#stranger things wip

[hippielittlemetalhead]

So... I lied about getting a full fix-it to This → Part 1. Y'all get parts focusing on different characters for now as Hop traverses his guilt trip. I won't say it gets worse before it gets better but... kinda in places? I promise it's a happy ending though!!

What do you want from me I'm stressed and depressed and I like making my blorbos suffer (a.k.a projecting my trauma instead of doing the healthy shit my shrink tells me to)

You've been warned... But I do hope you like it.

So here we have Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce Edition)

He goes to Joyce about it first. Thinks about her gentle herding of the trio that has become the Hopper-Byers brood. Thinks about how she put everything he was feeling about Mike and El and their giggling and the fucking door into words that kept him from looking like an imbecile (if he'd have ever used them instead of fucking it up 'winging it'). Thinks about the way her voice stays soft and kind of quiet even when she's spitting in his face about listening to her (and every time she's been right) and how that's translated to talking down government goons and wrangling the army of children that seems to get bigger each time they have to fight interdimensional terrors. So he goes to Joyce about what Murray said, the noise Steve made with That Look in his eyes and his bandages peeking out from under a shirt that looks like one of the Henleys he's been missing since coming 'back from the dead' and they dug out his clothes from storage. (El wouldn't let her throw anything out, not until she was ready to say goodbye. Thank whatever god[s] there may be she never needed to)

He doesn't expect Joyce to make a face like he suggested inviting Owens to family dinner. He doesn't expect the scoff and eye roll as her shoulders tense and her hands flex at her sides like she's about to let loose her (honestly really attractive) righteous fury. About the Harrington kid.

Maybe he should have asked when the kids weren't home. Before El quietly told them the bullying wasn't as bad as it was in California but some people still made fun of how she spoke and how all of her friends were boys (and just as quietly asked they not do anything. Asked that they let her and The Party handle it until they couldn't). Before Will came home sulking about something idiotic Mike said or did or something the kid missed (though lately the latest Wheeler mistake is followed by bashful mention of the Emerson kid doing something specifically to make Will feel better in the moment). Before Jonathan came home from 'job hunting' or 'volunteering at the school's relief center' reeking of weed and his long-haired friend in tow (less than usual but still enough to make Joyce feel guilty for missing it for so long, for making the boy grow up so fast that he spends his days out of his mind instead of the weekend bender like when they were kids). Before The Party had come by with what homework the school was still giving out and talking over each other about all the latest small-town gossip a teenager can get their hands on (Eddie's name has been cleared but he's still laid up at the hospital. Susan Mayfield has been noticeably absent according to every nosy housewife in Hawkins considering her daughter is in a coma. The Hagans, Carvers, Perkins and a handful of other 'well to do' families have skipped town taking most of the sports population with them. Steve has been letting people displaced by the damage crash at the Harrington mansion. Steve has kept up hours at Family Video somehow and is a regular volunteer at the various relief centers in town. Steve has been giving all of them rides and may have told Dustin he's thinking of trading in the Beemer for a bigger vehicle for all the kids and people he chauffeurs about. Steve keeps a room empty and waiting for when Max wakes up before her mother makes an appearance. Steve. Steve. Steve.)

He doesn't expect the way she spits his name like she's talking about Dick and Margaret under the bleachers over a smoke before the yard teacher catches them. The rant about bullies and broken cameras and trashed kitchens and dead monsters in her fridge. The crack in her voice when she crosses her arms to stop their shaking as she lays sin upon sin at this boy's feet.

And maybe before that would have been enough.

He doesn't expect the stone in his stomach or the burning in his chest as he looks the woman he loves in the eye and says "So I guess we should tell Nancy to break up with Jonathan before he pulls a Lonnie, huh?" It's a low blow. He knows from the hurt anger on her face and on the purse of her lips. He knows that's why he said it. "That kid is lucky to be alive let alone walking and have we ever even thanked him for keeping the fucking kids alive each time they pull their dumb shit when the world goes to hell? Does that sound like anything his folks would have ever done for us? Hell for their own fucking kid they practically signed over to ME of all people?"

He's shaking now too and Joyce has her hands fluttering between them like she wants to reach out. To touch, comfort. Pull him close and tell him to take a breath.

"He called me 'His Hop', Joyce" He barely has enough breath on him to squeeze the words past his tight throat. "Called me His Hop and watched Ellie and the kids when I just couldn't and you were at work. I don't think I've seen his folks in town since the mall was opened and all the donors had that big party. Don't think I've spoken to them since '83 and they made me the kid's guardian when they aren't around cause they didn't want to fly down for a government sized concussion."

By now he knows El and Will are peeking around the corner, their eyes wide and worried. Jonathan has his door cracked and Angus (is that the hippie's name? He can't remember) is whispering something about heavy auras. Joyce is staring somewhere off in the distance, wringing her hands and biting her lips like she's facing an interdimensional portal shaped problem.

"The kids are planning to have one of their games in a few days." Her voice is brittle in a way he's not used to anymore. Not since she pulled her youngest out of hell and faced down a demon clawing through her walls. "He always drives them over and- and disappears until they need to head home. I can make sure he stays for dinner. Like the rest of the kids. I know Claudia has been having him over so I- I can get some recipes from her that he likes."

Something in his shoulders shakes loose and he reaches out to pull her practically shaking from into his chest.

"I don't know what to say to him Hop. He's not Mike and he's not like either of my boys. In my head he's just always been..."

