#stranger things teaser

[mayabruhbruh]

I can’t. I just can’t get over them.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #finn wolfhard #byler #will byers #stranger things season 4 #strangerwriters #stranger things ships #noah schnapp #byler is canon #stranger things 4 #mike x will #byeler #stranger things teaser #stranger things updates

[nayalovesbyler2]

my random thoughts on the Vol.2 trailer

disclaimer: long post ahead :’)

El: is she leaving the lab? im kinda confused about this, she said her friends need her..does she somehow know about the vecna crisis in hawkins? or is she talking about the cali gang?

Nancy: i personally think that in that specific scene she’s still vecna’d. she has seen henry turn back the clock and stuff and now she might be transported into the lab to witness the events of the 001-011 battle? either way, i don’t think she’s actually there, as we can see the bodies on the floor (+ we see vecna approaching her)

Will: bby will byers just can’t catch a break :( he’s literally bawling his eyes out and hugging jonathan. this could either be a coming out scene, or something else that upset him. however, i do think that its jonathan that hugs him in both povs. i’ll insert the pics if i find them, but i saw a bright pic of the scene that showed the pattern in jonathan’s shirt in both clips, so i don’t think it’s different people hugging him. it could also be vecna messing with “reality”, since it also happened with Max when she thought she was hugging her mum

the fruity four three: it looks like they finally found equipment to fight vecna, they’re still in the UD and nancy is with them, so for all we know she is safe (for now, at least

soldiers?: i think this might be in russia? or the UD? i have no thoughts on this honestly im pretty confused, but it would make sense if it was in russia when they tried to escape

Dustin and Eddie: im going to be honest here, it doesn’t look very good for them. it seems like they’re full-on ready for a major fight, they seem to be in the UD and it’s only the 2 of them (in that clip, at least)

the russia gang: it looks like they’re still in the prison, but somehow..free? we see hopper, joyce and murray looking at something that totally reminds me of the s2 mindflayer (especially when it was possessing will). this could potentially be their way of finding out that they’re (still) in danger. after that we also see them 1) fighting guards or 2) literally burning the prison down

the explosion: damn this is going to be one of my fave scenes tbh. i don’t think this is what it is, but i’d love it if el destroyed that door she went in with owens that leads to the underground lab

Lucas and Jason: we see a fast clip of lucas and jason fighting, i cant help but notice how the rooms blue light also appears in 1) the lumax talk scene from the stills we got and 2) in the scene where lucas screams as he sees something. loooots of questions here

Max: is max seriously getting vecna’d again? we see vecna’s hand reaching for her face as she can’t move, and to me it doesn’t look like the one in vol.1 that we already saw (it might be, though, who knows)

Dustin: im honestly so scared for this one. dustin is running and screaming, and i hope it’s not what i think it is. 1) he could be running towards danger, or 2) he could be running towards someone that has been hurt

Vecna and El: so we see vecna and el both raising their hands to fight, vecna appears to be in the UD and el..in the creel house. i have no idea if el is actually there or not, but it seems like the 2 scenes might be connected.

i hope this makes some sense, im super excited for vol.2 !!

#stranger things #stranger things theory #stranger things 4 #stranger things 4 theory #stranger things teaser #will byers #mike wheeler #el hopper #max mayfield #dustin henderson #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #murray bauman #joyce byers #jim hopper #henry creel #eddie munson #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #my theory

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part one

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: You don’t go into the woods. You don’t talk to strangers. And you don’t, under any circumstances, approach a wolf. Unless one shows up bleeding at your door.

cw: dark themes, mature content, animal cruelty, animal death mention, gunshots, physical abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master, misogyny, suggestive themes, fairytale au, some kind of historical fantasy period, inspired by The Company of Wolves by Angela Carter, eventual smut (in later parts)

a/n: hiiiiiiii :) so remember when i said i'd stop posting fic on tumblr? well one mental breakdown later i decided that was literally making me miserable and ruining my hobby! so i'm back. it's me, hi, i'm the problem it's me <3 this is a reupload

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

There are things they tell you about the woods from the time you are born, weaning you on them just the same as you are weaned on milk. Don’t go into the woods on a full moon. Don’t talk to strange men. Likewise, if you see a strange man alone in the pines on the full moon, run and don’t look back. And don’t, for any reason, approach a wolf at any time. They’ll kill you before you turn the other cheek.

In your twenty-some-odd years, you have never seen a wolf. You’ve heard them howling, distantly, so deep in the forest that you don’t even feel the need to be frightened by it. They exist in there, somewhere, going about their business as wolves do.

Sometimes you hear about the wolves wandering into town. Old Mr. Thatch, from just over the creek, said his pigs were slaughtered in the night. He’ll have to spend a fortune to get a few more. Torben Plack from the end of Warder’s Row saw one drinking from the horse trough outside the inn last month. 

There are whispers of wolves when a baby is missing from its crib. There are whispers of murder in the night. There are accusations that some of the townsfolk themselves are wolves in disguise.

Nonsense, the lot of it. Or, that’s what you believe. That’s what you choose to think about it– even though you’ve been told time and again that a pretty girl doesn’t think, a pretty girl believes and does what she’s told. She doesn’t go into the woods. She does her chores and she says her prayers and she marries a boy with a healthy income and lives quietly, rearing children until she can’t anymore.

(You don’t believe that, either.)

You don’t have the luxury of making any other choices, though. You are a servant, a milkmaid in the employ of a rather cold Master– you have no time for philosophy or discerning what you do and don’t believe about the local folklore.

You milk the cow. You chop the firewood. You feed the chickens. You harvest the cabbage and you don’t complain. You sleep on your bed in your shack– or, servant’s quarters– behind the grand house and you don’t, under any circumstances, question the Master or his wife. You wash the bedsheets after he sloppily takes his wife to bed, and you try to hide your disgust. 

