#there are quite a few things I care about and Will Byers is on the top of that list ngl

[pixelpaladin24]

Heads up: if the Stranger Things trailer comes out, I'll lose my fucking mind and flood your dashes with it. I'll tag it as "stranger things spoilers". Just a psa.

[ladykailitha]

I have decided today I am giving out my Steve Harrington headcanons, because I love him so much.

His parents are very rich. His dad is new money, self made. His mom is old money.

His father is Indiana born and bred, but his mother is from Kentucky. She doesn't have her accent anymore because she trained herself out of it. Though it does show up when she's drunk or angry.

I know everyone does Richard (Dick) for his dad mainly for the lols, which I respect, but I think his name is Clint. It's just rich dude bro enough, you know? And then for the mom I go back and forth between Maureen and Allison. Allison because that's Ally Sheedy's character in The Breakfast Club and I often use her looks as bases for Mrs. Harrington.

They were never meant to be parents. They had the one because that's what was expected of them, but no. They don't like kids.

I don't know if his dad is only verbally abusive, but he is some kind of shit. Steve was so scared of him finding out that there was alcohol the night Barb vanished that that was all that consumed his thoughts. And even in season 3 Steve tells Dustin (thinking he was his dad) that he doesn't do drugs, just marijuana. Meaning that's something they've fought about a lot.

Kids of good parents rarely smoke, drink, smoke pot, and have wild parties all the time as an under-aged teenager. There are no doubt exceptions, but most of the time it's kids who are neglected and abused that are the ones that act out like that.

Steve had nannies and baby-sitters growing up that he saw more than his parents. But he would still be taken on actual vacations with them. Mostly to show off that they do have a son.

He was in baseball in middle school but quit when he got into high school. His parents put him in as many after school activities as they could. He was taught piano. Went to swimming and was so good at it, he joined the team in high school. Played basketball throughout both middle and high school. But he was forced to dropout due to the concussion Billy gave him his senior year. It's why he sneers at Brenda at the game when she says it would ironic if they won the championship the year after he graduated. Because he wasn't even on the team his last year.

When he turned sixteen they gave him his BMW. No, he did not get to pick the car or the color, but he takes very good care of it. Does a lot of the maintenance himself. One of the few things his dad taught him, but because you needed to know enough to make sure your mechanic wasn't ripping you off.

He can cook. But only if he has a recipe to follow and will get upset if it doesn't look like the picture. Is a consummate baker though. Because everything has a reason it's done like that and it makes sense.

Definitely a fall baby. That's why he was able to lifeguard for three years even if he didn't lifeguard after his senior year due to him working at Scoops Ahoy.

He's bad at math and science which is why the Party teases him all the time, but he's great at English and history.

Only applied at the schools his dad thought were "appropriate" and didn't get in. But to be fair, he was still suffering from a concussion when those applications went out and he wasn't really at his best. Just above his worst if he was honest.

He likes his preppy clothes and while he laughs it off, it upsets him when he's made fun for it.

Alt rock fan all the way. Depeche Mode, The Cure, New Order.

Has a list of the Party's likes and dislikes for food and other things, so he is the best gift giver. He doesn't spend a lot of money, though he has been accused of that a couple of times. But he prefers well thought out gifts over expensive ones. It's why Max, Eddie, and the Byers boys love Steve gifts. They never feel pressured to one up him.

Complete romantic. Loves being in love, but it was hard to pick up the pieces of his broken heart after what happened with Nancy.

Loves Robin, but even though it is sometimes weird, it never veers into creepy or obsessive. Robin is absolutely the vodka aunt of the party to Steve's mom.

When Eddie comes into the group, they tease him that's he's the dad to Steve's mom. Because as goofy as Eddie is he absolutely wouldn't let the kids get into real trouble.

Steve the romantic gets absolutely wooed by Eddie and never is made to feel wrong footed when showers Eddie with the affection he would for a girl. It's nice for a guy to receive flowers sometimes too.

Steve favorite flower is sunflowers. But his favorite color is blue.

He absolutely keeps the vest. Refuses to give it back. Which Eddie is surprisingly okay with.

I could go on forever, but I'll stop there for now and if I come up with more I'll add them later.

[hippielittlemetalhead]

So I've seen a lot of 'Hop actively dislikes and distrusts Steve', 'Hop tolerates Steve because he's useful during UD shenanigans but doesn't like him', and the big swing to 'Hop has adopted Steve as his own and treats him the same/almost the same as he does El'

BUT, I present:

Hop pseudo adopts Steve because when he and Owens were trying to get the Harringtons to make any decisions about their teenager who saw some sketchy shit and may need government testing they legally gave Hop the rights to act in loco parentis and he takes that seriously because he doesn't want another Will Byers and he's pretty sure the Harrington kid has a concussion.

Hop who stays involved just enough in Steve's life season 1-3 that we the audience see Steve is getting attached. But Hop just sees an annoying kid who won't leave him alone when he's trying to deal with a rebellious psychic and her insane little friends and keeps asking stupid questions about highschool romance and teenage rivalry drama. Knows Joyce Byers doesn't like the kid but won't give a lot of reason why but he's mostly learned to trust that woman's judgement about people. Still gets him the job at Scoops when the kid's dad makes a stink about college and tells him if he survives a few months there he'll consider bringing him on the force, makes sense to keep him close and in a position to help should shit hit the fan again.

Hop who doesn't get it when Steve is one of the most relieved when he 'comes back to life' after Joyce and Murray bring him back from Russia. When Steve introduces him as "My Hop," (something he'd taken to calling him just before season 2 shenanigans) to his sarcastic, fidgety little friend like it means something. The girl, Robin, looks between the two of them and gets this sad look on her face for a second before smiling and shaking his hand and saying something about "Dingus has told me all about you".

Hop who complains to Murray one of the times The Party and assorted teens and adults are over at his renovated and expanded cabin (courtesy of Owens and shady government organizations recognizing these people are worth investing in, heavily if omens are to be believed) when the bald annoyance asks about what's up on there. Complains about having annoying teenagers who have nothing better to do but pester him legally put under his supervision cause their parents can't be assed to care and are spoiled little shits who are slightly more bearable versions of said parents cause he can stand toe to toe with one of those monsters they faced and the kids kind of listen to him. Complains about barely being able to breathe cause of regular visits and check-ins like Hop was still responsible for him. Says at least the extra hands are useful around the cabin what with the still healing up and El pacing herself after the showdown with Creel and still trying to find Max and the Byers not quite moved back to Hawkins yet.

Hop who doesn't realize that Steve hears every word cause he had gone looking for the older man when he disappeared for more than a few minutes, when he couldn't see him to make sure he was here and safe and alive. Steve who thought Hop actually had come to care for him in his own gruff way and had confessed to Robin that in a lot of ways the way Hop has taken care of him makes him the closest thing to the father figure he's always wanted but never thought he'd get to have. Steve who hears Murray hum and recollect a visit from Nancy and Jonathan where their romance officially started (he vaguely knows about the visit, didn't realize that's what happened, didn't realize she couldn't be bothered to even do the decent/considerate thing before moving on to something better) because it seemed it was a pattern he was seeing 'people liked Steve, but people didn't love Steve'.

Hop who hears a choked sound like someone taking a claw to the gut and turns to see Harrington. Steve Harrington his bandages just peeking out from the collar of his shirt and the opening of his sleeves. (He never did get the stories behind those, too busy being fussed over and being told about the kids and how they were doing as Harrington played babysitter) Steve Harrington a kid who went through hell and still managed to smile and laugh and stand tall and unyielding looking at him with a blank face his eyes misty and his shoulders starting to curl in on himself before he clears his throat, chokes out that he just wanted to make sure Hop was alright but looks like Murray had everything under control. He'd go now, get out of his hair, let him rest, let him breathe. Steve Harrington who walks away with purpose like a man on a mission and doesn't acknowledge the kids calling out asking if he's alright, make sure he has his walkie talkie on him.

Hop, who realizes maybe he left behind two kids who missed (needed) him. Who wonders who took care of Harrington's paperwork when he was concussed and sedated because he was bleeding out and feverish from infection and Hop was busy at the cabin reveling in the comfort and warmth of his daughter and the woman he loved and her two sons who were fast becoming like his own. Hop, who realizes too late that maybe if he'd given the kid half a chance he could have had 3 sons to sit with him and his daughter and the woman he loved as they basked in surviving another end-of-the-world. Hop who has spent years barely giving a damn about Steve Harrington and realizes that he's no better than the kid's own parents.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4.1

Part 4.2

Part 5

[steddielicious-quaerhye]

There’s all this discourse on bi Steve that assumes that either Steve has always known or that Eddie was his awakening. But what about a dumbass Steve whose first kiss was with a guy, but he didn’t clue in until much later? In this essay, I will elaborate on…

Steve, who at age eleven is best friends with Tommy and Carol. They’ve come up with a pact to all have their first kisses with each other (Steve and Carol and Tommy and Carol, obviously), but the day before, Steve and Tommy are scared that they’ll be bad kissers and Carol will tell everyone. So the two boys decide to practice ahead of time. Of course, this is where Steve’s reputation as a Casanova starts. He just has this natural ability.

And as years pass, Steve and Tommy never really talk about it; but whenever something new comes up, they always practice before Carol. French kissing and necking and dry humping. They don’t want to blow their loads too early with their first handjobs with her, so it’s only natural that the first hands on their dicks that don’t belong to themselves are each other’s. When they’re fourteen, Tommy and Carol lose their virginity to each other and Steve fucks her right after. But it changes everything, and Carol actually wants to date Tommy. In an exclusive relationship.

Steve starts serial dating, taking first kisses and virginities all over town. None of the girls feel any different from Carol (or Tommy), so when he’s alone with Danny Mahoney in the showers after a swim meet in sophomore year and it turns into making out and sloppy handjobs, Steve doesn’t expect anything more. A mouth is a mouth and a hand is a hand, right? It’s just guys helping each other out. After all, they’re not doing anything really queer, like blowjobs or anal. At some point, Danny admits that he actually is gay. (It doesn’t bother Steve as much as he expects.)

When Steve is a junior, he starts dating Nancy Wheeler and stops fooling around with Danny (and various girls). Even though it doesn’t really count with Danny, something deep inside him tells him it does. So Steve has a proper girlfriend and doesn’t really think about anyone other than her.

And then Jonathan Byers straddles him in an alley and beats the shit out of him for calling him a queer. Steve isn’t a fan of the fists, but as he feels Byers on his hips, the clouds part and it clicks that he’s being a massive hypocrite and asshole. When all is said and done and the demogorgon is defeated, Steve still stays with Nancy. But now he knows. He’ll never tell anyone, but it really doesn’t matter what gender the other person is. Either way, it doesn’t matter. He’s in love with Nancy and they’re going to be together forever.

Months later though, Jonathan is still wary around Steve and can’t quite bring himself to trust him, despite the new camera. And Steve needs to prove that he’s changed, so makes an effort to get to know Jonathan better. And one night in April 1984, when they’re baked out of their minds in the Byers’ backyard, Steve swears that he doesn’t care if Jonathan (or anyone in his family, for that matter) is a queer, because he himself likes guys. Jonathan is the one who puts a name to what Steve is - bisexual. No one really knows what it means, but David Bowie once said that he was, and if Steve has this thing in common with Bowie, it can’t be that bad.

That winter, when Steve is suffering through a broken heart and Danny is back from Berkeley for Christmas, Steve sheepishly admits that he’s actually into guys the same as girls. Danny rolls his eyes and they fuck all winter break long. Steve is eighteen now and really doesn’t have any real friends to hang out with (at least not until he’s comfortable around Jonathan and Nancy being a couple), so he spends a few Saturday nights in spring up in Indy’s gay clubs figuring out what he likes. And he likes it all.

Well, not quite. In May, after a basketball game, Billy Hargrove corners Steve in the locker room and aggressively kisses him. He then threatens to kill him if he tells anyone. Steve believes him of course, because Billy is a fucking psychopath with issues that run a mile deep.

