Eddie’s trying not to beg Steve to stay. Harrington’s already gone above and beyond for him, he deserves a night to sleep in his own bed. But God, does it have to be now? No one will talk about it except to pat his hand and tell him with tight lipped smiles that there’s nothing to worry about- legally the mob can’t do anything. Eddie’s been declared innocent, a tragic victim of the copycat killer.

It doesn’t change the fact that there’s been a group of people standing vigil outside the hospital since he got there. It doesn’t change the fact that the group has been growing in numbers until all of Hawkins seems to either be fleeing in desperation or taking up camp four floors below the room where Eddie lies unable to walk as far as the bathroom without help. It doesn’t change the energy of the mob, steadily humming louder, faster, with the intensity of a hive about to swarm.

“Should have known he’d be hightailing it when trouble came,” Wayne tells him. He’s furious on Eddie’s behalf that Steve would leave now, when the police protection detail has been declared no longer necessary. When the mob below is bigger than ever and angry enough that Eddie can feel it all the way up here.

“He didn’t want to go, he needs to sleep.” Eddie saw how badly Steve wanted to stay, how he was sweating and jaundiced and worse looking than he had since that first fight with the demobats. Steve needed to go home, deserved to go home. But part of Eddie, most of Eddie, wails inside for Steve not to leave him. Not tonight, please not tonight. He’d tried not to let Steve see it, doubted how well his subterfuge had worked.

“I wish I could stay but I just can’t, not tonight. I’m so sorry. But I promise- Anything goes wrong Eds, I’ll be here. I have to go now but if anyone needs me, if you need me, I’ll be here, I swear it.” He’d done a strange thing then, pressing Eddie’s hand to his brow before kissing the back of it like something out of one of the tales of courtly love Eddie had devoured as an Arthurian-legend obsessed kid. And then Steve was leaving. It was almost nightfall. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Eddie, his face anguished.

True to form, Eddie rallied. “Go on, and don’t worry about lil’ old me. I’ll be fine.”

The mob waits until just after midnight, then comes for him. They drag him from his bed, and Eddie has an insane thought apt to this insane situation that he’s glad he wore sweatpants under his hospital johnny so at least he’s not going to die bare-assed in front of the remaining population of Hawkins. Or maybe he jinxed himself by assuming the worst when he decided to wear them that night.

He sees the kids being held back by their parents, screaming for him as he’s hauled to the elevator, hopes desperately that Claudia and Karen and Sue and Charles will be strong enough to restrain them. The kids aren’t babies anymore; they’re tough and too used to fighting to protect their own. But this isn’t a fight they can win and he prays that parent-adrenaline will be enough let them wrangle his stupid, brave friends away from his side. He couldn’t keep Wayne away, they’d shouted at each other, all terrified love, him trying to make Wayne go, until the moment the door broke down and he was being dragged, his uncle’s grip still white-knuckled on Eddie’s wrist hard enough to bruise.

Everyone is shouting, himself included. He’s pleading his innocence, swearing he never hurt Chrissy. Until he sees the pyre and all the words evaporate inside him and he’s just screaming. They’re jeering at his tears, his terror. Calling him killer, devil-worshipper, Satan himself and worse. And then- something in the atmosphere shifts.

Eddie doesn’t see why the mob’s screaming changes, he’s hypnotized by the pyre. Do I weigh more than a duck? He thinks. You can’t burn me if I weigh more than a duck and then oh I’m hysterical.

“Get away! Get away from it!” They sound higher pitched now, a note of vibrato in the clamor. The shift in his captors’ tenor finally seeps in and Eddie looks around. The number of people buffeting him to a hideous end is shrinking, people peeling off and running. He can hear gunshots and then-

Snarling. Crunching sounds. Someone- something roaring into the night. It’s just the men holding Eddie now, Carver’s crew mostly. Wayne’s run up beside them and they don’t spare him a glance as he wrenches Eddie away from them. There’s a wolf. Massive, tawny, scarred, absolutely furious- lunging for them, slashing them with razor sharp claws until none of them are left standing. When the last of the mob is gone the wolf pads close and presses against Eddie’s side with a whine.

