#dark skies henderson

[heckingclown]

All the lil dudes chilling (and Gravel the frog trying to fit in 🐸)

#clown husbandry #clownblr #circus #clown posting #clown care #clownery #circuscore #clowncore #the babies #arlecchino #pierro #alice #minim #luna #redlia #pomelo #buckles #dark skies henderson #tadhg #oisin #death metal cakepop #feret #carrots the clown

[softspeirs]

hello! could i please request "remembering things they told them" for mota - dealer's choice on characters and/or ocs?💕 — @shoshiwrites

A/N: @shoshiwrites My gut said more John Egan so here we are. This follows this loosely but you don't need to have read it first.

two. dark skies (i remember)

Three cups of coffee the next morning is barely enough to get her out of bed and moving, but she's back in the pub bright and early. They don't do breakfast, but they open at noon, and she promised herself she'd try to put the day before out of her mind.

She's wiping down the bar when she hears the door open. "We're closed--" She stops when she sees Major Egan. He's twisting the brim of his hat in his hands and looking anywhere but at her. "Morning, Major." She says. "Unfortunately we're still closed... no matter how many of those shiny pins you have on your lapel."

His smile is small. "I just wanted to--" He sighs, looking skyward like he's trying to find the right words. "Look, I'm sorry I was an asshole last night."

He doesn't apologize for his language or look at her like she's going to be offended, which she appreciates.

She still doesn't like the look in his eyes. It's... blank. A bit of remorse there, but something else, too. Something dark and closed off, and she hates that she can tell. That she's spent enough time trying to guess what he's thinking that she can tell his moods apart.

"It's alright, Major."

"No it isn't." He's firm, but not unkind. From behind his back, he pulls out a small, small bouquet of flowers.

She doesn't think she's ever seen Major Egan look anything than confident, cocky, and sure of himself. But this look? She wishes she had a camera.

"I remember you said you like daisies," he says quietly, holding it out towards her, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

She's taken aback - the idea that he remembers anything she's said when they've been surrounded by everyone else is crazy to her. "That's-- no offense Major, but I thought you were three sheets to the wind when this conversation was going on."

A group of rowdy aviators, each one of them bragging about the nicest thing they ever did for a girl, and then the competition to see who could outdo the other... it ended with her chiming in from the bar that all she needed was a picnic and some daisies and she'd be happy, just like most other girls her age. No grand gestures necessary.

This feels like a grand gesture, sort of. Her heart rate kicks up when she takes the flowers from him, their fingertips brushing.

"Did you pick these from some unsuspecting housewife's garden?" She asks, narrowing her eyes.

His eyes light up with amused indignation. "Did I--" His voice is half laugh. "I'll have you know I gave some of my hard earned coin to Mrs. Henderson down the road for these."

"You didn't have to do that."

He shrugs. "I know-- I know you were just looking out for me when I came by here last night. You didn't deserve my... bad attitude."

She doesn't know what to say. She has no idea what he's going through. She has her own heartbreak every time she opens the door for business and sees fewer and fewer airmen walking through the door. But these men, his friends? How is he possibly handling that?

"You, uh... you let us in here night after night and have never kicked us out even when we deserved it. And I... I don't know." He shrugs. "Buck went down yesterday. And I'm angry as hell and all I wanted was to drown it."

She looks down. "I'm sorry I turned you away."

His eyes are clear when he meets her gaze. "Don't be. You were right." He rolls his eyes at himself. "But don't go tellin' anyone I said that."

"You're flying today." It's not a question.

"I have to--" He shakes his head. "It's my job." He straightens, drawing himself back to his full height. "Anyway. I just wanted to..." he trails off, gesturing to the flowers still in her hand. "I should go."

He turns, and she remembers him like that the night before, telling her she shouldn't get attached to any of them. She remembers, but suddenly she doesn't care.

It's too late anyway.

"Bucky." She says his nickname for the first time, and he turns faster than she expected, his eyes widening with-- hope? Surprise? "Take this. For luck."

She hands him a single daisy. Takes a deep breath, raises herself up on her toes and presses a kiss to his cheek.

It all happens in a second. A heartbeat.

And it's that second, that heartbeat that she plays over and over again in her mind later that night when Captain Rosenthal's plane comes back alone.

#this was meant to be more funny but it ended up mostly angsty #oops #hope this is what you were looking for!!!!! #thank u for requesting #softspeirs mota fanfiction #john egan x oc #masters of the air fanfiction #mota fanfic #bucky x ellie #oc: ellie peters

[curiositydooropened]

Wildfire • Pyre

Reunions with old friends leads to more information about Vickie's death. You and Steve seem to be growing closer, falling back into old roles. But something dark lingers in the recesses of your mind.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Reader

Chapter Wordcount: 8,528

Warnings: enemies/rivals to lovers, second chance romance, slooooowburn, unrequited love, so much pining, blood, gore, character death, best friend!disabled!Eddie Munson, character injuries, trauma, PTSD, hallucinations, drowning, concussion, hurt/comfort, fire, panic attacks, insomnia

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Three: Ignite • Chapter Five: Searing

---

NOW

September 1988

Everything Rightside Up existed in saturation. Blue skies were blue. The red-oranges of fallen leaves were ruddy and neon. Green leaves of canned spinach were mossy and vibrant. Even the stark whites were brighter, cornea-burningly so. 

Your mouth felt dry as you approached the Med Bay, sneakers squeaking on linoleum beside the steady rhythm of Eddie’s shoes matched with the creak of his walker. His hair and eyes were painted in rich chocolates today, his skin almost as blinding as the walls that surrounded you. 

“I think you’re doing a good thing,” he reassured, raising the fingers on one hand to twinkle a wave at Sandra, the beautiful girl behind the counter who buzzed you in. Disinfectant stung in your nostrils. 

“I think I’m doing a neutral thing,” you argued, holding the door open for him to pass through. “He doesn’t want to see me. He probably isn’t even awake yet. Maybe he’s a vegetable.” 

“Henderson said he flipped him off yesterday,” Munson grinned. “He’s fine, and he does want to see you.”

“Henderson?” You frowned, taking a step backwards from the threshold whence you came, thumbing to a different section of the building, far away from the people in lab coats and the looming threat that lay ahead. “Oh, I better go check in with him then.” 

Eddie caught your wrist and propelled you back toward him. “You saved Harrington’s life. I would kill for an opportunity like that. You get to lord it over him forever now.”

You sighed, faked a smile, tried not ignore the pit in your stomach, tried to forget the sting of ash and decay as you stripped yourself of your pack and ducked beside the brick fireplace, the only part of that little house that remained standing. 

You’d called out for Steve, again and again, panic stinging your lungs just as it had when you’d lost Vickie. Then the adrenaline kicked in, her voice and his, Steve’s, echoing instructions in your mind. Lift here, tug there. Your squats had come in handy. You walkied back to base, got an emergency evac vehicle. 

When you found Harrington, he was unconscious, face caked in ash, blood pooling somewhere beneath him. He was lucky he’d been in the stairwell and not any higher. A millisecond sooner, and he’d have been crushed by a toilet, a vanity, a king-sized bed. You cleared the rubble, checked him for major breakages, and hoisted him onto your back. He was so heavy.

“Just go in and tell him to say ‘thank you’ or you’ll pull the plug.” Eddie was shoving you through another door, but you noticed he hadn’t hurried to follow.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” You hissed, offering a nervous smile to a nearby man in mint scrubs.

“Nope,” your best friend grinned. “Got me a receptionist to flirt with.” He tousled his curls and leaned casually against a long countertop. 

Sandra appeared just over his shoulder, a sweet smile on her round face. “Two doors down,” she gestured. 

With clenched fists, you inched ahead as instructed. You were sweating. You didn’t even know what you were going to say. You just wanted to see if he looked small, if his hair still coifed perfectly against cotton sheets, if his mouth would turn up at the corners when he saw you. 

Your fingertips pressed to the door, and you heard laughing inside, a rasped voice. Your heart sank, stomach rolled. You glanced sideways into an open window and saw dirty blonde and freckles, and you turned heel for the start of the hallway.

Eddie stood on the other side of a closed door, waggling his fingertips, too-mischievous a smile playing across cat-like features. 

Then, she said your name. 

Robin Buckley stood ten feet away. She was dressed in civies, hair crimped and vest buttoned, and her sweet, freckled cheeks were pinched pink to compliment the sad sea of blue in her eyes. Her hand was raised in a greeting, the other arm wrapped around her ribcage, a shield, a nervous stance. 

You swallowed, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. But some other force was pushing you forward, one step at a time to split the distance. 

Her arms were around you in seconds, spindly, soft, and she smelled exactly as you always remembered: vanilla and patchouli, weed. She was warm, a bit of home you hadn’t had in months, hadn’t deserved. You didn’t deserve her. 

You pulled away, swallowing the lump in your throat, blinking away any emotional that threatened. “I was just coming to visit uh…” You gestured inwards, at a boy in too big a bed, brow crinkled, hair a riot against stark white linens. His eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched. 

“Oh yeah we were just,” she rasped, graveled voice sweet as honey. She gestured inward and paused before you watched her own eyebrow quirk. “Sleeping. He just fell asleep.” 

You settled on, “oh, good.” You didn’t feel right in your body, didn’t feel present, didn’t feel necessary. You’d interrupted a moment. You were an intruder. 

“Lucky for you,” Robin crossed to Steve’s bedside and grabbed her bag, tossing it over one shoulder, “I’m starving. Shall we go get some lunch?” 

You blinked at the invitation, the white walls closing in. She stared expectantly, soft blues and tans. “Oh, one of us should probably stay with…” You gestured once more toward the boy. The frown hadn’t left his face, though now it felt more of a grimace. You wondered if he might be in pain. 

“He’s fine,” Robin insisted, and you felt slender fingers jostle your shoulder. “Come on. Looks like you could use to get out of this Hell hole.”

You turned to look at Steve one last time, as you were herded along the corridor and back to reception, and his face had settled to one of peace. 

—

She drove you miles out of town, somewhere south, where a dry dirt road met a diner with a view of the lake. Ducks gathered at the banks and a child cried in a mother’s arms, and the sweet smell of maple syrup flooded your senses with some otherworldly nostalgia that ached in your molars and ribcage. 

