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@hairoic
* 𝗛𝗔𝗜𝗥𝗢𝗜𝗖. a selective & mutually exclusive portrayal of STEVE HARRINGTON from netflix's STRANGER THINGS. somewhat canon - compliant with some personal headcanons developed over time.
babysat by BERRY, she / her, 30+, gmt. est. april 2023. this blog will feature mature, dark & potentially triggering themes. crossover, au & oc friendly. do NOT follow if under the age of 21+.
⁰¹ 𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗗. ⁰² 𝗪𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚. ⁰³ 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗣𝗦.
NOW INACTIVE.
so, after a LOT of thought over the last few months, i've finally made the decision to retire from tumblr rp. there are a lot of reasons, but definitely with the crap changes the platform keeps making, my real life (i.e. wedding planning, work, other commitments) i've felt like i'm forcing enthusiasm and replies and just being here out of obligation, not wanting to let anyone down.
i've tried to keep going as normal, hoping i'd feel as enthusiastic as i used to, and i was tempted to stay until the end of this year and finally decide then, but wouldn't it be worse to keep things going only to cut them all short then? idk. there's no perfect time to quit! this is the first time i've ever made a post like this (i've only ever quit a fandom/muse, not rp entirely ever since i started it in 2012, and tumblr rp in 2016) and it feels quite surreal in a way.
it's been very fun nonetheless, and i've met some amazing people (i will always be grateful to those who always wanted to write with me, always sent things and expressed interest, that really means a lot and kept me going here for such a long time), but unfortunately it's just not the same now and i think my passion for it has just gradually drained away. being completely honest, the thought of NOT having to check my blogs and bring myself to churn out replies actually feels relieving, and i realized i'd rather focus on other creative outlets i don't currently have time for like painting, drawing etc.
i'm not deleting my blogs (i'm a sentimentalist at heart and i don't like getting rid of memories - plus you never know, i might change my mind in future), but as of now i'll be marking them inactive, closing my inbox and you're all welcome to unfollow me of course. just know i'll never forget this hobby and you all, and thank you very much for the creative memories we've made together!
teeny plotting call? like this and i'll hop into your ims to discuss ♡
#progress
Planned starter for @hairoic.
It had taken some doing considering his mother had been immediately suspicious about his sudden request for medical supplies, but once he had explained that it was a gift for Steve while insisting the older boy was fine (despite that being a total lie) just accident prone and a "total jock so he's always doing stupid things" Claudia had at least been able to help him put together something that would hopefully cover all the bases.
Thankfully, he'd managed to convince her not to do a check in, because he was beyond certain Steve would not appreciate that kind of fuss. Even if she was a nurse and he probably should see one after getting tortured by freaking Russians.
Armed with a small wicker basket stuffed with adhesive bandages, gauze pads, gloves, safety pins, antiseptic wipes, extra strength tylenol, and two instant ice packs, Dustin hauled his bike up Steve's driveway and set it off to the side so it wasn't blocking the exits. Plucking up the care package, he went up to the door and rang the bell before wincing - Steve might have a headache, and that probably didn't help.
"Hey Steve," he greeted the moment the door opened, quieter than he might have been otherwise now that his brain caught up to the fact the older boy might not want a lot of noise right now, "I brought you a gift." He held up the basket with a smile. "I think you're gonna need it."
There's a lot of shit he's been through since that pivotal moment he decided to stick around at the Byers house with Nancy and Jonathan and got dragged into… whatever the hell he has been dragged into. Being beaten up is becoming a common occurrence, but the torture by the Russians was another thing entirely. For the most part, Steve kept a brave face when Dustin and Erica were around; perhaps wanting to keep them calm in the knowledge that fear can be contagious, and that keeping up an air of confidence helps. But once he'd been alone with Robin, taking hit after hit and mounting threats of much worse to come, he'd been terrified to his core. In fact, the Russians actually did him a favor at the time with the drug, making him care a whole lot less about what could happen to him.
