#writember2022

And this is with three day breaks between prompts lmao. My brainrot is strong I guess.

Day 030: Denouement.

Featuring Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson and Robin Buckley.

Mentions Will Byers, El Hopper, Max Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson.

1,045 words. Final day, and it ends with one that I actually like. Huzzah, I'm free.

There was a lot of stuff going on in Steve's abode. After all six of the kids teamed up to get him to host a small graduation party at his house for Nancy, Eddie, Jonathan and Robin, it got pretty rowdy. Steve made it out like the party idea bothered him, but honestly? It was mostly fake. Especially after Max woke up thanks to whatever bullsh!t that happened with Will and El that Steve would pretend to understand, but actually know very little. Again, he didn't really care, she was back and that was all he needed to know. He watches her talking to Lucas and Dustin about some new video game and they seem just as excited as her, which makes Steve smile. Finally some fu¢king peace and quiet. A chance to move on. Will and El had said Vecna was gone for good, which was another reason he didn't mind the celebration.

If anyone deserved a celebration, it was those kids. “Some party, huh?” Robin says, nudging the spaced out Steve on the arm. He blinks to try and regain his composure, and nods. “It's alright, I guess. Nice to think about normal things for a change.” She nods. “But we probably won't stop looking into every weird shadow, or noise in the woods. And be jumps of faulty lights.” She comments, folding her arms and bringing down the mood. Steve sighs. “Yeah, we might,” he says, gesturing between himself and Robin. “But if you think I'm going to let that be these kids’ fate? You would be dead wrong.” She grins, placing a hand on Steve's shoulder. “I know you won't, just leave some care in that big heart of yours for yourself, okay? Or I'll be forced to do something about it.” Steve snorts, a small smile sneaking its way onto his face.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” He says, waving a hand in the air dismissively. She nods, as if proud that her point came across the way she wanted it to. She then looks behind him, a big, sly grin appearing on her face. “You know, I think a great way to do that is to have a nice, long chat with Eddie Munson.” She says, pointing behind Steve, who swallows. “I think I would need a large drink of alcohol before I'm ready for that, and I have to make sure the kids get home safe and–” He stops upon seeing the look on her face. Her lips are tight, pursed with a slight dip of a frown. Her eyes darken, and an eyebrow shoots upwards. “What did I say about leaving some care for yourself?” She asks, and Steve scoffs. “Eddie's not–! I fail to see how that has anything to do with my self care?” Robin laughs, like full on belly laughs, which makes Steve eye the area surrounding them to make sure no one was paying attention. 

Everyone seems too wrapped up in their own stuff to notice him, which makes him sigh in relief. Last thing I need is a group effort teasing me, or worse, Eddie finding out. That would suck so fu¢king much. Robin frowns properly now, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “Has it really been that long since you've had a connection with someone in this way?” She asks, pulling him aside. Steve frowns. “What do you mean?” He asks, and she sighs. “You like him, right? You told me as much. Why don't you follow your own advice and y'know, get to know him?” Steve scoffs. “You and Vickie have similar interests, Rob. Me and Eddie couldn't be any more different. We don't have the same music taste, the same interests in general, and overall just don't click.” She raises her eyebrow, looking over at Eddie with a smile. “I think you'll find that you have way more in common than you think.”

Steve bites his lip. “Okay, maybe you're right, but I only met him because of this Upside Down sh!t, what if after this he wants nothing to do with me, with us?” He asks, and Robin snorts. “First of all, as long as Dustin is in both of you boys’ lives, Eddie will be in your life. Second of all, he's here, at this party, isn't he? It's only fair as his host to strike up a conversation, right?” Steve swallows, finally looking back at Eddie. “I hate when you use logic on me. It works almost every time.” Robin tilts her head. “Just almost?” She pushes, as if using telepathy to sense something more in his tone than someone else might. He rubs his chin, with a grunt. “I've... Never talked to a guy in this context before.” He admits, despite feeling stupid in saying it. Robin's face goes from teasing to serious in two seconds flat. “Oh! That's okay, Steve. I'm not gonna force you to like flirt with him or anything if you aren't comfortable with that. I just want you to say hi, at least!”