And no, Steve doesn’t have the chance to tell Robin about himself in the Starcourt bathroom, thanks to Dustin and Erica barging in. But once they’ve been released from the hospital, he sneaks in her window that night and tells her that he gets it.

After all, gender is such an arbitrary factor in who’s hot or not, right?

(Robin says no, boys are gross.)

See more in the series at #peak bi experience

Crossposted to AO3 here

[m3talmunson]

Steve Harrington except his mom comes from old money, his father new. So while Steve's mom took his father's last name (reluctantly. She was doing her best to promise that her son would have a good life ahead of him), she got to choose Steve's first, which just happens not to be Steve.

His name is actually Esteban Eberardo Ortiz Harrington, because by God, Maria Harrington would never let her son have an English name since she had to give up her own to promise her son a decent life.

Somewhere along the way she got lost in it all. She chased Mr. Harrington around to make sure he wasn't sleeping with whatever floozie secretary he had at the moment, and in doing so she forgot to be a mother - as much as somebody can just forget that duty.

So, one day Esteban got dropped off at his grandpa's house and became Steve. Then one day Steve's grandfather died and Steve didn't even see his father at the funeral. His father, the dead man's son, sent Maria with flowers to the funeral. Flowers she didn't have a destination for. So, the moment it was over she dragged Steve and the flowers back to the dust-covered Harrington home. She makes some dinner and has a nice night with her son, but as they curl up on the couch and try to settle for the night, she brings him up.

"Mijo, your father. I have to go back to him tomorrow. I have a plane ride in the morning. I have to go sweetheart." She blinks back the tears in her eyes as she delivers the news.

"It's ok mama! I'm 10 now, double digits." He holds out both of his hands, all of his fingers splayed out. "I can take care of things here." He put on his best brave face, something Grandpa Harrington taught him.

"Grandma is going to visit you as much as she can, but she doesn't live near here. You'll be on your own a lot, my sweet sweet boy." She let the tears run at this point, ignoring the musical she had put on the TV to occupy their thoughts.

"Don't cry mama," He curled up into her side. "Wait, Grandma? But she's been gone for longer than Grandpa?"

"No, no, my mama. She'll be up here every so often for you. My brave boy." She kissed the top of Steve's head, peppered a few more against Steve's complaints of tickling.

"Come on mama, Dolly's singing!" He said, and drew his attention back to the TV like it was nothing. They fell asleep on the couch that night. Mr. Harrington never would have approved, but maybe he just didn't need to know.

And that began the life of Steve being alone. At least, most of the time. His grandma did come up every so often. She taught him how to cook, clean, where the stools were, and which ones were tall enough for him to reach the cookie jar. The same cookie jar that stayed in place just incase his parents did come home and happen to give half a shit about it.

When she couldn't be there, over the phone, she taught her little Esteban Spanish. His father never allowed it in the house, but the moment she insisted she be called Abuelita and not Grandma, she piqued Esteban's interest.

He was interested until he got made fun of for the accent. He continued to learn it, but insisted that he be called Steve, the same way she insisted he call her something else. That set the record straight for him.

During high school, she got too frail for him to visit. The Harrington's put money in the bank for Steve, so he began to visit her. He'd fly down to where she was staying, drive once he could. Steve got his license the very first day he could, just to visit her. He planned her funeral when the day came, just a month before Will Byers went missing. That kept him in contact with quite a few of his cousins that way, checked in on everyone and made the rounds while he tried to remain a normal teenager, have a normal girlfriend, live as King Steve, or Steve "The Hair" Harrington. Anything that kept his life nice and neatly in place.

Then, a stupid nail bat was his lifeline. Screw normal, he couldn't trust anyone or anything anymore. Two years later, he got tortured by Russians and then, maybe he could trust someone.

Somewhere between his fall from grace and saving the world for good, he grew to trust a lot of people. Grew to have people at his house all the time, filling that god awful empty house.

He had Eddie over one night when he got a call from his cousin Mariana, she had just finished her freshman year of college in the US, so her English was getting pretty good, but she greeted him in Spanish so he can only return the favor. Steve guessed it was only a matter of time until Eddie and the others found out about him anyways.

So, he responded to Mariana. He had an entire conversation with her, back to the couch that Eddie was sat on. Last he knew Eddie was flipping through movies, but all the noises stopped. At least Steve could assume that maybe he just picked a movie, and maybe get hurt or yelled at or something after the call. He just had to get through this conversation with Mariana.

He heard the crash of tapes falling and had to end it.

"Sorry Mari, I've got to go." He said abruptly in English, and tried his hardest not to slam the phone back into the receiver.

When he turned around, he didn't expect what he saw. Sure, Eddie's jaw was basically on the floor, but he didn't seem angry, not like Steve had expected.

"You- you speak Spanish, Stevie?" Eddie had almost a shocked rasp to his voice, clutching onto the tape in his hand, the one that managed to not fall.

"Yeah, have for about 8 or 9 years now."

"You, Steve Harrington, are fluent in Spanish?"

"Esteban Eberardo Ortiz Harrington, actually. And yeah, my mom is Mexican."

"Est- Esteban???" Eddie laughed out. "Good God Stevie-"

"I know, I know, I should have told you sooner. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hide it, I just- it's hard walking around Hawkins with a Spanish accent, it's just so-" He interrupted Eddie.

"Steve, Stevie, no." It was Eddie's turn to interrupt. "I'm not mad at you sweetheart. Definitely not mad." Eddie hinted at something else.

"You're not mad? What- I-" Steve raised his eyebrow. "What's that look about then?"

Eddie had been out to Steve for a while, and vice-versa. They hadn't exactly not been flirting, so Eddie didn't feel too crazy saying this next part.

"If I'm being so honest, Stevie," Eddie stepped closer into Steve's personal space, "I wouldn't say completely platonic feelings."

"Oh, that's what does it for you, Munson? Really?" Steve teased. Back with the bravado charm.

"I dunno... want to say some more?"

And, of course, the moment he hears it again -the accent Steve's voice works itself into- he's basically frothing at the mouth. He drops the tape he was holding and swings his arms around Steve's neck, only a little awkward considering the lack of height difference.

"I guess it is, Esteban."

"You don't even know what I said!" Steve pretended to act shocked, or pissed or something, but he really didn't care.

"Tell me later," Eddie cut Steve off with a swift kiss, and maybe Steve would settle for later.

Maybe he'd have a lifetime to tell Eddie that all he said was "I really want to kiss you." He had his wish fulfilled anyway.

[bleedingoptimism]

𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘱𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘚𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘥𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 

𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘆

“No, no, no, nonononono,” Eddie chants repeatedly looking around his room.

He tore the place upside down, he looked everywhere.

Where the hell is it?!

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

If someone finds it, his life is ruined. There is no way he can pass this as a joke, everyone will know.

They’ll know just how pathetic and lame he is. Doing a character sheet of his crush. What the hell was he thinking? Well, he wasn’t really, he was high and bored when he did it. And no one was ever supposed to see it. So really whose fault is it?

Sighing as he runs his hands through his messy hair, that is just an extra type of messy today with how much he has pulled at it. He resigns himself that the paper is not in his room and decides to retrace his steps.

He goes to the Wheeler’s place, knocks on the door loudly and Nancy opens the door,

“Hey Eddie, everything okay?”

He slaps his hair down nervously, God he probably looks insane right now, “Yeah, yeah Nance. I just misplaced something,” he says, kissing her cheek as he lets himself in, “Can I go look for it? It’s a hellfire thing.”

“Yeah, of course. You want any help?” Nancy answers sweetly, opening the basement door for him.

“No, thanks!” he screams, going down the stairs two at a time.

There’s no use. It’s not there. Eddie grabs his hair and pulls, stressed. He’s going to have to ask Wheeler Jr, shit.

Fuck! If Wheeler has it, he’s probably going to end up being extorted to do his bidding for the rest of his life. 

Once more he tries to slap his hair back in place before going back upstairs, trying not to look so freaked out, “Nance, is the bad Wheeler home?”

Nancy chuckles at the nickname, “He’s at Will’s. I’m going there now. Need a ride?”

“I’m in the van, but I’ll meet you there,” he tells her, dropping another peck on her cheek and then bolting out the door.

Jon answers the door at the Byers when he gets there a record five minutes later. They half hug in greeting, and then Eddie just runs upstairs not bothering to explain himself.

And Jon doesn’t even bother asking.

“Hey,” he says when he bursts through the door to Will’s room. Will jumps a little from his position on the bed, nearly dropping his paintbrush. Mike just looks up from where he’s lying on his stomach with a comic book in hand.

Eddie half smiles apologetically at Will for startling him and then says, “So here’s the situation,” and crosses his arms, trying to look imposing. He used to scare the shit out of Mike only a few months ago. He can do it again.

“I lost a very important page from my notebook. It’s a big deal, notes about the final boss and shit. If I don’t get it back, or if you read it, the campaign is ruined and therefore canceled, get it?” he says, completely making things up on the spot.

The boys look horrified and immediately get moving, looking through their things to check they didn't accidentally take it. Mike asks him if he checked the basement while Will calls on the walkie for a D&D emergency. It’s cute how much they care, and for a second Eddie forgets how much shit he’s in, until he hears Dustin’s voice through the walkie.

“I— yeah. I found it.”

‘Shit.’

“Did you read it?” Will asks over the walkie, looking worriedly at him.

“No! No, I didn't!” Dustin says right away.

‘Okay, good.’

“Where is it?” Eddie asks loud enough for Dustin to hear over the radio.

Dustin takes a long time to respond.

“...I gave it to Steve.” 

Mike scoffs, “What, why?”

But Eddie can’t hear any of his excuses, something about not reading it and that Steve can give it to Eddie and about trust and-

“The campaign is canceled,” he yells suddenly and the boys look at him in shock while Dustin starts screaming over the walkie but he pays it no mind. He shakes his head, “I quit Hellfire. I’m done, I’m out. Find another DM,” and then he turns around and just walks out of there.

He runs into Nancy on his way out.

“Everything okay?” She asks worried.

He looks at her and is going to answer but then he hears the kids running down the stairs to catch up with him, can still hear Dustin screaming over the walkie, so he shakes his head and smiles at Nancy.

“It’s silly, don’t worry about it,” he assures her, and then gets in his van and bails out of there before the kids can talk him out of it.

𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘂𝗲𝗱

part 1: ❤️

part 2: 🧡  

part 3: 💛  

part 4: 💚    

part 5: 💙   

part 6: 💜

part 7: 💗 

☕🥐💕

[steddieas-shegoes]

another one for the requests ^^

a steve and johnathan friendship please. will and el seeing steve as their older brother along with johnathan, hopper and joyce treating steve as their own, and johnathan and steve just overall having a good friendship. (pre-relationship steddie with eddie getting jealous of johnathan because steve just recently came out to the Party as bi, and jancy broke up weeks before it, and none of the others - except robin ofc - know why steve is spending a lot of time at the hopper-byers' house)

I AM TEAM STEVE AND JONATHAN BEING FRIENDS!!! They both did shitty things, and just as real humans do, they figured it out and made themselves better. I'm also team Eddie is incredibly jealous of any other man who gets Steve's attention. This request was unexpected and fun and I liked being able to explore Jonathan a bit more. Thank you!!! - Mickala ❤️

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

If you asked Steve where he thought he’d be a year ago, his answer wouldn’t have been this.

Sitting on the Byers’ couch, running his hands through Jonathan’s hair while he cried.

Steve has practically been living at the Byers home for a month, Joyce insisting he join them for dinner so often it just got easier to come over after work every day and spend the night when he had a few too many beers with Hopper.

Will had quickly become his second favorite kid, only behind Dustin, tied with Max.

He was shy, but Steve loved the way he lit up when he talked about things he cared about. He was so excited to show Steve his new campaign ideas when he came over, and even though Steve only understood about 10% of what came out of his mouth, he couldn’t help smiling at him the entire time.

But his friendship with Jonathan was most surprising of all.

Even Robin was getting jealous.

But it was different with Jonathan.

Especially when he broke up with Nancy.

It wasn’t ugly, there was no big argument, and there truly were no hard feelings between them.

But Jonathan was hurting and Steve was there.