She chatted the whole way there, as Robin was apt to do, a mess of words about life and her parents and foregoing university for community outreach, and you clutched the belt at your chest like it were a life vest.

She ordered a club sandwich with fries, and promised to share when you ordered a salad, not sure you could keep anything down. Not with the world on its axis like this, not with her cherry-stained smile as if nothing was wrong, as if this threesome wasn’t missing it’s essential party. 

“Thanks so much,” she smiled at the woman setting drinks down between you. The same red plastic cups you found in the Mess Hall made you feel like you were trapped in a simulation, some sort of sick joke. 

Robin stirred the ice in her soft drink with a red-and-white striped straw, and you watched the bubbles fizz through dark liquid to burst at the top. “Before I force you to tell me what the Hell is going on with you and Steve, I have to tell you something.”

You blinked back at her, the water in front of you unappetizing despite the dryness of your mouth. 

There was something uncanny about the way she spoke, too chipper, too soft, but you noticed she was avoiding your gaze, staring instead at the rings she wound around her fingers. Her nails were chipped in navy blues. “And I know you’re going to argue with me, because that’s who you are, and I’m not going to engage with that because this is honestly just my truth, you know? And I’ve spent a long time thinking about this, so I know how I feel.” 

“Robin,” you cut-off her anxious rambling, an auto-response you’d built over the last couple of years, muscle memory. 

Her mouth closed, and you watched the tick of her jaw, sunlight pouring in to cast her in honey and warmth. She was a thing of beauty, and to watch the wobble in her bottom lip as she clamped down it drew the breath from you. 

You sat in silence, wringing the paper napkin in your lap while she chipped more fervently at the blue polish, bits of it scattered across a coffee-stained tabletop. 

“I’m mad at you,” she finally came out with it, and the quaver in her voice punched you right in the stomach. Her eyes shone, harsh, dark. “I’m so fucking mad at you, and it’s so frustrating because it’s not even your fault, not really.” 

You swallowed back the tears that threatened to fall, the ache that clawed your inside with sharp talons and flower-faced teeth. 

“It’s not your fault she was flayed. It’s not your fault she had no other choice. It’s not your fault you didn’t have a choice, but none of that is what I’m mad about anyway,” she continued to ramble, twisting the rings around her fingers. “I’m mad that you left me. You just ditched me, and I understand you’re hurting, and I’m so sorry for that, but did you think for like half-a-second that I’m hurting too? And all I needed for the past three months was my best friend? You left me alone with Steve, for Christ’s sake. Steve! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love him with all of my heart, but he’s not good with things like this. He’s getting better, but he doesn’t know her like you do, and sometimes I just need to talk about her and -” 

“Robin,” you stopped her again, your breathing matching hers in speed, heart racing, lungs strained against your ribcage. 

Her mouth slammed shut, and her fingers went to her ears like a petulant child. “I’m not going to hear anything you have to say unless its an apology.” 

Your mouth hung open at that, processing her emotions, your own. A bell caught on the breeze, the softest of sounds, and then it felt like fingers carded through your hair, a hand to your shoulder, warmth, comfort, light. You released a sigh, “Robin, I’m so so sorry.” 

The corners of her lips turned up, and she rolled her eyes, reaching for the red plastic up. “I forgive you, obviously. Idiot.” She toed at your knee with the rubber toe of her shoe while she drank, and you both laughed off the emotion prickling in your eyes. 

You picked up your own water with a trembling hand and downed the ice cold liquid, letting it dampen the swell in your throat and chest. 

“Now that that’s settled, please tell me what the hell is going on between you and Dingus. The boy tells me nothing.” 

—

As the heat of summer fell away into fall, the sun went with it. You awoke in darkness, struggled to pull yourself out of bed after restless sleep. Daylight faded from the farmland too quickly, a mask of yellowed orange that covered naked branches that twisted up through browning leaves. It was cold and dark and reminded you of that place, an unfriendly reminder that loomed over your shoulder as you ran, lap after lap around a track. 

Three days after your lunch with Robin, you’d managed to peel yourself from sweat-drenched sheets to run off the dread that settled from a nightmare. You’d run with a friendly tune in your head, tainted ominous by each thump of footfall against the track, eery by the humming under your breath against the water pressure from the shower, your own voice echoing off tile walls. 

The sun was just coming up by the time you entered the dormitory corridor, dim warmth that seeped from sitting quarters and splashed across heavy steel doors. 

You scrubbed excess water from your ear with the towel draped over your shoulders and rounded the last corner, halting when you saw shadow framing your door. Tall, with broad shoulders, hand-raised in a knock. 

You sidestepped, tilted your head to get a better look, and nearly screeched to a halt when you reached an angle that let the light shine in. 

Steve Harrington waited for you to answer your door, jaw clenched, sporting short hair. It had been buzzed around his neck and ears, but remained long on top, parted down the center in adverse to his signature coif, a mess of brown that he tousled in one hand. 

You blinked back at him, taking in his stance, tight and uncomfortable, before it all sunk in. 

He was awake. He was standing. He suffered no broken bones, only a concussion and several bumps and bruises, so you shouldn’t have been surprised. He was waiting at your door.

“Shit,” you snapped yourself out of it and crossed to him.

He startled and spun on his heel to face you, eyes alight with surprise. He looked good like this, more adult. Maybe that was the official nature of his stance, or the stack of documents he held under one arm. “Um… hi.” He greeted, scratching at the back of his neck. You wondered if he missed the locks back there that were so easy to sink your fingers into.

You swallowed, blinked back at him. “Hi.”

“Are you okay?” He asked, extending a hand your direction, although the look on his face was less comforting than perturbed. 

“Your hair,” you gestured, biting back a sarcastic smile aching at your cheeks. “Are you okay?” 

That famous Harrington eye roll greeted you, and he shifted to expose the stack of manila envelopes under his arm, wrapping his knuckles against the top. “I brought you something to look at. Could we uh…?” He nodded the closed door to your room. 

“Oh, shit, yeah,” you shuffled with the key in your pocket, the little brass thing tethered to a decade old friendship bracelet that had long since fallen off Vickie’s wrist.

Harrington stepped out of your way, and you fumbled with the lock until the door popped open to reveal a mess of dirty laundry and dishes strewn about. You cursed under your breath and scurried to kick things into their appropriate corners. You winced at the crash of plates in your sink, and scurried to the bed to pull the duvet up and over two scrunched pillows. 

Harrington set his haul on your rickety table.

When you’d finished your tidy, you turned to face him, a bit flustered, but you hadn’t anticipated catching him in the act of sizing up his own reflection in the mirror. He frowned, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to flatten the sheer volume peaking the fringe pieces. 

“It looks good,” you offered, delighted when he jumped at the sound of your voice, hand snapping back to his side. 

“They um… they had to do it for the stitches.” He gestured to the back of his head. 

Following the curvature of his skull on the left side were ten tiny stitches, black thread holding his flesh together where there’d been a gaping wound. You’d wrapped something around him to stop the bleeding, your shirt, maybe. You couldn’t remember much from that horrible morning, only the aches of your muscles as the exhaustion willed you to sleep on a cot in the Med Bay that first night you’d been asked to quarantine. 

“How’re you feeling?” You asked. 

Harrington nodded. He watched his own fingers dance along the tabletop. “Good. Nothing broken. They released me about an hour ago.” He glanced up at you, a shadow cast from the bridge of his nose as morning light began to seep in from frosted windows. 

“Good,” you managed a soft smile, hoped he could feel the relief that relaxed your shoulders. 

“Hey, um…” He scratched at that stubble on the base of his neck once more. “Thank you for uh… saving my ass.” His eyes found yours, humble and honest. 

You took a few steps forward and hesitated to reach for his arm until he put his hand out to catch yours. You gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Guess those squats were worth it after all.” 

You bit back another smile, stomach swooping as one again his eyes rolled back into his head. You released his hand and swatted at his stomach before pulling out a chair at your little rickety table to seat yourself at. “You need to lay off the brisket, big boy. I nearly threw my back out.”

“You need to quit hanging out with Munson,” Harrington slid into the seat next to you, spinning the stack of files your direction. “You’re staring to sound just like him.” 

You cocked a brow. “You threw Munson’s back out?” 

Watching him fight back sass tickled you more than you thought it might, the same relief you felt pulling Robin into a hug after your day out together. It felt like your axis was righting itself, like maybe your world was staring to feel a little less Upside Down. 

Harrington tapped two fingers to the top of the pile in front of you. “Erica stole these for me. If anyone finds out, we’re screwed. And we owe her our dessert cards for the next two months.” 

You snorted and flipped open the soft manila folder to find the face of a bright-eyed girl with red hair and freckles. Her jaw had been tightened, eyes a little wild, determined, and God, she’d been so young. Instinctively, your fingertips trailed the glossy coating of the photograph, and you wished you could feel the softness of her skin, smell her mom’s detergent on her clothes. You wished you could wrap her into your arms, like you’d done with Robin, and make her laugh, Hell, make her roll her eyes like you did with Steve. 

“These are her files, anything Erica could get her hands on. I peeked through them, but I didn’t want to get too far in without you.” Steve said, voice achingly soft beside you. “They’re in chronological order. Psych eval, medical tests.”

You thumbed through the first few pages, her enlistment form. Perfectly typewritten was every historical accuracy about your best friend. Her full name, the street she grew up on, her blood type. And after a few pages, you’d come across a picture of yourself, your information labeled under PARTNER. 

“If anything’s too hard to get through, let me know.” Your new partner leaned forward on his forearms, staring at your upside down photograph, his hair falling into his eyes. 

You swallowed, nodded, and turned another page. 

—

Hours had gone by, you weren’t sure how long, but the warm light cast upon Steve’s face suggested it was mid-afternoon, broaching evening. You’d learned much about your best friend and at the same time nothing at all. You’d choked upon all of the times she defended you, or told a higher up how wonderful you were, how worthy, how competent. Never once were you disparaged. Never once had she fought or fallen out of line. 

You wondered if you should have started at the bottom of the pile, worked your way back to the moment she’d been flayed, but when you’d mentioned, Steve halted your wrist and told you he’d take the bottom half. You thought to argue, to protest, but the look in his eye was soft, not scolding, and the grip on your wrist was loose.