And after everything had happened and their escape was successful, Steve had learned the hard way that this wasn't as easy to shake off as a fight with Byers or even Hargrove. The after effects were impossible to ignore. Soreness and still visible bruising. Dizziness. Headaches. Fatigue. Restless sleep. Hypervigilance. Flashbacks. With no way of knowing what was in that stuff they injected him with and what it could do long-term, it was an unsettling feeling; and some parts of that night are still kind of… fuzzy. There was also a sad kind of relief in coming home to find his parents still weren't home. At least he didn't have to answer any questions and could recover in peace. Fix himself some soup, watch TV and sleep whenever he could.
He's sprawled out on the couch trying to keep his mind off intrusive thoughts and flashbacks when the bell rings, sending a jolt of surprise through him and making his heart briefly jump. There's a pause before Steve gets to his feet and makes his way over to answer it, soon finding Dustin waiting on the other side of the door. It's a surprise, but it would be a lie to say Steve isn't actually pleased to see him. In a world that has never felt more dangerous, seeing a trusted friend who induces a feeling of familiarity, of safety, is reassuring. Then the gift basket is brought to his attention, and Steve takes it with a scoff, tone sarcastic. “...Very funny, Henderson.” A defense mechanism when feeling vulnerable, although there's warmth in his tone, actual gratitude, and he walks away from the door with a wave of the hand to invite the other boy into the house.
Looking through the contents he decides there's actually some good stuff in here, and the Tylenol is quick to be opened. It's actually sweet, even touching, to be remembered, have his well-being cared about and gifted something he can actually use — although Steve prefers to keep his appreciation lightly masked behind a comfortable veneer of humor or light-heartedness. It's nice to be reminded that not everyone is a threat. Grabbing a glass of water from the kitchen to take the pills, there's a softness in Steve's eyes when his attention shifts back to his friend. “Thanks, man. You want anything?” He'll happily fix Dustin food or drink, both as a gesture of his appreciation... and an excuse to keep the kid around for a while to hang out, because being here alone has been driving him crazy.
STEVE HARRINGTON 4.08: Papa | 5.07: The Bridge
STRANGER THINGS (2016 - 2025) Season 5 | Episode 7 "The Bridge"
laura’s 11k celebration (top 40 characters as voted by my followers) ✵ 3 ➳ steve harrington
↳ “I may be a pretty shitty boyfriend, but turns out I’m actually a pretty damn good babysitter."
While he spoke, Chrissy listened with a soft smile that she couldn’t ever hold back around him. “Keep talking about the tiramisu that I have to try, then I may end up doing the unimaginable and start off with it first.” A soft chuckle follows after the confession with a nose scrunch that always meant she was joking in playful fashion, hands resting on his face when they share another kiss before they let each other go.
At the mention and offer of getting a good photo op, it leaves Chrissy straightening up like the idea was brought to life in her own mind, nodding as she makes her way over to retrieve the camera. She had taken photography classes to get a better understanding on settings, which is what she was working on before turning back to him with a surprising shutter click, obviously and very purposely snapping a candid photo of him.
"I'm telling you, she can't resist your charm like the rest of us," Chrissy said, the she being the camera, when really it was Chrissy who knew he was in the perfect spot for the picture. "Let me set it down right here and do some adjustments..." She had a small tripod for easy travel, and shots that needed a steady hand or a timer.
Once the camera was ready for timed burst of shots, she did a small run over to him, stealing the sweetest kiss for the first click. Then, staying close to capture the moment she gazed at him with nothing but the deepest love for him in her blue eyes. The photography classes really came in handy, because she knew the camera was capturing their love story through photos. One final shot, and their smiles at the camera spoke volumes.
"Now, let me get my purse and we can join our.. um, vici — no? Vicinato!" She was actually learning Italian every three days in the afternoon, one of many things she was serious about to experience in the country, and she always referred the people of Sorrento as their neighbors. Once her purse strap was secured on her shoulder, she also secured the camera strap around her neck.
"Che tormento," She said under her breath as she looked over herself in the mirror, before turning to him. Appearances meant everything to her, but since her time in Italy, she wanted to dress, and be, and live as Italians do. "Do I look alright?"