And no one knew the post-breakup with Nancy Wheeler hurt quite like Steve.

But that was weeks ago, and Steve kind of expected things to be going better than they were.

“It’s not even that I’m upset she’s going! I’m glad she’s going. That’s why I broke up with her. I’m just also sad that it has to be like this,” Jonathan sniffled against Steve’s lap.

Nancy left for Yale today. It wasn’t her first choice, but it was the best option for her major out of the offers she got. Everyone had gotten together to see her off, even Jonathan, and it looked like he’d held off the breakdown as long as he could.

“Hey, it’s understandable to be upset. You loved each other and it’s hard to see that final goodbye. Up until now she was still hanging out with all of us so it didn’t feel real, now it does.”

Jonathan sighed and closed his eyes.

Steve smiled down at him.

“You’ve got time to figure out what you’re lookin’ for, man. It’ll get easier to be without her.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Steve was startled when the door opened, Will excitedly talking with Eddie, who’d been driving him back after Hellfire for two weeks now.

“Hey Will, hey Eddie,” Steve said with a small wave, one hand still occupied with playing with Jonathan’s hair.

“Hey Steve!” Will exclaimed.

Will kept talking to Eddie, but Steve noticed he wasn’t paying attention.

He was glaring at Jonathan.

Steve looked down to see if Jonathan was glaring at him, or for any explanation of what was happening.

But Jonathan’s eyes had closed again, his face not quite smiling, but more relaxed than it had been for most of the evening.

When Steve looked back up at Eddie, he was looking at the floor, brows furrowed and a frown on his face.

“Uh, Will, I’m gonna head home. I’ll see you on Saturday, though?”

Will looked dejected, and Steve hated it.

“Oh. Okay. See you Saturday,” he said, walking out of the living room to get to his room.

Steve saw red.

“What the hell is your problem?” Steve asked Eddie.

“What?” Eddie had the audacity to look shocked at being called out for his suddenly shitty behavior towards Will.

“Will was talking to you and you just blew him off.”

Jonathan sat up now, his eyes burning a hole through Eddie.

Jonathan and Eddie got along fine, they weren’t close friends or anything, but they seemed to get along when they all hung out in a group. But Jonathan was incredibly protective of Will, way more than Steve even, and if Eddie was being rude to him, Jonathan would make sure he knew he wasn’t going to let it happen.

He was a chill guy until you messed with Will or El.

Then again, so was Steve.

“Uh. I.”

Jonathan stood up and walked over to Eddie. He didn’t look angry yet, not like he had the potential to be, but he didn’t look pleased.

“Get your shit under control, man. It’s not what you think. Will doesn’t deserve you acting like that because you’re jealous.”

Which made no fucking sense to Steve, but he decided to let Jonathan handle it.

Eddie’s wide eyes watched as Jonathan left the room, probably to check on Will.

Steve stared at him from the couch, not sure what to say.

“Um. I’ll go. Sorry,” Eddie said awkwardly, which is something Steve wasn’t used to.

Eddie was never awkward, always bigger than his body in ways Steve didn’t think possible. Unapologetically loud, fun, a spitfire.

So seeing him like this made him hesitant to believe he meant any actual harm towards Will.

“Hey,” Steve stopped him. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, man. Um. Just tell Will I’ll call tomorrow.”

And then he was gone.

Steve knew better than to follow; Whatever was going on with Eddie would be fine by tomorrow.

Will, however, may be truly hurt and upset.

Steve walked down the hall quietly, not wanting to interrupt Jonathan and Will if they were in the middle of something.

He heard their voices speaking so softly. That should have been a sign to turn around.

But then he heard his name.

“He didn’t mean anything by it, Will. He had a jealous moment because of Steve and took it out on you. I’m sure he’s sorry.”

“Why was he jealous of Steve?”

Jonathan sighed.

“You know how Steve just came out a couple weeks ago?”

“Yeah.”

Steve was about to fall through the wall just to hear where this was going.

“Well, Eddie’s had a massive crush on him for damn near a year now. And he got his hopes up that Steve might feel the same when he came out, which is fine. It’s a natural reaction, you know that. But he also knows that I broke up with Nancy and spend a lot of time with Steve and you saw how he was comforting me when you got home. To you, it looks like just brothers helping each other, but to him, it probably looked a little different.”

“What, like you two are together? Gross.”

Jonathan laughed.

“Yeah, I know. But I can see how he would think that. And you and I both know it hurts when someone we love doesn’t return our feelings.”

Steve’s head was spinning.

Eddie having a crush on him felt like something Jonathan was making up just to make Will feel better.

Just when he was turning around to go back to the couch and figure out what the hell he was feeling, El came out of her room.

She froze when she saw him.

She looked towards Will’s bedroom door, then back at Steve.

He silently begged her not to say anything, and luckily, even without reading his mind, she seemed to know what he was asking.

She nodded and walked along to the kitchen, where Joyce was finishing up dinner for all of them.

“So, do you think Steve likes Eddie? Or is Eddie gonna have to feel terrible forever?”

“Will, you’re not gonna feel terrible forever.” Steve couldn’t hear if Will said anything, but the silence only lasted a moment. “But I think maybe Steve does and just doesn’t realize it. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t think Eddie feels the same. Don’t know how since he literally makes heart eyes at him every chance he gets.”

They both laughed and Steve felt unbalanced, like the next breath might knock him over.

If they were right, if Eddie had feelings for him, then he could see why he was so upset finding Jonathan’s head in his lap earlier.

“Boys! Dinner!” Joyce yelled from the kitchen.

Steve jumped and quickly walked to the kitchen so Jonathan and Will wouldn’t know he eavesdropped on their conversation.

He was quiet through dinner, which wasn’t too unusual. He answered questions when he was asked, asked El about her next girl’s night with Max, asked Will about his campaign.

But Jonathan kept looking at him like he knew.

He got out of there as soon as he was done helping with clean up, saying he was tired and needed some rest before his opening shift tomorrow.

El and Will gave him a hug, Joyce kissed his cheek, and Jonathan followed him out.

That wasn’t what he wanted.

Jonathan stopped him at the front door, hand on his arm.

“Steve. Will’s okay. Don’t be too hard on Eddie, okay?”

Steve just nodded, then gave Jonathan a quick hug before leaving.

He drove home in silence, only his thoughts keeping him company.

—---------------

He talked to Robin because of course he did. She would know what to do.

“Dingus, this feels pretty black and white to me. You have confirmation he likes you. You just spent 20 minutes telling me how amazing he is, which means you like him. He isn’t gonna make a move if he thinks you’re with Jonathan, and he’s valid for thinking that, by the way. You two are freakishly close. You have to do something.”

Steve knew she was right, but he hated when she was right, and he didn’t want her to be right.

“But what if Jonathan is wrong? Maybe he just thinks that’s why he was upset.”

Robin stared blankly at him.

“Steve. Ask Eddie out or I am gonna jump off the cliff at the quarry. God, I cannot with you two.”

Which led Steve to believe Eddie had been talking to Robin about him and caused him to spiral again.

But Robin ignored him and said she wouldn’t talk to him about anything except work until he grew a pair and talked to Eddie.

—--------------------

He was standing outside of the Byers house, here for dinner again, but Eddie’s van was parked outside, which was weird.

It’s not that he wasn’t welcome, Joyce always invited anyone who needed to eat.

It’s just that Hellfire was supposed to be right now, at Eddie’s house, which was not here.

But he was here.

Jonathan opened the door, trash bag in hand, and smiled when he saw Steve standing there.

“Oh, you’re here! Everything okay?”

Steve nodded.

“You sure?” Jonathan started to look concerned. “If you need to skip, I’m sure Mom will understand. She knows you’re working a lot.”

“No, I’m good. Uh, need me to take that out?”

“No, I got it. You go inside, say hi to everyone.”

Steve had no choice but to do what he said.

Something felt off.

And when he walked into the living room to see El and Will sitting on the floor with Eddie, everything felt off.

“Steve!” El yelled, jumping up and running over to give him a hug.

Will followed behind, not quite as enthusiastic, but smiling all the same.

Eddie waved from the floor, small smile on his face.

Steve hated whatever was happening, not because Eddie was here, but because Eddie was never like this around him. He was usually easygoing and tactile, not quiet and awkward.

“Is that Steve?” Joyce called as she walked into the living room. “Hi, honey! Can I have your help with something for just a second?”

“Of course.”

He followed her back into the kitchen, ignoring the way his stomach was in knots at the idea of having a family dinner with Eddie here.

“So, Eddie’s having a rough day, and we invited him for dinner. His favorite is lasagna, so that’s in the oven. Will told me his favorite dessert was brownies, but the texture just isn’t right on these. I’m worried they won’t cook right. Can you take a look?”

Steve wasn’t exactly a baker, but he dabbled in it. His specialty was homemade brownies.

He tried not to let his mind linger on why Eddie was having a rough day, and followed Joyce to where the brownie mix sat in a bowl, which was a very pale brown color.

He knew without even tasting it what was wrong, but he didn’t want to make Joyce feel bad, so he stirred it a bit and then dipped his finger in the batter.

“Ah. Needs cocoa powder,” he said with a smile.

“Of course! I can’t believe I forgot that. Could you get that taken care of?”

And then she was gone.

So, Steve handled it.

He found her cocoa powder, added it in, then took another taste.

This was his recipe. He’d given it to her a while ago, but she’d joked that she couldn’t possibly do his brownies such a disservice.

Whatever was going on with Eddie must be bad.

Then Eddie walked in the kitchen. Alone.

Just as Steve was licking his finger to make sure it didn’t need any more sugar or salt.

They stared at each other for a moment, both their eyes wide in surprise.

“Brownies? What’s the occasion?” Eddie finally asked.

“Uh. Joyce said they’re your favorite?”

“They are. But why does that matter?”

“Uh. She said you were having a bad day.”

Eddie’s face was red.

“Oh. Um. I just had a doctor’s appointment is all.”

Steve’s heart stopped.

“Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Are you sick? Did they find something wrong?”

Steve was closer to him, his hands hovering over his body like he could sense if something was off.

“I’m okay,” Eddie smirked. “Just had to do a lot of tests and I’m sore now. Nothing wrong, though.”

“Good. That’s good,” Steve supplied, his hands dropping to his sides uselessly.

“Yeah. Good.”

Whatever was happening here sucked. Steve hated being like this with Eddie.

He thought about what Robin said, about what Jonathan had told Will.

“You wanna go out with me sometime?”

Steve was an idiot. Truly. Just spitting it out like that, no warning, not even sure if Eddie actually did like him.

“What?”

Eddie looked like he was five seconds from passing out.

“Like on a date?” Then Steve stopped. Eddie would have said yes if he really liked him, right? He wouldn’t have hesitated. “Yeah, I mean, it’s cool though, if not. We don’t have to. Just an idea. I mean Jonathan said-”

“What did Jonathan say?”

“He said you liked me, and he’s just trying to be a good friend and help me out, maybe he was just making sure I didn’t feel bad for liking you so much, I dunno-”

Eddie’s lips were on his.

Eddie’s lips were on his.

Holy shit.

“You’re not with Jonathan?” Eddie asked without pulling away completely.

Steve shook his head.

“You don’t like Jonathan?”

Steve shook his head again.

“You like me?”

Steve nodded.

“Then yeah, let’s go on a date.”

Steve suddenly heard cheering from just outside the kitchen.

He pulled away from Eddie and turned to see Joyce and Jonathan standing behind a clapping El and Will.

“You guys are the worst,” Steve said, running a hand over his face.

“Are we? You never would’ve made a move on your own dude,” Jonathan said, giving him a high five before swiping his finger through the brownie batter.

“I was gonna!”

“When you were 50 maybe!”

Everyone was laughing when Hopper walked in the front door.

“What’s so funny?” His gruff voice thundered through the living room and kitchen.

“Eddie thought Steve and I were a couple,” Jonathan said. “Fixed it, though. Now they’re together.”

Hopper looked between all of them, shook his head, then started heading to his bedroom to change.

“I don’t know why I ask,” his voice could be heard as he walked away.

“So, where are you taking me on our first date, Stevie?”