"Dick and Margaret's brat." He sighs out and rests his cheek on the top of her head as she nods and presses herself in closer.

He's aware of eyes on them. Confused and worried and judgemental and he'll pay that piper next. These kids taught him how to be a dad again once, they can do it again, right?

Part 3

Part 4.1

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth

Part 4.2

Part 5

If I missed you in the tag list I'm sorry I tried 🙃🫡 Tell me what you think? 🫣🥲

[miwiromantics]

A little byler wip (yes, I’m watching superstore)

[andy4yippee]

Byler sketch for #bylerweek2024 day 2 🤍

[bifuriouswaterbender]

WIP WEEKEND

I'm officially on break! It's time to crack down on my Steddie Winter Exchange and any other writing that seems appropriate for the moment!

The Rules:

In a reblog (or a new post w/ rules attached) post file names of your wips. Not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you send one to me, I'll automatically look to send one back if you have a post!

The WIPs:

Steddie Winter Exchange - Secret, secret, but I'll post something else after writing it! This is Priority #1 for me right now.

Merman Eddie (Eddie Munson Big Bang) - I can post for it now!

Spotify Wrapped 2024 - (prompt info here)

Supernatural Drabble

He's All That Ch 10

Snippet:

I'm cheating and not putting one because my only writing has been on the Steddie Winter Exchange, but I will following through on posting for something else if you send me this one!

[dangerous-disposition]

here i have found some peace of mind [WIP snippet]

So bc I'm waiting until I have more of the fic actually COMPLETED before I start posting, I'm gonna... keep sharing snippets that I rly like and am really excited for y'all to see. a lot of these scenes will likely change and get longer, and some scenes i share might get axed, who knows? ANYWAY here's some Eddie POV from my modern rockstar!Eddie/housing coordinator!Steve AU!!!

“Dude, is that Chrissy’s phone?”

Eddie jumped and looked up at Jeff with wide eyes. Jeff was standing in the doorway of the “bedroom” of the tour bus. For a moment, Eddie was struck with the idea to eat the phone to hide it which he put a stop to immediately.

“Maybe,” Eddie said elusively, rolling so he was laying more on his side rather than on his stomach.

“You know she’s literally about to have an aneurysm out there trying to find that, right?” Jeff asked with a snort before he climbed up into his bunk across the small hall between bunks.

“At this point, if she hasn’t figured out that I have her phone one hundred percent of the time she can’t find it, that's on her,” Eddie said haughtily, going back to the game of Sudoku he was struggling with before Steve called.

“Maybe you should stop losing your phones, yeah?” Jeff suggested tiredly, throwing his arm over his eyes.

Eddie pouted at the puzzle. “I didn’t lose my phone,” he grumbled, and Jeff snorted.

“Okay, fine, maybe you should stop completely destroying your phones, plural,” he said, and Eddie felt his ears heat up.

It wasn’t his fault that they made phones more and more fragile while also making them too big to fit in his pockets. It’s also not his fault that he was prone to jumping up onto surfaces he shouldn’t be climbing around on and horsing around. He had a diagnosis for that and a prescription and everything, he was honestly doing his best.

Maybe goofing off on the half-wall overlooking the Grand Canyon while wearing his tightest pair of jeans with the least effective pockets last week wasn’t the best decision, but it wasn’t his fault.

The time before that, he was just trying to get a signal while they drove through the boonies. It wasn’t his fault that the bus driver hit a pothole the second Eddie held his phone close to the open window. It truly actually wasn’t.

And before that, he actually just lost his phone. Eddie was positive he had it in his bag, and then when they got to the next venue, it wasn’t there. That happens to the best of people all the time, right?

According to his band mates, no, that didn’t happen to people all the time, but he was pretty sure they were all just conspiring to make him look like a weirdo.

“Whatever, the point is Chrissy knows I always have her phone when she can’t find it. Her freaking out is just silly,” Eddie said with a sniff, glaring down at the Sudoku puzzle he was making zero progress with.

“Edward Munson!”

Jeff peered over the edge of his bunk to smirk at Eddie’s wide-eyed stare. “Uh oh,” he teased as Chrissy stormed into the room.

“You!” she practically shrieked, pointing at him as he shoved the phone between his body and the mattress as if she hadn’t already seen it in his hands.

“What?” he asked innocently, and he screamed as she dove into his bunk to wrestle the phone out from under him.

They tussled for a while, Chrissy yelling all sorts of expletives at him that were honestly still a shock coming from her sweet face. She was also a dirty fighter.

“Ow, shit! Did you just bite me?” Eddie hissed, grabbing Chrissy’s whole face and pushing her away as he looked at the distinctly teeth-shaped indents on his arm. They were deep, just barely not breaking skin and would definitely bruise.

Then Chrissy licked his palm like an animal, and he recoiled enough that he rolled off of her phone.

“What the fuck, Cunningham, that’s disgusting,” Eddie said with a glower, wiping his hand off on his shirt as Chrissy checked for new messages. When she didn’t respond, he added suggestively, “you have no idea where my hand has been.”

“I’ve had worse than whatever you’ve got going on in my mouth,” Chrissy muttered. 

Eddie grimaced. “Now I’m thinking about Jason’s dick, thanks for that, Chris,” he groaned, and Chrissy just snorted.

“I was actually talking about that pizza we were subjected to by the venue last week, but okay, bring my ex’s dick into this,” Chrissy said before smacking Eddie’s chest.