The kids come sprinting to him. “Jesus Christ, Steve! Well now they’re definitely going to think Eddie’s the lord of evil!” says Mike.

Eddie looks down at the wolf. He still feels like he might have a heart attack any minute, but the warm, soft fur is grounding. Steve Harrington looks up at him under the light of the full moon and wags his tail.

He’d been told all about their quiet plans whispered in places Kas can’t hear. The trick they’d planned, to have the little kid Dustin cry or ‘hug’ him or cry out the false name “Eddie”. He’s told all about their conflicting ideas, to lower the guns for a false sense of security or keep them raised so he can’t attack first. He’s told all about the group and everyone in it and all the lies they’ll spew.

He’s not told about Steve. Not really. His master dismisses him, someone insignificant, someone who cares so little about Kas that he’ll probably keep back. Someone who sees Kas as so little of a threat that he won’t even try to do anything.

Steve is the one to run forward. Steve is the one who runs to him. Steve is the one who cries, hugging him tight, dampening his collar. Steve is the one who whispers the false name like it’s something holy. Steve is the one who tells the others to back down, tells them not to hurt him. Steve is the one who cradles his face like he’s important.

Kas doesn’t remember anything that Steve tries to remind him of or ask him about.

But he wants to. He wants to be 'Eddie’. He wants to be the 'Eddie’ that Steve thinks he is when he looks at him like he hung the moon. He wants to be the 'Eddie’ that Steve thinks he is when he blushes so pretty just at his hands on his waist.

But he isn’t. He never will be. He’s Kas now and whoever Eddie was is dead.

It hurts. Especially seeing how hurt everyone who loves Eddie is. Because Eddie is dead. And everyday, everyone looks at him like he’s going to go back. Like one day Kas will finally die and they’ll have their old friend back. They’ll have Eddie back.

It takes a while, but eventually people stop calling for him. They stop calling for Eddie. They finally start to accept that he’s gone and leave Kas behind. Because he’s someone else and wearing their dead friends face. He can’t bring himself to be upset at them leaving.

But Steve doesn’t leave him. Steve sticks with him, holds his hand when he meets Eddies uncle and explain as much as they can, lying where they can’t. Steve sticks with him through the nightmares and the anxiety and the tired mornings and the bedhead.

He isn’t Eddie anymore… but he’s starting to think that, maybe, that’s not so bad. Because Eddie didn’t know Steve. Eddie didn’t love Steve. Eddie didn’t have Steves love in return.

Then, one day Steve turns to him, a little pink, and says, “Kas, I’m in love with you.”

Eddie is gone. But it doesn’t hurt anymore. Because Steve loves Kas.

I love being a student in archeology! Sadly my professor indiana jones keeps not teaching class to go on weird expedition.

The good news is that he is getting replaced! I heard the new teacher is called hershel layton and I'm sure this one will be fully focused on teaching and not on going on expedition during the middle of the semester :D

pet peeve is when fantasy characters say shit like “oh my gods”. all of them? really? why bother having a pantheon if you’re just going to invoke the whole thing indiscriminately at random? it’s like your whole religion is just an awkwardly-transposed secular Chri—oh wait lol

“but I say ‘oh my gods’” yes but are you a pagan who grew up within the framework of cultural Christianity and are borrowing verbal shorthand or did you grow up as part of an established polytheistic religion with its own specific religious expressions?

okay it's incredibly funny that swifties in the notes of that poll are insisting that ALL lgbt people love taylor swift only to have "no" win by like 70%

girl what

Swifties when they realize their straight cis white girl star is not actually a beloved LGBT icon 😦😦😦😦😦😦

taylor swift will only have gay swag if she starts chartering free flights for long distance lesbians in that jet she's always using

c! Dapduo Roleswap au

[ 2021 ] Me when I refer to them - when I refer to this au I use r! - like r for roleswap uwu

