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heavencasteel420 · 6 months

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WIP Wednesday

From Drive All Night:

Whisper to the wind and say that love has sinned, a man sang pleasantly, and Nancy ran her hand over her thigh to make sure her gun was in place. Then she walked up to the sagging porch, paused, and reached under her long lilac skirt to transfer the gun to her coat pocket.

From Tonight, Tonight:

At Gloria’s insistence, the radio at Drummond’s Diner was always set to an oldies station. She said it was good for business. Diners reminded people of the fifties and sixties, which were big right now. That seemed reasonable enough to Jonathan. Drummond's did kind of look like Arnold's Diner from Happy Days, in the sense that it had wood paneling inside, although Jonathan didn't recall any episode where Richie or Joanie got mugged in the parking lot. (That had happened to Anya, one of the waitresses who also went to Concord High, as well as a line cook who’d left right before Jonathan had started.) He’d also seen (or at least seen parts of) a million movies swimming in nostalgia: The Big Chill, American Graffiti, Porky’s, Animal House, Diner, Baby It’s You, Grease, Grease 2, etc. He got where Gloria was coming from.

That didn’t mean he liked the radio station. It wasn’t just that the music was older than he usually liked; Mom had kept some of her records from high school, and her taste was way better than the malt-shop slow-dance mush the station played. No, the real horror was that the station clearly didn’t have that many records in its rotation. If he heard “Put Your Head on My Shoulder” or “Love Letters in the Sand” only every other shift, he considered himself lucky.

From Tomorrow’s a Long Way Off:

“Be nice to your brother,” their mom told Will, gathering up the dishes with one hand and ruffling his hair with the other. “Haunted dolls are very creepy.”

“They’re also two feet tall,” Will said, rolling his eyes. “Jonathan, you could just put her on a shelf.”

“Or in a toy box,” their mom added. “Or you could give her away. Will, does Lucas’s little sister like dolls? She might want it.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan sighed, as Will laughed. “You’re both really helping me with my evil haunted doll problems. I was at the end of my rope, because of the evil doll that I definitely own. And I can’t believe you’re telling me to give my imaginary evil doll to a real little girl.”

#writing #wip wednesdays #Joyce and Will were discussing whether he should get to see the twilight zone movie #and Will took the opportunity to make fun of Jonathan for being afraid of talkie Tina #(Jonathan is not afraid of talkie tina. he watched that episode and was like. good for her.)

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violetpixiedust · 8 months

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something angsty tonight for steve x sinclair!reader. no descriptions of hair, skin tone, or body type however. up to interpretation. season!one steve vibes.

part 02

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“this was a mistake..”

steve awoke from the sound of his own voice with a trembling start, shooting up from the frigid comfort of his bedsheets as he choked on his own gasp. salty tears began to burn within the corners of his twin black eyes, causing the sun kissed boy to wince painfully at the ache of his broken nose, wearily coming to in the dim outdoor pool lighting that seeped into his dark bedroom.

he hadn’t meant it. he really hadn’t.

he was such an idiot.

weighted flakes of ivory delicately fluttered down to the thin layer of snow currently blanketing the small town of hawkins. the warm, multi-coloured lights that decorated the outside of the sinclair home twinkled throughout the washed lavender night sky, contributing to the neighbourhood’s holiday cheer. inside, frank sinatra’s “merry little christmas” echoed throughout the home as the record spun along the glossy sage turn table in the downstairs den. mrs. sinclair was currently abusing the family video copy of dirty dancing for the fourth time that week while mr. sinclair was on a business trip in tokyo, a glass of white wine in her soft grasp. the crackle of lucas’s walkie talkie echoed throughout the upstairs hallway from his open bedroom, dustin’s lispy voice excitedly talking about their plans for christmas break that started the day after tomorrow. erica’s voice echoed from the study down the hall, gossiping with tina about the students in their fifth grade class.