You caught yourself watching him work, both of your voices hoarse from passages read aloud. When he concentrated, his brow crinkled, and the tip of his tongue stuck to the corners of his lips. You’d caught him, on several occasions, harrumphing over hair fallen into his eyes that couldn’t be tossed back like it used to. 

Now, as you glanced up from another mission log transcription, you saw the wave of warmth fan his features, and immediately he winced at the glare, fingers rubbing at bloodshot eyes. 

“Are you okay?” You asked, alarmed at the grit of his teeth. 

“Yeah, just um…” He squinted your direction. “Eye strain, I think. I should have been wearing my glasses.” 

You leapt up, if for no other reason than you cover him with your shadow, the frosted glass above your bed lacking curtains. “The concussion probably doesn’t help. Let’s take a break.” 

He emitted a soft groan and rubbed at his eyes again, pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers. “You’re probably right. Is that okay?”

You wrapped your arms around yourself and glanced down at the heft of his pile still remaining, hidden pages calling out to you. “Yeah, totally. It’s all kind of blurring together at this point anyway.” 

“Yeah, right,” he inched his way up and out of his chair, retrieving a sweatshirt he’d shed toward early afternoon off the back of his chair and stuffing his head into it. He’d unintentionally crowded your space, all limbs, and he smelled clean and a little sterile.

Somewhere in his reflection, a flash of orange caught your eye. You glanced sideways at the dingy mirror, the expanse of his back, the stitched scar at the base of his skull. 

“Do me a favor?” He muttered, running his fingers through his hair for the dozenth time. 

You hummed and tore your gaze from the mirror image.

“Don’t look at that stuff without me.” 

The piles sat between you, typewritten notes on stark white pages that beckoned. You glanced downward and caught your name, a conversation with Owens post-mission. Just a handful of pages beneath that was the log you knew you were looking for, maybe images taken post-mortem, maybe a death certificate. 

“We just don’t know what it could kick up. What if it triggers something?” Harrington wrapped his knuckles against the tabletop, recapturing your attention. 

You swallowed, eyes a little glassy from exhaustion, and nodded. “Sure, yeah. You want to take them with you?” 

He shook his head, shrugged. “I trust you.” He turned and clicked open the door. The hallway beyond was quiet, dark save the glow of a red EXIT sign. Before he left, he turned to offer a squinted smile, the faintest upturn of his pink lips. “You going to be alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you reassured. Something had shifted, crashed apart with the stairs of that house. Moments that bond often have this affect on relationships, you’d discovered that much over the past few years. 

Steve nodded and left, door closing softly behind him.

As he did so, the papers on the tabletop fluttered closer to you, an unseen force shifting things back into your line of sight. A label slipped out of the bottom stack, and typed in careful letters you read the word ‘FLAYED’. 

—

You left in a hurry, shoving all of your dirty clothes into a basket to haul downstairs. You took a turn on the track as your pants dried. You avoided your room like something had begun to grow in the walls, a pitch black ooze that spread with every footstep.

You couldn’t be there, couldn’t read it, and yet every inch of you itched to know the truth, to get answers. 

When you’d exhausted most avenues of distraction, you finally found yourself in the corridor just south of the Caf. Moonlight pooled in through windows along the hall, casting everything in sterile whites and soft greys. Your stomach rumble was louder than each footstep. The kitchen staff had locked the pantries to maintain rations, but this wasn’t your first excursion sneaking in for a midnight snack. 

Your laundry basket released from your hands and fell with a thwack to the linoleum before you elbowed through one of the swinging double doors, port hole window catching your reflection in the moonlight. The kitchen was otherwise pitch black, and you hadn’t needed a flashlight for the laundry room. 

Taking careful steps in the darkness, you narrowly avoided a butcher’s block, but smacked your hip bone against a wide, metal stove. Pots and pans clattered above you, and you scrambled to keep them afloat, cursing yourself for definitely waking anyone sleeping at least five floors up.

“Hello?” The seam to the walk-in split open, and you were suddenly blinded in a thick beam of warm light.

You held your hands up to shield your eyes, and when you heard your name, you peered into the darkness to make out the broad-shouldered silhouette of your new partner. “Harrington?”

He tilted the torchlight from your vision, and you saw he had a baseball bat over his other shoulder, of which nail spikes were sparkling from the end. “Jesus, you scared the shit out of me.” He grumbled, turning back into the refrigerator as though this was a perfectly normal occasion. 

“What the Hell?” You sighed and followed him. “What’re you doing down here?” 

He shrugged, spinning the flashlight in his hand to give you the handle. Then, he pulled a three gallon tub of ice cream off a nearby shelf and hoisted it under his arm. “What does it look like I’m doing down here?” 

He pushed past you in a fog of steamed breath, and you followed before the door slammed shut. He dropped the tub onto a countertop with a hollow thud and the bat scraped along the ground as he propped it next. 

You watched him search a couple of drawers for two spoons, illuminating his path back to you.

“I haven’t had ice cream in like three years,” he explained, taking the flashlight from you to prop on a windowsill near him. Reflected light illuminated the hollows of his cheeks, the bags under his eyes. “But I’ve had this crazy hankering since that house fell on me.” 

You snorted and hoisted yourself onto the countertop beside him, ice from the tub melting against your bare leg. “Why the aversion to ice cream?”

Steve sighed, peeling the lid from the top and handing you a spoon before diving in himself. “When you spend half a summer slinging cones and banana splits, the smell of it gets a little sickening.”

You’d almost forgotten, memories of Starcourt Mall feeling like another lifetime. Vickie and you had gone every weekend after it opened, delighting in the comfortable seating at the movie theatre and spending far too many hours pouring over albums at the music store. She’d insist on scoops from Scoops just before you left, and you’d initially thought she was fawning over the sailor boy, with his voluminous, highlighted hair, his doe eyes, his glossy lips. Turns out, she wanted to gawk at her pep band compatriot, the pretty, awkward girl with band-aids on her knees. 

You watched over the tub as he took his bite in shadow, eyelashes fanning his cheeks, brows furrowed against the cold. “How is it?” You smiled, reaching in near to your elbow to take a scoop for yourself. There was no way to tell what flavor it was at this point, but knowing the quality of food at the caf, you had a feeling your options were limited to chocolate or vanilla. 

“It’s no SS Butterscotch,” but he went back in, spoon clanging against your own. “What’re you doing down here?” 

You shrugged, spooned frigid cream into your mouth. You winced at the cold, but the sweet vanilla cream melted against your taste buds, and you sighed, leaning against the wall behind you. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Did you read any more of Vickie’s file?” He winced around the cold, brought his fist up to cover a cough. 

You frowned back at him. “You told me not to.” 

His eyebrows raised at that, and he shrugged, shoveling himself another spoonful. “I didn’t think you’d listen. I use that tactic with the kids.”

“Hey, fuck you,” you growled, mouthful. 

In the silhouette, you swear you caught a smirk flash across boyish features. “So… I heard you talked to Robin.” 

You hummed, the chill from your ice cream and the metal countertop creating a small shiver. You shifted your thighs, unsticking them from the surface, and tugged down on your shorts. “Yeah, we had a really nice lunch the other day.”

He avoided eye contact, licking his spoon clean. 

Over French fries, your heartfelt apologies turned to chatter, the two of you falling back into old rhythms, humming old ear worms and gossiping. Robin vented about the try-hard team lead in her gardening society, and you, with matched eye rolls, vented about Steve’s overbearing demeanor when it came to the mats, the pool, the turf. Robin ensured you he was like that in the beginning, and that he’s just protective. You couldn’t help but feel the fizz of your stomach when she mentioned he cared about you. 

You wondered how much she’d shared. “I uh… I apologized for going AWOL.” You spun your spoon between your fingers, the cool metal glinting in dim light. 

“Why did you,” he asked after a long moment, voice cutting the stillness in the air, “go AWOL?”

You glanced up at him again, and this time he was watching you, eyes hooded in shadow, but the glint of them traced your features. You swallowed and looked away, stared instead at his silhouette on the adjacent wall, the curve of a strong brow and nose and jaw, the dip of his throat. 

You struggled for words, feeling the heat of him staring you down, but finally you settled on an explanation that felt right. “Because I’m a coward, and because I didn’t feel I deserved her friendship, not after all of the heartache I caused. Still don’t.”

He didn’t respond, and you sat in silence for a long while until you felt brave enough to look at him again. His shoulders were slumped, and his lips were parted as if he were going to ask something else. 

Terrified he might spill some truth that you weren’t ready for, you spilled out a question that had been lingering for months, a year. “What did I do to make you hate me?” The words felt sticky, your throat coated with vanilla ice cream and regret. 

His jaw slammed shut, eyes tracking yours once more. 

“We used to be…” Bets placed on the Scorch field, the sparring mats, shot-for-shot from the whisky glass snuck out of Hopper’s office desk drawer, truth or dare whispered while Robin and Vickie slept in an adjacent bed, the exchange of steamed breath watching the stars, nose-to-nose, the flutter of lashes. “Friends. Then we were all up for Scorch Leads, and you just… went AWOL.”

You picked at the rolled paper lip of the ice cream tub, focusing on that spot instead of the eyes watching you. “Is my competitiveness really that annoying?” 

“Yes,” he said, snapping your attention back to his mouth, and the corners had curled every so slightly.

You warmed, rolled your eyes. 

He scratched at the stubble on the back of his neck, rolled his shoulders. “You want to know why I was such an asshole when we were up for that promotion?” 

You nodded. Another shiver wracked through you, and you realized you’d been leaning against the tub. 

Steve sighed, picked the lid off the counter beside you and replaced it, the top puffing with air when it was sealed. “Remember that first mission? When they dumped us in the middle of nowhere and we had to find our way back? And you and Vickie took twice as long as everyone else?”

“It was not twice as long,” you rolled your eyes. It took you so long because you had to be thorough, you had to prove yourself, no one wanted it more than you. When you’d heard about Team Lead promotions, it was the first time in years you felt like your existence was made for something. Your expertise paid off.

Your new partner lifted the tub and carried it back across the room to the walk-in, catching the swing of the door with his shoe.

You hopped off the countertop and tossed metal spoons into a massive metal sink. They clanged near the drain. 