Day 029: Awake.

Featuring Max Mayfield, Lucas Sinclair and El Hopper.

Dustin Henderson and Will Byers mentioned.

487 words. So! Addressing the elephant in the room; this one is very short and kind of unfinished. That is because I wrote this one on the 28th, and have lost all ambition to make them good. Also, my knowledge of coma stuff is limited. But I like the blind hc, so that's what this is, even if it's very messy. (Sorry).

Max feels something grab her hand. Only it feels as if it wasn't actually touching her. Like a piece of glass was sandwiched between the two. She tries to open her eyes, but all she feels is a tightness around her lashes. She gasps erratically, feeling like she has a chain wrapped around her throat. Not to mention something pressed down on her nose and mouth, which makes her hyperventilate more.  She hears some type of mumbling, but in her foggy state, cannot discern what is being said. Am I dead? She wonders, before an odd warmth runs up the back of her neck. And a tension inside her releases. “Come on!” A voice says, much clearer than the mumbles she had heard previously. I know that voice. She thinks, before letting out a wheeze. “Lu–Lucas?” She rasps out, still unable to open her eyes. A chorus of gasps run throughout the room. She hears a beeping that she assumes is her heart beat monitor. 

“Max?” Lucas says, sounding close to tears. She swallows, but her mouth is dry. She grunts, trying to force her eyes open. She goes to move her hand, in hopes of giving a thumbs up, only to have a single finger twitch with no other movement. Sh!t, I'm really in a bad way, aren't I? She thinks, before her eyelids flutter open. She whimpers. “Wha– why... Why can't I s-see?” She babbles, tears spilling down her cheeks. She hears the heart rate monitor beep more rapidly as her heart plays pinball inside her chest. She flails out an arm, reaching for something, anything. She can hear Dustin muttering swears under his breath in a panic, and the sound of running footsteps. “I'll go get a d–doctor!” Will says, as the door squeaks in his wake. 

Day 027: Afterlife.

Featuring El Hopper, Billy Hargrove (/neg), and Maz Mayfield.

778 words and apparently it didn't send the first time, so here we go again!

El stares at her comatose friend, who lays still on the hospital bed, the heart monitor beeping in the otherwise quiet room. She switches the TV to a static station and she grabs her cloth that she had brought, and ties it around her eyes. This has to work. I'll pull her out of her own head, and wake her up. El grabs Max's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before closing her eyes to try and look into her mind. When it first happened, she tried to see into her mind, only the result was an empty black void. No sign of Max's consciousness. But El wasn't one to give up, not when it came to her friends. 

She imagines the day she decided to have a sleepover at Max's house, trying to reach the spirit of the girl she was so happy to consider her best friend. She finds herself in Max's old house. She sees a shadowy form of Mr. Hargrove, and her mom, and— El's consciousness backs up, feeling a primal fear run down her spine. Billy. She knew she had no reason to be frightened, Billy died, technically he saved her. But seeing a form of him, staring her down sent chills up and down her spine. “What are you doing here?” He asks, as the shroud around him dissipates. El clears her throat. “Max.” She manages, through a shaky breath. He grunts, and looks at El with a deadly glare. “You can't help her.” He says, in a low growl. El swallows, trying to stand taller, despite the older, taller and dead boy in front of her.

“I have to try.” She says, and Billy laughs. “Why?” He asks, and El frowns. “She's my friend. I have to save her.” Billy shakes his head. “But she's a murderer, isn't she?” He says, leaning off to the left, as if calling down the hall. El shakes her head. “Max hasn't killed anyone. She's a good person!” El snaps on her friend's behalf, but it only succeeds in making Billy laugh louder. “But she is one...” He says, in a taunting, singsong voice. “She killed me, after all.” El scoffs, that comment somehow makes the list of dumbest things she had ever heard. “I didn't see her stab you.” She says, plain and to the point. But Billy takes a step closer to El. “She may not have struck the last blow, but she wanted it. She killed me by just watching me die!”