“Ow, my nipples,” Eddie pouted, and she just smacked him again, trying not to laugh.

“Stop stealing my phone!” Chrissy bit out through her teeth, trying to intimidate but honestly channeling the energy of a chihuahua puppy.

“I didn’t steal it! I was just using it! Secretly! While you were looking for it!” Eddie said, barely containing his laugh.

“You’re an asshole, you know that? We’re getting you a new phone as soon as we have time,” Chrissy huffed, tossing her phone back onto Eddie’s bed, which he immediately snatched it back up. “Don’t hide it from me.”

“Did you fucking delete all the answers I figured out on this stupid puzzle?” Eddie gasped, looking at Chrissy with wide eyes.

“Maybe I did,” she said huffily, puffing up her chest as she crossed her arms.

“You monster,” Eddie wailed, flopping back and laying the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically.

“Well, maybe you’ll think before you destroy your next phone, huh?” Chrissy said, reaching over to quickly and viciously pinch one of Eddie’s nipples through his shirt. As Eddie yelled, she quickly dove off the bunk with a shrieking giggle and fled the room.

For a moment Eddie tried to chase her, but with all the wrestling they had managed to get his blankets tangled around his legs. Did Eddie only stop trying to chase Chrissy when he ended up in an undignified heap on the floor of the bus? Perhaps, but only Jeff and him would know that for sure.

“You good, Eddie?”

When Eddie looked up to see Jeff’s phone out and clearly recording if the way he was stifling his laughter was anything to go by, Eddie groaned and dropped his forehead to the floor with a loud thump. Of course, Jeff would be recording this whole mess, just like Gareth had recorded the exact moment he realized his phone had fallen into a literal canyon last week. Naturally, all these moments would be edited together for their next “tour diary” on their YouTube channel.

And yes, the incident with Eddie’s phone falling out the window of the moving bus was also caught on video, and the fans had lost it. So yeah, now their tour diaries included an entire section dubbed “Cringefail Eddie” and it was all good fun.

Crawling back into his bunk, Eddie picked up Chrissy’s phone and started the Sudoku puzzle over again with a bright smile on his face. Yeah, stardom was kind of lonely, but he still had his best friends along for the ride with him.

Please consider reblogging if u like it!! And let me know if u want to be added to the taglist for when it goes live. If u wanna be tagged in WIP snippets too!! TAGLIST (of the ppl who seem to like to read my writing even if it's not finished yet pls just let me know if u don't wanna be tagged in all my snippets)!! @patchworkgargoyle, @scarcrossdlvrs, @indigohightide, @steddieas-shegoes, @indigohightide, @amerikanskaya-krassavitsa, @mylilplanet, @afewproblems

[sky-neverending]

heres a little bit from an old draft I wrote! should I continue it?

(tw for brief mentions of domestic violence)

The first time Steve Harrington ran away from home was the night before his thirteenth birthday. It was about an hour to midnight, and he couldn’t sleep. But it wasn’t the normal, excited for the day kind of restlessness like it was for most kids before big celebrations. It was because just down the hall, his parents were engaged in another screaming match. 

He couldn’t tell what they were saying, only that his dad was yelling and his mom was crying and it was so loud that even the pillow he had shoved over his head didn’t drown out the noise. And then there was a slap. And everything was silent. 

Steve pulled himself out of bed, letting his feet call onto the cold hardwood floors as he made his way toward his bedroom door. He wrapped his fingers around the handle and paused, fear rushing through his body as he pulled it open with a small creak that seemed to echo around the whole house. 

His father was in the hall, hand on his belt buckle as he whipped his head around toward the noise. He glared down at Steve, grip tightening around the belt like he was daring him to make the next move. But Steve was frozen, stuck in place as his legs seemed to turn into jello and his ears started pounding and suddenly he was running, sprinting down the stairs and out the front door into the cool air of the night. It was dark, so dark that Steve almost nearly tripped into a car as he made his way down the driveway and onto the smooth road.

And he just started walking. 

He didn’t have a clue where he was going. He just followed his feet, listening for the noise of traffic and praying that he didn’t lead himself into the midst of danger. Not that anyone would care if he died, or got lost, or disappeared into the woods never to be seen again. 

So, he walked. He walked and he walked and he walked, bare feet aching as they made contact with the pavement time and time again. He was wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants to keep him warm, and his skin began to cool as the wind plundered into him, pushing and pulling him across the road he walked on unsteadily. He walked past houses, illuminated only by streetlights and the moon. He walked until he met a crossroads, and then he turned left. Or maybe right. It didn’t matter, and he didn’t care, he just kept walking. Walking and walking and walking down the bumpy paved roads, every piece of gravel lodging its way into his skin. He walked down a long, straight road that he probably would’ve recognized in the light of day, if he wasn’t completely and totally out of it. 

And then there was a light. A dim yellow glow coming from a window. Steve looked around, letting himself come back to reality from the state of pure nothing he had fallen into. He was standing in a trailer park, about a mile from his house. Probably not even. It was eerily quiet, except for the faint sound of voices coming from the lit window, voices that seemed to get louder and closer with each second.

The door of the trailer clattered open, and a boy ran out, his shadow projecting itself across the grass. Steve watched as he ran, speeding across the dirt and toward the woods behind the park until he was out of sight.

Before Steve could even think, he was following him. Trekking quietly across the ground toward the looming trees, squinting through the darkness for any sign of movement. There was nothing he could see, only still shadows that taunted him and sounds that echoed across the pitch black sky. 

