#bigboytm

a slow, deflating breath rattled through joyce's chest, something less akin to a sigh of relief than a breath of unwilling surrender. in an instant, the weight of it all seemed to slump down around her unguarded and exhausted shoulders: the xerox money she'd handed off to jonathan, the handmade posters, the cigarette butts starting to pile up in the ashtray by the front door — will's empty bed and unrumpled sheets, still lying there, untouched, the way they had for days now.

" how am I supposed to sleep? " she countered, any argument she might have wanted to conjure squashed under the heft of her exhaustion, any thanks she meant to give him for staying with her so long after his shift stoppered short in the back of her trembling throat. " or — or eat, or go to work? "

" jesus, hopper. " joyce swatted at him gently, a growing smile lighting up her expression in the near absence of light. a wind chill rolled through the coverage of foliage, unhindered by the obscured truck bed of jim's old ride. it was almost exposing, to be half - out of her clothes, out at the precipice of lovers lake; but hopper, laying beside her, seemed to radiate an endless emission of sweat - flecked heat in defiance of everything — even his lack of henley and jeans, only his undershirt and briefs still pretending at modesty. unhesitatingly, joyce propped herself up and threw a leg astride him, reaching back behind her to unclasp her bra. " you don't have a curfew? "

that was a question that needed no answer. not when the way jim looked up at her, awe - eyed and eager, was enough on its own to drive home just how badly he wanted this not to come to too premature an end. the feeling was mutual.

there was no room, here, to think about implications, or the undiscussed lonnie of it all — his cheating, his drinking, the fact that it'd been the third time she'd broken things off in two months. the deep, blown - black - blue of hopper's eyes eclipsed the very idea of lonnie's place in her life: rendered him little more than an ephemeral and repeated mistake, an intrusive and unwelcome memory, but still a regretful blunder joyce couldn't be sure she wouldn't make again somewhere down her dismal, dead - ended road.

starter for @bigboytm

The kids were safe now—that was the one thought that was both comfort and curse. For while it meant he could finally take a breath, his adrenaline winding down after waking up in a speeding Camaro and living through that entire shit-show in the tunnels left his head reeling. He fought back a wave of dizziness, blurred vision and a ringing in his ears enough for him to stumble to the Beemer and attempt a drive to the hospital.

Only a couple miles told him that wouldn’t be possible, vision blurring further, even the most innocuous porch light a searing beacon burning his retinas, the waves of dizziness alternating with waves of nausea. Pulling the car off the road to avoid swerving off, Steve closed his eyes, waiting for the world to reorient in a few minutes before leaving to walk the rest of the way. Sure, it would be a long, weaving walk in this state, but what were the chances anyone else was up at three, four in the morning?

His eyes opened to headlights visible in his rearview mirror, both pain at the brightness and relief at the possibility he wouldn’t have to walk it prompting his quick exit—too quick. Hand gripping the doorframe to keep his balance, the other extending a thumb for the other driver to see and hopefully get him out of here.

Please. Too much shit already. Please stop, be normal.

He let out a long exhale as the vehicle slowed, walking toward the passenger window and talking regardless of whether it was rolled down yet or not, at this point. It barely mattered who was driving either, as long as it wasn’t a 13-year-old with a need for speed.

@bigboytm || Starter 🩵

The backseat of the patrol car is quieter than the store had been, but not silent. Nothing is ever truly silent for Henry. It was a gift ━ no, a curse. The engine hums beneath him, steady and grounding in a way he finds… Tolerable. Perhaps he should have known better than to come back to Hawkins, and yet here he was.

It had been... An accident. One that caused chaos in the supermarket, the shattering of refrigerator glass, the wild flickering of lights, the comotion of shoppers around him. He hadn't had an episode like it in years, and of course, he found himself reacting in the same way he always had. He'd run. It made him look guilty. He was.

He'd run right into him. Jim Hopper. Henry recognized him immediately. And that's why he was here. The familiar face had stalled him, a man had shouted, and before he knew it, he was pinned against a wall, handcuffs around his wrists. Destruction of public property.... He didn't resist.

He sits with his hands resting loosely in his lap, posture relaxed despite the situation. Jim is in the front seat, one arm slung over the wheel, the other adjusting something on the radio before giving up on it entirely. Nothing but static fuzz, something that shouldn't have been, but is. Henry listens to a curse, and then he sits forward as much as he can, peering through the mesh that separates them.

❝ …You don't recognize me at all, do you? ❞ Why would he? Henry had died, slain by his father nearly 20 years ago ━ At least, according to all reports. Reports that were wrong. Falsified. He was now, like the static humming through the radio, another thing that wasn't supposed to have existed and yet.. He did.

the idea of staying with the wheelers and the reality were two very different things -- something that became abundantly clear within two weeks of their new living situation. not that will wasn't grateful! because obviously he was. being stuck in hawkins with no house was not his idea of fun ( he couldn't imagine it was anyone's, but the military who had put them on lockdown and refused to let them leave again didn't rightly seem to care about the technicalities of it all ), but putting eight people with an array of different personalities wasn't exactly a walk in the park either. it helped, of course, that will had previously spent so much time in the wheeler house; that it was almost a second home to him already. will knew how to live with mike, knew how to talk to holly, knew when to engage with nancy, knew how easy it was to let karen care for him, knew how to skirt around the edges with ted.