“LIAR!” El screams, throwing out her hand to push him back with her mind. He slams against the fat wall, grinning. She walks forwards, head tilted down, and eyes dark. He chuckles, as he tries to pull himself free. “I'm afraid it is  true, she wished I was dead.” There's no way that that's true! “You liar!” She screams again, pushing him further into the wall, making a Billy sized dent in the wall. He grunts and cries out as she lifts her other hand to shove him in further. “El, stop.” A distorted voice says. El freezes. She looks to figure out where the voice came from, but the scene shifts. El finds her in a different place, somewhere she has never been before, but on the floor is a taped up skateboard, a pair of headphones and a tape player. Her heart didn't want to believe it, but before her eyes was Max Mayfield, curled up in a ball, with tear stained cheeks and red eyes.

Day 026: Condemned.

Featuring Lucas Sinclair and Max Mayfield.

Dustin Henderson, El Hopper, and Erica Sinclair mentioned.

802 words and no thoughts, only Lumax :D

“Hey, Max, you hungry? I found these in one of the cupboards.” Lucas offers a granola bar and an apple juice box out to Max, who chuckles. “How thoughtful, Stalker.” She jokes, taking the snacks and smiling. Lucas grins, sitting down next to her. “Well, there is only so much I can do to help right now.” He says, gesturing around the RV and she opens the wrapper for the granola bar. “You are helping just by being here, Lucas.” She grabs his hand, and he swallows. “I’m not sure I would have gotten this far without you by my side.” Lucas shrugs. “Of course, Max. I wouldn't leave you for the world. Anything to make sure you’re safe.” And she knows he means that fully. “I know, which makes this so much harder.” She says, rubbing her arm. “It’s just not my first priority.” He frowns. “What isn’t?” She swallows. She avoids his gaze, looking out the window behind them. “Surely, you don’t mean surviving? You gotta survive, Max!” He says, grabbing her shoulders, and giving her a gentle shake. “Well, if the world keeps spinning because I die, I think I’m okay with dying.” Lucas scoffs, and wraps her in a hug.

“And if you are my world, Max?” He asks, and she bites her lip. “I’m not saying I want to go. But even Billy was willing to die to save the world. It would be selfish to want to live if I could save the world and all of you guys.” He rubs her back, and she rests her head on his shoulder. “After all of the things you have dealt with, I feel like you deserve some selfishness.” She looks up at him, and he smiles. “I’ll do my best to stay alive, okay?” Lucas nods, as he brushes a stray hair from her braid behind her ear. “Promise me you’ll fight and you’ll survive, okay? Can you do that?” Max sighs. She wasn’t even sure her plan to avoid Vecna would work, but she couldn’t bear to see Lucas sad. She chuckles, trying to go for confidence. “Promise. I’ll go to my happy place, and he won’t hurt me.” He pulls her into another hug. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Mad Max.” He says, as he pulls away. She gives him a salute. “Don’t worry, Stalker. You won’t lose me easily.” They both grin. She closes her eyes, laying against Lucas. He shifts his arm to balance her, and her headphones slip down.

She opens her mouth to comment about that, but Lucas is already grabbing them, and adjusting them onto her head. “I’m gonna try to get some rest.” She says, and he nods. “I’ll make sure Dustin and Erica keep their traps shut so you can sleep.” He says, as he stands. He sets her down on the seat, and drapes a blanket that was hanging over the back of the seat over her. He tucks in the sides, and opens her eyes for a moment to see Lucas walk up to Dustin and Erica, and points back to Max. She watches him wave his finger in a way that reminds her of Steve scolding them. Dustin nods, as Lucas gestures for quiet. Erica rolls her eyes, but she makes eye contact with Max, and she swallows. She turns to look out the window, and says nothing more. Lucas walks back, and sits at her feet. “They aren’t gonna make noise. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be right here, okay?” Max gives him a thumbs up, and presses her face into the seat. If there were even two people as thoughtful as Lucas in the world, the world might not be such a sh!thole. She thinks, cracking a smile. Not that she would ever say that to his face. It might go to his moronic head. She reaches a hand down, finding the top of his head, and she runs her fingers through his hair.