you usually loved the romantic atmosphere of hawkins in the wintertime. each shop along downtown’s strip sparkled from the glow of their christmas lights, while each lamppost was decorated with a wreath or large red bows. the rush of skipping class to sled down the vast hills near the trailer park, the freezing satisfaction of seeing your snow angel’s reflection. drinking hot cocoa after skating across the icy lake, cuddling up by the fire as billie holiday soothingly serenaded you in her alto pitched voice. then, all of a sudden, george michael brought you to your feet, causing you to giggle and tumble to the floor with your friends as the lot of you tripped over your dance moves, landing in front of the half decorated christmas tree in heaps of tangled limbs and laughter.

however, you were currently cuddled in your soft cream coloured pyjama set, soaking into the small semblance of warmth that your light pink sheets and duvet provided. your makeup bled into your pillowcases as you thought about what steve had said to you earlier that day at school, a wave of embarrassment and nausea coursing through you once more, causing you to half-choke on the tears that dripped down your throat, straining to be silent.

you didn’t want anybody to hear you.

steve trembled on your door step, unbeknownst to you, clutching onto a bouquet of roses he had managed to snag from the mini mart on his way to your home just before the shop had closed. his light grey jacket did nothing to protect him from the icy chill of winter in hawkins, the tears by his eyes stinging with each whip of below zero air. shakily, his bruised fingers managed to ring the doorbell, gulping when he heard your mother’s slippered footsteps echo from the other side of the door. fuck, he should have expected this-

“steve? oh my- honey, what happened-?” steve felt more than embarrassed in front of your mother at that moment in time. you hadn’t even told her what happened. were you even home? he simply sniffled, pinching his nose unconsciously to prevent himself from sobbing, hissing once he remembered what had happened to it. “steve, my love, come in-“ steve avoided the elder woman’s kind eyes- so akin to yours, as she pulled his limp body into the doorway, a shiver crawling up his spine when the heat of the sinclair home hit his icy cheeks, causing them to flush a vibrant shade of red. “sweethea-?” your mother sounded confused, hesitant even, her kind voice tilted to the staircase. the elder boy at the door kept his sore gaze glued onto his nikes, noticing the speckles of blood there from when he had been punched.

“what are you doing here?” it wasn’t until he had heard your soprano voice that steve’s head unconsciously snapped up to look at you, stood at the middle of the staircase. his fail safe expression softened at the smudged mascara and messy lipstick stain that riddled your doll like features. your plush lips parted with a gasp, with concern, almost as if you had forgotten that you said you were done with him earlier this afternoon.

that you hated him.

to be fair, he hated himself too.

“m-mom, c-could you please grab the first-aid kit?” your usually bubbly and airy voice was now raspy, sore, as if you had been sobbing the whole afternoon, stuttering like you were scared of him now. steve quickly averted his gaze back to his shoes as your mother looked between you both, roses limp within his grasp as they practically kissed the floor. your mother cleared her throat lightly without a word, mumbling a “my gosh” under her breath as she quickly climbed up the stairs to retrieve the kit.

he followed your bunny slippers to the kitchen, wordlessly sitting down at the kitchen table as you prepared a wash cloth sacrifice. steve winced as your mother half-carelessly plopped the kit onto the wooden table top next to his cellophane wrapped apology, immediately giving you a kiss on the head as she murmured something into your ear that he couldn’t make out.

steve felt sick.

once your mother had left the kitchen, dirty dancing raised in volume as it played from the living room at the opposite end of the house. you carefully sat atop the table in front of him, and steve felt the blood pound through his ear drums, breath hitching as your manicured hand gently cupped his chin, as if he were made of glass, as if you didn’t hate him like you promised you did, tilting it up so he would look at you.

your doe eyes watched him carefully for a moment, studying him, almost reluctantly which caused the pit in his stomach to deepen, before you raised the worn washcloth to his face, pausing as if silently communicating “this will sting.”

and steve hoped that his expression whispered back. “i deserve it.”

unfortunately, the weighted silence between you two couldn’t have prepared him for the searing pain that bloomed from the middle of his face, grunting out a wince as you quickly pulled back, apologetic. as if any of this had been your fault.

jesus, what was wrong with him?

