairs with your skateboard tucked under your arm and your backpack slung over your shoulder, you pass by Barb's room as you overhear her talking on the phone, presumably with Nancy Wheeler, her best friend.

"Nance, come on, you can't be serious," she says, rolling her eyes at her friend's blatant obliviousness. "What do you mean ‘you don’t think so?’"

You peek through the crack of her door, curious about this conversation. Despite keeping to yourself, you can't help but be just a little bit curious about some things. So what? It’s just part of your nature.

“Nance,” she laughs this time. “It’s so obvious he likes you.”

You quirk a brow at this, intrigued.

The door creaks a bit when you lean a little close, the sound causing Barb’s head to turn in your direction. With your eyes wide, you mouth a quiet ‘sorry’ and smile with a grimace.

“Uh-huh. What? Oh, no Y/N just got home right now,” she covers the receiver with one hand and says, “Nancy says hi.”

Oh. “Tell her I say hey.”

You’ve hung out with Nancy a few times at school. Perhaps enough times to consider her a friend. Well… sort of anyways.

You don’t normally hang around Barb or her often, mostly because you prefer to stick to yourself, but whenever you do decide to pass time with them, you’re mostly quiet. You prefer to listen rather then talk, only speaking when you feel like it. Regardless, your voice is rather commanding, what with your silent nature and all.

You’re rather stand-offish, and your aloof behaviour is the common denominator as to why you don’t have many friends - not that you mind, you’ve never been the greatest at making friends, let alone keep ‘em.

Your aloofness has been a great concern to your aunt and uncle since you moved here, the couple always trying to encourage you to spend more time with people from school rather than stay holed up in your room. Barb had tried a few times before as well to coax you out of your shell, but eventually realized that you’re not one to be persuaded, but rather, you’ll do things on your own terms.

At least she gets it.

Though their irrational concern can become a bit much, a part of you appreciates the way your relatives care - but you still like your space anyways.

Nancy’s nice enough, though, you decide.

At the same time, you don’t know her all that well, but based on the time you’ve spent with her, you’ve come to know that she is intelligent, studious (much like Barb) and maybe a bit preppy. Maybe a little too much for your liking, but nonetheless, she does well.

Still, she’s not bad. She’s okay.

If anything, she’s kind enough to you. You’re not sure how to respond to her kindness, not because you’re shy, you simply just don’t know what to do with her treatment.

Once you've made it to your room, you shut the door behind you and make a beeline for your closet, shivering when you change into your pyjamas.

"Holy sh-" you inhale a sharp breath through chattering teeth, cold air tickling your bare skin and bones as you slip on your sleeping pants. You shudder when you crawl under the covers, grabbing your elephant plushie in the process and curl up in the fetal position.

You lay there, sinking into warmth as the light from your lamp illuminates your room with a soft glow. You'd ready yourself for bed in a little while, but right now, this was the perfect recovery from the chilly night.

~~~

Normally, you end up crying yourself to sleep just about every night. You have been since you moved in during June, but some nights, you’re lucky enough not to cry. Last night was one of those nights; too freezing and shivery to shed a tear, but you still held on to Dumbo Jr., the stuffed elephant, while you slept.

On nights when you cry - or when you don't - he's always been there to protcect you in some way, though it seems you’re protecting him more - grasping him in your clutches like a lifeline, the only thing you can call yours and guard with your life. He's just that special.

For once, you have a dreamless, tearless sleep, the comfort and safety of your twin bed sucking you further into a cloud of nothingness while you slumber.

It’s good.

So good, in fact, you end up almost being late for school the next morning.

Barb is the first to try to wake you, gently shaking your shoulders with a soft yet urgent ‘wake up,’ only to be met with a grumbled ‘go away.’

The redhead sighs, knowing if you don't get up now, you'll be late and she'll end up leaving you behind to go study in the library before class starts. She always likes to squeeze in some extra study time before school, and you have a chance now if you get up, but the moment 7:30 becomes 8:00, you're screwed.

So when the clock does just that, you finally wake, thanks to Marsha calling your name from the bottom of the steps - or rather, she yells your name in hopes you’ll actually hear her.

Inhaling sharply, your eyes squint open, not quite registering where you are or what day it is. You pick up your Casio watch from your nightstand, eyes widening when the clock reads 8:03 am.

Sonuvabitch! That's 3 more minutes lost now!

Scrambling out of bed, you end up falling face first into the carpet, followed by a soft thud and a pained 'ah-ha-howww'. You curse yourself for oversleeping again when you make it back on your feet and begin scrounging through your closet for something decent to wear.

Settling on a pair of black jeans, a graphic t-shirt and your usual faded dark denim jacket with stitched in angel wings, you nod to yourself in approval.

You run back and forth while you brush your teeth, simultaneously shoving the necessary books in your bag before slinging it over your shoulder. Making haste to run downstairs, you do a 180 and remember to grab your skateboard, cursing quietly under your breath as your feet pad rapidly up and down the wooden steps.

You stride in the kitchen to snatch a piece of French toast from the stack Marsha whipped up, haphazardly drizzling syrup on it and stuffing it between your teeth while attempting to tigthen your black bandana over your head. Ever the multitasker you are.

"Honey, you're going to be late!" the woman stresses as you make your way out of the kitchen.

You let out a muffled 'I know!' as you lace up your Chuck Taylors, one foot propped up on a chair while trying your best not to let the piece of toast slip from your clamped teeth. It's a bit soggy now with a puddle of saliva threating to slip past your watery mouth, but you suck it back in and finally get a good bite out of it.

"I’m working again tonight," you remind her in between mouthfuls. "Will probably miss dinner."

Then as an afterthought, you add, “M’sorry.”

“I can have Barb pick you up tonight,” your aunt offers, “you know how I feel about you being out there so late, especially when it’s dark.”

“It’s okay, I made it back in one piece last night, didn’t I?”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s no trouble-”

“Y/N.”

“Really, Aunt Marsha, I’ll be fine. See you tonight?”

The woman sighs, knowing it’s no use trying to convince you to accept a little help. “Okay… just be careful on that thing please,” she points to your skateboard board and eyes it wearily.

“No promises,” you sing playfully before you see her unamused expression. “Okay, okay, I will be.”

“Could you at least wear a helmet-”

“Nope!” You cut her off mid sentence as you make a dash to get out quickly, shutting the door as to not hear her begin her protests.

~~~

Regretfully, you wished you had had some coffee before you left.

The lack of caffeine that usually fuelled your system was bound to make you feel as if you were suffering withdrawal symptoms, but you just need to make it through the day.

Or the week, really.