Steve’s voice was muffled from inside the freezer. “Robin and I waited at the Gate for you. She wore a hole in the pavement pacing, and I sat with my back to a big tree and realized I’d do whatever it took to win, or at least to make sure you guys didn’t.” He returned with a banana, which he placed into your palm before going for his bat and flashlight. 

“What’s this for?” You held up the fruit, cold to the touch and followed him out the swinging double doors.

“Potassium’s good for muscles, and it helps your body process calcium.” He said, like a info doc on the Public Broadcasting Station. 

You sighed and tossed it to the top of your laundry pile before hoisting the basket back under your arm. “Wait, are you saying you thought Vickie and I wouldn’t make good leads?” 

“No,” he swung the bat over one shoulder, beam of light illuminating your joint path upward. “I’m saying that by becoming leads, there’d be a higher chance of you being in danger. All I ever wanted was to keep you safe.” 

You tried not to lose pace with him, feet fumbling, stomach swooping, and you glanced up at him through your eyelashes. You couldn’t make out his features in the dark, but you felt him watching you, felt the brush of his bicep against yours. 

“Eat your banana,” he said, and you continued up the stairs in soft, surrendered silence.

—

The yard was clean, grass long-since browned, and leaves swept into a large pile. The cars in the driveway didn’t belong to her parents, no, these were new. In fact, the entire home didn’t feel like home to you anymore, not like it used to. A porch swing creaked on the wind, stark white paint cracked and cushion oozing ichor from a rainstorm long since past. 

You heard a scuffle from the garage, swung right, calling out for her, searching a greyscale landscape for a shock of orange. You took a step forward, tripped over an unwound garden hose. 

“She can’t come to the phone right now,” she said, only it wasn’t her, wasn’t her voice, something deeper.

You looked up, but when you tried to scream her name again, a hand was covering your mouth, a strong arm lifting you backwards, away from the scene. Your friend lay, lifeless before you, skin melting into the concrete driveway like plastic. You screamed, kicked, clawed, bit at the hand cutting off your airflow, to no relief. 

Suffocating, drowning, the world around you blurring with blue lights, a face peering through the swell, that menacing grin, all teeth, no lips. You screamed, bubbles rising before your eyes. You kicked, vines tangled around your ankles, dragging you downward, darkness all-encompassing.

—

The fluorescents buzzed and the tape whirred in its recorder. That distant throb in your skull hadn’t receded in days. Your chair creaked with each bounce of your knee, an energy you’d picked up from your partner, and you rubbed at tired eyes, squinting across a large table. In a chair at the other end was the pitied frown of one Dr. Sam Owens. 

“We did find a small laceration on her ankle, and her falling into this creature would account for that.” He explained. He was being gentle, as if you hadn’t snuck into the files, as if you hadn’t stared at the photographs of her lifeless corpse, as if you hadn’t seen the black liquid oozing from her skin. 

You nodded, picking at a scratch in the tabletop. 

“And you’re saying this virus had been gestating for a month before she showed any signs of being flayed?” 

You shrugged, picked a little harder, until it bent your nail at the corner. “You’re the doctor. I’m just telling you what I remember.” 

“Okay, alright, I appreciate that.” You heard the click of the tape deck, glanced up to find two fingers on the stop button. When you looked up, Owens had sat one leg on the tabletop. “How’re you doing, kid?” 

A shiver wracked through you, some twisted all-knowing presence that had given you away. Maybe it was the squint of your eyes against the lights, maybe your nose had begun bleeding again, you couldn’t be sure at this point, couldn’t feel much for the buzz in your skull and fingertips. 

“Do you understand why Hop and I picked you and Vickie as our team leaders?” He asked when you hadn’t responded, folding his hands over his lap. Crisp checked sleeves were rolled over the cuffs of a brown sweater. Everything about this man was soft and cleaned, so far removed from the grit and grime that surrounded your day-to-day. “It’s because you understood our mission here.” 

You frowned, unsure where this unprompted speech was coming from, unsure what he was talking about, unsure how long you’d been in this room, how long you’d been awake, how long you could cling to the sliver of sanity holding you together. 

“You understood that all of this,” he gestured to the room around you. Two massive windows looked out at the expanse of woods, everything tinged ruby red and honey yellow, that nightmare-fuel flash of orange. “This isn’t about redemption. It’s not about righting our wrongs, of which, we’re all guilty.” 

His eyes were deep blue like the waters of a pool, but soft, careful. You thought of Vickie, of the mournful look on her face when she plead for you to snuff out her light. You thought of the lifeless corpse on a slab, photographed with naught but a sterile sheet maintaining her modesty. 

“No, it’s about renewal. It’s about ridding this world of this festering sore, this virus, so it can learn and grow, so we can learn and grow and restart our lives. Not pick up where we left off, but pull ourselves up from the ashes and create something better.”

You blinked back at him, the wall in your mind, in your heart, fighting with his words. That competitive nature you’ve been biting back all week threatening to escape. Instead, you grit your teeth. “Anything else you need from me, Doc?” 

Owens sighed, gave you that pitied look you’d received since Vickie died, since you killed her, since you gave up on her. He shook his head and gestured to walk you to the door. “Take care of yourself, kid.” 

—

How could you build a new life without her when she was always home? How could you rise from the ashes of her funeral pyre when you lit the match? 

—

The bass was low, a rattle in your bones arhythmic to your heart. You were hyper aware of your heartbeat, it having clambered against your skull for the past three days, maybe longer, you didn’t know anymore. Neon lights buzzed against newspaper clipping covered walls, all-encompassing, a tornado of information about Indiana’s State Fair and blue ribbons and reds and yellows and blues and greens. 

A shove to your shoulder drew everything back into focus. Eddie’s brows were stitched together, jaw clamped shut. He was pissed. At you, specifically. He’d bullied you into joining the gang at Roadie’s tonight, blackmailed you, in fact. Now, here you stood, knocking back tequila to no lasting affect, receiving a pool stick from your teammate’s hand. 

“We’re solids,” he instructed, nodding toward the felted green table. 

“I got it,” you snapped. 

The seven was lined up for an easy left pocket, and you sunk it before going after the three. The felt was soft under your finger tips, and the lamp heated up over your head, and something about the angle of your elbow nearly cleared someone’s beer from the lip of the table. They caught it, but your cue ball missed the three entirely, whiffing itself into a tailspin. 

You cursed under your breath and stood back up into a full conversation you’d somehow missed, laughter and crinkled eyes. You frowned at Eddie, passing him back the stick. 

“Argyle whistled at your ass, and you knocked his beer off the table,” he muttered under his breath. “You’re actually doing quite well for not being here.”

You glanced over his shoulder at Argyle, who held his hands, and a bottle, up in surrender, brown eyes wide. “Hey, man, please don’t kick my ass. I was just complimenting a beautiful woman.” 

It took a second for his words to set in, for the blur of the roadhouse to dull, and when they finally clicked, you plastered on a smile and plucked the remainder of the boy’s beer from his hand. The liquid was room temperature at best, the glass coated in condensation.

Your group erupted in laughter. 

Argyle was harmless, and only ever flattered, and you felt that if you were really present, if your laugh was genuine, things tonight might feel exactly as they had before. 

“I’m getting waters,” Steve ran a hand through the new curtains of his hair and turned for the bar. Robin rubbed between his shoulder blades. Nancy knelt over the pool table, sinking thirteen, twelve, eleven. It was Jonathan’s turn to whistle, and she hip-checked him with a smug look on her face before sinking fifteen and nine. 

“I’m so glad you came out,” Robin appeared at your side, warm and perfumed.

“Me too,” you smiled, avoiding the glares you were receiving from Eddie across the table. His incessant knocking pulled you out of bed, and he practically had to force you to put real clothes on. 

“Quick, before Steve comes back, tell me a secret about him no one else would know.” Argyle grinned behind another bottle he’d scrounged up table side. He’d also extended a basket of fries to you. 

You took one, a little soggy, and thought behind your hand as you chewed. 

“Oh my God, he wears glasses at night like an old man.” Robin snickered. 

Argyle gasped, the exact kind of scandal he was fishing for. “I bet he looks good in glasses.” 

“He does,” Nancy confirmed from the table. Jonathan seemed less impressed at this revelation. “Eight ball middle pocket.” And with a sturdy clack, it went in. 

Eddie cursed and peeled a couple of dollars from his wallet. 

“We get winner!” Robin declared, nabbing the pool stick propped near Eddie’s walker. 

“Aw man, I wish I had a partner,” Argyle lamented into his fries.

“No, you don’t,” Steve appeared, taking the neck of your bottle from your hand before replacing it with a plastic cup full of ice water. 

You rolled your eyes, but sipped, the frigid water a nice wash against the buzzing under your skin. His warmth beside you was welcoming too, the smell of his cologne.

“Sure I do. You get to learn all kinds of things no one else would know. Come on, tell me something about her.” 

Your heart sank under Steve’s gaze. You had one big secret, one looming bad guy that only Steve and Eddie knew about. None of you had told Robin. None of you could tell Robin. You tried not to focus now, tried to keep the nightmares at bay. 

“She’s a terrible swimmer,” he settled on. “Like one of the worst I’ve ever taught, and I used to teach toddlers… and Robin.” 

“Fuck off, Harrington,” Robin cackled, breaking the rack with an immense thwack. “You are just the world’s worst helicopter mom.”

“I’d back off if you could walk up a set of stairs without tripping,” he snapped back. 

“Says the guy who had an entire staircase fall under his weight,” you commented.

Everyone laughed. You even felt the rumble of Steve’s chest against your bicep, that warmth slowly thawing the freeze. 

“Jonathan, what do you guys think? Having a partner all it’s cracked up to be?” Argyle mused to his best friend. 

Jonathan sunk the first ball of the game and shrugged. “It’s nice when someone has your back. Nance can get a little bossy though…” 

Nancy rolled her eyes and took a long swig of her beer. She wiped the corners of her mouth as she swallowed and said, “Jonathan hums, constantly. No matter what we’re doing, he’s humming.”

Just as she said it, he stopped the tapping of his hands to his thigh, and you all pointed in glee at the discovery. 

“Hey, nothing wrong with a man with rhythm,” Eddie grinned, slapping a high-five to his friend. 