“How about we let Jonathan pick since he wants to meddle so bad?”

Jonathan laughed.

“This was all mom’s idea. She was tired of the pining.”

“You should go get milkshakes!” El said.

“And then go to the drive-in!” Will added.

“Not a bad idea, actually,” Steve said, turning to Eddie. “Sound okay to you?”

“Yeah, but first, bake these brownies. Your brownie recipe is my favorite.”

“You’re my favorite,” Steve replied.

Everyone groaned.

“Oh, now it’s gonna be worse,” Jonathan joked, shoving Steve’s shoulder playfully.

“So much worse,” Eddie added with a smile.

[loveinhawkins]

For the made up fic title game "1983 is Calling" bc 1983 by Neon Trees randomly came up on my Spotify lol

god i love this title so much. i think 1983 is calling has a Steve Harrington character study written all over it.

-

In the November of 1983, Steve Harrington’s world falls out from underneath him. When his feet finally find solid ground again, everything looks a little different, like he’s an Alice who’s grown just slightly too tall for his surroundings.

And maybe most people in his shoes would chalk that up to finding out that monsters are real, that a kid can come back from the dead. But Steve knows that’s not the whole truth.

What’s really tripping him up is the dangerously quiet anger he didn’t really know he was capable of; he spends many sleepless nights staring up at the ceiling, hearing his father’s words come out in his voice, slipping through clenched teeth, finish the sentence.

It’d be easy to brush it off after the quite frankly insane series of events he’s lived through, to claim that wasn’t me.

But it was. It was.

It’s not a dramatic transformation. If anyone was really looking out for it, maybe they’d notice him being just a touch more reserved in school. Slower to react, more careful with his words.

He doesn’t sit with Tommy and Carol in the cafeteria—and while there’s an ache in that decision which he steadfastly ignores, he finds that he doesn’t really mind sitting alone sometimes.

In the quiet, he has more time to think. He tries to keep his assumptions in check, finds that he cares less and less about cliques—does his best to ensure that his first thought about someone isn’t a judgement.

He remembers the casual indifference he had when watching Jonathan Byers put up a poster for his missing brother. His unbothered drawl, God, that’s depressing.

Never again, he decides.

Above all, he doesn’t want to be cruel.

One lunch, he sits with Jonathan, and they swap pudding cups, Steve trading chocolate for butterscotch.

“I… listen, Jonathan, I shouldn’t… shouldn’t have said what—what I said,” he starts, awkwardly, inadequately. “About. About your mom, and your family, and…”

It horrifies him still, the words that came out so easily, never mind if they were echoes of things he heard.

Joyce Byers is one of the strongest people he knows.

“Thanks,” Jonathan says, delayed. He smiles tightly, but Steve knows it’s not personal, that the guy’s still on edge from… everything.

Steve smiles back.

But there’s still a thorn that he hasn’t quite prised out.

“And I…” He lowers his voice. “I shouldn’t have called you that. Y’know.”

Jonathan’s eyebrows go up. “No,” he says mildly. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I…” Steve rubs a hand over his mouth. “I hate that… there’s nothing bad about…”

Jesus, what’s wrong with him?

Jonathan’s expression softens. He blinks, and he has that pensive look on his face, like he’s seeing the world through a camera lens—like the flash has lit up something unknown.

“I agree,” he says quietly, and then he digs into his pudding and asks genuinely about Steve’s holiday plans, talks about getting Will an Atari for Christmas.

At New Year, Steve is abruptly conscious of the fact that he really, really needs to look like he’s having a good time. He doesn’t want to analyse who the performance is for. If it’s for himself, he’s not convinced.

But drink dulls the anxiety; he laughs a lot, sways with Nancy in his arms because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

Even in the euphoria of the midnight countdown, he can see Nancy smiling too brightly, like her face might crack with the strain.

Do you feel it, too? he almost asks. Are we always gonna be back there? Are we always gonna be running from it?

The semester after winter break starts off reluctantly.

There’s a few classes with mixed year groups: they get an absolute horror of a substitute teacher in second period, one who insists on them copying things word for word from the blackboard. She makes her funeral march down the desks and shouts at a student for mis-spelling ‘January.’

“Psst,” comes a voice, before she reaches Steve.

He looks over to see Eddie Munson in the seat next to him, handing over an eraser.

“Wrong year, Harrington,” he whispers.

Steve glances down at his paper. Sure enough, 1983 stares back at him from the top margin.

Steve scoffs. “Figures.” He uses the eraser and passes it back to Eddie. “Thanks.”

“No problem. I wish we were still on vacation, too.”

“Eddie Munson.” The teacher slams a ruler down on Eddie’s desk so hard that Steve flinches. “Shall I send you outside for talking?”

“Oh, no, ma’am,” Eddie says, without missing a beat, “I’ll surely cry. Profusely.”

As other students stifle giggles, Steve manages to write the date down correctly before the teacher peers over his shoulder.

He can’t help noticing that even with the eraser, there’s still an imprint: 1983 faintly engraved on the page.

Well, Steve thinks wryly, so it goes.

[ronancecats]

A Mother's Love - A Karen and Nancy Wheeler Oneshot

Inspired by a headcanon by: @ronanceautistic

Summary: Young Karen Wheeler isn't ready for the responsibility of a child but when the baby, a sick and tiny baby girl, comes sooner than anyone thought, Karen has a change of heart. Maybe she's ready for this after all, besides it's hard not to love those little eyes.

May 19th, 1967

Karen's eyes went wide, the doctor's words still not quite setting in. It was only a few short weeks ago that the doctor was telling her that she was pregnant. Now, she's here telling her that her baby, one she wasn't ready for, to begin with, might not make it.

Karen didn't know what to say, or what to feel. She never wanted this for herself, especially not at seventeen. Just the idea of a family, even just a husband, made her feel trapped. She was going to give the baby up but she didn't have time to even start looking for potential families. Her baby decided that now would be the perfect time to make an entrance and quite the dramatic one at that.

"Miss Johnson? Did you hear me?"

Karen seemed to snap out of the trance she was in. Her eyes meet the doctor's, a kind woman who's taken care of her for the last day and a half and has a very noticeable southern accent. She doesn't know if it's the exhaustion, the shock, the pain pills, or all three, but speaking is a challenge.

"...no, sorry." Karen manages to mumble out. Her throat feels tight and her mind is heavy. It has to be the pain pills. The doctor, Matilda, smiles gently. The type of smile that all doctors do when they don't want to give their patients too much hope. Like a mask, only it's worse because everybody knows what it means when it comes out.

"I said, we're not going to give up on your daughter yet. Just being able to survive such rough labor and delivery at only 28 weeks gestation is impressive enough to have hope. And even though I can't say she'll be okay, I can tell you right now that you've got a little fighter on your hands."

Karen only nods. She wants to thank Matilda but her words fail her. She thinks of the little girl she gave birth to. She hasn't seen her yet, not even a glimpse. She hasn't heard her cry or felt her tiny body against hers, but she still feels a sense of pride over the baby. Even though she doesn't know her and there's a good chance Karen will never get to know her, something inside of Karen's mind reminds her that somewhere in this hospital is a little girl who's hers.

"I'll let you rest, but if anything changes you'll be the first to know. Is there any family you'd like to call?" Karen shakes her head softly. Ted is at some work thing and Karen can almost guarantee he wouldn't be here even if he didn't, and her parents wouldn't show even if she asked them to. They're not huge fans of the whole teen pregnancy thing. She has her friend, Joyce Byers, but she's probably busy with her stupid boyfriend Lonnie. She's alone.

Matilda nods in response and leaves the room. Karen lays there for a moment, listening to the chatter of the busy hospital. She wishes she knew what she wanted to do. If her daughter lived, would she even want to still go through with the adoption? Or would she think differently by then? Would her baby even make it to that point? Karen doesn't even want to think about that.

Karen can't sleep, she feels lost, and scared, not only for herself but for her daughter. She never wanted this but she wouldn't know what to do with herself if that happened. She closes her eyes and tries her best to sleep, but she knows that won't happen.

May 21st, 1967

It's been a few days since Karen gave birth to her premature daughter, and she can finally see her. Karen still hasn't decided on what to do, she knows she cares about her baby even though she hasn't seen her yet, but she doesn't know if that will be enough for her to be ready for this.

One of the nurses is wheeling her down to the NICU. The nurse warned Karen that her daughter was still very weak and sick, and very much is not out of the woods yet, but Karen still wants to see her. She knows it will only hurt more if her baby doesn't make it, which makes her sick to think about, but she needs to see her little face. At least once.

"Here we are Miss Johnson," The nurse brings Karen's wheelchair as close to the incubator labeled, 'Wheeler'. "You're allowed to touch her but only with your finger. We have to be as gentle as possible." The nurse reminds Karen, who only nods in response, she's at a loss for words again.

There she is. Right in front of her and it's the hardest thing Karen's ever had to look at. She's so small. Her skin isn't pink like a baby's should be, her tiny body is covered in wires and gadgets, and even the smallest diaper size the hospital can provide is too big for her.

Karen feels numb as she gently runs her finger against the baby's arm, her breath hitches with emotion when she feels her warm, fragile, skin beneath her fingertips. The baby doesn't stir, her eyes remain closed and she doesn't react to her mother's touch.

Something right then, seeing the baby and feeling her for the first time, snaps inside of Karen. This is her baby, her fighter, her perfect little girl who's stronger than Karen's ever been. This is her daughter and she is her mother, and she might not be a hundred percent prepared or ready for this, she can't let her go. Ever.

"Hi...Hi, Nancy, it's mama. I'm here now...don't be scared."

Nancy. It's the first thing that came to Karen's mind and it feels so right. It means grace, favored, pure, all things her daughter is. Nancy. Nancy. Nancy. Nancy.

Karen's eyes are filled with tears as she trails her finger down her daughter's arm to her hand, her tiny little hand that's as big as the pad of Karen's finger. Karen's unshed tears finally start falling when Nancy's fragile hand wraps around Karen's finger, holding it. Karen smiles slightly and she gets a feeling that her Nancy is going to be just fine.

"You're gonna change the world someday...I just know it. You're my fighter, my little fighter."

Karen didn't know then just how right she'd be.

Y'all...I should totally write more about Karen and baby Nancy. (Please tell me what y'all think of this 🙏)

[theladycarpathia]

Too soft for all of it

Harringroveweek prompt:  apocalypse one night stand

“This is just a one off, do you hear me, Harrington?” Billy says, tugging off his shirt. Steve hungrily tracks every inch of bare skin with his eyes. End of the world hookups can be lethal, filthy and downright disgusting, depending on who you do it with. And Hargrove may be an ass but he’s got form. A really, really nice one.

“I hear you,” Steve says, not really listening. Because he knows something that Billy doesn’t and it’s this - that once they’ve given into this constant, burning heat between them, they won’t be able to stop it from happening again. 

And Steve sure as hell doesn’t want to stop it. He’s probably fucking up by breaking the number one rule of apocalypse hook ups (aside from always use condoms and don’t have sex outdoors) and he’s breaking it hard. Don’t fool around with someone who can break your heart.

“Yeah, you’ve got that ‘I’m really taking it all in’ look,” Billy snorts. He begins unbuttoning his jeans, watching Steve’s slack jaw with pleasure. “Does Princess Nancy know that’s the look you get when she starts talking?” 

Okay, Steve really doesn’t want any images of Nancy right now. He drags his eyes up to Billy’s, pretending that he can’t hear the teeth of a zipper being dragged down. 

“Well, her battle strategy meetings are long,” Steve says defensively. Billy shrugs and lets his hands fall away, leaving just a glimpse of his boxers from behind the denim. Steve scowls.

“You’re still dressed,” Billy points out cheekily, tugging at the fabric of Steve’s shirt. “Thought you might want to catch up.” Steve grabs the hem of his shirt and yanks it over his head. It’s worth it to see Billy’s eyes go dark.