“Hello?” He whispered, taking a chance. “Is there someone out here?” 

The stillness of the air seemed to get heavier when he spoke, the faint sound of leaves crunching coming to a halt. 

Steve spoke again, taking a step closer to the edge of the woods. “I can leave, if you want. I just saw you run in here.” 

No one responded. It was quiet, nothing but the whirring of the wind in Steve’s ear. He sighed. Whoever it was that ran into those woods didn’t want to be found. 

But then there was a voice, drifting softly from the thick lines of trees. It was high and broken, like the person behind it was choking back tears as they forced the words out. 

“Don’t leave.” 

So Steve didn’t. He stayed in place, freezing as a patch of shadows started to move. A figure approached him, trudging slowly across the sticks and leaves that littered the floor. 

As the boy got closer, Steve started to make out some features. He didn’t seem to have any hair, and if he did it was buzzed to the scalp. He looked taller than Steve, but just by a little bit, and a large t-shirt hung off his shoulders and down to his mid thigh. 

“Hey.” He muttered, taking another step closer. Steve let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Hi.” He responded back, nerves slipping through him. “Are you okay?” 

The boy scoffed, raising a hand to wipe tears from his eyes. “I’m fine. Just out for a walk.”

“Why are you walking in the middle of the night?” Steve questioned. The boy crossed his arms, shifting his weight to one leg.

“I could ask you the same thing.” He retorted. 

Steve laughed, for a moment, but the boy just stared at him, as if waiting for an answer. He sighed and hung his head as he spoke. “I ran away. From my house. Don’t know how I ended up here.” He explained, shrugging lamely. A hand fell on his shoulder, warm on his bare skin. 

“You got a name, kid?” He asked. Steve nodded. 

“Steve. My name is Steve.”

Even through the darkness, Steve could see the boy's smile, his eyes softening as they gleamed in the moonlight. “Alright, Stevie boy. Let’s get you inside, yeah?”

[butchrobin]

It looks like Hawkins, but it is decidedly not Hawkins. Too empty, too creepy, too cold.

The dreams become frequent soon enough. Every night Mike finds himself walking the very same route, it's almost etched into his brain. Every night he feels that same wrongness envelop him as he moves, quick and unsteady, something shadowing him from behind. Every night he's still too scared, weighed down with dread to look over his shoulder so he walks until he wakes up in a cold sweat. He doesn't tell anyone about his dreams. Even if he knows he probably should. He's been enough of a burden lately as it is, so he keeps his mouth shut. 

That's his first mistake. Not telling them.

His second mistake is straying off the path and looking behind.

wip of a little something i started spontaneously (for day 3 of bylerween — will's s2 possession, but if it was mike instead)

[xirayn]

WIP Wednesday [Whenever]

Send me a name from the snippets below and I will write the share at least three sentances from it.

Like Biting Bats (Very Metal) | Steddie

“School’s out, dickheads,” Steve crows into the mic. Cheers respond, along with a few lifted cups in salute. As he starts to sing, something becomes very clear - The king has returned.

When It's Cold | Stonathan

Steve’s focus drifts out the window to the snow falling through the darkness. He seems to get lost out there among the flakes, considering the question or avoiding it altogether. A hand along his jaw turns his attention back to Jonathan. Their eyes meet. Jonathan’s tongue brings his bottom lip in between his teeth. Steve’s throat works as he swallows. Time slows. The album ends, leaving them in silence. Hesitantly, Jonathan leans in. Steve’s gaze drops to the bow of his lips then flicks back up to dark eyes.

Outlined Omegaverse | Stonathan

Omegas aren't suppose to start suppressants until after their first heat between the ages of fifteen and seventeen. Jonathan started his at thirteen.

From alpha Steve realizing Jonathan isn't a beta in s1 to the consequences to Jonathan missing his suppresant shot in the aftermath of Starcourt.

It's Snowing: Pizzafire Edition | EddiexArglye + Lumax

Argyle presents Eddie with a spoon of sauce. Upon tasting it, Eddie claps and does a circle similar to an excited puppy.

"You sir," he states with smile that lights up his face, making his dark eyes sparkle and the black-threaded scar across his jaw stretch, "are a culinary genius. Is that from those bland ass canned tomatoes in the rations?"

[amitheproblemyes]

Meet you at the Graveyard

Tucked away from prying eyes, far from prodding mysteries and judging parents Nancy sat. Back pressed against a thick tree, bark prickled and dug into her bare shoulders. The itchy and jagged sensation felt numb against the cool evening air. Brown locks curled against her pale cheeks, almost as pale as Robin’s as the much taller girl glanced away. She focused on the almost visible stars while Nancy focused on the withering grass. The two girls sat in echoing silence, dazed in the rising moonlight that covered Roane Hill Cemetery. Sleep deprivation sagged in their sunken eye bags, the weight of something heavy lingering in the back of their minds.

Nancy; a perfect, attentive and responsible young lady. Miss Popularity herself, hunched near rows of graves with a dirtied colourful vest tucked under her legs. A much cleaner denim jacket wrapped itself over her lap, keeping her legs hidden from the frigid cold. She looked tattered and tired; Barb, The Mind Flair, The Russians, Vecna… Barb. Smoke stringed from her fingertips, a half-smoked cigarette expertly fiddled between two thin and calloused fingers. It was almost ironic how tragic she looked.