“God, Vickie does that too,” you chimed in, enjoying the camaraderie you’d been missing for so long. “She just gets these like ear worms and she has to sing them. Drives me up a wall.” 

You hadn’t realized what you’d said until Steve stiffened beside you, until you made eye contact with a sad smile from Eddie. Your blood ran cold. 

“Oh my God, I know! She was constantly getting things stuck in my head,” Robin pitched in to help you recover, but you noticed the waver in her voice, and it crushed your insides a little harder. 

“My go?” Steve cleared his throat, stepping forward to take the stick from her hands. You noticed she’d been wringing it. You felt sick.

When Steve bent to strike another ball, Eddie whistled, and the tension was quickly diffused with another round of laughter. Everyone began to chatter again, but the noise had faded under the dull thrum of bass and the buzz of neon, and the ice cold terror that lingered there between your shoulder blades. 

You muttered an excuse for the bathroom, but walked straight out the double doors and into the cold autumn air.

—

This time of night felt like being there, in the Ether. Sun set, everything went to grayscale save the sign attracting moths overhead. The red cast over the gravel parking lot, shimmering off chrome tailpipes and the hood of Harrington’s car. That same lingering damp clung to the air, steaming your breath, chattering your teeth, and you propped yourself against a corrugated tin wall. It smelled of iron and cigarette smoke, and your tongue tasted of tequila and regret. 

Your head spun, eyes ached and dry with exhaustion. No sleep felt easier than sleep these days, but you noticed each came with a price. Your muscles twitched, like a shiver, but incessant. Either way, you couldn’t escape them. 

She was always out of reach now, concerned features just past the focus of your view. She donned the same face as in the photograph: sad, frightened, determined. Her hair was crispy at the ends, a shock of orange burnt black, and soot coated the fingers of her extended hand. 

He was there too, less visible, but somewhere in the recesses, always lingering behind, waiting for the opportune moment, a terrifying face above rippled water that beckoned. 

You heard the crunch of boots against gravel, a noise from reality that sucked you back, wracked a shiver through you. You wiped at a running nose and plastered on a fake smile to ensure you were alright. 

But Robin hadn’t come to check on you, as you assumed she might. No, in her stead was Steve, face knotted up in worry, fingers carding through short hair. 

And you didn’t know what made you do it, maybe these unseen forces, maybe the embarrassment from inside, or maybe you’d just been dying to do it for well over a year now, but you swung on him. Full fist, knuckles connecting with cheekbone, and he stumbled backward in surprise before blocking your neck swing.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He growled, grasping your wrist in his hand. 

“What’s wrong with me?” You called, tearing your arm from his grip to shove at his chest. “What’s wrong with me, Harrington? I had to murder my best friend. I had to take a torch to her living, breathing, screaming body and not let go of the trigger until she stopped. I have to relive it every single day of my life, and I’m just supposed to be strong about it and okay with it because this is the life I’ve chosen to live.” 

You accentuated each thought with another shove until he was backed against a wall, his Member’s Only jacket fisted in your grasp, and then, he was wrapped around you, arms tight, the pressure of his large hand relieving the throb in your skull as your body wracked with sobs. You nearly crashed to your knees, but he stumbled and held you upright. One strong arm swung around your ribs, while the other stroked your hair. 

“You were supposed to protect me. To keep me safe,” You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, gasping for air as you sunk your fingernails into his shoulders, desperate for his help. 

Heat fanned your face, soft lips pressed to your temple to draw your focus, and you felt the steady inhale, exhale of his broad body against yours. He guided you to match his breath. “I know. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.”

You finally relaxed into him, face tucked into a warm neck, his presence all-encompassing, a splash of water on a puffy face, and when you felt grounded enough, you released his jacket, allowing your arms to drop at your sides. 

His release was slower still, and large hands came to cup your face, to thumb away your tears, but you couldn’t bear to look at him, embarrassed or heart broken or angry, maybe all three. 

He spoke your name, soft, tender, and you brought your hands up to pull his wrists. His hands fell away easily. 

You glanced up at him, avoiding eye contact, and noticed a splash of red against his white t-shirt. “You’re bleeding,” you mumbled, fingertips trailing the small patch of blood, maroon spreading across the cotton fibers. 

“No, you are,” he said.

When you met his gaze, something happened, a shift you couldn’t explain. You felt the world rumble beneath your feet, saw the gaping maws of gates flash behind your eyes. Like the drop of a bass, the dull throb in your skull shifted to searing pain. You mopped at the blood on your upper lip with trembling fingers. “Something’s wrong.” 

You thought you might tumble over, equilibrium changing. 

Steve caught you in his arms. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?” 

You heard your name from somewhere close by: her voice, a warning. You glanced to your right and saw Nancy and Jonathan rushing out of the double doors. 

“Steve!” Nancy called. “Massive seismic activity detected. We have to go right now.”

Argyle was rushing to start up his truck. Eddie and Robin were closed behind, hugging leather and denim jackets to their bodies. 

“Take care of her,” Steve and Eddie spoke simultaneously, pointing at their perspective best friends. 

Steve rounded on you. “Are you good?” 

Unsure, but determined, you nodded, and he slipped his hand in yours to hoist you into the truck bed. As the five of you sped off into the night, you could just make out Robin and Eddie under the glow of the neon sign, a shock of orange lingering behind them. 

---

A/N: Finally, a reunion with Robin! As I was writing her at the diner, I was like uhhhh... I think I'm in love with her. So that's fun. And the Reader and Steve are finally getting closer, finally getting over their issues... kind of? Please come yell at me about it. Thanks. Love you! Thanks, as always, for reading xo xo xo

Fic Masterlist • Navigation • Masterlist

Chapter Three: Ignite • Chapter Five: Searing

#wildfire fic #stranger things fic #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington enemies to lovers #steve harrington rivals to lovers #post season 4 #eddie munson #robin buckley #vickie #robin x vickie #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #argyle

[stevie-petey]

since you cant update for a while (take your time!!!!) can we ask for some headcanons or insight to tie us over 😭😭

yes of course !

bug headcannons include:

has a fear of bees (ironically enough) like she respects them and what they do for the environment but whenever they buzz near her she screams and runs

favorite season is summer. the sun and the air and blue skies remind her of virginia and where she grew up before everything changed and anger set in

great baker, horrible chef (no one knows why)

favorite cake is strawberry shortcake and shes had it as her birthday cake every year since she was 3 (her dads idea)

steve headcannons:

favorite holiday was halloween growing up so he could pretend to be someone else

has always wanted a sibling, so the party welcoming him in makes him incredibly happy

first heartbreak was when his preschool crush wouldnt marry him

the first time he saw bug in high school after leaving middle school he almost walked into the lockers. she had changed so much in a year, and he almost hadnt recognize her <3

jon !!

bug was his first ever crush and the reason why hes so horrible with girls now. spent his first 4 years of puberty just admiring his bff. bless him

secretly envies how easy it is for steve to be liked by the party. he grew up with the boys and doesnt understand when they stopped liking him

scared of the dark and only bug knows this

once walked in on mrs henderson changing and he cried for an hour because he felt so horrible and guilty (bug laughed the entire time)

n nancy :)

has competed with bug for the best grades in school since they were 12 (bug has no idea this is even a thing)

terrified of becoming her mother yet pities her as well

also scared of the dark (her and jon hold hands to comfort each other)

wishes she was as easily liked as bug is. she knows its her fault, shes not as open and easy going and kind, but it makes her sad that mike looks up to bug and not her

#ask #anon #m speaks #bug lore #ch headcanons #idk how else to tag this tbh #enjoy !!!!!

[disneytva]

GARGOYLES DARK AGES #6

(W) Greg Weisman (A) Drew Moss (CA) Clayton Crain

The End of an Era! The Gargoyles attempt to reason with a Dragon – and the resulting battle, high in the skies above Castle Wyvern, will change their destiny forever! The final chapter of the Gargoyles' legendary origin story arrives in December from writer and Gargoyles creator GREG WEISMAN and artist DREW MOSS! This 40-page issue includes a new text story from Weisman and all cardstock covers featuring art by CLAYTON CRAIN, ALAN QUAH, MIRKA ANDOLFO, KENYA DANINO, ERICA HENDERSON, and more!

In Shops: Dec 27, 2023

#Gargoyles #Gargoyles Dark Ages #Gargoyles: Dark Ages #Gargoyles Comics #Greg Weisman #Drew Moss #The Disney Afternoon #Disney Afternoon #Dynamite Comics #Disney Comics

[longlivefanfic-net]

Banished&Bloody: Eddie the Banished

Fic Summary: Post-Volume II. Eddie Munson wasn't dead when he was left in the Upside Down; well, he wasn't dead anymore. Steve Harrington has spent the days since they came back to Hawkins haunted by the idea that he could have saved Eddie--or at least died in his place. It quickly becomes clear that the Hawkin's group has to go back to the Upside Down and, when they do, they find an unfamiliar face. Vampire!Eddie Munson, Grieving Steve Harrington.

Chapter Summary/Content: Chapter 1 of 8. Eddie wakes up in the Upside Down and realizes he has to get back to Hawkins. Mentions of blood, grief, brief suicide mention. Extra angsty.

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Listen. Listen. I want Vampire! Eddie so fucking bad. But I am also absolutely terrified of him. Also, writing this made me tear up bc this baby boy just deserved nice, happy things and instead he gets?? this?? This fic is going to be 8 chapters (I think), alternating Eddie/Steve POVs, and (should be) smut free (it just doesn't fit!!! idk! maybe I can work something in). I am also planning on still writing a few little smut pieces in between chapters (I have a Steve/Reader and Reader/Robin fic that I'm just waiting on my beta reader's response for before I post it)!!

Chapter One: Eddie the Banished

When Eddie’s eyes opened, the skies above him were black. He thought it was night, at first, then cloudy when he realized he couldn’t see any stars. When he saw the sky roiling overhead, he felt momentarily reassured. This wasn’t the first time he had gone on a bender and ended up waking outside, flat on his back in the woods or on a hill. But when streaks of lightning flashed the wrong way across the clouds, going straight across the throbbing mass of darkness instead of straight down, he recognized that he wasn’t in Hawkins–not the Hawkins he knew. He was somehow still in the other Hawkins, the one Dustin had called the “Upside Down,” like it was part of Hellfire nights instead of…this, this other, terrifying place Henderson and Wheeler and their friends had brought him to. Once he understood where he was, Eddie sat straight up, searching the darkness around him for his newfound group of friends. Surely, if he was here, the rest of them must be too; at least, Harrington or Buckley or Wheeler, the “adults” of the group he had so reluctantly joined, would still be here with him.