You usually do what you’re told. Usually. 

On a night when the moon hangs round and full in the sky, lighting the stretch of land beyond your small shack in a milky blue haze, you’re building a small fire in the fireplace when you hear it. The howling. It’s so much closer than you’ve ever heard it, almost as though the wolves are just beyond the treeline that backs up to your master’s land.

You pay it no mind. Normally, the wolves are on the hunt for something– small animals that titter through the woods, unassuming until it’s too late. The howling will be distant soon, and you’ll be able to sleep soundly while the rest of the town frets about the dangers of the wolf-men, locking their windows and bolstering their doors. 

Just as you thought, the howls drift away slowly. You snuggle down into the covers of your bed, and you barely flinch when Mr. Thatch fires off a pistol over the creek, ringing through the dead night louder than hell. These things mean little to you. You’re more interested in what the land of dreams holds for you tonight– it’s one of the only reprieves you get from your long days of work.

It isn’t until ten minutes later, when you are mere inches from sleep, that you hear a soft whining outside your cabin door. At first, you think it’s the wind. Then, when it gets louder, you wonder if you’re imagining it.

And when it turns into a soft howling, well. That’s not your imagination.

You wrap a woven blanket around your shoulders and leave the door open when you step out into the chilly night. You don’t have a candle– you could always knick one from the Mistress, but that might risk getting caught, and you don’t love that idea. So, you contend with the little amount of light that spills out of the open door from your small fireplace, and you squint into the dark toward the source of the sound.

It takes shape in the form of a wolf. A big one, covered in black fur and curled up beneath the gabled roof, as though attempting to make itself smaller. It shivers and whimpers miserably, tucking its paws close to its body. 

You shrink back in the doorway, drawing your blanket closer around your shoulders. The hum of crickets in the bushes and in the grass across the pasture covers the shakiness of your rapid breathing. You don’t know what to do. You couldn’t possibly be expected to bother the Master this late at night– even if it is a wolf, the barn is shut up and the animals are safe. You’d probably be expected to just stay put in your little cabin and wait for it to go away on its own. Maybe in the morning the Master will find it and skin it for the Mistress’s bedquilt. 

The image makes you shudder. This poor thing– even if it is nearly as big as you, even if it’s a nasty predator in the eyes of everyone else– is clearly looking for some sort of reprieve. Just the same as you do at the end of the day. You can’t let it be skinned alive just for searching for safety.

“Hey,” you whisper softly, and you know the creature hears you, because it flinches badly. Almost as though it may bolt away in a panic. “No, no… don’t be frightened.” 

You lower yourself down towards the ground, tentatively inching forward as the creature turns its head to blink up at you. Water brims its dark eyes, sparkling in the low light from your open door. Streaks of tears flatten the fur on its snout; the wretched thing lets out a noise like a sob, hanging its head like it doesn’t have the energy to stand you off.

“I’ve never seen a wolf cry before,” you tell it quietly. You’ve never seen a wolf, period, but you don’t need to tell it that. You’re not sure that it can understand you, anyways, but you keep talking like it can. “Are you hurt?”

The wolf snorts, sneezes loudly, and then trembles. There’s a high pitched whining, a heart-shattering noise that cuts deep into your chest as the beast cowers away from you. The whine turns into a low growl when you move a bit closer, but it doesn’t sound like it really means business. More like it doesn’t know what to do with your closeness. 

“Hey,” you say again, more insistently. You inch your way forward, crouched low to the ground, holding your blanket around you with one hand as you reach the other out toward it. You’ve never tried to approach a wolf. You don’t know if it’s similar to trying to gain a domesticated dog’s trust– hold out your hand, let it catch your scent. Show it that you mean no harm, allow it to come to you. “I’m trying to help you, okay? Let me help.”

The wolf growls for a moment longer before finally relenting, and reaching its head forward to sniff curiously at your hand. You don’t know what you expect– perhaps that it would drop its head again, or back away cautiously. Instead, the wolf surprises you by pushing its head into your outstretched palm like a sad puppy.

“Oh,” you coo, stroking the wolf’s soft head as it trembles. Its ears twitch against your fingers, and it snuffles a few times, its body shaking with each, like an all-too-human fit of sobbing. “Okay, baby. Let’s get you inside.” 

Again, it’s a shot in the dark. You back slowly away from the creature, whose watery eyes blink up at you, and then you stand, and open the cabin door wider. The wolf doesn’t move, still continuing to shake with its uneven breathing.

You take a step into the door, and watch as the wolf slowly struggles up out of its cowering position. On all four legs, it seems to be favoring its right front leg, lifting its left paw limply upward. When you take another step back into the cabin, and it follows, it shudders a breath and limps badly on its left leg. 

“Good job, honey,” you tell the wolf gently as it tentatively follows you into the cabin. 

You don’t know whether to leave the door open or to shut it; you’re not sure if there’s any wisdom in shutting yourself in close quarters with a wild animal, but you also don’t want the Master to find it come morning. You suck your teeth and swing the door shut, quietly latching it and hoping the damned thing doesn’t suddenly decide it’s too hungry. 

You turn, and take two steps before dropping to your knees in front of the fireplace, where the most light hits the ground. You drop your blanket to the floor, and pat your lap as you look at the creature shivering a few feet away. “C’mere. Lay down.”

As far as you know, wolves don’t normally lay down and play lapdog for strange humans, but this one does. You wonder at it, remarkable in its size and beauty, as it flops down tiredly onto your floor and rests its head in your lap. Through your cotton chemise, the wolf’s chin is warmer than the heat of the fire.

You pet the wolf’s head again gently as you examine its left leg. It doesn’t seem to have any major wounds except for a spot of wetness on the side of it. When you lift it, the wolf in your lap whines loudly.

“I know, baby,” you coo at it, trying to pet its head as soothingly as you can while you look over the mangled leg and paw. Through the fur and dirt, you see a patch of pink skin matted with bright red, and your own hand comes away smeared with blood. There is a bad gash, enough to still be bleeding. 