Checking your watch, you see you have 10 minutes left to spare before classes start, so you push with one foot against the asphalt with more force, effectively speeding up as you zip down the streets.

I cannot be late, I cannot be late, I cannot be late-

Your mind is going a thousand miles per second through the anxiety of being late, heart pounding and ringing in your ears.

You’re quick at least. The wind whips past you, black bandana flowing in the breeze in the midst of your gliding. With the time limit you have, the rush is still amazing and you love it.

When both the high school and middle school comes into view, you see a group of young middle-schoolers on their bikes, recognizing it’s The Party, with Dustin Henderson and Lucas Sinclair by Michael Wheeler’s side. You met them sometime after your arrival in Hawkins.

It was a day where you didn’t want to leave your room but somehow, Barb had managed to coax you to go spend some time with her and her best friend Nancy. You never knew Nancy had a brother, so meeting him was a bit of a startle when you set foot into the Wheeler home. Where there was Micheal Wheeler, there too, was Dustin, Lucas and Will Byers.

They each remind you of your late younger brother, Will especially. He’s the sweetest, and you’re embarrassed to admit how you almost fell to your knees the first time you met him; seeing him was almost like a punch to the gut.

So when you notice he’s missing from the group this morning, not biking by their side, you’re left wondering if the boy is alright. Surely, he should be.

You smile when they see you and wave, so you make your way over to them as you begin crossing through the intersecting parking lot between the high school and middle school.

When you finally get closer to them you say, “Sup, nerds?” in lieu of a greeting. “How’s the Party? And where’s Will?”

For a moment, they boys share a look between each other before meeting your eyes. Something about it gives you a strange feeling, as if something was just a bit off. Lucas is the first to speak.

“He probably just went to class early again," he shrugs.

Dustin chimes in, saying, “Yeah, he’s always paranoid Gursky’s gonna give him another pop quiz.”

You snort at their reply before smiling, squinting your eyes from the sun as to not be blinded. “Well,” you say, “when you do see him, tell him I was finally able to snag him the Poltergeist poster. Been meaning to give it to him since I got it and I was gonna stop by yesterday but didn’t.”

“How come?” Mike asks you, also squinting his eyes from the sun.

“Worked late. Too beat up to do anything else after, but hey. I hope your campaign went well.”

Once in a while, when you’re not busy working or battling copious amounts of homework, you stop by to hang out with the boys and watch their D&D campaigns take place. You’ve noticed, that out of the boys who have older siblings, with Nancy as Mike’s older sister and Jonathan Byers as Will’s older brother, you’re the most present older kid.

Not only do you spend time with them and watch their games, but you also feel close enough to the boys that you’d guard them with your life. You think it has to something to do with your trauma - granted, it does.

You’re always there to give them advice when you can, telling them to stick up for themselves in a world full of normal people. They don’t know just how much you care about them, so instead of directly telling them, you show it through your quality time spent with them.

“It was insane!” Dustin says, giving you his gummy smile when he speaks.

“Yeah and we played for ten hours,” Mike says casually, which shouldn’t be surprising, but it leaves you baffled anyways.

“Ten hours?!”

The boys nod in unison, smiling at your incredulous reaction but they know you’re secretly fond about it regardless. You’re the only older kid who actually shows interest in their games and it truly makes them happy.

"Yeah? Well why don't you tell me all about it later then? Class is gonna start soon, so."

"Oh we will," Lucas assures you with a cheeky grin.

"All right then, see ya guys. And remember!" You send them a look with a raised fist levelled to the side of your face. “Take care of yourselves, 'kay?"

They all nod, sending you off with a wave and a mix of goodbyes as you depart from them.

~~~

As you make your way through the halls of Hawkins High, you spot Barb and Nancy at the lockers, chatting amongst themselves as you near your locker that is right next to Nancy’s. You begin unlocking yours to save your skateboard while the brunette continues on with whatever she's talking about, twisting and turning her own lock.

“We just… made out a couple times.”

You raise an eyebrow at Nancy, a smirk playing at your lips as a silent way of saying 'oh?'

“‘We just… made out a couple times’,” Barb mimics her with a dreamy tone, rolling her eyes.

Your cousin's antics makes you chuckle, eyeing the exchange from the corner of your eye in pure amusement.

“Nance, seriously,” she says, “you’re gonna be so cool now, it’s ridiculous.”

“No, I’m not.” Her blue eyes shine as she denies this, smiling like some kind of fool.

You can’t help but laugh and murmur, “Look at her, it’s written all over her face.”

Nancy gives you an incredulous expression, mouth open to say something before Barb cuts in again.

“You better still hang out with us, that’s all I’m saying.”

Nancy’s face turns to one of confusion before the redhead continues.

“If you become friends with Tommy H. or Carol-”

Your brows pinch together at the mention of the couple and Nancy voices your nonverbal distaste. “Oh, that’s gross! Okay, I’m telling you it was a one-time…”

Barb’s eyebrows shoot up.

“…two-time thing.”

As Nancy neatly places her textbooks in her locker, your eyes land on a folded piece of paper - she sees it too and picks it up, revealing a message inside that reads:

Meet Me.

Bathroom

- Steve

Oh.

Oh that’s just… huh.

You’ve never interacted with Steve Harrington before since you started school, but of course, you’ve seen him around plenty. You’re both in Miss Click’s English class and you’ve quietly observed him from a distance to know enough that he’s your typical grade-a jock; rich, with a douchebag car and all, an American cliche, if you will.

Now he’s about to meet up with Nancy in the school washroom of all places?

Yeah, real damn classy, for sure.

Barb smirks, her teasing expression never faltering. “You were saying?”

Nancy bites back a smile, clearly aware of what was to come in the next few minutes. You, however, find that the very thought of meeting up in the school washroom is rather displeasing.

“Oh how romantic,” you remark sarcastically, rolling your eyes and closing your locker shut a little too hard.

Nancy ducks her head down before she meets your gaze. “He’s not bad,” she says, peering at you through her lashes. "He's actually kinda sweet."

You scoff. “Yeah right. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

With that, you turn on your heel, bidding the two goodbye all the while you shake away the disgusting thought of meeting up in such a non-discreet setting.

Who does that?

Steve Harrington and Nancy apparently.

~~~

Tucked away in the corner of the dark classroom, with the only light coming from the projector screen, you prop your feet to lay rest on the empty seat in front of your desk while you stare out the window. Miss Click is droning on about some novel you've all been reading, but you completely disassociate, mind elsewhere as a million thoughts flood through.

Why wasn't Will with the boys? He’s okay, right?

Kaminsky's test is tomorrow.

Why the hell is Nancy letting some asshole whisk her away into the school freaking bathroom?