He's not expecting the first photo Chrissy snaps, prompting Steve to blink in surprise after. “Hey...!” But his tone is light and carrying a note of amusement. He can pretty much never be mad at Chrissy; especially when she follows it up with a cute statement. Besides, there's a decent chance the photo will still look good. She's skilled with this stuff, knows what she's doing. When she dashes over in time to get into the second picture, Steve manages to slip an arm around Chrissy's waist while eagerly kissing her back; resisting the usual urge to cup her face, wanting her to be clearly visible in the photo. That one will be framed and go on a wall in their future house somewhere, or on a shelf in their lounge.
The second photo, Steve once again reads Chrissy's intention and matches the look, a soft smile on his lips as they gaze into each other's eyes. And for the third, Steve wraps an arm around Chrissy, hand visible upon her upper arm, the other placed upon his waist. Her selected words spoken in Italian afterwards only makes her all the more endearing, and he can tell she's putting real effort in trying to learn. It places the idea in Steve's mind that she'd really fit in here... and maybe in the future it really could become their neighborhood.
“Uh-huh. La fine del mondo!” comes Steve's playfully sarcastic response to her murmured remark, but the atmosphere shifts once again when she turns to look at him for his approval. He closes the gap and gently drags a thumb across her chin, openly and obviously admiring her in the glow of orange-pink light. “...No. You look beautiful. Sei bellissima.” One more kiss is stolen for the road, and he takes her hand in his own to lead the way to the restaurant.
what is a rival if not a crush ur mad about having
Steve's face when dustin is literallly begging him not to die kills me
precious baby never realized anyone actually needed him until then :(((
“Mhm.” Disbelieving. Maybe a little bit judgy. “Sure you’re not. And that tone’s not defensive, either.” Oh sarcasm, her old friend, how she’s missed being able to use you. Yelena has spent a long time on her own, now. Melina gone, Alexei missing, the other Widows scattered in the wind, and Natasha…
Well.
He didn’t see her holding a grudge against him for being American, now, did he?
She doesn’t quite ignore him, as they ‘shop’ for themselves—she knows exactly where he is at all times, and is keeping an eye and ear out for anything and anyone else that might want to sneak up on them both—but she leaves him to it. If he wants her to leave him alone, she has no problems doing so.
A lone, dented can of Chef Boyardee ravioli sits on the bottom shelf of the aisle she’s in. Despite it being something of a miracle to find any sort of food, these days, Yelena can’t help but pull a face. Cold ravioli is disgusting, and it’s always risky to make a fire to cook. But food is food, and it’s not even expired, so she sticks it in her pack. A brow lifts when he starts speaking to her again, and it takes a good bit of self control not to roll her eyes at the excuse. Because, really, that’s what it is—an excuse.
But, considering he was probably a civilian before—though there’s something in the way he holds himself, in the way he surveils his surroundings, that readiness to move at any moment, that makes her wonder what he’s seen with those eyes that have clearly seen too much—and he appears to be offering an olive branch of sorts, she decides to let it go. “So have I,” she shrugs, the barest hint of amusement leaking into her expression. “And a good number of them were Russian, too. But we’re not all bad.” And the worst of them was dead now; she’d blown him up herself. Placing one hand over her heart, she holds the other up in what she believes is maybe the Boy Scout salute. Flashes him a smile. “If it makes you feel better, I promise not to kill you unless you truly deserve it.”
One thing he'd learned the very hard way in this new, worse world was that he really couldn't be picky when it came to the company he kept. Almost anyone alive on his side was an advantage in itself — assuming they weren't planning to rob him, beat him... or worse. There have been a few experiences to that effect since, the apocalypse bringing out some of the worst in people. But the blonde woman, as much as she's probably not the kind of person he'd choose to hang around with, he figures it's better to work together in this brutal reality they're both stuck in. He manages to pocket a couple of protein bars and an empty flask that could be useful, resisting the urge to use her examples of some of the bad apples she met also being Russian as 'proof' he's right, trying to stick to his own truce for longer than five seconds.