“Not bad, Harrington,” Billy says in a low voice and Steve reaches a hand around the back of his neck to pull him down. Billy’s bare flesh on his is like every dream come true and Steve slides his hand into the back of Billy’s jean pocket, desperate to pull Billy’s straining erection against his own. When their bodies align, Steve can’t help his moan into Billy’s mouth. If he’s not careful, he’ll come just like this.

“So, ‘fess up,” Billy says, pressing his mouth against Steve’s bare throat. “How long have you wanted this?”

“Who says I have?” Steve retorts, although any bravado is lost in a helpless pant as Billy drags his teeth along the delicate curve of Steve’s neck. 

“I think you have,” Billy purrs and Steve wonders if Billy can hear the furious pounding of Steve’s heart. Maybe he can feel it when they’re pressed so tightly together.

But Billy will have to earn any admission from Steve. He’s not that pathetic.

Oh, but he knows he is. He’s weak with love, has been ever since the day that Billy and his group of survivors arrived at their camp. Hopper had been a little less than thrilled initially with the van of assorted teens from California. He’d been a little more thrilled with Joyce Byers arriving with them though. 

Their camp is pretty small, walls surrounding what had been the small cul-de-sac built out of whatever they could find. Chicken wire, old bits of fencing, metal sheeting. They’d closed everything off and shut down the road. No one got in or out.

And for a while things had been rough. They didn’t quite know what they do now about infection, supplies, and how to travel safely. They lost a few along the way, but they learned. 

What they did learn was not to trust strangers. Strangers could be infected, they can lie, they can shoot you in the back over your supplies if they want to. Benny had learnt that one the hard way and he’d been a good man. They hadn’t even been able to bury him. 

So when a convoy was spotted a few streets over, tensions had been high. People don’t come into Hawkins, not when it’s too small to be of any use. The woods and farms surrounding the more urban areas are prime space for the undead. No one risks coming through that if they don’t have to.

But this group had. Joyce Byers had been born here, actually went to school with Hopper way back when. Hopper had nearly been ready to turn them all away until he’d seen her. Apparently she’d left her scumbag ex when her kids were young and never looked back. And while they were in California, they picked up a few extras. Alone with so many kids, Joyce had taken the risk to return to where she knew.

Billy had pulled himself out of the driving seat, cigarette tucked behind his ear, gun strapped against his leg and Steve had been ruined right then and there. 

And now finally, six months later, Billy had finally noticed. Or maybe he’d finally stopped pretending he hadn’t noticed.

“You’re a little obvious about it,” Billy says, sitting back on his haunches to work at Steve’s jeans, his long, clever fingers easily undoing the assorted buttons. Steve flushes. Fuck. Robin’s been telling him for weeks that he’s too open about how he stares at Billy. People occasionally make the odd comment about Murray and Alexei spending too much time together but this isn’t high school. The normal rules seem to go out of the window when every day is about just surviving.

Even so, Robin had warned him about people talking. It couldn’t lead to anything good, in a community this small. 

“It’s alright,” Billy says, and the press of his palm against Steve’s dick is enough to set his skin on fire. “I liked it.”

Steve jerks his head up, half expecting Billy to be giving him that annoying grin, the one that’s full of cockiness and teeth. But instead, Billy’s eyes are soft and a little hopeful. 

“In fact,” Billy continues, shifting so he can pull Steve’s jeans down his legs and tug them right off. Steve’s still in his boxers, but he’s never felt more vulnerable. There’s something about the warm tilt of Billy’s mouth, the way he’s looking at Steve from under his eyelashes. Billy had swaggered up this evening, like he owned the place, like all he had to do was snap his fingers and have Steve fall into his bed. Now Steve wonders how much of that was just for show, because this Billy is one he’s never seen.

Steve’s possibly not the only one who’s been looking. 

“I like it a lot,” Billy continues, shimmying out of his own jeans. He kicks them aside and crawls back up Steve’s body, curling his fingers into Steve’s hair like they belong there.

“Ass,” Steve mutters, even as he tries to roll his hips against Billy’s. Billy just grins. There’s an attractive flush to his skin, a haze over his eyes. Steve kind of wants to see that look on Billy’s face tomorrow morning too.

“It’s a great ass,” Billy says helpfully. “I don’t blame you for looking.”

“I wasn’t looking that much,” Steve grumbles, annoyed at being caught out. It’s a risk caring about someone but people seem to manage it. Steve thinks about how very human it is to find love in a world of blood and teeth and death. Hopper and Joyce. Murray and Alexei. Nancy and Jonathan. 

“Sure, pervert,” Billy rumbles, mouth trailing against Steve’s bare skin. For someone who insisted that this was just fucking, just something to take the edge off, he’s being too soft. He’s treating Steve like glass and it’s something Steve could all too easily get addicted to.

“Just this once, huh?” Steve says, glad that he’s this close to Billy’s bright blue eyes. He can count every lash, see the pale scar across his right eyebrow. He’s still not sure how Billy got it - the story changes every time. Somehow, Steve doubts that Billy got it in a one-on-one tussle with a zombie.

There’s a flicker in Billy’s eyes, ever so briefly uncertain. Like he’s taking Steve’s words at face value. Steve slides his hands around the curve of Billy’s back, feeling along every nub of his spine. Waiting. Hoping.

“Yeah,” Billy breathes finally, sliding his fingers beneath Steve’s waistband. Steve decides then and there that he doesn’t mind this strange mutual lie they have going so long as Billy’s fingers are just rubbing against his hip bones like that. It feels like a long night of aching muscles and sweat along his spine and bruises sucked into his collarbone ahead of them. “Yeah, just this once.”

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen - Chapter Fourteen - Chapter Fifteen - Chapter Sixteen - Chapter Seventeen - Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen

@nightmareglitter

Chapter Twenty

Nancy frowned as she tried to think about what to do next. Eddie and Steve were sitting with her at the kitchen table while Eddie chowed down on his leftover dinner. He hadn't eaten since the previous day at lunchtime. Meanwhile, Nancy was lost in thought. She tried to call the Byers, but the line was busy, and she was even desperate enough to call Murray, but he didn't answer either. She wasn't sure how to get in contact with Dr. Owens. Suddenly, she was very worried about Mike. Why wasn't Mrs. Byers answering the phone? It's not like she could get here very quickly, anyway but they had agreed to stay in touch when she left.

"Go away, it's mine," Eddie said, breaking her out of her thoughts.

Mayhem was on the table, eyeing Eddie's plate of food. She was licking her lips. She swiped a paw at it, but Eddie blocked it with his elbow.

"Meow," Mayhem said.

"Stop acting like we don't feed you," Eddie said and hissed at the cat.

Mayhem scooted back and looked at him disaprovingly. Apparently, that had been the wrong thing to say. Mayhem meowed louder. Eddie scowled and meowed back at her. Pretty soon, they were meowing back and forth.

"Eddie," Nancy laughed.

"What? She started it," Eddie replied.

"Stop arguing with the cat," she said with amusement.

"Whatever you say, meowmy," Eddie said.

"I told you that is not catching on," she replied.

"Come on, Mayhem, you want some special food?" Steve asked, and suddenly Mayhem's attention was on him.

"You spoil her, Stevie," Eddie said fondly.

Nancy stared out the kitchen window. It was quite dark outside now. They had slept longer than she thought. With everything that happened today, it was strange to realize that yesterday wasn't that long ago. Yesterday, she was at the game covering for the paper. . . The paper. . . Shit, she was supposed to drive Fred there this morning. She checked the clock. He should still be up. Nancy stood up suddenly and went to the phone.

"What are you doing?" Eddie asked, his mouth full of food.

"Calling Fred. I was supposed to be at the paper with him today, but I never showed up. He's probably worried," Nancy said.

"Hm," Eddie said and continued to eat.

It rang so many times that Nancy wasn't sure she was ever going to get through, but finally, she did.

"Hello?" Nancy asked.

"Oh, Nancy," Mrs. Benson's voice came through, and she was sobbing.

"Mrs. Benson? I, uh, was calling to check on Fred. I was supposed to take him to the paper today, but something came up, and I never got around to calling," Nancy said.

"Oh, Nancy, sweetheart. . . I hate to say this. . . I don't know how to say this, but Fred, he. . . My baby passed away tonight," Mrs. Benson sobbed. "The police are here now."

It felt like Nancy had been punched in the stomach. She hadn't been friends with Fred very long, but still, he had been her friend, and he had been so nice to her when she joined the paper so late. Everyone else had been there for a while, and some were new like her, but they had been too shy to talk to her, or they hadn't cared. Fred had been the one to approach her and show her the ropes.

"How?" Nancy asked.

"I don't know - I don't - the lights started to flicker, and I thought the power was going to go out, so I went to check on him, and he was lying there. . . He was broken. . . So broken and his eyes. . . His eyes were gone. . .I don't know, I don't know . . . " Mrs. Benson sobbed. "I have to go."

Before Nancy could ask any more questions, the line went dead. She hung up the phone and collapsed on the ground, breathing heavily. Not again. Please, not again.

"Nancy, baby?" Eddie asked. "What's wrong?"

Steve came back into the room, his eyes going wide as he saw Nancy on the floor. Tears were spilling on her cheeks as she stared ahead in horror.

"What happened?" Steve asked.

"I don't know," Eddie frowned. "She called Fred and when she got off the phone, she was like this."

"Fred's dead," Nancy said.

"What? How?!" Steve yelped.

"L-like Chrissy," she replied.

"Shit!" Eddie cursed and dropped to her side. "Baby, I am so sorry."

Steve moved to her other side and held her tightly. Eddie wrapped his arms around the both of them as Nancy's body started to shake with sobs. It wasn't fucking fair. How did she keep losing friends? Was she cursed? No, she wasn't cursed. This fucking town was. As she broke down in the arms of the men whom she loved, she realized that they all needed to fucking leave.

"This is too much," Nancy sobbed.

"Call the Byers again," Eddie said. "Call Murray again. We have to do something anything."

Eddie held Nancy tightly as they both trembled, and he whispered words of comfort in her ear. She wasn't listening to what he was saying. Everything was fading away, becoming out of focus as though she were underwater.

"They're not answering," Steve said.

"They have to fucking care! Either they don't give a shit or something is going on with them too," Eddie said.

"Mike," she heard Steve say suddenly.

"Mike?" Nancy asked.

Before anyone could say anything else, a knock sounded at the apartment door. Eddie held onto Nancy tighter while Steve picked up his bat. Still in Nancy's bathrobe, Steve looked pretty silly. He held the bat behind the door and pulled it open slightly. Nancy's eyes widened in surprise as she saw Lily standing there.

"Lily?" Nancy asked.

"Are you alright?" Lily asked.

"I don't - what are you doing here?" Nancy asked.

"We heard what happened, may we come in?" Lily asked.

A shorter woman with short dark hair and piercing brown eyes stood behind Lily. They both wore matching black suits.

"Who is that?" Nancy asked.

"This is my partner, Agent Ellen Stinson," Lily introduced.

"Agent?" Eddie and Steve asked.

"You work for them," Nancy said in realization.

"Dr. Owens sent us to keep you safe," Lily said.

"So, what all of it was just a lie? You don't have a degree in journalism," Nancy snapped.

"Yes, actually, I do. The only thing I didn't tell you was who I really worked for. I got involved in all of this while working on a story. What I do is protect people like you, those that get involved when they shouldn't. I learned my lesson, still sometimes you have to fight for the truth," Lily said and paused. "You're just kids. You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Nancy asked.

"Mostly, because I had orders not to and the other reason is that you never know who could be listening," Lily said. "This town has been put on the map. Other people are going to be interested in this place and what lies beneath. We needed to make sure that no one like Brenner ever pulled shit like this again. You have every reason to be angry, but that can wait until later. We need to figure out what the hell is going right now. You can yell at me all you want after all of this, but right now, we have work to do."

"I'll be holding you to that," Nancy mumbled.

She knew she was right, though. Lily hadn't been the only one keeping secrets. Nancy and everyone else kept secrets about what they've been through from their own family. Nancy didn't have any right to be mad, did she?

"Let them in," Nancy said softly.

Steve stepped aside to let them in. Lily looked at Steve in amusement as she entered the apartment.

"Nice outfit," Lily said.