all of this to say, will needed a break from the wheeler house. he needed a day, a few hours at least, where he didn't feel like he was being watched or asked if he was okay. he's not exactly sure how it happens, an offhanded comment to his mom to start with, but soon enough he's carefully making his way through the woods surrounding hopper's cabin. careful of the traps, careful of the wildlife, he's so focused on his approach that he almost startles when he looks up and finds hopper on the little porch. almost. instead he kind of relaxes a little, a timid smile on his lips as he gives a small wave of his fingers. "hi, hopper." a pause, barely a moment to give himself time to overthink it or make it weird. "can i hide here for a bit?"

they always were, this time of year. joyce could count on it, just like she knew, without any uncertainty, that it'd take twice as long as in the warmer months to heat the cabin; that her car would complain and sputter at least three times before it deigned to start when the temperature dropped below thirty - two. the quilt spread out across the foot of the bed did little to completely keep out the wintry bite in the air — a consequence, she'd learned, of choosing to live out in the sticks — but hopper, arm tucked around her waist, his front flush against her back, always seemed to run hot. always gave off the dependable and untempered warmth of a log fire.

𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖱𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖥𝖮𝖱 @bigboytm / 𝖵𝖠𝖦𝖴𝖤𝖫𝖸 𝖯𝖫𝖮𝖳𝖳𝖤𝖣.

a hushed kind of silence clung to the woods, one that always seemed to arrive with this late hour, occasionally disturbed only by the subtle buzzing of mosquitoes whirring through the dark and the ceaseless chirps of never-seen crickets sounding from somewhere far within the thicket that one had no choice but to become used to when living in this place. it was a lonesome atmosphere that lingered within the forest, especially at night, but, at the same time, strangely, peaceful, as was the slight chill to the air that had arrived with nighttime and the temperature, finally, decreasing to something more bearable, that was generally more prominent here, betwixt looming trees and rich heaps of green leaves making up their crowns that always made the air feel and smell clearer, a welcome reprieve from the sweltering summer heat that had carried all throughout the day and would, no doubt arrive again come the reappearance of the sun come morning, first light but few, short hours away now. still, will took his time, treading through the dark woodland slower than necessary, not ready for this day to come to an end yet, not yet ready to sink into his bed where thin sheets would cling uncomfortably to sweaty skin until, with a frustrated sigh, they were abandoned altogether at the foot of the bed, and allowed for the chill of night to graze his skin instead, not ready to face the possibility of it ruining everything, the forever present likelihood that everything he felt right now would wash away on an instant when he shut his eyes to a different darkness, one to which there was nothing peaceful, and the wrong images appeared before his eyes. it no longer happened as frequently as it had still months prior, but it happened, and the prospect of a good day becoming a horrible night, a nightmare he was bound to live through over and over again with the way it haunted him, left a tang of something bitter in his mouth, made him hesitant about reaching the cabin already appearing before him now, easily discerned by the faint cerulean glow of bug zappers lining the porch. for now, however, the giddy sense of happiness the day, time spent with mike, had brought forth remained, was a feeling of lightness will held onto, one he'd never thought could be his to experience, cursing, for the umpteenth time, in his head that the familiar two-way radio device didn't reach all the way out here, for there was something he still had to say. tomorrow.

uneven ground of damp moss and sticky leaves became solid again as he stepped upon the porch, wooden stairs creaking slightly beneath his weight despite his efforts to be quiet, steps slowing to a halt just before he could reach the door. his left arm came up, gaze lowering to the watch around his wrist as he pressed the small button at its side to illuminate the display, the appearing flash of green a stark contrast against black digits. 𝟸:𝟷𝟺. he had time. and everyone was already asleep by the looks of it. moving to the side, will braced his weight against the railing, rough, old wood scraping the bared skin of his forearms as the settled against the flat top of the banister and fumbled the pack of cigarettes and lighter from his pocket. he'd just lit one in a brief illumination of yellow joining the murky glow of the bug zapper overhead and a plume of smoke drifting away with the breeze, when footsteps sounding within the cabin broke the comfortable hush of night. he didn't need to see him to know who was approaching, could discern so much from the footsteps against creaking floorboards, the slight, but audible, heaviness to them that didn't match the nearly soundless way in which his mother moved sometimes. hopper. he waited, remaining facing the shadowy tree line ahead of where he stood leaned against the porch railing until he heard the scrape of the door opening to his right, “ i'll be in in a minute. ”

once, she'd wished she could have. she'd wished, deep down, that the effervescent daydream she'd held onto throughout senior year at hawkins high — to get out of town, make a better life, outrun the looming threat of some thankless existence at a dead end job with a guy seven years her senior who could have cared less for her prospects — could've been something real. but it'd been just that. a dream. an escape.

a fleeting fantasy of college, and then postcard - esque white beaches somewhere sunny with someone else she'd cared about.

though any regrets she'd had had vanished over time, erased by the arrival of jonathan, then will, she'd wanted a better life for them. better than her best efforts, better than goodwill clothes and screaming matches with their father in some closed off room, and an empty house on the christmas eves and thanksgivings donald had needed her at work. better than the lonnie shaped welt that'd been bruised into their lives.