I solved all the puzzles on the Stranger Things website today – the only one left is this one, which opens in 6 hours. It's the only puzzle with a lock on it.
Now that I'm thinking about it, Mindy Flair was literally talking about "locks" and gates being "closed" on WSQK today. Will's necklace looks like a lock in the epilogue. Hopper's line, "Getting to Mike, now that was the key." Something about Mike and Will being associated with doors, lyrics like "Love that was new to you, you open up the door", and the final shot of Episode 8 being a closed door...
Oh, I am going to wait those 6 hours. Best case scenario, a new chapter is unlocked – AKA, the real ending or a teaser for it. Worst case scenario, I get a fuckass clip I've already seen before.
I'm gonna be real with you, I'm feeling so tired of all this, but the analysis must go on! Long enough for me to at least get closure on whether everything was (or wasn't) a bunch of bullshit <3
guess what it's still Wednesday so in light of the continuing disappointment of conformitygate, here's my byler future fic wip excerpt
“You got glasses.” Will nods to his eyes and Mike subconsciously touches them.
“Yeah, bad eyesight runs in the family.” Mike can only ever see his dad when he looks in the mirror. His dad, who can’t remember his birthday and only ever talked to him to scream. It hurts a little, and Nancy doesn’t like it either, but maybe it’s for the best.
Aren’t all sons supposed to look like their fathers?
Would anyone read a byler fic where Mike and Will are in a band.
In this band Mike writes a lot of the songs - all about unrequited love and yearning but whenever asked about who it is he gets defensive. Will's jealous because he thinks it's about Jane but they were all about him.
You're a Natural - Photographer!Jonathan Byers x Model!Fem Reader
masterlist, navigation, request rules, taglist
summary: Jonathan Byers is the man responsible for your modeling career taking off, and after 18 months of bookings without him, you finally see him again.
warnings: none but the reader is described wearing a Victorian-inspired night gown for the photoshoot, major fluff.
word count: 1.6k
Being a model in New York was probably the most exciting thing that has ever happened to you since you left your job at a diner that paid too little for the amount of hours you worked. Many people said that this type of luck wouldn't happen overnight, and you were told to expect dry periods in your career, but after eighteen months, you were still in high demand and drowning in bookings for adverts and campaigns. There was only one person you had to thank other than yourself for your success, and that was Jonathan Byers.
You remember the first time you stepped into his studio, you remember how precise and practised his movements were, how he'd look directly at you before staring through the lens when capturing a shot with his brow slightly furrowed as he focused behind the camera. His studio wasn't too cold like the others you were later subjected to, the temperature was always comfortable, always just right for you.
Jonathan was calm and easy-going. He didn't pull or grab you when he needed you to switch poses, and he didn't raise his voice to get the results he wanted for his projects; you missed him, you missed the only man who saw you as human and not a walking cash generator.
Closing your eyes, you replayed your first interaction with him.
"Chin down just a little bit..." Jonathan murmured, "Perfect, stay there."
You held the pose, and a warmth ran through your veins at his softness, the heavy studio lights projected a delicate golden glow over your the side of your cheek, neck, and shoulder. This was your first time posing infront of a high quality retro camera and a professional with a multi-layered and artistic vision. You couldn't understand what you were so nervous about.
Jonathan moved around the set, shifting a light stand to the left and slowly lowering the camera to his chest, his eyes searching yours slowly before a small smile crept across his face, "you're a natural," he confessed quietly, "are you sure you haven't done this before?"
You tilted your head, your pulse quickening as your cheeks flushed, "I'm sure," you giggled.
You became quite upset and paranoid after you were constantly fully booked, even a little frightened and nervous in case Jonathan thought you had forgotten all about him, that you ditched him for the big shots. When you were finally done with shooting, it was often in the early hours of the morning when you knew he'd be too tired to talk, about to go to bed, or you were too tired and jet-lagged to pick up the phone, let alone take a shower and eat.
Luckily, the moment your calendar opened up again, you sneakily booked yourself in for a six-hour-long shoot with Jonathan before your agent could book you with more make-up and clothing brands, or chain restaurants.
You were hoping that Jonathan wouldn't cancel, and luckily, he didn't.
The moment he saw your details on his booking form, his eyes nearly popped out of his sockets. He frantically began planning and preparing for the shoot, even though it was a week away.
He went to the local high-end craft stores so he could get a head start on upgrading the props he already made for the shoot, and spent even longer browsing for backdrops and better lighting; he knew the money he'd make off you would be bigger than any other paycheck from other client, but from the moment he first worked with you, he promised himself, the money he made from you would go back into your career one way or another; he couldn't justify profiting off you.