You don’t want to jostle the animal now that it’s relatively comfortable, so you bend backwards and sideways to reach the cup of water on the shelf at your bedside. It’s what you have on hand to clean the wound– you suppose you could sneak into the grand house to steal some soap, but just the same as the candle, you’d rather not risk it. You take your time in pouring cool, clean water on the wolf’s wound, rubbing dirt and blood away from the gash. In your lap, the beast huffs softly in response.

“I don’t know what you’re doing out of the woods,” you tell it as you tenderly clean its wound, expecting that you’re only speaking to settle your own nerves, “but you ought not to come around here too often. The men here are bloodthirsty. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.” 

The wolf heaves a sigh. For what it’s worth, you take that as some sort of acknowledgement. 

“I can’t do much else for you besides this,” you continue softly. The wound is clean now, the fur gone wet enough that you can pull it aside and peer at the gash itself. It’s quite deep, straight, and slices from the middle of its leg upward at a diagonal. It continues to ooze even as you examine it, painting your fingers red. You tip a little more water onto it. 

You grab one corner of the blanket you’d used to wrap yourself, and rip a strip off along the grain. The light pink fabric looks almost comical when you wrap it around the wolf’s leg, tying it and tucking the tails in gently so that it won’t fall off too easily. You figure, eventually, the damn thing will come off while the wolf goes off on its merry way. You don’t delude yourself into thinking you’ve got a pet, now.

“I wish I could give you more,” you tell the beast, petting your hand down its mane, feeling the silken fur slide through your fingers like the plushest finery that you’ll never be able to enjoy for yourself. “But, I suppose, you can rest here tonight. If you promise to stay polite.”

The wolf doesn’t fuss when you slide a stiff pillow under its chin, and slip back under the covers of your bed. You gaze at it, curled up in a big black mass on your floor in front of the hearth, and you wonder why on earth a wild animal would be so well behaved. 

You wonder how a wolf is capable of crying.

You wake in the early morning light expecting to find a big black wolf sleeping in front of your hearth. Instead, when you rouse and rub the sleep from your eyes, you find that the wolf is gone.

In fact, there appears to have been no wolf at all. No blood on the floor, no black fur on the pillow that has inexplicably reappeared on the foot of your bed. Your water cup is full. And the door to your cabin is latched, just the same as it had been last night, after you let the wolf in.

By all appearances, nothing happened last night. There was no wolf. You half expect that you dreamed the entire thing. And you would continue to believe so– but, the end of your pink woven blanket is still torn, missing a strip from the end, frayed along the grain.

You slip from your bed and fling open the door to your shack, emerging into the cool morning air. You look down at the nook beside the door where the wolf had huddled in the dark, seeking shelter away from harm. There is nothing there to suggest that it had been there last night. 

But you know it to be true. You know it.

How could a wolf, a four legged creature with full use of only three of them, manage to unlatch your door, step out, and then relatch it from the other side? How could your water magically refill itself? It’s a mile to the well in the town square, and it’s not like the wolf could have done it. 

Broken from your thoughts, you hear a shriek of your name. You lift your head to see your Mistress, fully dressed, feeding the chickens. The daily chores have already begun.

“What are you doing outside in your underclothes?!” your Mistress yells, flinging grain down at the birds. “Go inside and dress yourself this instant, you wretch! And begin your morning duties!” 

You jump, darting back behind the door. You hadn’t thought anyone would be out yet. “Sorry, Mistress!” 

You rush to grab your stays from the end of your bed. You’ll pay for that one, you think. 

There are a million reasons why you prefer doing your chores out of the house. 

One, the Mistress isn’t around to rag on you over every little thing. Two, you don’t have to be watching over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t in the Master’s way. And three, you can take all the time you want to do other things as well, as long as you get done before dinner has to be served. 

Your skirt is filthy, but it’s a beautiful day, and the creek that separates your Master’s land from Mr. Thatch’s land is babbling quite a bit, and it makes doing the washing up much easier than it otherwise would be. Which you’re happy about, since your arm is so badly welted you can barely curl your fingers. 

You sniffle and lift your apron to wipe your nose. Then you wring out the Mistress’s petticoat– of which there are far too many for one woman to reasonably have– you whine at the strain on your injured hand, and you move to the basket of other soiled clothes. You think about blowing your nose in the Master’s linen shirt, and you’re about two seconds from doing it, too, when you hear a splash nearby. 

“Shit,” says a man’s voice. There are a couple more splashes around the bend, and then yelps, and then there’s one enormous splash, and a laugh. 

“Hello?” you call, trying to peer around the bank of overgrowth beside you. Then, there’s a cacophonous amount of splashing, which makes you screw up your face, and a man emerges from around the bank of greenery.

You pause, holding your Master’s laundry in your hands over the water like you’re wondering whether to dip it in or not. Really, you’re just shocked to see a strange man on your Master’s property at all. He’s out of breath, rosy cheeked and soaking wet from the chest down.

“Um,” is all you can say.

“Hello there,” the man says with a rakish grin that flashes sharp teeth at you. You blink a few times, just to make sure he’s really there. And when you do satisfy yourself with the fact that, yes, he’s very real, you then have to acclimate yourself to the idea that he’s also absolutely beautiful.

His very pretty face is framed by long, dark hair, and his eyes are strikingly dark. There’s something on his skin peeking out of the open collar of his burgundy blouse, but to look at that from this distance means to look at the way his shirt clings to his body, and then his trousers, and if you weren’t already struck dumb, now you are.

“How– how are you– um.” You wave your hands around, gesturing to the general area around you. “Whatareyoudoinghere?” 

“I think I was going for a swim, of sorts,” the man laughs, holding one arm out a bit to indicate his damp appearance. 

“Who are you?”