When had her soft and delicate hands become so broken and bruised, when did her grip become so Iron cold. When was the last time she didn’t need a gun by her side to feel safe. The strength in her eyes faltered as she glanced over to Robin, whose chest pushed against her legs, arms sprawled across her knees only a few feet away from Nancy. The brunette’s lips curled into a thin line; hesitation, regret, and pain swam across her blue eyes.

Robin blinked, flickering her uninterrupted gaze away from rising, or well falling rocks in the sky to look back at Nancy obediently. Robin’s eyes reminded Nancy of Barb’s. The thought gagged her, a pang of guilt beating in her chest as she took another drag of the cigarette. Long and slow, filling her chest with something other than guilt, something easier - smoke muddled the uncertainty. For a few moments she felt calmer, more relaxed as she handed the cigarette over to Robin.

Their fingers brushed against each other as Robin took the not so sustainable substance from Nancy’s hands. The touch held for a second longer than it should have, a worried look in Robin’s peering eyes, a touch of concern and warmth in them. “Nance.” The light brown haired girl whispered, her voice quiet and raspy, the way she called her name was cloaked. Nancy couldn’t help by drag her eyes to lock onto Robin’s, a pleading look in her expression. This was the most constant peace she’d had in days, maybe weeks, maybe even months. Her and Robin had stumbled upon each other in the graveyard, both on seperate missions, both needing a minute to rest. They talked for a bit and then quietly waited, night came and went and so did they. It happened again, and again, and again. Robin always stared at the sky.

Her eyes fixated on the passing of birds, or on a book she’d bring to keep her attention occupied. Nancy stared at the ground, as if waiting for something to grow, or something to break again. Some part of her always predicted tragedy, so she waited. Robin would always get her stars, or clouds, or a bleak sky. Nancy would watch the grass sway and stutter in place but no breaking. It became a routine for them to meet at the graveyard, maybe the two would talk, maybe they wouldn’t.

The comfortable silence comforted her, cradled her, harboured her. The feeling mirrored how she felt when Barb was here. When she felt safe “Nance…” Robin repeated with more desperation, a softer tone almost imitating a whimper.

“Robin.” The name came out firm, cold and still. Nancy forced herself to keep an even gaze on Robin. Nancy watched Robin take a quick puff, she didn’t need it as much as Nancy did, or maybe she did. Maybe it just wasn’t her poison. Nancy didn’t bother to ask, didn’t bother with small talk. It felt empty at this point. With everything they’d been through, not only separately but together, someone could write a godam book about how traumatised they were. Vecna had thoroughly messed her up inside. And with Max in the state she’s in, Nancy felt like she failed. A gnawing sensation of guilt clawed its way back, this time with a vengeance. Robin flicked the ashes onto the ground, an unreadable emotion had flashed across her face when Nancy spoke her name. If she was in her right mind, not so tired and smoke filled, Nancy would’ve spoke slower maybe a bit kinder. “Nance… I’m not her. I’m not Barb.” This time Robin’s face turned away, trying to hide from Nancy’s widening eyes.

“I know.” Now her brain started to buzz with the chill of the air grabbing at her arms and neck. Her cheeks tinted with a rosy pink, she snapped forward as she uttered those two words. Not in anger, not in irritation but in desperation. The same desperation that Robin spoke her name with. The same desperation she spent countless nights awake scouring for any piece of Barb she could find. Robin bit her lip, brows knotting into a scrunched up pained look, dropping the dimming cigarette on the ground as her knee snuffed it out and dug into the grass. Nancy’s eyes watered, her lips continuing to purse into an apathetic line, she watched patiently whilst Robin leaned forward on her knees to close the comfortable distance they had maintained.

Robin’s hand rose to hover near Nancy’s cheek, with one knee planted, kneeling in front of a broken down Nancy Wheeler. Robin was the one who always talked in their friendship, she would prattle on and on about anything and everything. Nancy had grown use to the aimless speaking, had grown to like it even. These silent moments always tricked Nancy, Robin was the bubbly and weirdly knowledgeable book worm who could always correct, annoy and praise her. Robin very lightly caressed a strand of dark brown hair, grazing Nancy’s cold cheek, the heat of her hand bleeding into the other girl. “Do you?” With wisps of almond hued hair falling messily in front of her eyes, Robin muttered the question, like a cry - for her to look at her, to see her for who she was.

Nancy thought that Robin wanted reassurance, that she wasn’t just using her as a replacement for her dead-best friend. It made Nancy flinch, the sudden realisation of everything crashing against her. Barb was dead, her corpse rotting in the hell’s cape that is the upside down. Nancy knew about Robin and Barb, that they used to be friends, that they were close until she met Barb and the dynamic changed. Shakily Nancy sucked in a strangled breath, leaning into Robin’s touch just a bit more. Robin’s hand was somewhat rugged, the handling of weapons had roughed her up just a bit, but she held Nancy’s cheek, so gently Nancy thought Robin might be scared of breaking her further. The crawling guilt subsided along with the smoke that cleared from her lungs. The girl in front of her gave her a tentative look, her gaze full of care and worry.

“I know. Robin. I know you aren’t her.” Something about her felt so safe, so annoyingly easy to be around. The two stayed there for a moment, a long quiet moment with rustling leaves accompanying the moment. And as Robin pulled away, getting ready to leave for the night, to end whatever it was they were even doing here - to cut it short again, Nancy relented. Her eyes fell back onto her lap, a hand loosely holding Robin’s hand. Nancy was silent, and Robin was patient. She didn’t shy away when Nancy’s eyes made their way back up to her, she was shaken but kept her composure as she begged for her to “Stay. Just a bit longer. Please.” Nancy croaked, her voice cracking as she spoke.