He was in the road of his trailer park, the Upside Down version of it, and–as he looked around him–he realized he was surrounded by a circle of demobats. None of them were moving. He sat, breath bated, watching for one of them to twitch, for the whole flock to suddenly jump up and swarm him, but they stayed where they were. He reached out, slowly, and gingerly poked the one closest to him. When it didn’t move, he looked, quickly, his eyes jumping from corpse to corpse, at the limp bodies surrounding him. Surely this was a sign of Vecna’s fall, a sign that Harrington had made good on his promise and made him pay, a sign that they were all safe. But no one else appeared. It seemed like he was alone. Eddie couldn’t understand it–if he was there, in this Upside Down Hawkins, where was everyone else? Had he been taken, grabbed like Harrington in the lake and dragged through a gate? He wracked his memory, still lying on the cool ground while he kept a careful ear out for any hints of approaching bats–or the other creatures Henderson had mentioned, the demogorgons, or dogs, or any of the other crazy shit he had thought only existed in tabletop games two weeks ago. The last thing he could remember–barely, the memory dark and fuzzy around the edges–was Henderson’s face hovering over his, tears running down over his nose to splatter on Eddie’s face. 

It was an odd memory. Eddie couldn’t place it, couldn’t link it to anything else. Why would Dustin have been crying? Why did he remember Dustin holding him up, trying to pull him to standing, and oh God, why did he remember a ripping pain through his side when Dustin pulled at his skin? What the fuck was that, that memory of agony splitting through his body as he choked on hot liquid pooling in his mouth? Eddie carefully, slowly, reached his fingers down to his torso and brushed them over his skin, searching out an answer for the question this blurry half-memory created. He found nothing. There were ragged holes in his shirt, sure, but the skin underneath it felt fine, almost hard to his touch. The strange memory must be some Vecna thing, one of those false creations Red–Max, he corrected himself–had tried to explain to him: his skin was fine, his body still whole under his probing hands. He was not choking, his body was not in pieces, he wasn’t being held by Dustin while he promised to look after the kids in Hawkins who were a little too much like the two of them, a little too weird to fly under the radar. Whatever had created that memory of splitting pain through his skin, the fear and pain were gone now. In fact, Eddie almost couldn’t believe how good he felt as he sat in the deserted road. To have woken up here in the Upside Down with no memory of how he got there he would have assumed something was wrong, but his body felt fine–hell, maybe even better than when he first crossed the gate in his ceiling, exhausted and starving from running for his life from Chrissy’s body, from the cops, from Jason and his friends, from bats and creatures he couldn’t even envision. He felt rested, his muscles light under his skin, and his mind was working faster than it seemed like it ever had before, even when he had tried that shit that Rick had promised would help him finally focus on one specific thing long enough to get to graduation. He had been surviving on nothing but the cheap beer and junk food Harrington had brought him for too long, and his body had felt close to giving up even before he had flipped, head over heels, into the Upside Down. 

On the thought of his previous days of starving, he did feel a slow sensation building in his core. A hunger was gnawing at his sides, but it was different, not like his normal hunger. Hunger was far from being a completely unknown feeling to Eddie Munson: he had felt hunger when he had still been living with his dad, just a kid who had gone too many days without a real meal; he had felt hunger when he smoked some of the weed he was supposed to be selling, a deep gnawing need for whatever comfort food he could get his hands on. This hunger was different: it was more of a slinking feeling, a physical need accompanied by an emotional sensation he couldn’t put words to. It reminded him of how he felt when he thought about Corroded Coffin breaking out of Hawkins, making a name for themselves with a rush and flush of skin; it reminded him of that sinking pit in his stomach that opened within him every time another test he hadn’t studied for ended up on the desk in front of him and he thought to himself that he should be able to turn in his D&D quests for his writing projects instead of these damn analysis essays; it reminded him of how longing for another person would slide it’s way into his heart late at night sometimes and soak through his frame, filling his head with images of someone wrapping their arms around his neck or brushing his hair smooth against his head. This ache in his stomach, this hunger, made his throat constrict too, made his nostrils flare as he acknowledged it. Mixtures of sadness, of desire, of longing, met with a need through his whole body and, suddenly, he was overwhelmed by the sharp, metallic stink of blood. Eddie suddenly remembered where he was. The smell of blood could be anything, could be a creeping monster coming nearer to finish him off after dragging him here in the first place. Nervous, he slowly, gingerly put his feet under himself and stood up. 

Eddie’s body felt different–he felt stronger, lighter on his feet. As he looked around himself in the cool, dark constant night of the Upside Down, he swallowed against the tightness in his throat. The smell of blood seemed to be coming from the slick stains on the ground around him. Patches of darkness spilled over the road, and some of it–closer to savaged remains of demobats–was darker, thicker. Eddie looked down at himself, noting the bright red smears over his clothes and drying along his arms. Hurriedly, he tried to wipe the gore from his slick palms, patting his jeans and ragged shirt but his hands only came away damper, more blood coming from his clothes. It must have been because he was laying in it, Eddie thought, trying to find a single part of him that would clean his hands. In his frantic search, an unbidden thought came to him: that play he had to read his second Senior year, where the wife (or was she a Queen? Whatever) had dreamed about blood on her hands. She had scrubbed her hands in water, yelling “Out, out damned spot!” He remembered because it was the first time he’d ever heard a teacher swear in class, and everyone had giggled. He felt like her now, madly cleaning his hands. “Out,” he hissed between his teeth, finally rubbing his hands on the inside of his jeans pockets. This seemed to work–his hands felt cleaner, at least. Whoever’s blood he was soaked in–his stomach curdled at the thought–had covered him so thoroughly he didn’t know if they would have lived. 

He took stock of the carnage around him, trying to put the pieces together to explain the sheer amount of blood under his feet. Fuck, he hoped it wasn’t from any of his friends. If it was Dustin– He couldn’t even finish the thought. He refused to lose that kid. Eddie looked around, searching for even the slightest hint of proof that someone else was still out there with him. When he couldn’t find it, he decided they must have taken whoever was injured–more injured than him, since he was just passed out–back to safety. They must be back at the trailer, he thought. He should get to the trailer. Stepping around the dark, fallen corpses of the bats on the ground, he made his way down the road, keeping to the shadows of the other trailers. He would make it back to the trailer and find his friends, he was sure of it, and then they would go back to Hawkins–the real Hawkins–and he could clear his name, tell the police he hadn’t even been around when Nancy’s friend got killed, and he and his uncle would buy a new trailer and be safe. He could graduate. He could finally leave Hawkins and move on with his life. He felt renewed, a sense of vigor coursing through his bloodstream as he snuck trailer to trailer up to his own. 

When he swung the door open, he half expected to see the lights on, his friends in a circle around his stained mattress on the floor, all cheering for him like the Hellfire club had when they finished his most recent campaign. His heart thudded against his chest painfully when he saw no one inside. The mattress was gone–he vaguely remembered moving it himself, trying to keep Henderson from following him as he went back to buy Steve, Nancy, and Robin safety for a little while longer. The half of the rope he remembered cutting was still on the floor, one of the old chairs he and his uncle ate dinner in replacing it in the middle of the room. But when he looked up at the ceiling, the undulating vines had been–boarded over? That wasn’t possible. Scraps of wood–wood that looked suspiciously like pieces of Eddie’s uncle’s furniture, his dining table and maybe the end table he kept his alarm clock on–had been thrown over the opening on the right side of Hawkins. His eyebrows furrowed, trying to understand how the chunks of loose furniture could be above him, knowing they would have to be nailed or screwed or supported against the ceiling in the real Hawkins. Eddie stood on the chair, placing his hands against the wood, and shoved. It barely shifted. His body groaned, the unusual tightness in his throat burning again, and he shoved again, bracing his feet more soundly in the chair. However this shit was stuck to the ceiling, it should come loose easy enough but it didn’t move. Whatever had been piled against the wood, likely propping each piece in place in some sort of complicated manner only Nancy Wheeler and Dustin Henderson could dream up, it was there firmly. 

Eddie climbed off the chair and looked around the room. If this blockage was in place, keeping anything from the Upside Down from getting back into his world, what did that mean for him? His stomach tightened into knots. Why would they leave him here? His friends were gone–that much was clear–but they had left him behind and, more than that, they had locked him out. How was he supposed to get back to them? Was he expected to get all the way back to the dry field of what was supposed to be Lover’s Lake and swim his way through a gate again? He had never been a strong swimmer, and he felt certain he wouldn’t make it through the watergate a second time without Robin pulling him along. And why were all of his friends gone? Did they–did they not want him to come back? Or…did they think he wouldn’t? Had they left him, passed out on the street, thinking he was dead? Oh God, oh fuck, if they thought he was dead they wouldn’t come back for him. They would go back to Hawkins and tell everyone he was dead; it would be just like when Nancy’s boyfriend’s kid brother had disappeared, the school making everyone going to an assembly to honor his life right before he had suddenly shown up again. His uncle Wayne’s face flashed in his mind, a memory from when Eddie was a little kid and had seen him sitting in the dark at the kitchen table, draining a beer, glimmering tear tracks running down his face and leaving giant, wet splotches along his work shirt. One of his friends, an old buddy, had died that night, had walked in front of a fucking train, but Eddie hadn’t known that then. He had stood in the doorframe between the hallway and the kitchen and watched his uncle sit at that table, lit only by the passing headlights that cut through the wide windows intermittently. Eddie had listened to him sob, had listened to muffled cries turn into heart wrenching choking sounds, and he had felt his own stomach curdle. It had been a relief when his uncle had finally put his head down on his arms, his sobs turning to gentle breathing as he fell asleep. Eddie never knew if his uncle had known that Eddie had watched him that night; he didn’t know if his uncle knew that every time Eddie really, really started to screw up he pulled back at the last second, thinking about his uncle making those sounds over him. 