You really can’t get over that one for some reason.

What's the date today? The seventh?

Shit. The seventh.

If today’s the seventh, then that means tomorrow’s the eighth, which means it’s-

The class door flings open, effectively breaking you from your train of thought when the intruder barges in a little sheepishly.

Steve.

Of course.

Of course he’s late, and you know exactly why.

Miss Click gives him a pointed look through her lenses and he apologizes for being late before she carries on with her lecture. Steve huffs quietly as he runs a hand through his famous - or perhaps, infamous - hair and paces his way to the back of the class in search of a place to sit. He just so happens to choose the semi-occupied seat in front you where your feet are resting. He looks to you, brown eyes a little wide in an urgent need to sit down and asks in a hushed whisper, "Is someone sitting here?"

You bite the inside of your cheek as you make eye contact with him and say nothing, removing your feet from the chair before he claims it and finally takes a seat.

"Thank you," he says hurriedly before his back is turned to you.

You roll your eyes before you slump in your own chair, absently writing notes from the lecture being given while occasionally glaring and burning holes in the back of Steve's head.

Asshole, you think to yourself.

You're surprised when he turns in his chair to face you. His eyes briefly glance down at your page before meeting your face. "What's the date today?" he whispers.

Seriously?

"The seventh," you tell him plainly.

'Kay, thanks!"

You think that's the last of any interaction you'll have with him, so you go back to writing down the lecture notes from the projector screen ahead.

Not even a few minutes later, however, he turns back around again and gently taps his pencil on your desk to get your attention and smiles when you meet his eyes. Your face holds disinterest but you think he's plain dumb to notice.

"Mathers, right?"

Your nose scrunches a bit and you nod slowly. “Yeah. Y/N Mathers.”

“So, you’re like, new here?”

You’re not sure why Steve suddenly decides to strike up small talk with you at this moment or why he’s asking such a stupid question as that when you’re certain he knows damn well he hasn’t acknowledged your existence till now.

“Sure… I guess…?” you murmur, eyeing him skeptically with a shrug.

He nods thoughtfully, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he asks another question. “Where ya from?”

“…Philly.”

“Oh, shit. Philadelphia, huh?”

“Mhm.”

You look back down at your notes and mull over the words you’ve written, all chicken scratchy and practically unintelligible - you hope he stops with his lame questions so you don’t have to talk. Hell, you didn’t even get to drink your coffee this morning.

It’s clear you do not feel like talking, but he sure does.

“How long ya been here for?”

The muscles in your jaw flexes lightly before you sigh inwardly, looking back to find he’s already looking at you, waiting for answer.

“Since June,” you mumble so the teacher doesn’t overhear you both talking in the middle of class.

“Huh. And I haven’t seen you around since then?” He raises an eyebrow in curiosity.

You press your lips into a thin line, nodding awkwardly as your gaze falls back and forth between what you’re writing and how Miss Click is moving around the classroom as she continues with her lesson. You’re doing anything but try to give Steve Harrington your time of day, but yet, he persists.

“Do you get out much?”

“Nope.”

“How come?”

"Don't feel like it."

"Why's that?"

“Boy, you sure ask a lotta questions, don’t you?” You finally look at him again, annoyance written all over your face when you snap back. It’s not harsh, but it’s enough for him to reel back a little.

He raises his hands in surrender with a smirk and chuckles. “Yeesh. Sue a guy for being curious.”

“Mr. Harrington, is there something you’d like share with the class?” Miss Click’s voice calls from the front of the room and it takes everything in you not to snicker when Steve gets the attention called to him.

Ha, busted.

For a moment, his brown eyes go wide upon hearing his name and it’s your turn to smirk. His head whips around to face the teacher but he plays off the slight embarrassment well, speaking nonchalantly when he says, “Nope, all good here.”

A few of the students giggle at his response and you swear you see Miss Click roll her eyes at the situation before she carries on.

Steve turns back around to face you one more time, sending you that stupid smirk your way and you deadpan once again. “Good talk.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh when his attention is finally off of you. Now you remember why you don’t bother much with other people - they ask too many questions and expect you to answer when you really don’t feel like talking - it takes ‘em a good minute to get the hint, especially Steve Harrington of all people.

Why he decided to talk to you is beyond you, and it’s true - he asks too many damn questions for his own good.

~~~

Safe to say, you’ve made it through another night of work, and with that, your stomach is a-rumblin’. The food from the school cafeteria isn’t always it, but you didn’t have much of choice earlier today. Again, you curse yourself for sleeping in, otherwise you would have had more time to make your own lunch.

You’re not sure if you can hold off your hunger until you make it home, so you weigh the pros and cons if you decide to stop and grab a bite at Benny’s.

Pros: you’d get a good burger with fries and a shake.

Cons: you’d be spending money.

Considering this, you tell yourself ‘screw it!’ and make the journey to the famous burger joint.

You’re alone with your thoughts as you skateboard down the dimly lit streets, too many things on your mind and although you’ve been alone with your thoughts countless times before, you’d rather not listen to yourself think for once.

You press the play button on your Walk-Man and let the music fill your ears, and it’s different from last nights choice of genre. You listen to just about anything, even the old stuff. So when Flanagan and Allen start signing in that old, classic-y voice, you smile.

It’s just like the old Disney films, you think, but at the same time, their voices are a little bit creepy. You don’t mind it too much, though.

On the farm, ev'ry Friday

On the farm, it's rabbit pie day

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along

I get up early and sing this little song

You hum along to the eerie tune in the dark of night, getting nearer and nearer to where you want to be. Unbeknownst to you, trouble will unwind in a matter of minutes and you will have wished you had just gone straight home instead. Of course, when you’re hungry, you don’t think straight. How can you? You’re not even a person when you don’t have your coffee, so how can you be a person without your food?

When the burger joint comes into view, you stop to get off your board and you walk the rest of the way. The light inside is on still, so you might have just made it on time before closing.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

The gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, but you stop for a moment when you see Benny talking to a woman in an overcoat. You don’t know what it is, but seeing her gives you an odd sensation, as if something bad is about to wrong. She looks like government, and usually, government folk are almost always shady.

It’s seems totally normal at first; they’re talking but you’re not sure what about - not that it matters, but when he turns his back on her for a split second, she pulls out her gun. The moment he turns back around, the smile he had on his face is gone in an instant when a bullet flies through his temple and his body falls to the ground, out of your sight. You don’t think he even had time to properly react.

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run, run

The woman must have used a silencer because there was no bang! and it sent a chill down your spine because of how cold it was.

She just murdered Benny Hammond in cold blood.

Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun

You were just gonna grab some food, that’s all.

He'll get by without his rabbit pie

Oh fuck.

You gotta go now.

You stumble backwards on your feet with a sharp gasp at what your eyes had just witnessed; now your heart is beating and it’s ringing in your ears, overpowering the sounds of your music. You swear you think the woman heard you because her head turns in the direction of the sound, but you’re quick to hide behind some garbage cans that are off to the side of the building.

You think you have never felt such fear in your life before.

So run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run

The song is a warning to you now and fight or flight mode kicks in. The darkness of the night shrouds you in its shadows - you’re certain if you leave now, you won’t be seen. Besides, you’re supposed to make it back home in one piece, otherwise your aunt would probably kill you.

So before the shady woman gets a chance to investigate, you run into the woods.