“Now, there’s a question for the ages.” The man tromps forward through the water, splashing along gracelessly and with exaggerated steps, like he’s trying to make you laugh. “Generally speaking, no one really cares who I am, just what I want.” 

“Okay,” you snap, irritated by the man’s jovial attitude and his need to speak in riddles. “What do you want? Why are you on this land? What business do you have here, and with whom?” 

“Whoa, hey–” the man holds up his hands, and grimaces like it’s painful to do so. Then he recovers with a flashy smile. “I don’t mean you any harm, princess. I have no business anywhere, I was just following the creek and seeing where it leads. Guess the time got away from me.”

“I’m not a princess,” you grumble back at him.

He tilts his head, his smile lingering as he looks at you. “Just an expression, no need to be nasty.”

You scowl down at your master’s clothes, and then plunge them into the water like they personally offended you. “Following the creek from where?” He points his thumb over his shoulder, towards the trees. “You came from the woods?”

“Thereabouts.” 

You squint up at him. “What’s your name?”

“Eddie Munson, at your service.” He bows dramatically and takes another step towards you. “And may I ask who you are? Or shall I just call you ‘My Lovely Lady of the Creek,’ for time immemorial?”

You tell him your name flatly, and turn your face away as he gets closer, suddenly very invested in getting sweat stains out of your Master’s linen blouse using a cake of lye soap. “You should know not to go into those woods alone. There’s wolves.” 

 “Oh, I think I can handle myself in the woods, sweetheart.” Eddie smirks down at you. “Anyways, who wants to be in the trees on a day like this?” 

You grunt. You don’t think the man will be going away anytime soon, which is bad news for you, because the closer he gets, the more inclined you are to look at him. Then, you’re more inclined to talk, and you’ve already been punished once today. You don’t think you could handle another.

The man, Eddie, sits himself down on a large rock jutting out of the water next to you. He watches you for a moment, scrubbing with one hand at the cloth on the board in the water, and then he points down at your arm. His billowing sleeve flashes red in your peripheral vision, along with the silver of the rings on his hand.

“What happened here?” he asks softly, his voice losing its humorous tone.

You look down at the welted skin. It stings, but the cold water numbs the pain just a bit. Now that he’s brought your attention back to it, your eyes prick with tears again, and you sniff. “My Mistress caught me outdoors in my chemise.”

“She should count herself lucky. It’s a sight to behold.” 

“What?” You blink up at him. From this angle, him looming over you on a boulder, the sun rings his head in gold like a halo. “How would you know?” 

“I’m… supposing.” Eddie bites his lip, staring off to the side for a moment, as if suddenly at a loss for the right words to say. “You’re a very… beautiful girl. I can only imagine.” 

“That’s forward of you.” 

“Besides, it doesn’t answer my question,” he rushes out. He scowls back down at your arm. “What did that to you?” 

You heave a sigh. “Well, the Mistress told my Master. And the Master is very heavy handed with a cane.” A small sob constricts your throat for a moment, tears pricking your eyes again so badly that you have to stop working and close them. Your sinuses burn from the effort of holding it in.

“You were beaten because you went outside without a petticoat?” Eddie remarks incredulously, “That’s ridiculous.”

“Well, I… I was also late to start my chores,” you admit in a wobbly voice. “So I suppose I got off easier than most would…” 

“It’s cruel. I’d love to see how he would take it, if the tables were turned.” Eddie’s dark eyes flash dangerously when you look up at him; there’s something in the set of his jaw and the steely expression on his face that makes you think of the growling wolf last night. After a moment, he softens towards you again. “Why were you late to your chores?”

“I…” you trail off. You think about telling him about the wolf, but you wonder if he’s the kind of person who will go into town and yell about the wolves trying to steal women in the night, and you could do without the embarrassment. “I had a nightmare. Slept too late.”

Eddie clicks his tongue and rocks backward a bit. “A nightmare,” he repeats, considering the word like it’s a part of life’s philosophy. “What about?”

You don’t respond for a few moments. You’ve moved on to washing a pillowcase now, which is significantly less soiled than your Master’s blouse. “Why do you care?”

“I care because I hate to see My Lovely Lady of the Creek in distress. Even if she is completely vexed by the sight of me,” He says lightly, as you tilt your head down to hide the way your cheeks burn. He reaches up his right hand and produces a silver coin from behind your ear. You stare at it in puzzlement as he hands it to you. “What was your nightmare about?”

You hesitate just a moment before taking the silver coin. “Is this bribery?”

“Absolutely,” Eddie announces with a wry smile. “For your thoughts.”

You sigh. You could use the coin, you’ll admit. Maybe you could buy yourself a new robe, or a loaf of bread from the baker, or any other of the myriad things you’re in want of. 

You tuck the coin down the front of your bodice, where it slides down and gets stuck between your ribcage and your chemise. Eddie’s eyes follow the path that it takes between your breasts with a hungry glint in them. 

“There was a wolf,” you tell him quietly, going back to your work. “It came to my door bleeding. I brought it inside and nursed it. But when I woke, there wasn’t a wolf. It was just a nightmare.”

“Oh,” Eddie hums amusedly. “I wouldn’t call that a nightmare. I’d rather call it a dream.”

“A dream?” you echo with a scoff. 

“Yes. A lovely dream, with a heroine and a lonely beast in need of kindness.” He leans towards you, his hands on his knees. “But, you know what they say about wild things.”

You huff with indignance, but humor him, because you’re curious in spite of yourself. “I don’t know. What do they say?”

“You shouldn’t show them kindness,” he whispers, so close to your ear that you can feel his breath on your neck. “They’ll keep coming back for more.”

You startle, standing up with a noisy splash of water as you yank the last of the laundry from the creek. There’s a flush under your bodice that you don’t like, sticking to the coin that’s going hot against your skin as you think about it even being there. That it was produced by his hand. The more you think about it, the more you imagine it as an extension of his body, touching you just beneath your breast. 