Basically an au where I rearrange some of the characters’ places - tho the main plot in my mind centres around these two owo

Some notes from instagram= •I fucked up- Those were supposed to be bubbles that R!Charlie’s smoking :| •R!Quackity isn’t the Best spy but bare in mind he WAS raised by a witch - R!Charlie in this au instead relies on him for magic and potions •it’s proven during mcc15 that cc!quackity is /gen rly good with damage pots so that fact alone makes this hc all the more true ùwú •finally while its his country and he does have plans for it R!Charlie is pretty hands off much rather interested in watching how things unfold good or bad,,,

I wanted to draw smth alluding to that trait but a lot is still in the air

They say it’s for his own good. Because he’s dangerous. But Steve doesn’t feel any more dangerous than he did before this whole mess. Like, seriously, he could kill literal monsters with nothing more than a bat covered in rusty nails. He doesn’t feel any more dangerous now than he did when he hit Billy Hargrove with a fucking car or when he held back in all the fights he’s ever lost. Because he could kill fucking monsters. He wasn’t gonna find out if he was capable of killing teenage boys too.

He sees Eddie sometimes.

Eddie looks dangerous, but then he always has. Even if he never was. He always had that look to him, with his leather and chains and heavy boots. Dangerous in a good way.

Now he looks bloodthirsty.

Well, ha, Steve thinks. That’s because he is.

Steve is too, but he doesn’t think that’s grounds for imprisonment. He doesn’t think that’s grounds for being held hostage in the newly reopened and renovated Hawkins Lab.

They say it’s because he’s dangerous, but if that’s the case then they should’ve locked him up years ago. They should’ve seen what was wrong with him back when he was that asshole popular kid at Hawkins High.

Every time he sees Eddie these days it’s when they’re being shoved down hallways. They have Eddie in a mask to prevent biting. Some clear plastic thing that shows his snarling face as he’s pushed. His teeth are sharp and pointed, and he has this wild look in his eyes. There’s blood inside the mask more often than not. Whether it’s someone else’s every time, or if it’s Eddie’s, Steve never really knows. A mix of both, most likely.

They make eye contact and Steve tries to tell him they’ll get out of this mess, and Eddie looks back at him like he wants to believe him, but just can’t.

Steve doesn’t blame him. He’s lost track of how long they’ve been here. He stopped counting after six months, after the lines he carved into his wall with a sharp fingernail — talon, really — became too numerous to hide behind the one pin-up girl poster they gave him for good behavior after the second week.

Weird reward, if you ask Steve. The orderly that put it up for him smirked, said something about tissues in the cabinet in the corner of his room, and then left without another word.

Really fucking weird.

The head scientist comes into Steve’s room. Steve can’t remember his name. Matthews or Mathson or… Something. Doesn’t matter. Not like Steve really needs to know. He’s just called The Doctor and that’s that.

“According to our records, today’s a very special day, indeed. Happy birthday, Steven,” he says, looking down at Steve’s chart.

I think it's hilarious that for the last 9 years Rocket saying "im not a raccoon" was assumed to be some deep rejection of self when in reality the man just had no clue what a fuckin raccoon was.

“You’re no more a monster than I am, though we would both be debatable in the eyes of humans. What are you, a Godling?” Geralt surveyed the small being in front of him with a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

Godlings were harmless. Mischievous? Certainly. But they would hurt a man no more than a child would. He couldn’t kill an innocent creature for pulling a few pranks and being different. Which means that this little excursion was a complete waste of time, energy and food, and he would see not a single coin for his trouble.

The Godling blinked up at him with, hm, what was that? Fear? Wonder? Guilt..?

“Yes mister, a Godling is what I am. Please don’t be angry with me!”

The Godling shuffled its tiny feet in the dirt, looking down at them as if they were suddenly the most interesting thing in all of the lands.

Geralt’s eyes fell closed, an exasperated “hm” vibrating deep in his chest. 

“What did you do?”

“I took them chickens, I did, but I didn’t mean no harm by it, mister, I promise!” The Godling looked up at Geralt with its unnervingly big eyes, it’s bottom lip beginning to tremble slightly.