"Thanks, it's our girlfriend's," Steve said.

Lily looked at Eddie with the blanket still wrapped around his waist and then at Nancy, who was still wearing Eddie's Hellfire shirt. Nancy wasn't embarrassed or ashamed of being half naked in front of her former boss like she would have been a while back. It was just the human body, everyone had one. That might have been something that she picked up something from Steve and Eddie, considering they have no shame when it comes to certain things.

"Right," Lily said. "Tell us everything that's happened so far."

Eddie shared a look with Nancy, and she nodded. He began to tell her everything that happened, and when he was done, he looked very close to crying.

"And I just called my friend Fred. His mother answered and told me - told me he was dead too - just like Chrissy," Nancy said.

"Jesus, another death?" Agent Stinson asked.

"Is it another kid with powers or maybe someone from the Upside Down?" Eddie asked. "Do you guys have any clue at all?"

"That's what we're here to find out," Lily replied.

Suddenly, the phone rang, and Nancy was quick to pick it up.

"Hello?"

"Nancy! They took her!" Dustin's came through the phone. "They just came and took her. I mean, they talked with her for a while and she just went with them. . .willingly!"

"Slow down, what are you talking about?" Nancy asked.

"A group of men and Dr. Owens came by to talk to El. After a long conversation that we weren't a part of, El decided to go with him. She said something about becoming a superhero again," Dustin said. "I think she's going to try and get her powers back. Wayne tried to stop her, but it was her choice to go with them."

"Okay, we'll be there soon. Just sit tight. Is Max still there?" Nancy asked.

"Yeah, we tried to get a hold of Lucas earlier, but he's not picking up," Dustin said.

"Shit, Lucas, I didn't even think. . .he doesn't know about any of this," Nancy muttered. "We'll be there soon."

She turned to Steve and Eddie, suddenly feeling queezy and lightheaded.

"What?" Eddie asked.

"They took El," Nancy said.

"What?!" Eddie and Steve exclaimed.

"Dr. Owens came by and took El. I guess he found a way to bring her powers back. She went with them willingly, Wayne tried to stop her, but it was her choice," Nancy said.

"No, no fucking way," Eddie muttered and ran his hands over his face. "FUCK!"

"Come on. Let's get dressed," Nancy said.

Once they were all dressed, they headed out the door. Once again, Mayhem refused to let them leave without her. Nancy was relieved because, honestly, she needed all the cuddles that she could get. Sensing her distress, Mayhem nudged her head against Nancy's stomach and purred. She curled up against Eddie in the backseat while Steve drove, and they both clung to each other tightly as they thought about their situation. She knew that Eddie was thinking about El as much as she was thinking about Fred. She let a sniffle.

"I fucking hate this," Nancy said and Eddie pressed a hard kiss to her head.

"We're still here, baby," Eddie said softly.

It felt like a blow to her stomach. How long were they going to be here for? How much time did she have left with the men she loved?

Chapter Twenty-One

[cowboymcflurry]

You Found Me | Jim Hopper x Reader

Summary: You left Hawkins for good, making Jim Hopper, the guy you have had a crush on for years, worry about you word count: 1,2k includes: very vague mention of ST storyline, angsty kissing, set somewhere in season 2 I guess

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

It had been a couple of weeks since you had went missing, even though missing might be the wrong word. You left. You didn’t have a future in Hawkins and after everything that’s happened, after everything you had been involved in, you thought it might be a good decision to pack your bags and leave for good. You hadn’t told anyone. Especially not Hopper, who had been the closest thing to a friend you’d had. Over the years you had grown a severe crush on him that had slowly eaten you up from inside. You knew that you weren’t his type. He was known to hook up with the most beautiful women Hawkins had to offer and here you were, some weirdo from out of town who was way too interested in true crime podcasts, ghost stories and UFO sightings. You had just started working as Gary’s assistant at the local morgue, when Chief Hopper had come in one day. You distinctly remember the fluttery feeling in your stomach when he had first given you one of his rare smiles or when he had brought you a pizza because you’d had to work late.

One night a few months ago you had finally summoned all of your courage to ask him out on a date or at least express in some way that you were into him. But when he came into the morgue, holding two cups of coffee, and talking to you like to an old buddy of his, you somehow couldn’t go through with it. So you just took the coffee, smiled, and listened to him talk about his day. Then all of this weird stuff happened. Will Byers. Hawkins National Laboratory. Hopper taking in El. Suddenly you’d felt like drowning. Like everything was a little bit too much, like you didn’t belong - even though you had never felt like you’d belonged there in the first place.

So you left. You quit your job at the morgue and with the money you had saved over the years you’d decided to go on a little road trip. Just you and some mix tapes.

It was week five in and you’d just gone up your room at another shady motel. You were just about to eat your pizza - your favorite kind that Hopper used to get you back then - when someone banged at the door.

“Hey, are you there?” a male voice yelled and it sounded strangely familiar. Could it be that - no, no that was absolutely impossible. Right?

“I know you’re there, I can smell that stupid pizza through the door!”

You gulped. Slowly you stood up, trying to catch a glimpse through the curtains, but it was pitch black outside.

“Come on!” he yelled, followed by another bang, though this time sounding more frustrated.

Reluctantly you unlocked the door, frantically thinking about how he possibly could’ve found you.

When your eyes met the stunning blue of his it felt as if your heart skipped a beat. The way he looked at you, worried, caring but also angry made your chest feel as if it were about to explode from guilt.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he hissed, shoving himself past you, looking around the room as if you were hiding something.

“How did you know where you am?”

“None of your business.”

You raised your eyebrows in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“Why are you here?” he asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“Why are YOU here?” you asked in return, mimicking his posture.

“Gary said you quit.”

“Correct.”

“Why?”

“Just because Jim! I just wanted to get some fresh air.”

“There’s plenty of fresh air in Hawkins.”

“Well, I wanted to get some fresh air outside of Hawkins.”

What followed was an uncomfortable silence, in which he gave you a look that could only be described as reproachful. After a while he looked away and cleared his throat.

“Where you ever planning on coming back?” he asked in a coarse but soft voice. You looked away. No, I wasn’t because there’s been too much fucked up shit going on and besides I’m madly in love with you, you scruffy idiot.

“Eventually, yeah.” you lied. He scoffed.

“You know what?” He asked, turning to look at you.

“What?”

“The day you left I actually wanted to ask you out to see that stupid movie you’ve been talking about the whole time.”

“Nightmare On Elm Street?” you asked, not completely processing what he’d just said.

“Yeah, that one.”

“Why?” you asked, perplexed.

“What do you mean why? Because I - Because…” He swallowed. Looking away, he ran his fingers through his hair.

How had he been able to find you? He must’ve been on the road for ages only to ‘save’ you - not knowing you hadn’t needed saving. Still the sight of him, the sight of his stubble, the sight of the faint melancholy in his eyes gave your stomach a little shake, as if you were on a roller coaster. You noticed his eyes resting on you, his expression suddenly soft and wounded. Cautiously you closed the distance between the two of you, immediately feeling the heat his body radiated and smelling the faint remains of his musky eau de cologne.

“Jim, I-” you began to say, but the sentence trailed of somewhere, when your gaze met his eyes again.

“What?” His coarse voice all soft.

“I’m sorry.” you whispered, trying to look away.

Slowly his hand reached for your face, his thumb softly stroking the skin of your cheek. You felt your throat clogging up and your eyes getting moist, desperately trying not to give in. Trying not to let him see this side of you. This was not how it was supposed to be. But here he was. Exhausted and frustrated and maybe in need of a shower. And when your gaze fell upon the slight curve of his lips you couldn’t help but long for his touch. For the warmth his body exceeded. For the feel of his skin on yours. But despite what he’d said less than a minute ago, it still felt hopeless, like a dead-end.

“I thought you were gone for good.” he said, his voice breaking, his hand still on your cheek. His eyes as blue as the ocean’s, made you think of a storm at sea; beautiful and dangerous at the same time. You wouldn’t mind drowning in them. You have drowned in them. Suddenly his glance wandered. From the tip of your nose down to your philtrum only to finally land on your lips. You felt his breath, smelling faintly of cigarettes and whiskey, hot on your skin as he exhaled. Then he closed the distance between the two of you even further. His lips being less than an inch away from yours. He searched for your eyes again, his other hand reaching up to the other half of your face. And when you looked into his eyes, into the storm, the crashing waves of the sea, and how he seemingly tried to study yours in return, as if he was desperately trying to find something, you closed your eyes and placed your lips on his.

It felt as if the world had stopped turning. There was no sound, no light, no feeling other than his rough stubble brush against your skin, the smooth skin of his lips on yours. The alternating pull and release, first tender, then more longing, until it became urgent. You pulled at his collar, your head still in his hands, as you kissed and kissed and kissed...

[oohnotvery]

Edges of the Night (Chapter 12)

Chapter 11 took me SO long to write, so I was relieved you all liked it (minus the cliffhanger).

Originally as I was writing Chapter 12, I planned to give you the entirety of this next “piece” of the story. As I started fleshing things out though, this chapter got incredibly long, and editing it has been a beast. I’m leaving to go out of town for a few days and have decided to split Chapter 12 into two or three smaller pieces. I’m hoping to feed you at least one more piece before I leave, but I can't promise anything.

Anyways, we’re super close to the end. Thank you soooo much for the comments. They FUEL me.

Although her current accommodations really are quite nice, Scully has been restless since arriving on the property. A combination of shock and sedation has made the past twelve hours a blur. She keeps remembering things in bits and pieces—seeing Skinner and the Gunmen appear at her bedside; listening as Skinner spoke to the woman in the hospital room, then the guard; leaving the hospital facility as a free woman, Byers pushing her in a wheelchair down a well-lit corridor. In fragments, she recalls a long van ride, awakening to a raging pain in her shoulder that Frohike promptly medicated with something over-the-counter.

The rest is lost to her.

When she wakes up in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room, she tamps down her initial panic by reminding herself that she is with trusted friends, that people who care about her have brought her here. Her shoulder aches badly but her mind is alert. There’s a plate of toast and a glass of water sitting on her bedside table, and she forces herself to sip at the water. A shopping bag sits beside the bed, and she rifles through it to find an interesting selection of generic women’s clothing and toiletries. She wonders who did the shopping and almost cracks a smile at the thought of Skinner picking out her underwear.  

A note rests beside the shopping bag, the handwriting unfamiliar.

Come downstairs when you’re ready.

She peeks out the bedroom window and sees a thick forest shrouded in twilight. It takes her a few minutes to find a bathroom and then the stairs. She quickly realizes she’s in an old house, and at the foot of the stairs is a living room where everyone has gathered. All four of the men watch as she takes the stairs and joins Frohike on the couch. They glance at her with a funny mixture of expressions: apprehension, relief, fondness, grief.  

Grief.

She doesn’t waste time on greetings or platitudes.

“Do we know anything about Mulder?” she asks, her voice weak from disuse.

Skinner shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “Not exactly,” he tells her regretfully. “My contacts at the Bureau told me that someone lunged at the cameraman, that there was a gunshot, and that Agent Mulder went down. From there, all the accounts report simply . . . chaos. When everything was said and done, Agent Mulder could not be located.”

Scully licks her lips, restraining her emotions. This is good, she thinks. They didn’t find a body.

“Who attacked the cameraman?” she asks.

“It’s not yet clear what happened,” he says enigmatically, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes flit meaningfully to the Gunmen’s. They know something that I don’t, she realizes with a sinking stomach.   

“But you should know,” Skinner continues, “that regardless of the facts, the Bureau is officially reporting that Agent Mulder died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.”

She closes her eyes and wills herself to breathe. There’s no proof, her logical mind argues. No one actually saw it happen.

But there was a gunshot.

“How did you know where I was being held?” she redirects, her investigative mind fighting for dominance over her emotions.  

Skinner clears his throat. “That uh, that was part of the deal,” he explains tentatively.

A pause. “The deal?”

“Mulder made plans to ensure your safety before—before committing the act,” he explains. “Part of that arrangement was releasing you freely back to your life, whatever that may look like. To live in peace.”

