#stelan

Ryland:

Hate Me: Really Ry? Do you have to be so sexy and so talented at once? I lose track of things I am doing at times because my eyes are drawn to you, my dancing becomes a little less dynamic when you distract me. 

Love Me: Flirtation between us feels so effortless and I know you do not read more into it than was intended. Sometimes being flirty can just mean appreciation for one another without necessarily ending up tangled in the sheets later.

Miss Me: It feels like it has been years since October, way too long for me to wait to see you perform. I admire your theatrical nature and am inspired and awestruck in equal measure, with more than a sprinkle of desire mixed in. 

Stellan

Hate Me: I know anytime people interact there is a level of judgement, but at times I feel like I am always coming up lacking in your eyes. I do not think that you are expecting me to fail, but finding ways that you could help me improve, it would be nice to feel like I come out on the positive side of the ledger once in a while.

Love Me: A man of mystery, I really love that aspect of you. My curious nature wars with my respect for your privacy. I want to find little corners of your story that you do not share, but the enigma is far more intriguing and seductive.

Miss Me: I do not know if you remember the moment, but when you sat with me at Fancy Cakes and we shared an appreciation for tiramisu, there was that little toast of our forks, then there was a little whisper about the conversation going on between Pyra and the young noble. Just those little moments made me feel completely relaxed in your company. I wish there could be more moments like that between us.

~1986~

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! The rhythmic sound of the heart monitor was the only noise filling the somber hospital room. The dim lighting cast long shadows across the walls, giving the space an unsettling, almost eerie quality. It was the kind of room that seemed to absorb any glimmer of hope, leaving behind an air of quiet despair.

In one of the beds lay the man from the previous night’s crash. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his face peaceful yet pallid against the white sheets. He could have been sleeping, but the silence around him and the sterile, lifeless surroundings suggested otherwise. For now, he remained a mystery to everyone.

Doctors and nurses came and went, checking his vitals and monitoring his condition. Each of them paused for a moment, their eyes lingering on the man's strange clothing. It wasn’t just unusual—it was completely foreign. The materials, the design, even the stitching, seemed otherworldly. Nothing about it matched what a young man in Hawkins—or anywhere, for that matter—would wear.

But the man’s clothes weren’t the only oddity. Resting on the nightstand next to his bed was a small rectangular box, an object that had been found on him during intake. At first glance, it looked plain, unassuming even, but when one of the doctors accidentally passed their hand over it, the device flared to life. A vibrant display flickered onto its smooth surface, lighting up the room with an ethereal glow.

The image on the screen showed the man smiling, surrounded by a group of people. Friends, it seemed—though none of the faces were recognizable. Beneath the photo, strange symbols appeared: numbers, words, and icons that none of the staff could decipher. The device hummed softly, almost as if it were alive, before the light dimmed and the screen went black again.

The staff exchanged uneasy glances, a palpable tension growing among them. Everything about this man—from his attire to the strange object—felt like something out of a story they couldn’t quite piece together. For now, all they could do was wait, monitor, and wonder who this man was and why nothing about him seemed to belong in their world.

The male’s eyes fluttered open, his vision hazy and unfocused as consciousness slowly returned to him. The harsh glare of a fluorescent light overhead made him squint, its steady buzz blending with the faint hum of machinery somewhere in the room. He shifted slightly, the rustling of stiff sheets and the scratchy texture of the thin hospital blanket grounding him to his surroundings. The chill in the air seeped through the blanket, offering little comfort.

The space around him felt foreign and unsettling. Faded green walls framed the room, their color dulled by time and wear. A bulky heart monitor beeped rhythmically at his side, its soft pulses a reminder of his fragile state. The smell of antiseptic and faint traces of something metallic made him wrinkle his nose, the sharp scent pricking at his senses.

In the corner of the room, a small TV perched on a wheeled stand flickered with static, casting a faint, ghostly light that danced across the room. He frowned. This place—it didn’t look like any hospital he had ever seen. There was something off about it, something almost... outdated.

"Where am I?" he rasped, his voice rough and gravelly, as though it hadn’t been used in days. He winced at the sound, his throat dry and scratchy. Slowly, his vision began to sharpen, the details of the room coming into focus. It wasn’t just unfamiliar—it looked old. Retro, even, like something out of a movie.

His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail in an attempt to orient himself, but nothing struck a chord of recognition. Then, he spotted it—his device, resting on the nightstand beside him. Relief mixed with curiosity as he reached for it, his hand trembling slightly from weakness. He pressed the surface, and the device flared to life, its screen glowing with familiar light.

"What the..." he muttered, his confusion deepening. The screen displayed the time: 6:00 PM. He furrowed his brow and glanced toward the window. The soft light of dawn spilled through the blinds, painting the walls with its gentle glow. "That can’t be right," he murmured, the discrepancy between the time on the device and the world outside adding to his growing unease.

He swiped through the device’s interface, passing the main visual to access his messages. A familiar thread of conversations appeared, each one a fragment of a life that now felt impossibly distant. His gaze settled on the last message he had received before everything went dark. He read it, his heart pounding as questions began to swirl in his mind. What had happened? How had he ended up here, in this strange place that didn’t feel quite real?