“It’s just, I needed the people to put up a notice! Needed the ‘elp of someone such as yerself!”

Geralt dropped his pack to the floor, rubbing his temples.

“Go on.”

“Well, see, I got lost out here all on me own,”

“And you’re how many years old? 500?”

“563, actually! But that don’t make no difference. Still lost, still alone.”

“This won’t take long, will it? I’m on my way to meet someone.”

“Oh! Who is it?!”

“He’s a… hm.” Geralt shifted his weight slightly, taking his turn now to find a sudden great interest in his boots. He scuffed at the dirt with a toe.

“A friend?” the Godling gave Geralt a mischievous look, “Witcher’s don’t ‘ave friends!”

“Yes, that’s what I keep telling him.”

“He sounds very persistent! I think we would get along swimmingly!” The Godling began skipping off in front of Roach, singing an ancient tune to itself without a single care in the world.

To no one at all, Geralt said, “You know, I think you’re right.”

Stranger Things as text posts 1/? (next)

sunset overdrive is an underrated game for many reasons, but the biggest one is that the idea of a bright, colorful awesomepocalypse™️ is so desperately needed amongst the trend of constant grimdark sh!t in pop culture. and the reason in the narrative for the apocalypse being called awesome is that the protagonist worked a menial job in a society of mass isolation before getting a fresh start and finding meaning in helping a genuine community of other outcasts and weirdos overthrow their former corporate overlords. it’s the millennial dream.

sunset overdrive is an underrated game for many reasons, but the biggest one is that the idea of a bright, colorful awesomepocalypse™️ is so desperately needed amongst the trend of constant grimdark sh!t in pop culture. and the reason in the narrative for the apocalypse being called awesome is that the protagonist worked a menial job in a society of mass isolation before getting a fresh start and finding meaning in helping a genuine community of other outcasts and weirdos overthrow their former corporate overlords. it’s the millennial dream.

For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.

Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.

Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.

One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”

She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.

Claudia opens the door quietly.

It’s not Max who’s in the bed.

She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.

And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.

He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.

Just started reading a Fic where Tommy Hagan went missing instead of Barbara and it’s got me feeling things and thinking things. Like, let’s not even get into how perfectly Steve’s grief over losing Tommy like that could have been paralleled in S4 when Max struggles with Billy’s death.

I’m just imagining a Season 1 Steddie AU where Eddie finds Steve breaking down in the bathroom because the whole school is acting like it’s a blessing that Tommy disappeared. Steve is baffled. Absolutely shocked. Have they really been so shitty to people that they celebrate when one of them disappears?

And Carol doesn’t get it. If anything she’s been shittier since Tommy went missing. Playing up the grieving girlfriend out of one side of her face while talking shit out the other.

Nancy gets it in a vague ‘I’m so sorry for you’ sense but her brothers best friend went missing too and she keeps giving him these looks before skulking off with Jonathan Byers and Barbara Holland. Like she knows something she doesn’t want to say out loud.

So Steve is just here, crying in a stall in the second floor bathroom that smells vaguely of formaldehyde because it’s right next to the biology storage closet where Mr. Bingham let those fetal pigs get a little too ripe. He’s stuck in one spot, can’t seem to move, because Tommy was his friend.

And okay maybe he’s realizing what assholes they became and maybe he’s starting to resent Tommy a little bit for it all but Tommy isn’t here. Steve wants to throw up his hands and yell and kick and scream more than a little bit but Tommy isn’t here. Steve spent the weekend at the Hagans calling every police station and hospital this side of Indiana with an arm around the only woman he’s ever called ‘Mama’ because Tommy isn’t here.

If that dickbag ever shows up, Steve is gonna punch his god damn lights out and hug him for an hour, in that order. That’s looking less and less likely every day that rolls by. Steve wipes at his face frantically just as the door to the bathroom slams open. He tries to be quiet, tries to pull his feet up onto the toilet seat, tries to hide. Instead his foot slips and lands in the toilet bowl with a splash.