She scoffs. There’s no peace if Mulder is dead. “They put a gun to my head and filmed it for him to see,” she counters petulantly. “Mulder never had any real bargaining power with them. They could have killed me the minute Mulder—pulled the trigger.” She fumbles over the words.  

Skinner shrugs. “Yes, well . . . he planned for that too.”

She raises a brow in question.

“Before Mulder agreed to any sort of . . . action on his part, he asked that you be released into my protection. I got the orders to meet you at the hospital just hours after you were brought in.” Skinner’s face softens slightly as he nods towards the Gunmen. “I brought these three with me, because a long time ago, Mulder made me promise to use them to keep you safe. So that’s what I did. That’s why you’re here with us instead of back home in California.”

She takes a minute to absorb his words and feels a curious, confusing, unexplainable anger begin to rise in her body. “And where am I, exactly?”

“You’re at a safe house,” Skinner explains, “deep in the mountains of rural West Virginia.”

She cocks her head testily. “If I’m such a free woman now, why did you need to bring me to a safe house? I thought I wasn’t in danger anymore.” Her heart is beating fast, furiously.

“Truthfully, we don’t have all the facts yet. We don’t know what happened to Agent Mulder and we don’t want to risk your safety any further.” He pauses, his expression hardening. “If Agent Mulder isn’t—if he didn’t die, and if they discover that he’s still alive, your life could still be in danger.”

“And if—if the opposite is true?” She can’t even bring herself to speak that possibility aloud.  

Skinner nods tightly. “If Agent Mulder is dead, then you’re free to live your life. Mulder’s death guaranteed your continued safety.”

“There is no guarantee,” she spits as heat rises to her cheeks. It’s irrational, and she remembers the threat of a cold gun pressed against her temple, but all she knows right now is a searing pain, a heated rage, a colossal fury, at the fact that once again, Mulder thought he could save her life by leaving her. “Those people—whoever they are—they could still decide to murder me, or torture me, or kidnap me. Just because he might be—dead doesn’t mean I’m safe—”

Skinner holds up a hand and she falls quiet, her mouth open in protest. “It was a guarantee,” he says softly but firmly. “Mulder’s life for your protection. As much as they threatened to hurt you, Scully, they never actually wanted you. Sure, they used some very credible threats to scare Mulder into making moves. But now that he’s gone—”

She flashes Skinner a warning look and he murmurs an apology.

“Now that Mulder might be gone,” he corrects quietly, “they couldn’t care less about you. It was always about discrediting the X-Files, discrediting Agent Mulder. And you were always just . . .”

“A pawn,” she says softly. “But the X-Files were mine too.” A sharp pain rips through her heart, surprising her. She’s been so distracted, so busy, so scared, that she hasn’t quite begun to absorb the loss of the files, or the grief that comes with that loss. She shoves the thought aside. It will be something to deal with later.

Skinner sighs. “Yes, well. Luckily for you, all they wanted was the figurehead of the X-Files. We’re in a holding pattern right now, waiting to see if any more information comes forward about Agent Mulder. But when you return to California, your safety is guaranteed, so long as you keep your mouth shut.”

Her ears ring with the unfairness of it all. “They tried to kill us!” she spits. “They made Mulder destroy his life’s work, they villainized him for kidnapping me, they’ve made him out to be some kind of—of—of lunatic! When all he ever wanted to do was keep me safe. It’s not fair, it isn’t right. The world needs to know the truth—”

“Agent Scully!” Skinner barks exasperatedly. She falls quiet. “Agent Mulder gave his life for you. And these three men have risked everything to keep you safe. If you return to California and start spouting off the truth of what happened out there, Mulder will have died in vain.”

Something inside her snaps. “He’s not dead, dammit!” she shouts, leaping to her feet. She fixes Skinner with a furious look and he rises, catching hold of her biceps. But when he meets her incensed gaze with tenderness, her defenses fall.

“He can’t be dead,” she whispers desperately as he pulls her into his arms.

She feels a large palm cup the back of her head and her entire body trembles as grief and outrage race through her. He’s right, she tells herself, but in the back of her mind, she’s still wondering about the suspicious look he exchanged with the Gunmen earlier. They know something I don’t, her mind plays on repeat. What aren’t they telling me?

“Do you know?” she asks wetly, pulling back. “Do you know what happened to Mulder?”

Skinner shakes his head candidly. “I do not.”

She swallows hard, her vision swimming, and drops back down to the couch. She rakes her hands through her hair, tugging hard at the roots and wincing when the pain is too much.  

“Mulder spent years blaming himself for the way my life has played out. Funny,” she says with a mirthless laugh, “that I’m now the reason for his suffering.”

All four men drop their eyes to their laps and a tense, disconsolate silence fills the space. Gently, Frohike places a hand on her wrist and she notices offhandedly the way her tears pool on the back of his hand.  

“So,” she asks after a time, brushing carelessly at her wet cheeks. “This is an FBI safe house?”

Skinner’s solemn face finally ticks up into a sort of smile. He glances at the boys. “No. It’s a Lone Gunmen safehouse.”

**

It’s been twenty-four hours since she was rescued from the hospital room. She aches from head to toe and her post-surgery body is desperate for rest, but she can’t sit still.

Her mind is obsessively fixated on Mulder. Whether he’s alive, whether he’s being held somewhere, whether he’s dead and where they’ve put his body. Skinner has delicately kept her abreast of all the Bureau updates—official headlines about Mulder’s erratic behavior, his descent into madness, his visits to the psych ward. His suicide.

Yes, the X-Files have been properly besmirched.

For hours, Frohike tries to get her to eat, but her stomach refuses anything besides toast. She blames her lack of appetite on the surgery, but anyone with half a brain can tell she’s stuck in the agonizing push-and-pull of despair and hope.  

The first morning at the house dawns gloomily. Raindrops streak the windows and low, leaden clouds hang heavily across the sky. Out here in the woods, where a thick forest surrounds the house on every side, she can hardly see anything but trees.

She’s sitting at the kitchen table pushing oatmeal around in a bowl when Skinner bursts into the room.

“Get to the basement,” he demands tersely, yanking his Glock out of its holster.

She jumps up abruptly but before she can ask questions, the Gunmen are ushering her swiftly towards the house’s basement stairwell. She glances back at Skinner and watches him duck beneath the front window.

“What is it? What’s happening?” she asks as she flies down the stairs.

Langly slams shut the basement door and locks it quickly, then gestures for her to keep moving. “A car coming up the road triggered the alarm system.”  

“But it—it could be anyone,” she suggests rationally, even though her heart is racing. “A lost hiker, someone just passing through—”

Langly shakes his head knowingly. “Not out here. This is end-of-the-world territory.”

The basement is wide and spacious, lit by a single, exposed bulb with a pull-chain. Although there are places to sit against the walls, everyone remains standing, a collective anxiety thrumming between their bodies. If someone dangerous breaches the house, if Skinner can’t hold them back, Scully knows the four of them don’t stand a chance down here.

“I need a weapon,” she mutters irritably. “Why don’t I have a weapon?”

No one answers her and she swears. “I should be up there with Skinner,” she says defiantly. “Even unarmed, I can fight—”

Frohike places a firm hand on her uninjured shoulder. “Let him handle it. You’re the priority.”

When she opens her mouth to protest, he shoots her a warning look that she’s never before seen on the little man. “Agent Scully, might I remind you that we didn’t go to all this trouble for you to die.”

She glares at him for a second longer before her shoulders sag in surrender. Stuck down in the basement, though, her frustration and anxiety have nowhere to go, and she finds herself pacing restlessly. If there is danger upstairs, she would rather face it head-on. Hell, she’d give almost anything to have a chance at taking down the people who hurt her and Mulder.  

Eventually, she makes her way to the top of the stairs and presses her ear to the door, but the basement might as well be a steel trap for all that she can hear. Frustrated and on edge, she paces back down the stairs and rounds on Frohike.

“What do you and Skinner know about Mulder that I don’t?” she demands accusatorily.

His eyebrows fly to his hairline. “What do you mean—”

“I saw the look he gave you earlier when you were talking about what happened at the Hoover Building. Something—something happened and you all know—”

A knock at the basement door sends them jumping out of their skins, and all three of the boys rush to stand protectively in front of her.  

“All clear,” they hear Skinner announce loudly.

Frohike frowns, unconvinced, and starts climbing the stairs towards the door. “Prove it, FBI boss,” he shouts back.

“Open the damn door, Frohike,” comes a familiar voice.

Scully gasps, her whole body freezing. And then she lurches forward, shoving Frohike aside to take the basement stairs two at a time. Her fingers fumble agitatedly at the lock on the door and when she finally gets it, she flings it open.  

Mulder stands at the entrance, a beaming Skinner behind him. She meets her partner’s eyes, tracks the elation and devotion in his gaze. His lips quirk into a smile and she sags with relief.

“Come here, Scully,” Mulder murmurs quietly, just for her.

Without hesitation, she falls into him and he catches her, wrapping an arm tightly around her waist, pressing her body flush to his. His other hand sinks into her hair, drawing her head down into his chest. She links her uninjured arm around his neck and squeezes him fiercely, unwilling to ever let go.

“You’re alive,” she breathes, tears gathering on her lashes, “oh, thank God, you’re alive.”

“You okay?” he asks, fingertips skimming her wounded shoulder. She notices offhandedly that he is trembling.

Holding back a sob, she nods, pressing her face into his shirt, letting her tears dampen his neck.

“I love you,” she mouths into his skin, unwilling to speak the words in front of their audience.

His fingertips scratch idly at her scalp, then travel down to her neck, then her back, where his warm palm rubs up and down her spine. She wants to stand here all day wrapped in his arms, but after a few moments, his hands slip to grip her waist, and then he gently pushes her back. Off her surprised look, he gives her a soft, sad smile, then brushes his thumb across her jaw. Her hands resettle against his hips, unwilling to lose contact with him just yet.

“You, uh, you may want to say hello to the person responsible for my being alive.” His tone is a complicated mixture of gratitude and resentment, and she frowns.

He pauses, his eyes pinning her in place, and then he dips his head and breaks her gaze. When he moves aside, her mouth parts in shock.

Because standing behind Skinner is Alan.

[sapphic-bats]

Okay ficlet request….Byler as dads??????? 😂🤷🏻‍♀️

UM, OF COURSE?? Request from @photographygirl814

“Mike!” Will says as the door is shut behind him. He fumbles with the bag of groceries in the odd hold he had to use to undo the lock. “Mike, I’m home!”

Instead of Mike rounding the corner, the sound of small bare feet slapping the hardwood flooring alerts Will as to who’s about to appear. Her presence is quickly made as she charges up to Will, not even tall enough to stand far above his knees, and latches onto his leg.

“Daddy!” The little girl squeals happily, putting her face in his pant leg.

Will laughs, still only having one free hand to place on the top of her head. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry, but I need to set down the groceries. Could you-”

“Nora, step back from Daddy. Give him a second, he has bags, remember?” Mike, suddenly having come around the corner, prods Nora with his reminders.

Respectfully, Nora unlatches and steps back, eyes still big with excitement. “I can help!”

Will’s already smiling. “I think this bag’s too heavy.”

“Not for me!” She proudly announces, placing her hands on her hips.

“I wouldn’t bet against it.” Will chuckles, and Mike steps forward.

“Alright, alright, you two,” he reaches out for the bag of groceries, stepping past Nora’s buzzing frame. “Stop hogging the attention, Nor. I need to see Daddy too.”

Nora giggles, bouncing on her heels before she seems to remember something dramatically. “Wait, wait! I drew a picture!” She cries out excitedly as she turns heel and charges back into the living room.

They both chuckle, well-used to Nora’s antics, and Will, with hands now free, cups Mike’s face and kisses him. “Thank you for picking her up. How’s she liking her new daycare?”

“Oh, it’s great. She loves the kids there, and her teacher is very nice. I’d say this week is going really well.”

Will slides one hand to his boyfriend’s shoulder, smiling. “And how about you? How’s writing going?” He asks. “Do you need my illustrations yet?”