~~~

You run for what feels like a long time - you’re gasping for air with your lungs feeling like they’re on fire and you can’t get the image of Benny Hammond being shot down out of your head.

It was supposed to be a normal night. You were just gonna stop for a good old burger and some fries and a melon milkshake, then go straight home and call it a night.

But no.

(You probably weren't meant to spend your money anyways.)

Now you’re running for your life, not knowing if you might end up like Benny tonight.

It doesn’t help that it’s raining and your clothes are drenched too. The rain water weighs down your dark denim jacket while you run, and if you don’t stop now, you’ll collapse.

You let out a sharp gasp when you do slow down, one hand clutching your stomach and the other still holding your skateboard. Your heart is thrashing wildly in your chest and your ears are ringing again.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out, swallowing the air down your throat.

For a moment, you’re steadying your breathing, staying as still as possible when suddenly the sound of a twig snapping rectifies your posture, putting you back on full alert.

You swallow again with a gulp and listen for any more sounds. Another twig cracks and it’s close by.

“Who’s there?!” You call out, cursing yourself when your voice wobbles a little. “I’ve got a weapon and I ain’t afraid to use it!”

The weapon in question is your skateboard. Really, it’s all you have, unless you include your fists. However, your heart rate spikes when you hear a response, but it wasn’t what you were expecting.

“Will!” Someone shouts. It sounds like a child.

“Byers!” Another child? No.

“I’ve got your X-Men 134!” another voice shouts over the booming sounds of the stormy rain.

No fucking way. You’d know his voice anywhere.

“Dustin!?” You call out, not at all believing your ears.

“Y/N?”

Okay, now you’re definitely losing it. Was that Dustin and The Party talking just now? You catch a flicker of light through the gaps between the tall trees and stumble towards it. “Is that you, guys?”

There’s no answer for a second and you think you’ve lost the boys until one of them shines a flashlight in your face. “Ah, shit!” You hiss, blocking the beams from your eyes.

They all jump back in unison with a startled cry, but when they see it’s you, they sigh in relief. But then they realize it’s you.

“What are you doing out here?” Mike is the first to interrogate you. He keeps his flashlight pointed at you and you can barely see him through your squinting eyes.

“Was out to grab a bite, what are you guys doing here?”

“Why are you out in the woods-”

“Hey, I answered your question, now you gotta answer mine. What’re you guys doin’ out here?”

You’re confused because they’re not supposed to be out here in the dark in the rain. They should all be at home right now instead of out here, where a potential threat lies you’re not sure how far away.

When they don’t answer, you ask again. “I said, what the hell-”

“We’re looking for Will-”

“Dustin!”

“I’m sorry! I can’t lie to her! We can’t lie to her!”

The ringing in your ears seems to increase, the whining pitch crescendoing louder than Maria Callas’ operatic singing voice ever could and you’re not sure if you even heard what the boy just said.

“Wh…what? What do you… what do you mean?”

“Will’s missing,” Lucas says grimly, “so we voted to come out and search for him.”

No.

No, that can’t be.

How is that possible, how did he just go missing? This town is the most mundane town there is where nothing ever happens! How is it possible that a twelve year old just suddenly vanishes?

“Guys, I really think we should turn back,” Dustin vocalizes with worry when the rainfall comes down a little heavier.

“Seriously Dustin?” Lucas says, agitation clear in his tone. “You wanna be a baby, then go home already!”

“I’m just being realistic, Lucas!”

“No, you’re just being a big sissy!”

You wipe a hand down your face as the two get into a bickering match as you all walk through the dark woods. It’s stupid for them to fight right now, but you definitely agree with Dustin that it’s best to go back.

“Did you ever think Will went missing because he ran into something bad?”

Dustin’s question makes your heart nearly drop for a second and it only worsens when he says, “And we’re going to the exact same spot where he was last seen? And we have no weapons or anything?”

Shit.

He has a point. But what could have happened? How did he even end up in the woods?

Then you remember Benny and how that woman murdered him, so silently and deadly.

What if…

What if she has something to do with it?

Mike, meanwhile, keeps an ear out for anything that may be rustling in the bushes and he urges his friend to shut up.

“I’m just saying, does that seem smart to you?”

“Dustin, shut up,” you say this time through gritted teeth.

A branch snaps nearby and you spin in the direction of the noise, flashlight illuminating the space of the would-be-culprit who made said noise.

“Do you guys hear that?” Mike asks, outstretching his arms in front of the two boys to stop them from walking. You take your place next to Mike to keep them behind you.

A thunder clap and another crack and snap of leaves has you all spinning around again. This time, you’re met face to face with a child. It’s not Will, however - it’s a little girl.

She’s shivering from the rain, doe eyes wide and large in fear like a fawn, large yellow t-shirt practically weighing down her thin frame and she almost has no hair.

You’re not sure why the woods is a place of choice to be lingering tonight, but when you notice the t-shirt she’s wearing is from none other than Benny’s Burgers, that tells you everything you need to know.