Day 025: Scars.

Featuring Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson.

Barbara Holland and Nancy Wheeler mentioned.

1,031 words and this one took a few days to really get into the groove, but I think I got it.

Just as Steve sits down to maybe get some ideas or plans to stop Vecna, somebody knocks on his door. Who could that be? It's way too early to be one of the kids. And Robin would at least call me before dropping in. He wonders, as he stands up. He walks to the door, and swings both doors open. He frowns as he sees Eddie standing on the porch, staring at the welcome mat. “Eddie?” He asks, not expecting at this hour, let alone at all. He is holding a yellow sweater, which upon closer inspection, Steve realizes is his. He lifts his finger to point at the shirt, but Eddie clears his throat. “Sorry. I didn't like, wake you up?” He says, shifting his feet, and wringing the sweater in his hands like a towel. Steve shakes his head.

“I've been awake awhile, you wanna come in?” He asks, pointing inside with his thumb. Eddie bites his lip. “If this is a bad time, I can leave–” Steve shakes his head, stopping the thought Eddie was vocalizing in its tracks. “Nah, come in. I wasn't really doing anything.” Steve steps out of the way so Eddie can walk into the house. Eddie exhales sharply, before stepping inside. Steve closes the door, and turns to look at him. “Okay, tell me what's going on?” He says, sitting on one of the couches’ armrests. Eddie turns to look at him, with a furrowed brow. “How'd you know I–?” He asks, and Steve chuckles. “Call it learned instinct. Plus, you disappeared from the hospital right as you were supposed to be discharged. Something is obviously wrong. Did Hopper find you?”

Eddie swallows, as he paces around the coffee table. “He did, and he talked me out doing something stupid,” Eddie says, with a pause. Steve gestures for him to continue, sensing a rant of some sort coming. “He then drove me back to my trailer, only when I got there, it was split in two. And Uncle Wayne wasn't there, and with the sh!t that has gone down there, I couldn't handle it.” Steve nods to show he's listening. Eddie scratches his head, and drops the shirt. “I tried to face it, but I chickened out again. And I walked all the way here.” He scoffs, running his hands over his face. “I couldn't think of anywhere to go, but I saw that dumb sweater chilling on my bed, and I thought of you, so here I am, I guess.”

Steve nods. “I'm not gonna say, ‘I know what you're going through,’ because I know that it doesn't help anyone, however, you aren't alone here.” Eddie frowns, tipping his head to the right in question. Steve gestures for him to follow, and heads towards the glass door leading to the pool and backyard. He sees Eddie shuffle behind him as he reaches for the door handle. Steve hasn't been out here in ages, he'd only been out there once since Barb, and that was to drain the infernal and offending pool, so he was sure it probably would look like its upside down counterpart by now. “Do you,” Steve starts, clearing his throat to try and push down the lump in his throat. “Do you remember Barbara Holland?” He asks, as he looks over at Eddie.

Eddie nods. “Yeah, didn't she die from chemicals or something from Hawkins Lab? It was all over the news.” Steve winces, and shakes his head. “I wish it was as simple as that.” In a sudden burst of courage, he swings open the door, revealing the unkempt backyard. “Wow, Harrington, you couldn't bother to hire a landscaper or something?” He asks, as he steps out onto the back porch, and looks into the empty pool. Steve takes a single step into the backyard, before not daring to move closer to the pool. “This backyard and pool is where Barb died.” He says, and Eddie gasps, as if realizing the gravity of the situation. “How did she die?” Well, I've come this far, might as well go off the deep end. “Well, it was November 1983, and my parents weren't home. So, I did what any irresponsible kid does, and got a couple of friends down here to have a party.”