Tears finally fell from her eyes. A barrage of emotions silently spilling, and Robin was weak, weak for this girl who she hadn’t properly known for long but who’d been so strong and smart in her eyes. Robin let Nancy’s head fall against her chest, shifting her weight to sit with her legs crossed. With a hum Robin stroked Nancy’s head softly, soothing motions to contrast the chaos Nancy’s mind had conjured up.

“I’m so tired Robin.” She finally spoke weakly, drowsy and half awake against Robin’s chest. Nancy listened to Robin’s heart beat as she breathed in and out and the taller girl held her just a little bit closer. “I know Nance. I know.”

———

cri

I did not proof read this it’s 2am :P

- Val, Syl.

[voidpacifist]

the following is an excerpt from the sticky notes rewrite, which is still in its first draft. this is easily some of my best writing, so I wanted to share it with you. as a treat :)

content warnings for implied and overt ableism, though it is fairly brief

-

October, traveling south on I-81

The wind was whipping at his mother’s hair through the passenger window. Steve could feel it in his ears, warm and fast and unrelenting as the vehicle growled beneath his bare feet. It was autumn now, an unusually hot day, and he was twelve years old, and the year was 1979. In his head, he could see the individual numbers, the one of his pointing finger, the nine of his index and thumb tapping twice, the seven of his fourth finger following the same motion, and the nine again. It was easy this way, to pretend it was just a year, just a fraction of his life that he was withstanding.

Easy, and merciful, but ultimately dishonest to himself. It was 1979, which meant the beast of change had shown up to barrel through him. They were in New York not one hour ago, but soon enough, they’d be someplace new.

He wanted to hate it, the way he hated a lot of things that had happened in his short span of existence, but he couldn’t bring himself to. It wasn’t something he could judge as a good or a bad change, it was just…a change, really. The things he’d grown used to had ultimately not stood the test of time, because something about the last month had turned his mother into someone restless, and his father restless with her. The two of them stopped talking with their hands as much in conversations he was present for, and he sensed it long before they told him that they would be moving states.

He didn’t like the suddenness of it. But his mother, rock solid in much of her ways, had an underlying vigilance his whole life that couldn’t be quelled. He supposed now that this was just part of it.

A sign passed by his window that read in great, white letters the names of different cities. Scranton 20 was all he needed to read, dead center on the list, to know that his home state was out of sight now, passed by some time ago when he wasn’t paying attention. The thought stung — his chance to say goodbye had been snatched from him by the density of his own brain and everything passing through it. He felt like a black hole, not so much his mind destroying anything not related to moving states, but rather pressing them smaller until he forgot they existed.

He didn’t understand it. His mother adored the house they’d lived in for the past nine years, and told him often and at length about how much she loved it when his father had surprised her with the place. Once, she’d said to him, eyes alight in fond memory, the paint on the walls had been so bright it felt like stepping into a vacuum of color, rather than a colored room. If he thought back to his early childhood, to the ages of four and five and six, he swore he could snag glimpses of the same colors that captured his mother’s happiness in such visceral ways.

His mother, who painted on a smile and kept her head high for the drive across the country, but couldn’t meet his eyes when she spoke, fidgeted with the buckles on her purse, looked so frightened when she thought Steve wasn’t paying attention. Or maybe she did know he was — maybe it was just her looking for moments where she truly felt tethered enough to display what weighed most on her.

He pulled his school bag off of the floor of the car, unzipping the top and fishing out a notepad. His father had given him a new one each year since his sixth birthday, along with a new, shiny pen for writing with. At first, Steve had been puzzled by them, and a little bit bruised by it. The kids in his classes and at the park and at church never wanted to talk to him anyway, never wanted to face him when they did because they were afraid of what he sounded like.

He’d yelled at Ronan Harrington about it once on a Sunday afternoon, screaming what surely sounded like nonsense except in his head. Empty empty empty, he’d shrieked at him until his throat felt torn up by grains of sand.

His father, remarkable and extraordinarily calm even while Steve’s ire rained on him, let him do so, took the sting of his own son’s rebuke because he would never need paper and ink for others to talk to him and he would never experience the humiliation of people wrinkling their noses at how he sounded and he would never know fully what it felt like, to keep giving and giving and giving more of himself without getting anything back to fill the holes. His father let the tirade continue for an hour, until Steve could do nothing with the energy he’d siphoned out of himself except collapse to a tearful heap on the floor.

It will be filled, he’d said when Steve was calm enough to see his hands through his moist vision. You will meet people, and it will be filled.

The one he had in his hands now was hardly used, but enough by the few people he’d been acquainted with who got on with him that a few pages were sparsely covered. Looking over the four different fonts left his guts feeling like jelly, like his resolve could be felt waning bit by bit. The further away from the maybe-friends he’d made that he became, the less grounded he felt.

He scribbled where are we? in his scratchy, fresh-seventh-grader font, before tapping his mother on the shoulder. She turned and faced him, the underside of her eyes pink in a way that meant he should pretend not to notice. He offered her the notebook, along with a painted smile of his own, small enough that it didn’t feel fake. Taking the pen from his hand, she jotted down her answer, and he received it back in her loopy cursive. North Pennsylvania.