“i-i’m sorry.” steve finally broke, finally being able to look you in the eye. he hated the sight of crystal beginning to blur your wide pupils, sniffling as he grabbed your hand with both of his bruised ones before you could pull away, engulfing it as he held it to his chest, wheezing. “i’m so fucking sorry, angel. please-“ finally, the dam broke, his guilt finally bubbling over as he sobbed unabashedly, his long chestnut locks forming paint strokes over his eyes as he held your hand to his mouth, placing kiss after kiss onto your knuckles as he weeped. “i didn’t mean it-“

warm tears free fell from your waterline, burning against the soft skin of your cheeks that had been rubbed raw with denial after denial after denial, stinging on the way down as mascara clumped your lashes. you sniffle, an awful, wet sound filling the kitchen that you would have giggled embarrassedly at had you not been so hurt by the boy in front of you. how could he have done what he did today if he loved you? how could he have spoken to you that way?

“steve-“ you whimper, hoping that your family couldn’t hear you over their collective noise, hoping they wouldn’t walk in to see your resolve breaking beneath steve’s heartbreaking gaze. your voice fell into a pleading whisper. “steve, please let go-“

“no!” steve gasped, desperately falling to his knees along the tile with a screech of his chair, wrapping his strong arms around your calves, nearly skin to skin as his cheek pressed into your knees, staining your cream lounge pants with wet scarlet. “please, baby. i’ll do anything. please- please don’t let me go, please.” you realized then that your delicate fingers were threaded through steve’s silky strands, instinctive. you heard him sniffle, whispering heartbreakingly under his breath as he hugged your lower half tightly, as if you’d disappear beneath his fingertips. “please don’t leave, please don’t leave, please don’t leave..”

you bit your bottom lip harshly, the metallic taste of blood filling your mouth as you watched the boy you love break in front of you. the sight of his beautiful face blotched with plum, burgundy, and olive made your heart weep. you pushed your trembling fingers through his hair, lightly scratching behind his ears as your thumbs rubbed his temples. instantly he shuddered, broad shoulders practically dropping to the floor as he relaxed under your touch, arms however only tightening around you. “stevie, baby,” he whimpered at the nickname, fearing the worst as your soprano voice sweetened, nearly replicating the tone you had used when you first met him all those months ago, kind and angelic. “you gotta get up for me. i need to clean you up-“

“no.” steve’s bambi gaze glimmered with tears, rubbed raw as shades of pink peaked through the whites of his eyes when he stared up at you. “no, please. i deserve it. baby, i deserve it, please just- just say you didn’t mean it when you said you hated me.” steve whimpered as he pleaded. “please.” his bass voice was two octaves higher as he begged without shame. as if impressing everyone at school today suddenly hadn’t mattered to him, as if he had taken a moment to consider whether or not he would undeservingly punish you when he did what he did. as long as he was protected, as long as he was respected, as long as he was king steve by the end of it.

you didn’t answer, instead swallowing the lump in your throat as you quietly pulled your fingers from his hair, holding your hands out of his reach as he fruitlessly attempted to grasp onto them. “say what carol said wasn’t true.” steve’s expression fell at your whisper, paling when he remembered carol’s cackling, her taunting, her tattling. steve turned his gaze to the kitchen stove, running a large hand over his mouth as he sighed helplessly, missing the way you bit back a sob. your mother stood in the doorway behind steve as she gazed at you with a type of sympathy only a woman who had lived it would, clenching her fists nervously but determinedly as she interrupted for both of your sake’s.

“i think you should go home now, steven.”

#was really sad today so i thought hey let’s write something that’ll make it worse 🥲#part 2?#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x sinclair!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #steve x poc!reader #steve harrington x reader angst #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #mean!steve harrington #season one steve harrington #joe keery #stranger things angst #stranger things fanfic #pixie’s works * ੈ✩‧₊˚

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