Eddie snickers to himself as you hurriedly, shakily, smack the last piece of laundry into the basket with the rest, and pick up the washboard from the water. With a frustrated huff, you stand and rest the basket of laundry on your hip. You gaze out across the creek, and then away towards the trees, and finally, when you’re sure you can form words, you turn back to him. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Munson,” you say stiffly, so that you don’t trip over your own tongue. It comes out icily as a result, and you turn away to hide the way that you blush.

“Until we meet again.” Eddie presses his lips together, as though he’s stifling a laugh. Then he says, in a slightly bossy tone, “Take care of that arm for me, princess. Don’t want you getting any more beat up.”

You whirl around to ask him to repeat that– what the hell did you just say?– but when you do, the man is already gone. Along with any trace of his presence by the creekside. 

Except, the coin he bought your dream with still grows warm against the heat of your skin, under your bodice. 

#teaser for what's coming. if you even care #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #werewolf!eddie munson #werewolf!eddie munson x reader #stranger things #werewolf!eddie #roses*

[lucascsinclairs]

Lucas Sinclair in Stranger Things 2 | Chapter Two: Trick or Treat, Freak

"Of course she likes Ghostbusters, but that's not the point.”

#stedit #strangerthingsedit #stranger things #dailystrangerthings #strangerthingscentral #tvstrangerthings #stranger things edit #my gifs #mine #g:s2 #lucas sinclair #lucas sinclair edit #caleb mclaughlin #the ghostbusters costumes really are iconic #such an iconic s2 visual #all the way from the super bowl teaser #i love s2 to much #look at our little boy!

[pr3ttym3ssy]

Am I the only one that was a bit upset that they made Robin’s character push for Stancy. Like shit if I was Steve's supposed best friend, I would have told Nancy like " Don't even think about breathing in his direction. You're not going to hurt him again. I know what happened between you two and may I remind you, you called him BULLSHIT"

I like Nancy buuuuutt not for Steve. With her flipping back and forth. As soon as she sees Jonathan she's going to do exactly that.

#steve harrington #harringrove #robin buckley #anti stancy #nancy wheeler #stranger things #st4 teaser

[crappymixtape]

because of you • ( pt. vi teaser )

TEASER for part VI of because of you // one last lil taste of this cos my book deadline is up on the 9th and then after that? YOU AND STEVE ARE GONNA FUCK UP THE UPSIDE DOWN ( and then fuck each other ) – okay love you bye! // ENEMIES -> LOVERS, STEVE x READER

Steve started up again at your feet. Skipped over the bruises on your shins and the angry-looking scrape on your left knee and as he gently shifted you to reach your upper leg, the water running off your body turned bright red.

“Oh shit..." he breathed, a deep frown pulling at his features as his eyes frantically searched for the source, worry tugging at the pit of his stomach. Where was it coming from?

And then he finally saw it. The nasty gash on your thigh courtesy of a demobat that had dragged a claw down through your skin. “Christ,” he hissed under his breath, moving to let the water run over it, “We gotta clean this–”

“Fuck, Steve–” you choked out, the pain in your leg white hot as you pressed a hand heavy into his before he could use the washcloth. “It hurts,” you half-sobbed and he quickly blocked the shower with his back again.

“Shit–I’m sorry–dammit–” a string of curses fell from his lips as he leaned closer to get a better look.

The few seconds of water had done a good job of cleaning it up, but he could see now how deep it was. Probably needed stitches, just like his stomach would, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.

Pulling in a deep breath he went to the place in his mind he knew all too well. The one where he closed out the sick feeling of worry blooming in his chest, the thoughts of 'what if' that didn't end nicely and hardened against it all so that he could do what he needed to keep you safe.

“Alright, princess,” he reached over his shoulder and turned off the tap, then looked back up at you, still on his knees. “I gotta get you out and dried off, okay? Get this fixed up,” he said, nodding at your leg, “Will you let me do that?”

A soft scowl pulled at your features and it almost made him smile – how pretty you were even when you were mad. Even like this.

“I don’t think you’re gonna give me a choice,” you tried to snark around the sob in your throat and that finally cracked a tiny grin on his face.

“I’m not,” he gently agreed and with that you let him lift you from the seat. Let his hands, warm and wide at your waist, guide you from the shower and wrap a towel around your tired body.

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things fanfiction #steve x you #steve harrington x fem #fanfic teaser #fic teaser #because of you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst

[realbylershit]

It looks like a mixture of their season 3 outfits to me

+ almost the same jacket from the st experience

#byler #stranger things #will byers #byler endgame #byler tumblr #st season 5 #teaser on will’s birthday #birthdaygate

[smellslikesadgaychildren]

I see you duffer brothers! I see you!!

#stranger things #stranger things s5 #byler #byler endgame #the duffer brothers #season 5 teaser poster

[chirpsythismorning]

#stranger things #twelvegate #will byers #the will byersification of twelve can be something so personal #the stripes w yellow behind Will in the present rlly seals the parallel for me… #no but fr rewatch the ‘Eleven Are You Listening’ 002 teaser… #it’s pretty crazy #if will has time powers… #time is relative #who the hell knows when/where we are #anything is possible atp

[cranberrymoons]

searching for something

prompts: titfucking (kinktober), friendship/observant (@eddiemonth) tags: blow jobs, steve's soft dom awakening, and the horniest possible result from a vhs rental of the breakfast club rated: e (18+)

—

“What can you do?”

Eddie blinks slowly then picks his head up from where it’s pillowed on Steve’s chest. 

Steve’s hand falls out of his hair and down to rest on his shoulder, and he tilts his head in the cradle of his other arm where it’s curled behind his head on the pillow. Eddie rolls over slightly onto his stomach, digging his chin into Steve’s sternum to stare up at him.

“What?”