She was running, too.

~~~

➢ next part coming soon-ish

[baddiewiththebook]

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 10

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

-> <-

August 1983

Night falls onto Hawkins. The street lamps flicker on. A hopeful Eddie sits amongst the clutter of his living room. One of those street lamps illuminate the Forest Hills Trailer park just enough to cast shadow across each of the tiny trailers littered across the property. Your trailer is the only one of interest to Eddie.

The trailer has been quiet almost all day. In the morning, Eddie recalls Robin’s mother picking you up. There’s no clue what the two of you get up too when you’re together. Shopping. Chatting. Drinking coffee. Coffee is just about as bitter as Eddie feels right about now.

You must have come home for a moment when Eddie wasn’t watching your house, just to take your mom's car out for a joyride. That couldn’t have come off any creepier. Eddie doesn’t normally watch your house. He just waits for the opportunity to come by, since Gareth has already rejected the suggestions that he’s called him about earlier. He won’t say, but Gareth is busy this evening.

Jeff’s line goes straight to his answering machine, so he sighed loudly into the phone and hung up. Hopefully, Jeff hears the message before his mom does. She’ll cry that someone is out to get her. If only she would put away the fiction that these newspapers are printing these days. The Devil hasn’t touched Hawkins, and nor does he exist.

It becomes clear to Eddie that you are also busy this evening. What are you up too? Your mom’s car is gone, so either she has come home quietly for once or you’ve taken the car. Taking lessons from Eddie has boldened your actions. If the cops were to catch you, you would be thrown a heavy fine. The cops don’t pay much attention unless you’re a Munson, it seems.

Eddie kicks a couple empty soda cans trying to plant his feet on the coffee table. It doesn’t bother him any. The remote for the television is just out of his reach, despite having longer limbs. Something he got from his father, Wayne would say. There are a lot of similarities between the two men that Eddie avoids breaking down.

Al Munson is a waste of oxygen. The bastard can’t even be bothered to give him a phone call. He can’t blame Eddie either. Eddie doesn’t have his number. Hell, he doesn’t even know where Al is. Maybe he’ll visit his mom’s grave. Yeah, he found out she’s taking a dirt nap a few months back. It surprised him that this news doesn’t affect him as much. Maybe she should have tried showing up for a birthday.

Eddie dwells until he becomes apart of the living room furniture. The dimness of the room helps rock him into a meditative state. Although, his eyes draw to the parted curtain that he can peak through to see if you’ve come home yet.

The trailer is still dark.

Lights begin to flood the trailer park, and the familiar crunch of gravel has Eddie’s ears perked up. You could be home.

It is not you.

Uncle Wayne is home from a day at the plant. This would be a short visit. He has plans with his coworker, who stays in his car to keep the engine warm.

Ugh.

Eddie sinks back into position on the living room couch. A metal spring prods him in the rear.

Wayne stomps up the front steps of the home, before jangling his key in the lock. His nephew surprises him on the couch. The home is dark enough to be empty. Yet, Eddie sits unsettled amongst the dirt of the living room. Damn. He could have at least cleaned up.

“What are you doing, son?” Wayne begins to shred his work boots to trade them for something less filthy.

“My friends have abandoned me,” Eddie says through a haze of smoke from the joint he had earlier.

Wayne has never reprimanded Eddie for smoking weed in the home because every once in a while Wayne too needs to relax. It’s an unspoken rule between the men to never speak about weed. As long as Wayne doesn’t catch Eddie with a joint, he can ignore the smell, then Eddie is free to do as he pleases. It doesn’t cause him too many problems, and that’s all that matters.

However, if Wayne has the cops at his door for something Eddie has done at two in the morning, Wayne will rain hellfire on the tiny trailer home. Eddie will not become his father.

The theatrics have become normal to Wayne, so when the boy throws his gangly limbs across all parts of the couch, he snorts. You must have plans.

Eddie doesn’t have much of a brain when it comes to you. The thoughts are crumbled into a pile of mush. If he’s not careful, Eddie’s tongue might drop from between his lips. When he starts panting, Wayne will have cause for concern.

“You’re never home on a Saturday,” Wayne points out.

“I have nothing to do,” he sighs.

His uncle mutters, “so you’re sitting in the dark?”

“Are you going senile on me, old man?” Eddie lifts his head.

“Watch it, boy,” uncle Wayne points a thick finger at him. “I’m heading out. Long day at the plant. Er- clean something. Would you?”

Eddie groans.

“Love you too,” Wayne stacks a ball cap over his head, before leaving his nephew. There’s no way that he’ll actually clean. But, Wayne tries.

It’s his boredom that Eddie does get up, and he does begin to wipe the coffee table of beer cans, soda cans and old cups that never made their way to the sink. He doesn’t enjoy living in a pigsty, but the maid is away on a vacation. Chuckling to himself, Eddie finds the letter from his school that he’s been hiding from Wayne. Granted, underneath a stack of other mail isn’t the best hiding spot. Eddie was in a rush when he saw the blasted letter. It had come flat and obscene. Bold red lettering spells out ‘IMPORTANT’ then follows ‘To the Guardian of Eddie Munson,’ as if they don’t know Wayne Munson by now. Everyone knows the soiled Munson name.

Honestly the town humors him. Even pretending to have an ounce of care for Eddie is laughable. They just want to bend his mind into something socially acceptable. The long hours behind a school desk, bouncing from classroom to classroom has left Eddie enough time to think. If he ends up behind a corporate desk, twiddling his thumbs as the hours creep by and worrying that his typing speed will get him the boot from tight wad boss, Eddie might just loose his mind.

This year he might not graduate. It’s too soon to tell, but his teachers all give him the gray stare. Eddie’s dad brought an estranged relationship to the halls of Hawkins High School when he attended. All of the Munson’s to follow would be the least impressive to them. Lucky for Eddie, he’s the only burden that Hawkins will ever have to deal with. Well, unless his dad was able to charm himself into another woman’s pants and she produces another Munson. That’s one step closer to world domination.

There is a knock coming from the front door leading Eddie to believe that Wayne has forgotten his keys. He arms himself with a crass joke about Wayne’s age. When he swings the door open, however, Eddie finds his friend Jeff bouncing at his heels about something.

“What’s up?”

Jeff allows himself into the trailer knowing that Eddie doesn’t mind hosting. After all, he’s come all this way just to be told to go home? Please!

“You got food?” Jeff beelines for the kitchen. He doesn’t have to open the fridge to know it’s empty. Neither Eddie nor his uncle are famous for their cooking. No, he opens the freezer where there are stacks upon stacks of frozen meals. It begins to get a bit sad to Jeff that Eddie hardly gets the chance to sit down to a warm family meal.

That’s the privilege his own family holds. Mom works a nine to five at a beauty salon, and dad delivers papers. They hardly get a moment to see each other, but when they do the family is exactly what you see on television. Well, maybe not exactly. Hey! That’s what he gets for being Black in America.

“Turkey dinner,” Jeff finds the meal he wants, and before turning on the microwave he calls to Eddie, “roll up a joint! Turn on the tv!”