Having it in writing felt fiercely and wholly undoing of his first conclusion — this wasn’t just a change the way a change in and of itself was new and different and jarring. This was the awful kind, the kind that left him grieving for the months he could have had if they’d stayed. The same grief ping-ponged between himself and his mother in seconds, and he leaned over to kiss him on the head.

O-K? she asked him. She didn’t have to, because she could see the real answer in his face the way he could see it in hers.

O-K, he parrotted back to her. She couldn’t look him in the eye before turning back around, and the wind continued whipping in her hair as the outside world blurred beyond the car windows.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

Never Took The Time (To Forget) part 4.1 : With a Capital 'P'

Part 4.2 (Hey Dingus? Idk, the title for that one is up in the air.) will be up as soon as I have it somewhere I like (doing a different character's pov instead of Hop so it's giving me some trouble). Felt really bad that I hadn't updated in a while and this one was getting longer than I expected and I hadn't even gotten Robin really talking yet so... Happy Valentine's Day?

Part 1 (Hop Fucks Up), Part 2 (Pride and Prejudices: Joyce Edition), Part 3 (One of Us)

Family Video and the Arcade were two of the few businesses still operating after the inter-dimensional earthquakes that had tried tearing their town to pieces. Hop knew the kid who used to run the place for his uncle, Keith, had split town with his folks (said uncle in tow) leaving the store and arcade in the care of whatever employees had been willing to stay on payroll while the world fell apart.

He watches as Harrington's (more banged up than never remembers it being) car stops in front of the video store, parked parallel to the curb across at least 3 parking spots, as a wildly gesticulating Robin rolls herself out of the idling vehicle, jabbering loud enough that Hop can hear her voice from down the block. With most cars owned by the folks of Hawkins being commandeered by Owens' government goons to fill the gaps left by lost military vehicles it doesn't much matter but Hop can't help a bit of an eye roll at the kid's audacity.

But then again, he catches himself thinking, Steve was one of the only 'civilians' in-the-know and was well-known for carting around and protecting proven assets to the War Of The Worlds shitshow going on. So was there really an issue if the kid was one of the only cars on the road anyway and because he was even more read-in on the situation than even local law enforcement? If he was not only transporting and protecting people the government had a vested interest in but had proven himself more effective than even Hop and Joyce in wrangling the kids who had basically been saving the world for the last 4 years? If he kept them safe and out of harm's way in the thick of it but also kept them entertained and out from underfoot during the downtime?

Hell, the kid being one of the only employees left at some of the last businesses in town these brats would have any interest in almost guarantees the whole lot of them are continuously stocked in movies, snacks and quarters to distract them from even the most world shaking of calamities.

It hadn't occurred to him until just now what it meant for The Party that Steve and Robin seemed to be the only ones willing to hang around behind the counter at the arcade and sell and rent movies to shell-shocked townsfolk and tight-lipped government goons alike. Fuck, Lucas and Mike were right. He was an asshole.

He's pulled out of the slow spiral of realizing Mike Wheeler of all people had been right about something by Steve hollering one last "Love you, Bobby!" at a grinning and waving Buckley as she flung open the video store door and stumbled inside. He waits for the car and it's driver to round the corner before he gets out of his own government-issued station wagon. Fuck but he missed his truck.

"Welcome to Family Video, I literally just got here so you're gonna have to give me a minute before I can help you."

"I'm uh, I'm not here for a movie." He can tell she recognizes his voice (and it's a little impressive how quickly she clocks him since he's spoken only a couple words anywhere near her maybe twice in his memory. Girl has a good ear) from the way her entire body stills for a split second before whirling back into the hurricane of motion he's come to associate with her.

"Afraid we've only got movies round here, officer. You want any other medium of entertainment I'd suggest the arcade or the distribution yard." She's still not looking at him, hands busy shuffling papers and flipping open VHS cases. "Sorry, guess we'll have to catch up another time."

Hop sighs, running a hand over the short growth he's slowly getting used to again. He'd almost shaved it down again but El had been so happy when she'd realized they were growing out at about the same rate. He couldn't ever say no to her.

"Look, I know you don't like me. And it has been brought to my attention just how much I fucking earned that. But I- I need your help here, to fix it."

The flurry of movement doesn't stop but it's tighter, she's fiddling with something shoved up her shirt sleeve and tapping at the casing of a button connected to a wire leading into her green vest. Bright blue eyes are focused on him and he's almost reminded of the no-nonsense look Nancy Wheeler gets whenever they're faced with the world ending, but the girl in front of him is colder. He has no doubts that where Nancy Wheeler would tear down giants for what she believed is right, Robin Buckley would burn the world if it meant saving her people.

"Fine. He'll be back from his patrol-" He didn't remember assigning a patrol schedule and he's not sure if this is Steve's own initiative or if he's been roped into something by Owens' people. "in about twenty minutes. You have fifteen. Now why should I help you?"

The tag list below. Let me know if you want to be removed or if you go by a new/different tag you want on the list let me know which one I'm replacing and what I'm replacing it with please.

I've had some people ask to be tagged in this series who should already be in the list? If you see your name/tag but didn't get the notification that you were tagged please let me know so we can figure it out.

As always; like, comment and feel free to ask questions in the replies or my ask box.