Steve smiles. “Like in the movie,” he says. His hand finds Eddie’s hair again, pushing it back from his face. “What’s your secret special skill? Your party trick?”

They’d put The Breakfast Club on intending to actually watch it, but he’d gotten distracted fifteen minutes in by the long column of Steve’s throat next to him, which had devolved into both of them slowly losing clothes until the tape turned into background noise. 

And then again around the point of the smoking scene, Steve sliding wordlessly onto his back and pulling Eddie along with him, licking up over his lips as Eddie fucked back into him where he was still all loose and open, hands winding together on the pillow above their heads as they gasped into each other’s mouths.

And now, sprawled out in a tangle of limbs as the on-screen conversation moves on to something else, washing the room in a warm-lit glow. Eddie ducks his head and presses a kiss to the center of Steve’s chest, slow and open-mouthed and trailing up toward the hollow of his throat.

“I don’t know,” he says after a moment. He sucks on Steve’s skin, sinking his teeth into his clavicle until he hears Steve gasp above him. He smiles. “Smoke rings or something, probably.” He runs a hand up Steve’s chest, digging the edges of his nails in as he goes. “Bet I can guess yours.”

Steve laughs quietly. He unfolds his other arm to push both hands into Eddie’s hair, gathering it back from his face and securing it in a loose knot on top of his head. 

“Oh yeah?”

Eddie hums. “Yeah.” He slides a hand down over Steve’s ribcage then back up, fingers combing through his chest hair. “Bet you can do the Molly Ringwald thing.”

Steve lets out another little laugh, eyes flashing. “What, put on lipstick with my boobs?”

[continue reading on ao3 || 3,303 words]

#lui! this is also an accidental(ish?) entry into your Halloween Forever challenge! #title from 'fucked up kids' :) :) :) #eddiemonth #eddiemonthafterdark #lex(es) – i wasn't sure if parts of this teaser text needed to go under a readmore? it's borderline ish? lmk if you need me to readmore it #kinktober 2023 #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fic #steddie #stranger things #my fic #future fic series

[mayabruhbruh]

I feel like someone has probably already pointed this out before, but I kind of freaked out when the Duffers explained that they wanted this season to be their Empire Strikes Back season.

I’m sure you guys know the plot. I’ll paraphrase it. Basically, Luke Skywalker wants to be strong enough to defeat Darth Vader, so he goes to Yoda’s planet to train with him and to hone his Jedi abilities. There, he learns to lift a whole spaceship with the Force *AHEM*, and Yoda dies after he’s finally ready to go fight *AHEMMMM*

But what REALLY gets me… is that all of this is happening, and meanwhile, Princess Leia and Han Solo are on their own little side mission, with Chewbacca and C-3PO, desperately trying to escape the Imperial fleet. *AHAHAHEMMM* and eventually go to save Luke from his failed mission to kill Darth Vader.

I LOVE HOW CLOSELY IT ALL ALIGNS TO S4.

Leia and Han are endgame just so y’all know.

Leia is Will, Han is Mike, Luke is obv El.

Leia and Luke are siblings though they don’t know it at first. Han isn’t a love interest for Luke lmao, but there was a weird love triangle going on in the first two movies if that counts.

#stranger things #mike wheeler #finn wolfhard #byler #will byers #stranger things season 4 #strangerwriters #stranger things ships #noah schnapp #byler is canon #stranger things updates #stranger things teaser #stranger things 4 #mike wheeler x will byers

[curiositydooropened]

Late Checkout • Teaser

The cursor blinked.

A writing retreat at an exclusive 5-star ski resort. A New Years Eve party in the moody lodge bar. A handsome heir. A bratty bad boy. A snowstorm blocking every guest from the outside world.

Pairing: Rich!Steve Harrington x Writer!Reader, Eddie Munson x Writer!Reader

Wordcount: 1328

Warnings and Tags: Modern AU, femme!reader, strangers to lovers, angst, smut, voyeurism, fantasizing, longing, isolation, snowstorm, skiing, writer's block, murder, blood, gore, recreational drug and alcohol use. This is an 18+ blog, minor DNI please and thank you. Please check chapters for further warnings.

Navigation • Masterlist

Fic Masterlist • Moodboard

---

Your thoughts drifted back out to the veranda. Sun poured over the mountain side and bounced off stark white snow. Golden rays cast down and carded through his chestnut hair. Your fingers ached. 

He tilted his face into it, eyes closed, lashes fluttering freckled cheeks, ecstasy evident as his features softened.

You licked your bottom lip. 

The woman with him reached for his cheek and procured an eyelash, holding her finger skyward. 

His eyes opened, amber and honey. A smile pulled at the corners of his pink lips before he pursed them to blow. His cheeks puffed up and hollowed, dotted with freckles, bone structure immaculate. Wish sufficiently made, his face lit in amusement, brows raised.

What did man like him wish for? He had the money, the looks. You hadn’t seen his car in the lot, but you were sure it was as luxuriously as the parka stretched over broad shoulders. The woman by his side was stunning, a Scandinavian supermodel with legs and curves for days.

So what was it then?

He swirled his glass in an ungloved hand, tips of his fingers reddening as he brought the amber liquid to his pink lips for a drink. What did a man with mid-afternoon Scotch wish for? Maybe he wished to bag a new account at the firm. Maybe he wished for his offer to go through for that rental on the Cape. Maybe he wished for his secretary to wear that YSL skirt again, with those pantyhose he could tear off with his perfect teeth.

You sputtered a cough, accidentally inhaling some of the saliva filling your mouth. Face warm, you mopped at the corners of your lips with a sweater cuff.

At your bistro table, your laptop screen had gone to stand-by. With a sigh, you clicked the track pad until the screen revived. On the blank page, the cursor blinked.

“You done with your coffee?” A busgirl approached, cheeks pinched pink and a smile across freckled features.