Entering his studio again felt surreal, like deja vu hitting you all over again. Your heart started to beat a little quicker, and you felt unsteady on your feet like a baby deer adjusting to using its legs for the first time. You repeated what you were going to say to him over and over again until you started tripping over your words and getting yourself into a muddle, but as you cleared your throat and slowly walked in, you were amazed at the difference in the space in front of you.
You were standing on dark hardwood floor, dried rose petals scattered everywhere, trailing towards the gothic backdrop, with dried lavender and roses hanging down from the ceiling where flickering pillar candles were meticulously arranged in a wide circle in the centre of the room; Jonathan had spent all night and all morning setting this up, he wanted to impress you, he wanted to prove that he could keep up with you and your gold star reputation.
"Jonathan," you gasped, blown away with his efforts and amazed to finally see him again after so long.
Jonathan turned around, his face lighting up at the sight of you, "Hey! How are you?" he hurried over to you.
You carefully studied him, feeling your stomach fill with butterflies as he approached you, carefully yet awkwardly embracing you in a hug. He didn't want to smudge your make-up or body paint on the Victorian-inspired nightgown you needed to wear for the shoot, but he didn't care if it went all over his shirt or arms; you were the masterpiece here.
"I've been insanely busy," you nuzzled into him before bravely confessing "and missing you!"
Jonathan pursed his lips, trying to disguise his grin. He slowly pulled away from the embrace, admiring you. "I've missed you too, look at you, a professional model!"
"All thanks to you," your cheeks flushed under the paint, "I'm sorry it's been this long... too long, I got booked up without being able to control who I got to work with. The moment there was another opening, I had to book with you. You have no idea how much I gaslighted my agent into thinking she booked this shoot months ago."
Jonathan broke out into a genuine laugh, "You'd do that? Just to work with me."
"Why wouldn't I? You made my career, but also you're great company... unlike some of the robots I'm working for now."
The studio lights dimmed so the glow of the candles could become the brightest light, bathing you in the amber flames, tickling your features through the lens of the camera. Time seemed to slow, and although it had been over a year since you were here, nothing had changed between the two of you; Jonathan's studio felt like a comforting time capsule you so desperately needed to escape from the fast pacing of your career.
After taking the initial headshots, Jonathan's finger hovered over the shutter button, "If you could crawl into the centre of the circle and give me your side profile, looking into the distance..."
You obeyed as Jonathan helped to position you carefully, like the first time, drifting you into the slow and deliberate pose, the candlelight catching the admiration in his eyes as he loomed over you, the camera now hanging heavy around his neck.
"Tilt your head back," he instructed further. "That's it. "You look haunting. It's perfect."
"You are such a natural, Jonathan," you said softly, staring up at him, staring into his eyes before your eyes trailed down to his lips.
Jonathan pursed his lips again, but this time he couldn't stop his smirk from spreading across his face. He took the small distance that remained between you and took off his camera from around his neck and put it down on the floor beside you. His hand cupped your cheek, and his thumb made soft circles into your skin, making your breath hitch.
"I don't mean to be unprofessional," he hummed, "but I've taken so many photos of you, obsessing over your every angle and expression..." he dampened his lips with his tongue "and none of them come close to seeing you looking at me like this."
Your heart pumped faster, his confession catching you off guard, "You're the only person who looks at me for who I really am, human." you whispered softly, "I've missed how you made me feel."
"I've missed you," his gaze became intense, "I don't want you to leave again once this shoot is over, I don't know when I'll see you again."
You thought long and hard for a moment, contemplating the different options you could offer him, but you also didn't want to get in the way of his career or take him away from his other clients.
"Come with me."
Jonathan paused and let out a shaky breath, "What?"
"Come with me," you repeated, "when you aren't here editing or shooting with other clients, come with me, you can be my personal editor for specific projects or even my personal assistant or..."
"Or?" He stopped making circles into your skin but didn't move his hand away.
You chewed on your lip, scooting forward to close off any gap between you, and you slowly snaked your arm around his back, too nervous to ask him to be yours. In your line of work, you were told to show and not tell; that was the whole point, right?
Leaning in, your nose brushed against Jonathan's, and you closed your eyes, pressing your lips against his. He didn't pull back; instead, Jonathan deepened the kiss and slid his hand from your face down to your waist. You knew this was incredibly unprofessional and your agent would blacklist Jonathan for this, but she wasn't here, and you didn't care.
Your other hand reached up and got tangled in his soft and short hair, your fingers stroking his scalp. When Jonathan finally pulled back, his lips, the tip of his nose and fingers were lightly covered in paint. The two of you were breathless and trying to take in what just happened.
He didn't move far, his nose still brushing against yours.
"Best shoot of my career," he breathed, a playful laugh escaping him.
You giggled and shook your head, "I think you're a little biased."
"Maybe I am," he agreed, leaning in again, pressing a kiss to your temple. "But there's no doubt that I'm the luckiest photographer in the world."