“God fucking damnit.” He curses and it comes out more like a whimper.

“Woah man.” A disembodied voice asks from the other side of the stall. “You okay in there?”

And much to Steve’s ever growing horror, the stall door (which he very much thought he locked) swings open to reveal Eddie Fucking Munson. Steve ducks his head down, unwilling to show his soft underbelly to the Freak. He busies himself with untying his shoe and pouring the puddle of water out of it back into the toilet.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Mister Prom King himself. Steve The Hair Harrington,” Munson makes his voice go all mocking a nasally when he says Steve’s name. “-caught with his proverbial pants down. Wish I had thought to bring my camera today. What a pretty picture this makes.”

Steve can hear the manic grin on Munson’s face and it chafes like nothing else. “Yeah, you’re doing an awful lot of staring asshole. Take a picture, it would last longer.”

It’s a weak retort but worse than that, Steve makes the mistake of looking up to glare at the other boy. His misery must be written all over his face because he watches the feral glee slide right off of Munson’s smug mouth and morph into something a bit too much like pity for Steve’s liking.

“Piss off Munson.” Steve snaps.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to kick ya while you’re down. Believe or not, I’m not really into that.” Eddie shifts his weight from one foot to the other. Steve closes his eyes for a second and prays that the other boy just leaves. Fate is not in his favor however, and instead the dude just keeps talking. “You need a hand with that or something? Maybe the hand dryers would help or like-“

“Munson, I get that you’re trying to be like, nice or whatever the fuck you think it is but could you seriously just fuck off?” Steve grits out.

Munson scoffs. “Yeah. Yeah sure. I should have figured. Fucking jock assholes. Maybe you’ll all run off and join the circus if we’re lucky.”

Munson mutters that last bit but the bathroom is silent. It echoes. And even though the words are quiet they still feel like knives in Steve’s chest. He couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears if he tried. And oh god does he try. He doesn’t want this random dickhead to be witness to this part of himself. So covers his face but he knows; he knows that the gulping, shuddering sob he lets out isn’t muffled in the slightest.

“Oh shit, man.” Munson heaves a long sigh.

“I can’t- I can’t-“ Steve tries to articulate anything but finds he can’t finish the thought. Can’t think of anything but him. Can’t eat without puking it all back up. Can’t sleep under the reflection of the blue light of the pool where my best friend might have died. “I can’t breathe.” He finally chokes out.

“Okay, okay.” The shoe he’s been squeezing in his trembling fists is pulled away. Cool hands tug him from his precarious perch on the tank of the toilet. He stumbles forward a bit only to suddenly find himself sitting on the tile floor. He waits for the pain of a fall to come but it never does. Instead, a cool paper towel is draped over the back of his neck. The world is made quiet by the blood rushing in his ears but slowly things start filtering in. Things like the calm words being muttered right next to his ear. “You’re alright, Steve. You’re gonna be alright. Take a breath for me, come on. One long breath in through your nose. Just like that. Good. Now let it out through your mouth, nice and slow. That’s so good, sweetheart. There you go. Again.”

The unlikely pair sits just like that all the way through the last bell ringing out above them. They sit there until the lights in the hallway beyond the bathroom door switch off.

“We’re gonna get locked in.” Steve mutters. He feels numb. Drained. Fully disembodied.

“Nah, I know a way out. We’ll be fine.” Munson mutters beside him. “Feeling better?”

“No.” Steve takes a deep breath and stands anyway. His ass is numb and his legs are all tingly. He makes his way over to the sink and slashes cold water against his face. He sinks onto his elbows against the counter and just wants to live there, palms pressed to his eyes until spots start dancing behind his eyelids.

“Sorry about- about what I said earlier.” Munson audibly fidgets awkwardly behind him.

Steve looks up and his vision clears just in time to see the wince Munson gives at his own words. “Yeah, well. You’re not the only one thinkin’ it.” He can’t do much more than sigh. “And ya know? I get it I think. We were shitty. Are shitty? Whatever. We’re assholes but -”

He doesn’t think he can say it around the lump lodged in his throat. He’s cried enough for one day. Luckily Munson says it for him. “He’s your friend. You’re allowed to be bummed. But like, he’ll probably come back man.”