“Oh,” you handed her your mug and saucer. “Thank you.” 

“Sure,” she nodded, and you were surprised when she leaned in. She smelled of espresso and vanilla. “Hey, this guy in the corner? The cute one with the man bun and the leather jacket? He paid me a really big tip to give you this,” she slipped a drink napkin in front of you. 

Beneath the lodge’s bright orange logo were chicken scratched letters in black ink. 

I hope the novel you’re working on has a better ending. 

“He also offered to buy you another drink,” the barista informed, taking in your reaction with wide eyes. “But if you’re totally disgusted, I will be more than happy to call security and get his ass escorted right out of here.”

You snorted and glanced over your laptop at the far corner of the room. Your Critic from the previous day sat in his same corner, long limbs draped over the sides of the furniture like he he lived there. Slender hands folded the spine of a new novel, decorated in silver rings. His curls were pulled up into a loose bun, exposing a prominent widow’s peak, and a playful smile pulled at the corners of plump lips. 

“You don’t need to kick him out,” you smiled, crumpling the napkin into your discarded mug in her hand. The last drops of coffee soaked into the paper. “But tell you what. Why don’t you and your coworker buy yourself lunch on his dime? I’ll double his tip.�� 

“You got yourself a deal,” she flashed a grin and made her way back behind the counter. 

You went about closing your laptop and packing your things into your bag, avoiding the gaze on you from across the room. Zipper zipped, you schlepped the bag over one shoulder, adjusting your sweater beneath the strap. Your table was cleared, save the pen you capped. When you finally looked up to leave the little cafe, you found yourself leveled under a honeyed stare.

Mr. Harrington, the handsome stranger on the veranda, had noticed you through the window. Well that, or the windows were tinted enough to capture his attention, and judging by the darkening of his eyes and the soft smile etching itself onto the corners of his perfect lips, he enjoyed his own reflection. He waved, almost imperceptibly, and mouthed a hello. 

You smiled and nodded. 

Then, the women he brought with him came into view, all freckles and blue eyes, stunning, full lips. 

You turned on your heel and left before you had a chance to wither under her scrutiny, staring at the orange and cream hexagonal tile as you walked through the threshold and back into the lobby. 

“Hey,” another voice startled you, impossibly close, the sting of cigarette smoke mixing with espresso in the air. 

“So the last book inspired you after all.” You sighed, halting before a head-on collision with a family of seven. 

“What?” Your critic crashed into you, capturing your shoulders in large hands to stop you both from barreling into the last set of twins. 

You huffed him off with a shrug. “The Vanishing was about a stalker.” 

“Oh,” he flashed that charming grin of his, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “How do I know you aren’t stalking me?”

You snorted and swept past the convenient store, the pro shop, narrowly avoided a sled dog near the exit to the veranda. “Don’t flatter yourself.” 

Your stalker barked a laugh and managed to trail you past the bar and ballrooms and into the back hallway. “Alright, sweetheart, you caught me. I’ve been following you for weeks.”

You stopped in front of the resort gym. Two middle aged women chatted on ellipticals in matching leggings. “What?”

He didn’t seem like the usual incel fan of yours. They were less clean, less put-together. The ones who managed to weasel your real name and location through hours of research on the dark web usually showed up to a local coffee shop and sent a text message to your laptop from a restricted number. 

This guy had a charcoal sweater made of cashmere and designer cologne. His jacket smelled of real leather. You spotted the glint of a silver watch beneath one sleeve. 

The Cheshire Cat grin fell from his face when your reaction sunk in, and he shook his head, eyes going wide. “I’m totally kidding. That’s probably creepy and terrifying, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not stalking you. I don’t even know your name.” 

Instead of offering it, you turned and headed back down the hall. 

“Hey, okay. My name’s Eddie,” he scrambled to catch up, all the bells and whistles jangling on his leather jacket, “and if you want me to leave you alone, I swear I will. But if you’d be at all interested in letting me buy you a drink tonight, can you let me know? Because I’m scaring the spa receptionists.”

You glanced at the two girls behind the nearest desk. They giggled behind their hands. 

“I’m sorry I insulted your favorite book.” Eddie’s voice softened.

With a sigh, you tucked yourself into a nearby alcove. “It’s not my favorite.” You’d published a handful of others you liked better, all of them less popular.

“Well what is your favorite?” The smile slid itself back onto his features. He remained a few paces away, giving you a respectable amount of space.

You weighed your options. You’d planned evening room service and sweatpants and drafting, endless drafting. Or, you could let someone else pay for your martini, and maybe his refreshing (albeit rude) perspective on your library of work could spark some much needed inspiration.

“I’ll tell you over drinks tonight.” 

“8 o’clock?”

Your stomach flipped at the proud look on his face, and you nodded. 

“See you then, princess.” He bowed so low his bun flopped, and he backed out of the alcove, wagging fingers at the giggling spa receptionists. He whistled as he left.

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington teaser #eddie munson fic #eddie munson teaser #late checkout fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fluff #steve harrington angst #eddie munson angst #stranger things #stranger things fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson x reader

[cyraclove]

dirty work [Rated E]

A middle-aged Chrissy and Eddie make good use of their empty house while their teenaged children are gone. Chrissy takes advantage of Eddie being handy around the house.

scratching at the outlines of you [Rated E]

A direct sequel to mixing drinks and messages. Eddie and Chrissy navigate their new situationship turned relationship. Chrissy runs into a familiar face at Eddie’s bar.

still awake, playing chase with the sunrise [Rated T]

The Party hunkers down at Eddie's trailer to map out their battle plan. Max witnesses Eddie and Chrissy share a moment in the kitchen while everyone else is asleep.

the feeling in it [Rated E]

Eddie and Chrissy are in their 40s, watching their two teenagers go to prom and wondering where the time went.

lick the fuzz right off the peach [Rated E]