Dylan threw the hospital blanket aside, his movements stiff and sluggish as he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He glanced down at himself, frowning at the sight of his dirty, wrinkled clothes. Everything felt off—not just the room, but his own presence in it. He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair as he tried to piece together what had happened.

The door to the room creaked open, and a doctor walked in, clipboard in hand. His retro hairstyle immediately caught Dylan’s attention, looking like something straight out of the 80s. It was another detail that didn’t match the world Dylan thought he knew.

"Oh, you’re awake," the doctor said, offering a polite but curious smile. "Do you remember who you are?"

"Yeah... My name is Dylan Walker," Dylan replied, his voice still gruff, as he studied the doctor’s dated appearance. Confusion lingered in his eyes.

The doctor scribbled something on his clipboard, then looked back at Dylan. "Age?"

"I’m 20," Dylan said, furrowing his brow as he reached for his wallet. "I have my real ID with me," he added, pulling out his driver’s license and handing it over.

The doctor laughed—a deep, hearty laugh that made Dylan’s stomach twist in unease. "This is fake, kid," he said with a grin, holding up the ID as if it were a joke. "If you were going to make a fake driver’s license, you could’ve at least kept it close to reality." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own driver’s license, flashing it to Dylan for comparison.

Dylan stared at the doctor’s license, his confusion growing with each passing second. The fonts, the layout, even the holograms—it all looked different, old, almost archaic. His gaze darted back to his own license, and suddenly, he wasn’t so sure what reality he was living in anymore.

Dylan slid his ID back into his wallet, his hands trembling slightly as his confusion deepened. He looked up as the doctor cleared his throat to get his attention.

"You look fine," the doctor said casually, his voice steady yet distant. "Other than not having a valid driver’s license," he added with a hint of amusement, though his tone was more clinical than friendly. "You seem to be in all your senses."

Dylan gave a small nod, his mind still racing. He sighed deeply, unsure of what to say. The doctor scribbled a note on his clipboard before adding, "You’ll be allowed to leave soon." With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dylan alone with his thoughts.

Letting out another sigh, Dylan reached for his phone. The familiarity of the device brought him a shred of comfort amidst the chaos. He opened the phone app, scrolling to his emergency contact. With a sense of urgency, he tapped the number and pressed the call button, holding the phone to his ear.

The line rang, each tone making his heart beat faster. Then, a mechanical voice cut through the silence: "Invalid Number."

Dylan frowned, his pulse quickening as he stared at the screen in disbelief. "What?!" he exclaimed, hitting the call button again. The same response. He tried again. And again. Five more attempts, each ending in the same infuriating, nonsensical message.

"What is going on?" he muttered, his frustration bubbling over. He lowered the phone, his gaze fixed on the signal icon—it showed zero bars. No signal. "Great," Dylan mumbled bitterly as he shoved the phone back into his pocket. He stood from the bed, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him, and started pacing around the room.

His eyes roamed the unfamiliar space, taking in every detail. Nothing seemed right. The retro styling—the faded green walls, the clunky monitor, the ancient TV in the corner—all of it felt wrong. It was as if he had stepped into a bygone era, completely disconnected from the world he knew.

"I bet this is a prank," Dylan muttered under his breath, his frustration mixing with disbelief. "Dustin and the others... I swear." Determined to find proof, he started searching the room, opening drawers, peering under furniture, and running his fingers along the edges of the walls. He looked for hidden cameras, any signs of a joke that could explain the surreal situation he was trapped in.

But there was nothing. The only camera he found was a bulky surveillance camera mounted high on the wall, aimed squarely at the door. It wasn’t hidden—it was ominously obvious, its presence unnerving rather than reassuring.

Dylan stood still, his heart pounding in his chest as the weight of the situation sank in. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t a prank. It was something far stranger, and he was completely alone in figuring it out.

Dylan let out another heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging as he sat back on the hospital bed. Defeated—for the second time since waking up. Everything felt alien, out of place, like he was caught in some elaborate and unsettling dream. He stared at the wall, lost in thought, until the door creaked open and broke the silence.

A nurse entered the room, carrying a food tray in her hands. Her uniform looked dated, almost matching the retro theme of the hospital itself, but her face carried a warmth that softened the tension in the air.

"I brought you food," she said with a kind smile, setting the tray on a small rolling table near the bed. Dylan glanced at the tray—a modest portion of soup, bread, and a cup of water—before lifting his gaze back to her.

"Oh, and you’ve got a visitor," the nurse added cheerfully, her voice pulling Dylan out of his daze.

He frowned, confused, and sat up a little straighter, his eyes darting toward the door. His confusion deepened the moment his visitor stepped inside.

It was Steve—at least, it looked like Steve. Dylan’s heart skipped a beat as his eyes took in the familiar features: the same moles, the sharp jawline, the warm brown eyes, and the lips he knew all too well. For a fleeting second, relief washed over him, but then he noticed the details—the things that made him feel weary and uncertain.