Mercifully, the tension does seem to ease up a little — he'd rather save all that up for zombies and any future dangerous survivors — and her apparent (or at least hopefully) playful remark helps. A scoff follows, half-jesting. “Really comforting. Thanks.” Regardless of heritage, Steve can also detect competence in a person quickly, and he's getting that impression from her. His first impression of her is that she's calm, dry, a mixture of playful yet intimidating, and above all, able to take care of herself. The latter is essential in this grim existence where survival has never been more important. And yet, survival also feels like a punishment.
He's about to inform her about another scenario in which she'll be permitted to kill him, but a sound toward the front of the building steals his attention, raising his guard in an instant. Tightening his grip upon the trusty nail-embedded baseball bat, Steve cautiously edges close to the windows. What he sees makes a flash of panic erupt in his stomach. “...Holy shit. A hoard!” They have a couple of minutes, tops, to make a choice. “We've gotta barricade the doors... or find someplace to hide.”
( 🎟️ ) : for our muses to be at a seasonal fair.
* 𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗗𝗢𝗠 𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗔𝗥𝗜𝗢𝗦. / @hawklines.
The Ferris wheel lights flicker as the sun dips behind the trees, the whole fairground splashed with abundant tones of pink and gold. A slightly out-of-tune calliope keyboard tune drifts over the chattering crowds; excited sounds from ride patrons, game vendors announcing winners of the various stuffed toys. The scent of cotton candy, apples, popcorn and fried dough drifts through the fall air; appealing to his appetite. It's been a very long time since Steve came to one of these things, and it's the first time since he and his friends put an end to the Upside Down forever.
It's a good enough reason to celebrate, he figures, and some of his friends agreed. Robin is here somewhere, as is Dustin and a couple of members of the D&D club Henderson is a part of. Right now, though, he's flying solo, standing before a 'ball in bucket' game — confident his years playing basketball will make this a piece of funnel cake. He aims the ball, concentrating… and shoots. A miss. “Wind,” Steve attempts to explain to a nearby witness. “Total wind interference. It's not gonna happen again.”
Endless Gifs of Steve Harrington (123/?) Stranger Things • 4.08 Papa
[ 4. ] sender shoves receiver out of the way of a projectile. // from my metalhead dork, eddie, if that's okay!
* 𝗔 𝗬𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗘. / @dokitm.
Steve doesn't see it coming until it's too late; and he's about a millisecond away from being hit. A sharp shove into his back sends him stumbling and falling... but out of range of the object, and Steve rolls over onto his back just in time to witness Eddie taking the hit that was meant for him. He's not used to anyone doing such a thing for him (that's usually his job, or at least it sometimes feels that way), and he's quick to get to his feet and hurry over to his unexpected rescuer. “Hey — you okay, man?” Deep brown hues express a mixture of concern and gratitude. Someone cared enough to do that for him. Guilt then sets in, in the knowledge that one of his friends has gotten hurt on his behalf. “Dude, what the hell? You didn't have to do that…”
[ 6. ] sender whispers, “i’ve thought about this all day,” before pinning receiver against a wall for a searing kiss.
* 𝗔 𝗬𝗘𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗦𝗨𝗡𝗥𝗜𝗦𝗘. / @outsidermunson.
So, this is really a thing now. Meeting up in secret, doing secret things... in keeping with their first time together in Eddie Munson's goddamn van. This time, it's the Lipton House on Lover's Lake — a pretty fitting location. No time is wasted before any distance between them is swiftly closed, and a rush of excited adrenaline soars through Steve as he's sandwiched between the wall and Eddie, their lips meshing in an all-consuming kiss that makes his head practically spin; those few whispered words of admission from Eddie echoing through his mind and only adding to the anticipation of what promises to follow. The return statement left unsaid, an honest 'me too' dissolves on Steve's tongue, and he moans keenly into it instead, allowing himself to get lost in it — kissing the other with equal fervor, stomach flipping in that thrilling way he'd almost forgotten over the last few years.