That’s the crux of the problem right there. Everyone keeps saying shit like that. Every person in this whole god damn town keeps insisting that he’ll turn up any day now. That he probably just went off to party and he’s spending some time recovering on some couch somewhere. Everyone except Tommy’s mom. All it had taken was Steve looking her in the eye and swearing ‘I don’t know where he is, I can’t find him either’ and she just knew. Just like Steve knew.

Steve shoved himself upright and feels the anger bubbling up in his chest. “He’s not coming back man! He didn’t skip town. He’s not on a bender. He didn’t join the fucking circus. I wish everyone would just- just- he wouldn’t fucking leave! He wouldn’t run away! He wouldn’t go without me! Fuck!”

Munson raises his hands and takes a step backwards towards the door. Steve takes a long breath in through his nose and out through his mouth just like Munson had made him do earlier. It makes the edges of the other boy’s mouth twitch just a little bit. “Alight man. I’m not trying to be a dick about it. It’s just what everybody says.”

“Fuck what everybody says.” Steve scoffs but he’s only just getting started. There’s an anger all mixed with fear and grief and dread that’s been brewing since that night and it’s boiling over whether Steve likes it or not. “Look maybe he was an asshole. Maybe I’m an asshole. But he was my friend, man. The first friend I ever had. We don’t tell people this but his mom was my nanny growing up. And blah, blah, blah. ‘Poor rich Stevie. Parents bailed and left you with the Hagans’ but that’s how long we’ve known each other man. That’s how we met - only four years old. Our whole lives, it was the two of us. TommyandSteve. Thick as thieves. And all these people are walking around like what they knew was all there was to know but they didn’t know Tommy at all. Like- like he’s the only person on the planet that actually likes peeps at Easter like a psycho and he likes peanuts in his cola. You know? I was there the day he figured out how to ride his bike without training wheels. And he used to be afraid of losing his teeth so every time one got loose, I would tie it to the door for him and slam it shut. Every single time. I mean, Jesus Christ man. I’ve held every single one of his baby teeth in my fucking hands. But I’m what? Supposed to just like, be okay?! I’m supposed to just get over the fact that he’s missing?”

“Harrington-” Munson starts but Steve doesn’t let up. It’s just pouring out of him now, every single thing that’s been shoved down and down and down since that night.

“People aren’t even looking for him and they’re calling Tabitha overdramatic and they’re talking about it all like we’re just making it up. But he’s missing man!”

“Harrington.”

“He’s probably dead. Or he’s lying somewhere cold and alone and maybe he deserves it. We’re shitty and it probably makes me even shittier that I didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until Tommy wasn’t here but Mama keeps calling hospitals and fucking- fucking morgues and shit and I just- I just-”

“Harrington!” Munson shouts.

Steve heaves a heavy breath and brings his hands up to his face, rubbing viciously until he can steady himself all over again. “I just wanna find my friend.” He mutters weakly.

“Okay.” Munson approaches him like one would a wild animal. “Okay. I believe you. I don’t know how I can help but I’ll help you look for Hagan… if you want.”

Steve had thought in that moment that Munson was just saying whatever it took to calm him down. But even when they left that bathroom, even when they stumbled upon a gaggle of kids filling a tank with salt water, Eddie stuck around.

Even when some random girl with a buzz cut declared Tommy ‘gone, gone, gone’ and they followed Nancy and Jonathan to house filled with Christmas lights and they almost ran but didn’t quite run away and they fought a monster from another dimension…

Eddie stayed. He stuck around. He helped Steve find his lost friend and later he would help Steve bury that friend, empty coffin or not.

dream posted his tasteless ass song so reminder to A. not support him or watch the video and B. donate to the sarcoma foundation directly &/or buy techno merch. if you cant do part b for whatever reason, stick with part a.