Eddie only lets Jeff boss him around because he’s inside the home. There’s no need to rip his head off. Or, maybe Eddie likes that Jeff is so comfortable in his little shack. They’ve only known each other for a few years. Shorter than Gareth. He still has to tell Gareth that it’s alright to poke around for food, or that there are extra blankets in the cubby down the hall.

“I’m gonna use your bathroom,” Jeff turns the corner. “That one in the microwave is for you. I know you ain’t eat. I’ll warm up another one for me.”

This makes Eddie roll his eyes. But, his stomach disagrees. The fact is Eddie hasn’t eaten much today. If not for watching your house, Eddie might have paid more attention to his own surroundings.

Eddie pops in a movie that he’s seen a dozen and a half times. It’s a comedy. That pairs well with how high they are about to be within the hour.

The faucet switches on in the bathroom, and Eddie has perfected a joint for them to share. He races to the kitchen to pull out the dinner in the microwave. Hissing as the tips of his fingers sear across the tin dish. You’d think he’d know better by how many of these things he’s eaten in his past seventeen years of living, but Eddie would be one to burn his fingers off.

Eddie does slide in another frozen meal after he takes the one that Jeff has warmed for himself.

By the time he makes rounds back to the couch, Jeff has taken a lighter to the joint. A cloud of thick gray smoke passes through the air. The joint is handed to Eddie.

“Any word from Gareth? He’s missing a great night,” Eddie half jokes.

Jeff shakes his head, “I called the house, but his mom says that he’s on a date.”

“A date?” Eddie scrunches his nose in thinking. “He told me he was busy.”

“Yeah, on a date.”

“He lied to me?” He didn’t know whether he should feel hurt, angry or maybe a bit of pride. To lie to Eddie is the greatest sin.

“Who cares? Pass that to me,” Jeff says with an open palm.

For the sass, Eddie takes a second hit. The weed will make him forget this conversation even happened. But, while he can plant his two feet on earth.

“‘s busy too,” he throws your name in the ring, “you don’t think they. . .?”

Jeff tilts his head at Eddie. Indeed, your home is quiet for a Saturday. Even Jeff knows you favor Saturday’s for their potential. You like reading as many books as you can get your hands on. Saturday’s are prime real estate for book reading according to you.

The idea has crossed his mind. How Gareth has been acting towards you? You haven’t exactly shot him down. Since coming home from the camping trip this summer, you’ve been much quieter, whether during band rehearsals or whenever the guys get together. You have a misty glow about you too. It’s possible, but- would you really go as far as to date Gareth?

Something blasts on television. The characters are swarming each other in clouds of dust, and ridiculous plots. Jeff and Eddie throw themselves back in a fit of laughs. The plant they’ve been sucking on begins to coat their skin, and bathe in their blood. They’ve forgotten their conversation, and everything becomes quite silly just then.

-> <-

A bowling ally to you, always meant spending a fair time with your mother. She taught you how to hold the ball in your little fingers, and she helped guide you down the right lane. You could feel how cherry your cheeks would get when you knocked even one pin down. Success! Now, years later, the same nostalgia washes over you. Even though you don’t have your mother to play with anymore, you find a new companion in Gareth. He’s much handsomer than your mother too.

When you came back from the camping trip, you couldn’t stop your mind from racing about him. It’s silly to have such a school girl crush on the one person you thought despised you. He admitted to his jealously over the phone one night, and asked if you wanted to go bowling with him the following weekend.

You’ve now forgotten about the tornado that zipped through your room tonight. The perfect outfit couldn’t be described, nor could it be found. Although, Gareth disagrees. You’ve never looked more beautiful to him.

Gareth holds his breath as you throw your last ball down the lane. If you hit both pins down now, you win the round. Clack! The pins scrape the lane.

The dance you do at the end of the lane warms Gareth’s heart like hot chocolate in the winter. You spin around gleefully.

“Great game,” he says.

Your stomach growls, “pizza break?”

The pizza parlor is just a step off the bowling lanes. Crowds are thick at this time, and Gareth slots his hand into yours to keep from losing you. Hopefully, he misses how pink you’ve gone. He doesn’t.

Gareth orders your favorite slice of pizza, but not without a rebuttal of how plain a cheese slice of pizza can be. You disagree. There’s something soothing about eating just the cheese and the bread. Especially, if they’ve seasoned the crust right.

To be honest, the pizza isn’t even warm. Gareth can read that on your face the moment you take your first bite. Then, he suggests you head somewhere different for dinner that isn’t this cheap pizza crap. You convince him that it’s perfectly fine - not wanting to spend money neither of you have. Just getting into the bowling alley alone is expensive. The dollars ran you each six bucks that Gareth happily forked over. You’re priceless.

This might be the first date, but Gareth already wants the dates to continue. If you’ll have him. You spend the evening getting to know each other a bit better, while avoiding the family question. Gareth is the only child between his mother and his absent father. Unlike you and your father, Gareth regularly visits his in Indianapolis. Gareth’s mother and father split on the difference of opinions about where to live. She wanted to be in a small town, and he didn’t want to leave his corporate position.

“Two Christmases,” Gareth lightens the mood.

You snicker, even though you hardly get one Christmas. Would your mom even be home this year? It may be another Christmas spent with the Munson’s. Last year, Wayne brought you over since your mom was passed out on the couch and had completely forgotten the holiday. You shared laughs over a roast that Wayne worked extra hours for. It was one of the best holidays in years.

“I’m really into journaling,” you tell Gareth when he asks about what you want to do with your life. Honestly, the thought has crossed your mind. Nothing creases your brows more than when you have a pen and a piece of paper between your fingers.

Gareth finishes off a bite of his last slice, wipes his hands on a napkin and then asks, “is that why you’re always nose deep in those diary looking things?”

You flush. It’s true. Wherever you are - school or home - you always carry around a notebook to jot down - well, anything. Although, you didn’t know you had been so obvious about it. Humans are so interesting in their average life. Do we ever really stop to think about what we are doing? The emotions that we have? You’re quick to jot this moment in your head to put on paper later.

“No one has ever asked about my writing before,” you smile at this, “but, it’s all silly. I don’t know if any of it’s important.”

“I’d love to read them someday,” he offers.

“It’s not done yet,” you shy.

Gareth nods understandingly, “when it’s finished.”

Gareth knows that Eddie is fond of getting those journals for you to write in. The exchange is polite and friendly. Some of them are more colorful and more loud than others. They come in all colors. Gareth can see when you’re getting close to being done with them when the pages gain weight with the ink from your pen. He’s always been curious to read between the lines if the written word wasn’t so private.

The end to your writing has yet to fall into your lap. Pieces of the puzzle you’ve begun can’t seem to fall directly into place. It will take years for you to sort through just the corner pieces. The center is what really matters. It’s the glue that holds the story together. The pages open to your inner most deep thoughts. You’ve hardly begun to untangle the web that lives inside your brain.