Steve’s clothes were entirely wrong. They were dated, screaming "retro" in Dylan’s eyes, like something out of the 80s. Even his hair was different: big, puffy, styled in a way Dylan had never seen him wear. It wasn’t just Steve’s presence that unsettled him—it was how he seemed out of time, disconnected from everything Dylan knew.

And then the second figure stepped in. Dylan’s jaw dropped, his mouth hanging open as he froze in place. The man who followed Steve looked exactly like Billy Hargrove—the same scowl etched across his face, the same furrowed eyebrows, the same piercing blue eyes, and his familiar dirty blonde. It was him. Even his posture carried that familiar swagger tinged with irritation. But, like Steve, Billy’s appearance was wrong. His hairstyle was practically a mullet, puffed and styled in a way that didn’t belong in Dylan’s world. His clothes matched the retro vibe, completing the bizarre picture.

Dylan couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. He just stared, his mind reeling as he tried to process what he was seeing. The man before him looked like Billy, but Billy was dead. The retro styling, the presence of these two people—it all felt like confirmation of what he’d been dreading: he wasn’t home anymore. He wasn’t sure where he was, but it definitely wasn’t the Hawkins he knew. Dylan made eye contact with both Billy and Steve. the three of them silent and unsure of what was going on.

Steve Harrington: Childhood best friends, used to do everything together and they didn’t have malice so Steve used to let Dylan sit in his lap. All up to Middle school when Dylan’s lost his brother who was “ran over” , Dylan became more of a loner, while Steve joined with the wrong crowd. Which made them drift apart, Steve became a DnD dweb becoming friends with Julia, Bruce, Mark and Eddie, while Steve was in per suit of popularity until he became Popular when, he slept with the hottest girl in Hawkins high. (He was a freshman), Dylan stay behind yet he had feelings for his ex best friend. (In The canon AUs Dylan and Steve become friends again after season 1. In the other AU, Steve and Dylan meet at times but it’s always awkward and Weird because Tommy is there.) sometimes in the no monster AU Steve battles his feelings depending on the AU, weather it is Harringrove, Steddie, Stelan or Dylve, steddielan, haringroveker, harringroveson.

Tommy Hagan: used to bully Dylan since he met the boy seeing how he wasn’t normal. Maybe it was because deep down Tommy probably had the same inclination or felt an attraction towards Dylan. They were never close but in both Canon AUs and no monsters AU Tommy and Dylan are hookup partners as per Tommy’s request to want to try having sex with a guy despite being with Carol.

Billy Hargrove: Dylan is the first person wh9 actually greets Billy because Dylan was forced to they both instantly acknowledge that the other is abused by their father tho they don’t mention it, but they see the slight signs the only difference is that they each channel it differently. Dylan becomes a wing man to Billy in every AU that Billy likes Mark. They are mostly platonic or like siblings but in some universe they actually hookup. we also have the other ships like harringrobe, Walgrove, harringroveker, harringroveson.

Steve Joe Randal: dispite being a Mix douche Steve and mix douche Billy, he cares or cared deeply for Dylan (in the canon AU this oc dies because he was flayed and he fused with Dylan’s dad and step mother trying to end or take Dylan to the spider monster) but when he isn’t trying to kill Dylan he is trying his best although tried to force sex onto Dylan (imagine when he finds out that Tommy was the one who got lucky to be the first to sleep with Dylan). Other ships include. Steve x2, Rangrove, Joddie(Most people call Him joe so joe + Eddie), Joncy, Bydal (Jonathan x Joe).

Eddie Munson: they become close even when Dylan’s close group stops playing DnD, they also have a hookup relationship but it’s less cold than Dylan and Tommy’s. They act more like a couple. But they don’t have feelings for eachother, at least in canon AU Eddie looses his feelings for Dylan when he sees that Dylan still is after Steve. Other ships Dyldie, Steddie, Harringroveson, Steddielan, Chrissy x Eddy.

Fiona Thompson: one sided, Dylan never actually liked Fiona. Not his type

He and Steve have ying yang necklace that they each stopped wearing when they got into different friend groups.

His family is messed up and is abused physically and mentally by his dad. This he channels his energy into trying to be nice to people. (Opposite. Of Billy)

Even after high school he love to play DnD.

Got a tattoo of the Hellfire club, that only Eddie knows off (and Steve after the bday drawing 🤭)

One of the few peoples who actually be friends Billy.

Plays basketball even if to a peace his dad

After being in the upside he has a Small part of the mind flayer inside of him, but it never takes control of him since it's a really small part

He knew Billy and Will were flayed (in the respective seasons they were flayed) yet he never told the other why he knew until The battle at start court Mall

During that time when Billy and Marcus were on again off again, the two had a drunken hookup. But Dylan was too drunk that the next day he didn't remember anything and he still doesn't.

Even if he doesn't remember this first time having intercourse is with Billy during the stat of summer break the fateful summer that Billy dies (or Tyler dies) not With Eddie.