Steve breathes in and out in an attempt to calm himself down. “Nancy was there, and she asked Barb to come too, because she was her best friend.” Eddie nods, probably just to indicate he was listening. “The um, party ended with most of us in the pool, and with Barb cutting herself accidentally. So me and everyone besides Barb went upstairs to put something dry on.” He rubs his arms in a self soothing way, taking big breaths to gather his whirling thoughts. “She decided to sit by the pool while admittedly me and Nancy were otherwise ‘occupied’. That, as it would turn out, was her downfall.” Eddie walks back up to Steve, as if sensing the tension in him. “You don't have to tell me what happened.” He says, grabbing Steve's shoulders as if to ground him.

Day 024: Distance.

Featuring Steve Harrington.

941 words and this one was a long time coming. I had the first paragraph written weeks ago. Finally sat down and wrote it out! :)

If you find a parent saying that they wholeheartedly believe that they had never made any mistakes in raising their kid, then Steve has come to the conclusion that you have found either a liar or a narcissist. Because every parent makes a mistake, some more grave than others, but no one is perfect. Steve's parents' mistake? Negligence. He hadn’t heard from them in months, and even when they were here, it was like Steve didn’t exist. And normally that was okay, but after the past couple days, Steve just wants someone nearby in his house. He grits his teeth, hating this moment of weakness. He looks at the barren white walls, devoid of personality or signs of life.

Having to pick up the kids for their various events really put into perspective the emptiness of his house. At  their houses they have nick knacks littering shelves and family photos along the wall, whether nailed or on a mantle/shelf. Plus the signs of life that maybe one wouldn't think of. Like scrapes on the wall, chipped paint, dents from rough houses, and the like. But Steve looking at his house he had come to the conclusion that it hadn't changed once since they moved in. To Steve, the house feels like it were an example house for people thinking of moving into a neighborhood and wanting to see what it would look like furnished. The only signs of life were the fancy couches, beds and small assortment of kitchenware in cabinets, hidden away so they wouldn't show the dust on them.

A TV sits at one end of the living room, collecting dust and somehow making the room feel more lifeless with its dull box frame unmoving in the corner. Then there was Steve's room. He doesn't want to admit it, but he knows from the people who have been in his room's faces that his room is pathetic. All he has are essentials. A bed, a dresser, a bedside table and a lamp. He doesn't have many personalized things, just stuff for school like swim trophies and basketball memorabilia. And those were only there to show to an outsider of the Harrington residence just how “accomplished” their son was. He scoffs at the concept. As if one needs to have a trophy screaming your name to be accomplished. Anything of value, sentimental or otherwise, was thrown into his walk-in closet, since whenever his parents did actually bother to come home, they'd demand he “clean up his filthy room,” as if his basketball under his bed was such a horror to behold.

That's another thing. The house is just too clean. Now, Steve likes a clean environment to live in as much as the next guy – no one wants a pig sty, after all – but there comes a time when one might be a tad too clean. Everything gets disorganized, that was a law of science. Something he had learned from school, and somehow had retained. But despite that law of entropy, the house remains the same. Never changing, aging, or chaotic disorder. To Steve, the house defies that law. It feels in direct opposition to it. Part of Steve always wondered what would happen if he left a mess for his parents to pick up. Would it instantly clean itself? Or would they demand for him to clean it up when they returned? He didn't know. He learned at a young age to not make messes for fear of being yelled at.

So he cleans. He leaves no trace of his presence. He ignores the voice in his head demanding something other than the bland walls and the suffocating void weighing down on his chest. He ignored the remarks friends would make on the place, biting his tongue when they called it out for the nothingness that it is. He knew, better than they could ever understand. But despite living here, he felt like an outsider. He felt that if he moved anything an inch out of place, he was disrespecting a space he should be making his home. But he also knows that four walls and a roof do not equal a home. His home was elsewhere. It was with the people he loves, the loud bustling of the Wheeler's house, the polite quiet of the Sinclair's house, the simplicity of the Mayfield's house, the safety of the Byers-Hopper's house, and especially the warmth of the Henderson's house.