Life might be much easier for you if you could reach between your ears to prod at the sticky flesh that your brain has to offer. Along the muscle, you might find the words that you’re desperately trying to say. That goes the same for paper, and for real life.

Anxieties creep against your spine about the future. You won’t let them rattle you for long. The boy in front of you distracts these thoughts from surfacing when he dashes his fingers across the back ridges along your hand. Your face softens, though you’re not sure when it got so stiff.

Gareth can read you well. Something he’s picked up on over the years. Your face gets so tight in the middle. Even your nose gets scrunched when you’re overthinking. To distract you, Gareth doesn’t want to scare you by word of mouth. He’s much gentler to you. He cares for you. Already, you’ve made a mark on him that no other blonde, brunette or - well - anyone could. You’ve known each other for so long, yet this past summer Gareth has really opened his eyes.

The way you smell captivates him. He’s entranced by the way that vanilla could become so intricate and intimate along your skin. You’ve certainly sprayed yourself with just enough perfume before you met him here tonight. Not only this, but you’ve freshly washed. The skin on your hands is still soft and plush. Your bracelet jangles against the surface of the table. When it does, you adjust the heart charm facing the ceiling, so to not interfere on your date.

Date. Gareth could have done summersaults when you agreed to tonight. It won’t be something he admits to you, but he did a few laps in his living room. His mom caught him. Surely something that will be brought up in the future.

The date continues. Eventually, the slices of pizza disappear leaving only sad crumpled plates. Gareth folds his in half, before throwing his and yours away. Another round of bowling follows.

“I want a rematch!” Gareth declares in a teasing and a joking sort of tone.

You play along, and challenge, “I can’t wait to kick your ass twice!”

“Bring it on!”

This round is different. Gareth has his eye locked on first prize. The technique he uses to swing the ball back is focused and precise. You want to ask if he’s ever bowled on a team. But, soon you’re up. Maybe you’re out of your element. Perhaps you quicken your shot, just so you can watch the way Gareth moves during his turn. The muscles in his arm strain and flex in his swing. When did he get those?

You have to pull away, and start thinking with your head.

The score is set. Either knock these pins down and win, or- Clang! Crash! Bang! You droop your head in defeat. Gareth has taken the win!

“Woohoo!” Gareth victory laps in front of the lane. The dance is a bit corny and embarrassing, but he likes to see the look on your face. Twisting your false frown into a congratulatory smile, you can’t help but join him.

Gareth slows down when you get close to gun. The faint Italian seasoning still bites your taste buds from the pizza you had earlier. Hot breath hits his lips. He initiates a kiss.

Your hands find the zipper of his open sweater on either side. Pulling him closer, he stumbles before finding perchase at your hips. You couldn’t stay there for long too engrossed in each other. A round of hollers break the moment. They’re some of the jerky popular kids from school.

Their hollers are sarcastic and mean.

Gareth doesn’t want to let them spoil the night, so he holds onto your hand before squeezing his way through the crowd. There is also an arcade buried in the bowling alley. Somewhere just the left of the mediocre cafeteria.

The arcade is much less popular - surprising. As soon as you step to the first machine, you understand why.

“It needs quarters,” you tap the buttons.

Gareth ransacks his wallet, “I’ll be right back.”

Gareth zips off to the half-alert teen behind the register where they got the pizza from. You wait patiently observing. The way Gareth tips his head to him, and accepts the change. He even passes a genuine ‘thank you’ that sits just right inside your head as a lasting memory of why you like him.

The arcade games are quite fun. You’re not good at any of them. Gareth says with practice you could be a real pro.

“Is that your way of telling me there is a second date,” you guide yourself deeper and deeper through the maze. This is your second attempt at Dragon’s Lair. One of Gareth’s favorites - go figure.

Gareth points to the screen, “watch out!”

The knight you play as becomes quickly squashed and buried by a thick layer of stone. He’s not going to make it out of that one with a few stitches.

Gareth shares a hearty laugh with you that warms you up. He surprises you by pressing a kiss to your cheek, and then following this by whispering your ear.

“A second date would be nice.”

You blush, “we haven’t finished the first one.”

Gareth hums. “I know. And, I miss you already.”

When he reaches back into his pocket, he comes to find that you’re all out of quarters. The night has been more than fun than any night before. Your cheeks burn from the smile that couldn’t be swiped off your face.

As you leave the building, hand in hand, Gareth tilts the watch band on his wrist. The time reads exactly nine in the evening. You’re supposed to be home soon.

“I had fun tonight,” he kicks the ground of it’s loose gravel.

You nod in agreement, “I did too. Thank you for this. And, I’ll call you.”

Tonight, you had brought your mom’s station wagon. You want to offer Gareth a ride, but he insists his mom will pick him up shortly. Saying this has Gareth going pink in the face. As soon as he can, he will learn to drive. He likes the image of him behind the wheel, while you sit comfortably in the passenger seat.

Before his mom can pull up to the bowling alley to embarrass him through and through, Gareth presses one more kiss to your lips. Your hands reach for the back of his head, just slightly. The pair break off in time for a familiar face to show up this evening.

Out of anyone this evening, neither of you wanted to be drilled and questioned by your shared friend Eddie Munson. The man who could squash Gareth under his thumb like a bug. You didn’t want to hide your blossoming relationship with Gareth from him. You just wanted time to yourself. There isn’t anything to talk about yet. Although, you could give Robin a call tonight and chat her ear off about how much of a gentleman Gareth has been. She is of the belief that this might become a bad idea because to her neither of you have anything in common. Nonetheless, she’s supportive of your experiments.

Anyway, the man you find yourself running into is probably the second worse case scenario because he could easily let it slip that he’s seen you at the bowling alley. Eddie’s uncle Wayne stops his conversation with his coworker John. The men were sharing work stories when he spots you making eyes at the boy next to you.

Ah, he remembers date nights well. Wayne could prattle on about the times he took out fare Rosie Davis in his younger days. They went to hot spots like the bowling alley too, or the diner. He couldn’t call her the one that got away though. That spot remains for dear Cloudy. Ah, Cloudy. Of course, he will spare the details. The woman was like a dream to him - she still reaches parts of his memory that he loves to pry out every once in a while.

Wayne pulls back a bit when he recognizes Eddie’s friend Gareth standing beside you. The two are usually together on Saturdays, which makes more sense as to why his young nephew is taking over his living room in the dark. Had he known you were out . . . together? Bah! None of his buisness. You kids are hard to keep track of these days.

“Well,” Wayne acknowledges, “good evening, you two.”

You fumble nervously, “hi, Wayne.”