@thelittleclare @jackiemonroe5512 @0body0disphoria0 @strangersteddierthings @lingeringmirth @dead-cherry-bitch @irethsune @ink777 @the-daydreamer-in-the-corner @ledleaf @pansexuality-activated @paintsplatteredandimperfect @kinryuuki @yikes-a-bee @altocumulustranslucidus @samsoble @sensationalsunburst @xxbottlecapx @y4r3luv @swimmingbirdrunningrock @flustratedcas @rootbeerandmusic @vinteraltus @wonderland-girl143-blog @failedstarsandgoldenclouds @steddie-as-they-go @youdrewstarsxaroundmyscars @i-amthepizzaman @croatoan-like-its-hot @maya-custodios-dionach @ineffable-monster-romancer @asquareinverona @iheartjennaaa @ellietheasexylibrarian

Tags that are not working on my end. Most of these Tumblr acts like they just don't exist and others I see accounts similar but 1 word, letter or number off. Please let me know if I put any of these down wrong!!

@anaibis @wormapothacary @lawrencebshoggoth @steveshairspray @samcoxramblings @rocochen20 @ohimamarigold @child-of-cthulhu

[lilac-kitkat]

WIP Weekend Challenge

Appreciate the tag, @pearlypairings! <3 I actually have stuff to share, haha.

in a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

post a snippet from one of them. snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. we’re posting progress here. if you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

after you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. you must then write 3 sentences in that file. if the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

that’s it! you can invite others to join in, or just post. if you tag me in your post, i will send you an ask request!

Current WIPs:

Leave 'Em Burning (Chrissy x Eddie, Eddie POV only, multichapter)

When the Witnesses Are Gone (Zuko x Katara, alternating POVs, multichapter)

I will share a snippit from LEB, since I just had the doc opened:

“I got your stuffed toy. It’s sitting at the foot of my bed, staring at me with its beady, little dog eyes.”

He heard a stray note of laughter and smiled to himself.

“That dog’s been with me since before we moved to Hawkins. I think I called him Binky when I was small,” she told him in a voice that was partially shy, to which he could imagine her digging a toe into her carpet or twirling a piece of loose hair.

“Binky? My Uncle Wayne thinks you may have crocheted his overalls together. If so, I wish you had come to me for drugs sooner because I really could have used a tip or two to impress Mrs. Fordham in Home Economics. I barely passed.”

A playful snort. “So I take it someone else is patching your jeans cut and jackets with band logos?”

Eddie’s eyes fell to his splinted fingers, and he turned his palm up to examine the dried blood under his fingernails, a smirk twitching across his face. “Ah, how observant of you. Yeah, that’s all me. I may have an Exodus patch laying around, an original, you know. I’m sure little Binky would love a black pentagram ironed onto his overalls.”

He pictured her scrunching her nose. “Does it have to be black?”

Now it was his turn to laugh. “Cunningham, you gave him to me. What did you think was going to happen? He’s due for a miscreant Munson makeover.”

“I’m sure he’s in good hands, whatever style you decide to give him. If not, I trust your uncle to make sure he’ll be alright. Your uncle is super sweet.”

His amusement faltered, and he struggled somewhat to shift the position of his sore, bruised legs. “What happened, Chrissy? You didn’t come to school for two days.”

A shaky sigh came from the other line.

[someforeignband]

wheeler siblings wip for my vision of the apocalypse in s5

(ps the duffers told me there will be guaranteed wheeler sibs chaos in s5)

[bifuriouswaterbender]

WIP Wednesday Weekend Game

It has been ages since I've been able to participate in a proper WIP Wednesday, but I've got more time this weekend than I usually do to write. Therefore, let's do this!

As always, credit to @kedreeva

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can't share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post. If you tag me in your post, I will send you an ask request! Also, if you send me an ask, I'll look on your page to see if you'd like one back. This works best when we help each other!

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

If you see someone posting a WIP Weekend Game snippet, send them an ask! Make them write.

Filenames

Steddie Holiday Exchange (really need to work on)

He's All That Ch 9 [1-8]

Merman Eddie

Snippet:

From Merman Eddie. I've written more from the exchange fic, but I can't share that publicly yet.

Steve had no business on this boat, and everyone on board knew it.

Captain Wayne Munson had been employed by Harrington Enterprises long enough that he hadn’t said anything when told Steve would be joining this particular voyage.

Officially he was there to “learn the back end of things,” as though his father had ever spent time on a fishing boat himself to understand how things worked. No, he didn’t get his hands dirty, and frankly it didn’t make sense why Steve had to.

Unofficially he was protecting investments if they found what they were looking for.

Very unofficially he’d been a disappointment and was being punished.

Onto the boat he went.

“Munson!” one of the men asked with a glance toward Steve after they’d set sail. “Do we seriously have to babysit?”

Steve’s face burned with shame, but he said nothing. They were right. He didn’t have the callouses to handle the work they did. He didn’t have the muscle memory or easy strength of everyone on board. They could teach him, but it would be babysitting.

“Leave him to me,” the captain ordered, clapping a firm hand onto Steve’s shoulder.

[beezywriting]

Modern ST AU WIP.

Steve is a dweeb. He doesn’t mean to be, it just happens. And Eddie is very encouraging. Max and the party bully Steve out of love ❤️

[sky-neverending]

Steddie and the kids April Fools of 1988 goes down in history as the greatest prank war of all time. and it’s not free of Rickrolls. even in the 80’s, when rick rolling wasn’t a thing. it was still not free.

(gimme 4 hours and this’ll be posted. i promise)