And now that’s all Eddie could imagine. Somewhere, back in the Right Side of Hawkins, was his uncle sleeping on a kitchen table strewn with empty beer cans? Was he choking on his own sadness as it broke through his mouth, the way Eddie suddenly felt like he might? Or did Uncle Wayne think he was just missing, maybe on a bender with some of his friends like he had been before? The last time Eddie had disappeared for a week, Wayne had sat him down in the living room–the same room Eddie was in now, but it was warm and softly lit with lamps and tense with awkward silence–and told him that he was allowed to disappear for a while (“Hell,” uncle Wayne had said, “You’re practically grown now.”) but that he had to check in every three days. He hadn’t seen his uncle since Chrissy died–also in this same room, he remembered with a painful shudder forcing it’s way up his spine–but he had known that Wayne would understand that; would be waiting for him, but would let him do what he needed to keep the both of them safe. Was that what Eddie was doing now? Keeping himself and others safe by leaving those scraps of wood in place where Chrissy had died, keeping himself here? Eddie wasn’t sure. Part of him couldn’t make sense of it anyway–how could they board this up? How could they think he was dead when he was right here?

The memory of Dustin crying over him flashed through his head again. He, Eddie, had thought he was dying then. But surely he was wrong because look at him–he’s alive, right now. He held a hand up in front of his face, pinching the smooth pale skin below his rings. No, not dreaming. This was real, whatever it was. This had to be some weird sort of Upside Down thing; maybe you couldn’t die in the Upside Down. That had to be it, Eddie thought. He should have died but he didn’t, probably because he wasn’t from the Upside Down, he wasn’t like all of those other things out there, rattling in the dark as they searched for their next meal, so he couldn’t die here. An unwelcome thought occurred to him: maybe he had died but he had come back as a ghost. Sure, Eddie had assumed that ghosts wouldn’t be bothered by things like pieces of broken wood over a transdimensional crossing, but it’s not like he knew how that shit would work. He’d ask Henderson, if he could, but he imagined Dustin would roll his eyes and sigh, condescendingly explaining that ghosts aren't real (but, Eddie reasoned, none of this shit should be real. Didn’t stop it from being real, didn’t stop him from being here). Desperate to prove to himself that he really was alive, Eddie wrapped his fingers around his wrist, his grip so tight that the rational part of his mind told him to expect bruises. Nothing. He slid his hands around his cool skin, trying to find the dull beat that he could always feel tingling through his extremities when he had smoked a little too much, but there was nothing there. His hand came up to his chest, groping around over his thin t-shirt. Where the fuck was his heartbeat? He was alive, he knew he was alive, he could feel himself moving and breathing and thinking, he had to be alive. There–in his throat–he had found his pulse. Just barely, the softest, lightest thrum against his fingers. The beat was too slow, but it was there. 

He wasn’t sure why his heartbeat was so slow, why his blood felt thick and morose under his skin. He also wasn’t sure why he had been left behind. Shit, Eddie Munson was slowly coming to terms with the fact that there was a lot he didn’t–and never would–know. But, Eddie thought to himself, he had been left behind, and that’s what really mattered right now. He didn’t think of Dustin’s friends as his own–Harrington, Wheeler, and Buckley had all been nice enough but that didn’t mean he expected them to be a band of best friends after this. He had expected them to fight for him; it had been clear from the moment he lowered the broken bottle he had held against Steve’s throat that whatever this was, they were in it together. But they weren’t anymore, were they? Abandoned. Eddie had been abandoned by his temporary friends. Eddie the Banished, really and truly banished, left to rot alongside the vines and the demobats and Vecna. He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to do. Maybe he could find a way around this–he could go back to Wheeler’s house and touch the lights and tap out SOS on every damn surface in this town until someone put two and two together and brought him back. That would work, he thought, that had to work. A small voice rang out in the back of his head: what if they’re not at Wheeler’s house? What if they just think the wiring’s gone bad? What if they don’t want you back bad enough to risk opening the gate again? Eddie shook his head, dispelling the thoughts that threatened to take over, and sniffed, once. 

He looked around the dark, empty trailer. Eddie knew it wasn’t really safe to stay here too long–Vecna’s monsters would probably come back here, they could probably scent or sense or whatever they did, the fucking creeps, that he was there already. Dustin’s spear was leaning up against the wall, one of their homemade shields made of a garbage can lid and long nails still stuck to the ceiling. He stood on a chair, prying the shield loose from where he had stabbed it, and took Dustin’s spear in his other hand. It wasn’t much–probably not enough to keep him alive–but it would have to be enough to get him around town. He’d stick to the shadows, take back roads he was already too familiar with in case those fucking monsters preferred sidewalks or some shit, and he’d ruin the electrical grid of the whole damn town of Hawkins, Indiana if that’s what it took to get him home. He was going home, dammit, and not this home, a backwards, Upside Down version of his house. Eddie steeled his courage at the door of his trailer. Taking one last look over his shoulder, he regarded the space that was so similar to the one he had lived in for so long. His guitar was leaning up against the wall where he had discarded it before fighting the bats with Dustin, and there were die with too-many sides scattered over countertops. He couldn’t take it with him; he couldn’t take the memories, the longing for that part of his life again, either. When he swung the door open, stepping out into the darkness, the sky lit up overhead. The roiling flashes of red lighting cast a bloody glow over Eddie’s face as he stared up, blinking slowly. Shouldering his spear, makeshift shield in his other hand, he began the slow walk towards Wheeler’s house. 

Chapter two here!

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson imagine #my fic #feral fics #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson #steve x eddie #stranger thing s4 #eddie munson st4 #eddie munsen #Eddie Munson fanfic #vampire!eddie #vampire eddie munson

[serenityiskey]

A frown from the upside down.

A/N: ⚠️THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR S4 OF STRANGER THINGS!⚠️If you have not seen the season, please do not read for you will know what you’re not ready to know (I send my prayers for you). Anyhow, if you have seen it, hope you enjoy some free therapy!

Today was the day. The day where the teens of Hawkins finally set off to the Upside Down. The teens had gathered their skills, bravery, and their weapons and got together to discuss a battle plan. “Alright, now that we have everything settled, let’s go kill what’s terrorizing our town!” Nancy stood up and put her weapon on her shoulder before entering the portal to their destination. As everyone started to head into the portal, Eddie grew very nervous and very afraid. Normally when he was like this, his immediate action was to run away. Seeing as this thing murdered his friend right in front of him, he didn’t have an option to run away or else it would be dishonoring to her.

“Ed, you comin’?” Dustin asked as he had his flashlight on his head. Eddie looked at his hands and he sighed as he slowly stood up with his trash can lid and his makeshift sword. “I-I guess, Henderson, I’m just…scared. What if we don’t make it out of here alive?” He fidgeted with the rings on his fingers and Dustin rested a hand on Eddie’s shoulder “hey, think about this, the sooner we do this the sooner your name gets cleared.” Eddie nodded as he thought about the current situation he was in, and to be honest this was better than being on the run for something he didn’t do. “Alright, let’s do this” he took a deep breath and he followed Dustin into the portal.

The upside down was very similar to the real world, only thing different about it was that it was dark, creepy, and had monsters everywhere. Monsters that gave the strongest man nightmares because of how horrid they looked. Once everyone made it through the portal, they immediately went about trying to find their enemy. As they ventured about, Eddie noticed these bat like creatures flying about the skies and he immediately held his weapons at his defense in fear. The demobats noticed this and immediately started swooping around Eddie and Eddie started to do all he could to keep them away by swinging his spear and thrusting his nail studded shield. One turned into two and then two into five. Eddie widened his eyes as they forced him on the ground and restrained his arms and his legs. “Shitshitshitshit!” He cursed and widened his eyes as he tried to struggle and tears filled his eyes as he saw two bats land beside his torso. Closing his eyes to accept what he thought was his fate, pain never did come to Eddie only…..tickling?!

“WHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAIT!! NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHEEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!” He cried out through his laughter as the bats began to nibble along his belly sides and their tails wiggled frantically at his ribs. “HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHENDERSON! HEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHELP!” He begged as his eyes drained tears of mirth and struggled as their tails pressed against his ribs. Dustin immediately ran over to Eddie thinking he was injured and he couldn’t help but giggle at the sight “looks like you’ve got into a BAT-TTLE of your own, Eddie”. “Duhuhuhuhuhuhuhustin plehehehehehehehEAHEHEHEASE! NO NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHERE!” Eddie cackled as the bats nibbled at his hips and he tried to kick at them but was unsuccessful thanks to their restraints.

“Oh come on, Ed, they’re harmless. It could do you some good to laugh a little” Dustin chuckled as he leaned against the trailer and crossed his arms. “FUHUHUHUHUHUHUCK YOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOU!” Eddie cackled and his laughter went silent before turning into hiccups. “Alright, alright, fun’s over guys” Dustin shooed the bats off and Eddie lied still as a puddle of giggles. “Y-Yohohohou’ll pahahahahahay for thihihihihis, hehehehenderson” Eddie panted and giggled before Dustin helped him up “yeah yeah, I know but you’re alright and that’s what matters”. Eddie just nudged Dustin’s shoulder playfully and the two went on about their quest before finally heading home.

#stranger things tickle #tickle fic #tickle #sfw tickle fic #lee!eddie

[heckingclown]

Updated group shot!

#tagging all these guys is gonna take me out #arlecchino #pierro #alice #minim #luna #redlia #pomelo #buckles #dark skies henderson #tadhg #oisin #death metal cakepop #they’re all there some of them just decided to mess up my photoshoot by hiding #circus #clown husbandry #clownblr #clowncore #clownery #clown care #the babies

[little-annie]

Eddie wished he could enjoy the things he used to.

The Sunsets and the deep pinks and reds that rolled through the air as the land slowly wakes.

The Thunderstorms and the electric lights darting through the sky, bright and blinding as his hair stands on end and his body rings with electricity.

The first snowfall and every one after that, the slow flow of white flakes through the air, chilly and biting, but beautiful all the same.

But things can never be that easy, after the Upside Down, Sunsets and Thunderstorms and Snowfall all remind Eddie of the time he almost died. The time where his insides were next to him on the ground, blood soaked and staining into the soil of literal Hell. Flesh torn from muscle and bone, aching around every molecule of his being, red flashing light fading into a nothing sort of darkness, Dustin's screams muting to that of silence.