Gareth flicks his wrist to wave hello. “Hey, Wayne.”

“Oh, John,” Wayne politely introduces the man. “These are a couple of Eddie’s friends.”

“Nice to meet you!” The man beside him is Wayne’s age. He has a hat perched askew atop of his head to hide the balding patch missing of course curly hair that’s throwing off his age. It’s not doing its job, but that’s not for you to point out.

Wayne flicks his gaze to the bowling alley, “it’s crowded in there tonight?”

“It is,” the parking lot is nearly full, and people are starting to park on the street.

This causes the man to lift his eyebrow, and dips his head to your height. A flimsy smile rests on his face.

“It’s probably so crowded that I’ve forgotten the faces I’ve seen tonight, hm?”

Wayne already has the clue by the stiffness of your back that Eddie probably has no idea that you’re here tonight. Especially, that you’re together. He’s getting old, but he’s not any stupider now than he was yesterday. Besides, there may be a day that you will return the favor to him. Not that he expects you too.

Your faces twist into something of gratitude.

“Have a good evening, you two,” Wayne turns to John, and with a pat on his back they walk into the bowling alley.

Gareth sighs, “that was close.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “Well, bye Gareth.”

“Bye,” he waves.

Just as you step off the curb to make your way through the parking lot, a blue sedan pulls in beside you carefully. The window rolls down, and Gareth’s mom shouts to you.

“You look so pretty tonight!”

You turn on your heel, “thank you, Miss Jones.”

Gareth’s worst nightmare has come true. His mom’s best trait has become his worst enemy. She does well at her job where her spunk and toothy grin do her well amongst her coworkers. Even people she sees on the street, she’ll make new friends in mere moments. While he adores her theatrics, he does wish she could know when to pipe down.

“Did you kids have fun tonight?” She whips her head back and forth between her son slotting into the front seat of her car, and you dancing on your heels and toes in the parking lot. “Oh! You should come by tomorrow. We’re making ziti! Ever heard of it? I was watching the television. I love my cooking television shows. I learn so much. Anyway, this lady says something about her Italian dog - or maybe it was her grandma - no, it had to be her grandma. Dogs can’t cook,” she only pauses to belt out a loud and nasally sort of laugh. “Can you imagine? The hysteria!”

If anything, Gareth was trying to spare you the ongoing rambles that his mother could go through. The woman didn’t have an off button. When he told her that he could use a ride to the bowling alley, she was extremely ecstatic to be having a mother and son night out. He disclosed that he would be meeting a friend there, and she responded with a suggestive ‘oh!’ The questions began. She asks if you’re a girl, then asks if you’re pretty. Hell, by the end of the conversation you and he were already married and making her grandchildren.

The woman is colorful to say the least.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, sweetie!” Gareth didn’t listen in very closely, but by the sounds of it, you’re coming over tomorrow.

Gareth couldn’t be more thrilled that his mom hasn’t scared you off.

You wave one more time, before taking off towards your car that’s parked just a few spots away from the front of the bowling alley.

“I’ll have to find those photo albums,” she mutters to herself.

“Mom,” Gareth whines, “no!”

“What? I can’t show your girlfriend how cute you were as a baby? This is going to be so much fun!” She taps the steering wheel in front of her, then coos. “My baby has a girlfriend!”

“We’ve been on one date!”

“She’s going to look gorgeous in white one day, don’t you think? Is she more of an ivory or a cream? I’m just so excited!”

-> <-

[Sep 1983]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @jesuisbuginette @starrywhitenight @meetmeatyourworst @munsonburn3r @5tud10-54r4h @pvdulmol @loveryanax @am0iur @naatggeo

[skyeeuphixia2]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙷𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙴𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠

'The Vanishing of Will Byers'

...

November 6th, 1983

Hawkins, Indiana

...

The low sound of Blondie's 'One way or another' quietly fills her room, hardly audibly over the soft strumming of her guitar. Y/n was led back casually on her bed, her well-worn instrument in her arms as she focused on the song quietly playing, attempting to learn it by ear. She would have the music louder, it would be a lot easier for her to learn it that way, but after three noise complaints that week from neighbors, she wasn't eager to push her luck.

Right as she was getting the hang of it, she heard shouting from outside her bedroom window.

"I'm gonna kill you!"

She chuckles, setting the guitar to the side, pushing herself off her bed, and going to the front door, opening it just in time to see Will Byers speeding past the house.

"I'll take your X-men 134, Goodnight Y/n!" He shouts, a triumphant little grin on his face as he disappears down the street.

"See ya, say hi to your brother for me!" She shouts after the boy, amusement dancing in her voice. A few seconds later, her younger brother slowly rolled to a stop in front of the house, staring after his friend, panting slightly.

"Son of a Bitch," he muttered under his breath.

Y/n, who had been watching the whole thing with her arms crossed, leaning on the doorframe, a knowing smirk on her face, "Bet another comic?"

"What do you think?" He grumbled as he dragged his bike over to the garage.

"You gotta stop starting races when your opponents are already in front of you, now in you come, leftovers in the microwave, just gotta heat it up," She says, ruffling his hair playfully as he passed her into the house.

"Yeah yeah," he grumbles, but he couldn't stop the small smile that was tugging at his lips.

"So," She says, sitting across from Dustin once he had heated the pasta Y/n had made earlier, sitting down to eat it, resting her chin on her hand, "how was the campaign, it had to be at least 8 hours this time,"

"Ten!" He corrects, through a mouthful of pasta.

"Impressive, so how was it?"

"It was all going really well until the Demogorgon got Will,"

"Why didn't he just cast protection?" she asks, shrugging her shoulders in question as if it was the most obvious choice to make.

"Thank you!" Dustin says, throwing his hands in the air, "That's exactly what I said to do but he went- this is so good -but he went with Lucas' idea to cast fireball instead!"

"Stupid move," she shrugs, shaking her head.

Dustin's eyes squinted at her wrist as he took another bite, "where'd you get that?"

He asked, looking at the simple gold bracelet on her right wrist, his voice slightly muffled by his full mouth.

"First of all, gross, second I bought it the other day,"

"With what money?"

"Money I got from babysitting Will two weeks back and Lucas 3 days ago, cause I, unlike you, save my money, maybe you should have considered doing it before betting away your comics," She quipped back, taking his plate when it was empty, and putting it in the sink.

Y/n had been the official babysitter for the 4 boys since she was 13, well technically not Mikes cause Nancy could babysit him, but Nancy would always invite Y/n over when she was babysitting and she often ended up being the one to entertain Mike, so she was essentially Mikes babysitter.

"Now, bed, it's a school night," she says pointing down the hall to his room.

Dustin trudged his way to his room, not without grumbles and protests, but he knew his older sister was right. "Night,"

"Night Dust," she smiled. She pulled him into a quick hug, which he gladly accepted, before they headed to their rooms, the quiet hum of Blonide's song still lingering in the air.

...

Full Chapter coming soon...