Chrissy asks Eddie about a certain activity they've yet to try. His head explodes.

mixing drinks and messages [Rated E]

At Robin and Nancy's suggestion, Chrissy tries her hand at Tinder after dumping Jason for the sole purpose of having a one night stand. When her date stands her up, the Chicago Transit Authority takes fate into its own hands.

honeycomb [Rated E]

Chrissy stumbles upon Eddie and another classmate alone in the woods. She knows she shouldn't, but she can't help but stay and watch.

and all my ghosts are with me [Rated M]

Chrissy copes with her grief after Eddie sacrifices himself to help The Party defeat Vecna. El and Max show up on the day of his funeral with news that no one can believe.

wishing, wanting, yours for the taking [Rated E]

After following doctor's orders for six weeks, Chrissy starts getting antsy about getting back into bed with Eddie after having their first baby. An unexpected change sparks something new for the both of them.

small hours [Rated E]

Eddie never thought that he could be a morning person until moving in with Chrissy. There's just something magical about Chrissy in the morning...

my little bit of something blue [Rated E, Complete]

Chrissy and Eddie reconnect after graduating from high school when asked to be members of Jonathan and Nancy's wedding party.

angels in the architecture [Rated E, Complete]

Since falling in love in high school, Chrissy and Eddie’s paths have diverged and they’ve been living very separate lives. Ten years later, they meet again by chance at a Christmas party thrown by a notable Chicago socialite, the choices that they’ve made coming along with them.

the light, the heat [Rated E, Complete]

What might have happened if Chrissy had lived and the Hawkins crew had to drive to Nevada to find El. One getaway motel mix-up later, Chrissy and Eddie come face to face with the feelings they've been trying to ignore.

#YAY HERE IT IS #click on a fic title to see the teaser and link to ao3 #thank you thank you for the love on these #i love y'all #hellcheer #cyraclove writes #writers on tumblr #fanfiction #stranger things #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #munningham #fanfic masterlist

[sweetsweetjellybean]

Torn | 4 Questions with Eddie Munson | Masterlist

Song 2 coming Monday 9/25

#steve harrington #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #torn series #Teasers

[pacinglikeghosts]

Happy belated Valentine’s Day, my loves! As Valentine’s Day is a fem holy holiday, I wanted to share the love. My take on one of my favorite rom-coms’ most iconic scenes, ronance-ified! I don’t have the energy to give you the song and dance of a moodboard, so imagine it’s pretty :) I’ll put one in when I’m up for it.

Frankly, Robin’s night couldn’t get worse. Not that it was bad to start—house parties are never her thing, especially ones that welcome the presence of Tommy H. and Steve Harrington—but babysitting Nancy Wheeler and being a couples counselor for her stupid younger brother made every part of the evening grow more and more insufferable.

And who knew that Nancy Wheeler, with her baby bird frail body, would be so damn heavy when drunk? Sure, alcohol added a bit of weight, but carrying Nancy’s concussed body away from the party was like carrying a ton of bricks.

“This is so patronizing,” Nancy insisted. “I’m fine.”

Robin rolled her eyes and adjusted her grip. “God, leave it to you to use SAT words when you’re drunk, Ms. Spelling Bee Champion, and clearly you’re not, since you whacked your head on an incredibly expensive chandelier and practically passed out in my arms—you’re welcome, by the way—only to nearly pass out again once we got outside.”

“I don’t think so,” Nancy sang, pushing Robin away from her and attempting to walk towards the car, only to stumble and fall onto the damp grass. “Fuck me,” she cursed, staring at the grass stains on her pastel pink pants.

“C’mon, up you go,” Robin encouraged, offering her hand to help Nancy up. “No use staying on the ground where you could also get hypothermia.”

Nancy, rather than get up, stared up at Robin, her big blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “Why are you doing this? I mean…helping me? Making sure I get home safe.”

“Like I said, you probably have a concussion. If not checked out I’m pretty sure it can have serious damage to the brain, not to mention the headaches, the nausea, the dizziness, and the light sensitivity…”

Nancy rolled her eyes. “Like you care what happens to me.”

“Of course I do, otherwise I’d have to find someone to go out with that actually cares about me, and god only knows no one’s banging down my door in order to spend more time with the school’s resident dyke,” Robin laughed, though there wasn’t an ounce of joy in her expression. She sighed, before joining Nancy on the cold grass. “So why do you let them get to you?”

Nancy leaned back, her elbows failing to brace her and instead landing flat on her back. “You mean Tommy and Carol?”

“And Steve, I guess.”

“I hate him. And them. I hate all of them.”

Robin coaxed Nancy up to a sitting position before crossing her legs and staring at the worn laces of her boots. “Well, coming here gave you the perfect chance to take part in your revenge by mainlining cheap vodka.”

Nancy’s face softened before she laughed, encouraging Robin to laugh alongside her. “Well, you know how it is…” she trailed off, closing her eyes.

“No, how is it?” Robin asked, looking over at Nancy. “Hey, Nancy, Nance, wake up…I told you not to go to sleep, your parents would have a warrant out for my arrest if they found out you died at a party because of me, c’mon..”

Nancy opened her eyes, exhaustion still lingering on her face. “Your eyes have a bit of gold in them,” she noted, before rolling over and vomiting.

Steve Harrington owed Robin more than just cash after this.

#oh FUCK yeah I had to do 10 things #this is like half a teaser half me wanting to write #but it does let you into the dynamics a little bit ;) #and it was so fun I wrote it in like 30 minutes #I wish I was back in the game #but alas. final semester slump #and yknow. the everything with st #stranger things #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #ronance #nancy x robin

[mike-wheeler-hater]

Sooo

Do you guys think they’ll release something on Wills birthday?

If you think so, what will they release ?

#i think they might release a pic of Noah #im hoping for a teaser #but nah #i dont think we’ll get one #byler #will byers #stranger things 5 #stranger things