“Almost.” Mike reaffirms, kissing Will’s cheek. “Still finishing the last few chapters, but I think it’ll be good for editing soon.”

Will kisses him again, and they both smile into it. Then, a young voice shouts from the living room.

“Dadda, where’d you put my drawing?”

Mike scoffs a laugh, and Will shakes his head, nimbly slipping his hand into the handle and stealing back the bag. “You go take care of that. I’ll unload the groceries.”

“I’ll help you afterwards.” Mike insists, smiling and striding off to help their daughter.

Will does the “Little Rascals” wave under his chin, which Mike mirrors gleefully. Once he’s rounded the corner, Will chuckled to himself and heads into the kitchen.

If you had asked Will Byers in 1986 if he had any hope of a happy future with quite literally everything he wanted, he would have said no. Truthfully.

But sometimes, it’s a wonderful thing to be wrong.

[aurorabyler]

Masterpost: Stranger Things Theories (Mainly Byler)

Hi everyone!! I've been missing making theories and the energy of summer 2022 (and just any stranger things release era for that matter), so I thought I'd compile my theories and important posts into one big master post! Enjoy, and feel free to share :) I can't wait to make more theories and analyses once we get more content.

Will's First Lie and First I Love You: Musical Symbolism Analysis

This one is a personal favourite of mine--I really recommend you check it out. The Stranger Things soundtrack is more than just pretty synthwave songs...it is integral to the story and the repetition and remixing of certain soundtracks really shows the amount of love and care that has gone into the show. This post describes the connection between the songs "The First Lie," "The First I love You," and "Being Different."

Flashbacks in Stranger Things: When, Why, and How They Are Used (Long Analysis)

This analysis applies a lot of key writing skills to a byler-focused analysis, with an emphasis on the varying use of flashback as a literary device across the show. From my analysis, you'll see that the way flashbacks have been used across Stranger Things, and particularly season 4, tell an interesting story about the more "real" relationships in the show.

Destruction: Byler's Repeating Musical Motif (With Video!)

I feel like this post is kind of underrated, but it's such an important musical symbolism moment, much like "The First Lie..Love You...Being Different" connection! It's yet another repeating musical motif that actually spans THREE seasons of the show and started in season one. Give it a read (and a watch!)

Comparing David Harbour and Noah Schnapp's Interviews About ST5

There are quite a few striking similarities between the way Noah and David have spoken about the end of Stranger Things. Check them out here!

Interpreting the Surfer Boy Pizza Scene: Leading Up to Breakup

This analysis looks at the scene between Mike and El at surfer boy pizza and argues that if it was leading up to an "I love you" or them getting back together, there needed to be more emotional buildup to that during El's time at the Nina project or Mike's on the road.

Will Byers Has the Power Vecna Needs to Deal with What He Hates Most: Time Itself

Ooooh, I love this one too! This theory looks at the pretty much inevitable relationship between Will and Vecna, and how time could play a key role in that.

Parallels Between El and Will Feeling Different

A short one, but this is a key parallel between how El and Will both feel different, and how Mike responds to that.

Significance of "A Book of Letters"

Why it's important that Will specifically mentions El having "a book of letters" from Mike.

Willel: I'd Get Him to Swap Our Places

My thoughts on willel and the potential significance of "Running Up That Hill" to their connection

"You're The Heart" and "Her Heart Stopped"

A little analysis of the connection between Mike's failed monologue and Max's heart stopping.

Brenner and Mike: Superhero Discussion Parallels

I feel like this topic is underrated in the fandom generally, but it deserves more attention as it's probably one of the most outright parallels that we have...lol...it's literally spoonfed to us. Give it a read :)

My Fan Expo Audio of Finn Talking About Mike's Pocket

Just a fun little addition! Fan Expo was such a fun experience :)

Thoughts on Response to Finn's Acting From GA and Implications for Byler

"Finn is expressionless during Melvin scenes!" yeah...maybe because that's the point? LOL

Me Roasting Mike's Arc if Taken At Face Value

Just....LOL. It's just funny.

Endgame Ships Not Needing to Say "I Love You"

What do the seemingly endgame ships have in common? They show, not tell their love for each other.

I hope you enjoy reading my posts! <3

[parkitaco]

oh oh feeling their temperature after one of will’s episodes (i’m not sure your post meant to send you a request or not so if not ignore this while i go bury myself alive)

Mike has never liked seeing Will in pain.

He doesn't- he doesn't like seeing anyone in pain, of course, particularly not people that he cares about, but with Will it is and always has been different. Will is quieter about it, for starters, always quiet in his sadness and shying away from anything resembling pity. He's hard to figure out, sometimes, but Mike prides himself on being better at it than most people. Mike's spent most of his life learning how to be in tune with Will Byers, but an unfortunate side effect of that fact is that when Will is in pain, Mike tends to feel like the world is ending.

Lately, Mike has felt like the world is ending a lot, partially because it actually, literally is ending right now, but also because Will's seemed- well, he's seemed down, to put it lightly. And for once in his life, Mike can't figure out why.

He's mentioned it to people, even, said things like do you think Will's okay, he seems upset to Dustin and Lucas, who have both responded with bewildered looks and something along the lines of shouldn't you know?

Which is fair, because Mike usually knows everything there is to know about Will, but ever since their fight last summer Will's gone quiet on him, and Mike can't quite figure out what he's thinking.

Right now, that task is even harder, because Will is asleep. And this fact would be fine, if it weren't also true that Mike is wide, wide awake, and as a byproduct is completely aware that Will is having a nightmare.

Sharing a room with Will has been- odd, to say the least. For the first few nights, before Mike and El's breakup when everyone was still quiet and scared and sad and they hadn't gotten used to this new apocalyptic reality, Will had slept on the floor, refusing Mike's offers to sleep in the bed and keeping his back turned to him while he slept. Then, one night a few weeks ago, after a grueling but ultimately bittersweet breakup with El, Mike had stumbled into his room with tears on his face and a weight on his chest and found Will laying on the floor, still awake, and he'd blurted out: Just come sleep up here with me, please.

Will had complied, and Mike had explained the breakup in whispers, head resting just inches from Will's chest, wanting to grab hold of him but not daring to, and Will had hummed sympathetically and carded a hand through Mike's hair, and everything had felt just a little more right.

He's slept up here every night since, some sort of unspoken agreement, and Mike has been careful to stay on his own side of the bed, his implicit desires no longer reigned in by the constant reminder of you have a girlfriend, Michael, pull yourself together. He's laid awake countless nights now, watching Will's chest rise and fall with quiet breaths beside him and drowning in his want, fighting with all his might to comply with the rules he's laid out for himself.

But right now, with Will thrashing in his sleep and crying a little, whimpering in a way that makes Mike's chest squeeze painfully, he decides that his rules are stupid, and reaches for him.

"Will," he whispers, leaning over and catching Will by the shoulders, shaking him gently and fighting his own inexplicable urge to cry. "Will, wake up."

Will's face screws up in agony, and Mike's heart breaks a little. At least he's not being Vecna'd, he tells himself, as if that makes it any better, he would be unresponsive otherwise.

Even so, his chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself, and he shakes Will more firmly, hissing his name desperately, in a way that he'd probably be embarrassed by if he wasn't so afraid and if it wasn't so dark in Will's room, Will's name a quiet plea in his mouth, wanting written all over the single syllable. Mike is too incriminating for his own good.

He shakes him again, and Will's eyes fly open. He gasps, pupils dilated as he jerks into consciousness, and Mike's entire body relaxes with relief.

"Will," he says again, quieter, and Will's eyes settle on him, a choked sob escaping from his mouth. "Hey, it's okay, it's okay, it's just me."

He keeps one hand on Will's arm, gripping his bicep like a lifeline as he tilts sideways and reaches over to switch on the lamp, and the room floods with light as Will sits up shakily and brings up a hand to swipe at the tears on his face. "S-sorry," he whispers brokenly, as Mike sits back on his heels and peers out at him. "Sorry, I just..."

"It's okay," Mike says again, because it is, but Will's face crumples anyway.

"I woke you," he points out, bottom lip quivering, always too kind, too gentle, too aware of others' feelings. Mike loves him. He loves him so much.

"I was awake anyway," he manages to say, fighting the urge to wrap Will up in his arms and kiss away the tearstains on his face. This statement is one hundred percent true, but Will looks at him disbelievingly anyway, even as Mike squeezes his bicep meaningfully.

Will's eyes flick to the hand on his arm, and Mike, for once, isn't racked with insecurity by it. "I'm okay now," Will says, which is definitely not true, and Mike levels him with a disbelieving look of his own. "You can- you can go back to sleep. It was just a dream."

"Bullshit," Mike says immediately, always a little too rough around the edges, but the corner of Will's mouth ticks up and he considers it a win. "You're- you're upset, you're all flushed and shit, come here," he commands, and Will's eyes widen almost imperceptibly as Mike scoots forward, his hand sliding up from Will's arm to rest against the junction of his shoulder and his neck. Will is flushed, all warm and flustered, and there's a light sheen of sweat around the edges of his face. He still looks like the most beautiful thing Mike has ever seen.

Mike swallows, pressing his hand more firmly into Will's shoulder, and Will doesn't seem to mind when he leans into the touch, exhaling softly and relaxing just a little under Mike's palm.

It's a testament to Mike's sleep deprivation that he doesn't overthink it when he shifts closer still, reaching up with his other hand and pressing it lightly against Will's forehead before shifting it to his cheek, swiping his thumb over Will's cheekbone, and Will doesn't seem to know what to do with himself other than sit quietly and let Mike run his hands over him.

"See?" Mike murmurs, as he presses the back of his hand to Will's cheek, heat bleeding from Will's skin onto his, and there's a little zip of electricity in the air as Will meets his eyes. "Warm."

"D'you think I have a fever?" Will asks absently, not looking particularly fussed about it, and the small, hopeful part of Mike wonders if he's using it as an excuse for Mike to keep his hands on his face a little longer.

He shakes his head slowly. "No," he murmurs, "Just warm."

It's better than cold, Mike thinks, better than the shaking, wide-eyed Will of two years ago whose skin was icy to the touch and who screamed like - well, like a boy possessed - when the temperature got to be over sixty degrees. That was one of the more terrifying parts of Mike's life, and there are many to choose from. There had been something unknowably awful about having Will physically present, but seeing something so entirely foreign in the eyes that Mike knows so well.

Will must know that that's what he's thinking, because he smiles as Mike's hand shifts over to his forehead again. "That's how you know I'm alive," he murmurs, and Mike huffs a wry laugh.

"I'm glad," he whispers back, and means it more than he cares to admit.

Will meets his eyes again, smiling delicately, and there's something dancing in his eyes, something Mike can't quite put a name to but feels with a certainty all the same. He pulls his hand back just slightly, pressing his thumb to the crease between Will's eyebrows, smoothing it out, and they've given up all pretense of temperature checking as Will's smile widens.

For once, he lets himself be just a little bit brave as he pulls his hand away for real, tapping his thumb just once against Will's forehead before tilting his head forward and placing a soft, gentle kiss to the place where his hand just was, a ghost of a touch that still sends a thrill through his stomach.

Will shivers beneath him, and Mike pulls back, blinking at him hazily, drowsiness tugging at him. Will doesn't seem put-out or offended or weirded out by the motion - on the contrary, he's regarding Mike with something akin to wonder, a delicate sort of gentleness on his face.

"We should sleep," Mike whispers, too tired to explain himself and too cowardly to do anything more, to kiss Will for real the way he wants to. He'll- he's going to do it, someday, he decides dimly, for real, and he's going to tell Will everything, provided Will lets him.

Just not tonight.

Will bobs his head, and Mike settles happily back on the pillows, allowing himself to break the rules once more as he extends an arm in Will's direction, a silent question.

Will more than answers it when he tucks himself into Mike's side, pressing his head gently against Mike's chest and slinging one arm over his stomach, and Mike's stomach floods with warmth as he drags a careful hand through Will's hair.

"Goodnight, Will," he whispers, a small smile on his face as his eyes drift shut.

"Goodnight, Mike," Will whispers back.

For once in their lives, Mike and Will sleep peacefully.