Because now, Sunsets and the beautiful red they once were now reflect the hellscape he nearly died in. The blood, the viscera, the calm that never came.

Because now, Thunderstorms send an electric shock through his body as the light flashes in the sky. Bright and blinding in ways he never wished he'd seen. Death lingering as a reminder of the electricity that ran through his bones as he laid ying.

Because now, Snowfall is the ery rendition of ash floating through crimson skies. Thick and falling, burning into flesh at every touch. Ashes of worlds lost and those taken too early.

Bangs and crashes and the very music that he once loved is a reminder of the place that haunts him in his dreams. A reminder of the light fading from his eyes, a reminder of the screams piercing his ears.

He can't look at Dustin Henderson without a wave of guilt washing over him and then suddenly the flashes of a face hanging tear streaked above his own, screaming his name like he'd never return.

And he nearly didn't. The scars on his body are a reminder enough. Corse and pink and webbed. Sore to the touch. Flesh torn of life and limb. Haunting reminders of the fate he nearly faded into. Every glance in the mirror is an ugly thing, piercing in its own way like the claws that tore his skin from bone.

He never did like himself or found himself to be anything of beauty but with the thatches of red across his body, his personal distaste has increased tenfold. The things he truly loved about himself, gone. The ink that laid pressed into his skin, torn from its canvas in such a visceral way, serving only as a painful memory.

Every moment of every day was difficult, he avoided his reflection like it could truly eat him alive, not bearing to be able to look at himself for fear that it'd be yet another reminder. A reminder of everything he's lost, including his sanity.

So often now does he feel as if he's gone crazy, flinching and jumping at the tick of a clock, or unfortunately the tril of a guitar similar to that which he played in the Upside Down. And that's in the good days. On the bad, he finds himself on the floor, arms wrapped around his knees as he shudders and shakes out his remaining tears. It all seems to flood back at once, the flashes of lights, the phantom feeling of tearing skin, the piercing whales of his loved ones screams. So aggressively does it come gnawing at the most inopportune times.

In the grocery store, while he's on the phone with a friend, in the middle of Steve Harrington's kitchen. No where's safe.

Especially his mind.

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington #post vecna #eddie munson post vecna #eddie munson headcanons

[thehiveroleplay]

STRANGER THINGS GROUP RP 🍂

THE HIVE ┊ ┊ ┊. ➶ ˚

18+ APOCALYPTIC STRANGER THINGS ROLEPLAY SERVER

From the ground splitting open beneath your very shoes to once blue skies forming dark clouds and horrifying red lightning to supernatural mind-linked monsters seeping out from the newly formed cracks across Hawkins, destroying everything in its path and leaving nothing but havoc and wreckage in its wake to encountering yourself from a parallel dimension; this story offers a poisonous dose of angst, dark, mature themes, horrors and more! Does this pique your interest? Read below!

Set in 1986, shortly after the unfortunate events of Season 4 where the main antagonist Vecna was successful in creating a split between dimensions, the other universe corrupting our own. The Flayed have returned alongside the unexpected company in the form of new creatures and formerly dead characters and it’s up to The Party and what’s left of the living who may be humanity’s last hope to be able to put a stop to this catastrophe before our universe ends up like the one before it. Our protagonists will be forced to endure brutal circumstances in this post-apocalyptic setting. WHAT OUR SERVER CAN OFFER YOU, - LITERATE / MATURE ROLEPLAY ENVIRONMENT, - RICH SERVER LORE, MONSTER ENCOUNTERS, AND EVENTS, - ALL CHARACTERS ARE WELCOME, NO ANTIS - LIST OF CANON CHARACTERS FROM TWO UNIVERSES, - ORIGINAL CHARACTERS WELCOME, - ORGANIZED DISCORD SERVER, TUPPERBOT - LGBTQ+ FRIENDLY MEMBERS AND STAFF, - CHILL PLACE TO WRITE AND MEET FELLOW WRITERS, - ANGST, REUNIONS, AND SO MUCH MORE!

We are mainly looking for 'Main Universe' characters, especially Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, Jane Hopper (Eleven), Lucas Sinclair, Erica Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Robin Buckley, Jonathan Byers, Murray Bauman, and other canon characters!

You can check the live roster here.

If this is something that interests you, then give us a visit today! DISCORD SERVER: https://discord.gg/AXPEXwWH8Y Characters can be applied for after you've completed the verification process and read the docs containing the server's background/lore.

#stranger things roleplay #st rp #stranger things rp #stranger things #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #erica sinclair #eleven #jane hopper #joyce byers #jim hopper #jonathan byers #robin buckley #murray bauman #mike wheeler

[darkdoverpseeker]

STRANGER THINGS GROUP RP

THE HIVE

18+ APOCALYPTIC STRANGER THINGS ROLEPLAY SERVER

From the ground splitting open beneath your very shoes to once blue skies forming dark clouds and horrifying red lightning to supernatural mind-linked monsters seeping out from the newly formed cracks across Hawkins, destroying everything in its path and leaving nothing but havoc and wreckage in its wake to encountering yourself from a parallel dimension; this story offers a poisonous dose of angst, dark, mature themes, horrors and more!

Set in 1986, shortly after the unfortunate events of Season 4 where the main antagonist Vecna was successful in creating a split between dimensions, the other universe corrupting our own. The Flayed have returned alongside monsters and formerly dead characters. It’s up to The Party and what’s left of the living who may be humanity’s last hope to be able to put a stop to this catastrophe before our universe ends up like the one before it. Our protagonists will be forced to endure brutal circumstances in this post-apocalyptic setting.

WHAT OUR SERVER CAN OFFER YOU,

LITERATE / MATURE ROLEPLAY ENVIRONMENT,

RICH SERVER LORE, MONSTER ENCOUNTERS, AND EVENTS,

ALL CHARACTERS ARE WELCOME, NO ANTIS

LIST OF CANON CHARACTERS FROM TWO UNIVERSES,

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS WELCOME,

ORGANIZED DISCORD SERVER, TUPPERBOT

LGBTQ+ FRIENDLY MEMBERS AND STAFF,

CHILL PLACE TO WRITE AND MEET FELLOW WRITERS,

ANGST, REUNIONS, AND SO MUCH MORE!

We are mostly looking for Main Universe characters right now, especially characters such as Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, and Robin Buckley.

If this is something that interests you, then like this post, or join us through this Discord link! Characters can be applied for after you've completed the verification process and read the docs containing the server's background/lore.

https://discord.gg/AXPEXwWH8Y

.

#group rp #server rp #discord rp #stranger things rp #stranger things roleplay #18+ #literate rp #rp #roleplay

[findroleplay]

STRANGER THINGS GROUP RP

THE HIVE

18+ APOCALYPTIC STRANGER THINGS ROLEPLAY SERVER

From the ground splitting open beneath your very shoes to once blue skies forming dark clouds and horrifying red lightning to supernatural mind-linked monsters seeping out from the newly formed cracks across Hawkins, destroying everything in its path and leaving nothing but havoc and wreckage in its wake to encountering yourself from a parallel dimension; this story offers a poisonous dose of angst, dark, mature themes, horrors and more!

Set in 1986, shortly after the unfortunate events of Season 4 where the main antagonist Vecna was successful in creating a split between dimensions, the other universe corrupting our own. The Flayed have returned alongside monsters and formerly dead characters. It’s up to The Party and what’s left of the living who may be humanity’s last hope to be able to put a stop to this catastrophe before our universe ends up like the one before it. Our protagonists will be forced to endure brutal circumstances in this post-apocalyptic setting.

WHAT OUR SERVER CAN OFFER YOU,

LITERATE / MATURE ROLEPLAY ENVIRONMENT,

RICH SERVER LORE, MONSTER ENCOUNTERS, AND EVENTS,

ALL CHARACTERS ARE WELCOME, NO ANTIS

LIST OF CANON CHARACTERS FROM TWO UNIVERSES,

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS WELCOME,

ORGANIZED DISCORD SERVER, TUPPERBOT

LGBTQ+ FRIENDLY MEMBERS AND STAFF,

CHILL PLACE TO WRITE AND MEET FELLOW WRITERS,

ANGST, REUNIONS, AND SO MUCH MORE!

We are mostly looking for Main Universe characters right now, especially characters such as Jim Hopper, Joyce Byers, Mike Wheeler, Will Byers, Lucas Sinclair, Dustin Henderson, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, and Robin Buckley.

If this is something that interests you, then like this post, or join us through this Discord link! Characters can be applied for after you've completed the verification process and read the docs containing the server's background/lore.

https://discord.gg/AXPEXwWH8Y

_

#roleplay #rp #stranger things rp #discord rp server

[bllsbailey]

'Blood Tribe' Neo-Nazi Group Marches Through Nashville, Leader Expresses Support For Biden And Ukraine

As they marched through Nashville, Tennessee, a group of White supremacists, whose group goes by the name “Blood Tribe,” wore black balaclavas, masks that hide one’s face like ski masks, and red shirts with Swastika flags on them.

🚨#UPDATE: Additional footage from the Neo-Nazi group Blood Tribe shows them squatting inside a U-Haul truck before marking their presence in downtown Nashville Tennessee pic.twitter.com/kMlSRawEew— R A W S A L E R T S (@rawsalerts) February 17, 2024

On Sunday, the group were approached by one man in an incident that has since gone viral online, according to media sources.

“Show yourself—what are you ashamed of?” the man reportedly yelled to the neo-Nazis.

Blood Tribe members reportedly venerate Adolf Hitler as a divinity and adhere to White supremacist beliefs, according to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL). Additionally, female participation is prohibited in the movement, which opposes “white supremacists who call for softer ‘optics.'”

According to the ADL, the Blood Tribe views itself as “the only path to a White ethnostate.”

Nazism and antisemitism should never be tolerated in any form. As Jewish people around the world continue to face persecution, Tennessee remains unwavering in our support for the nation of Israel and her people.— Gov. Bill Lee (@GovBillLee) February 18, 2024

The protesters may have been from out of town since there were no reported arrests and the group left in a U-Haul truck that eventually drove out of the Nashville area, according to police and witnesses who allegedly followed them.

The neo-Nazis can be heard chanting “deportation” in several videos that have been made public.

During the march, the man approached the neo-Nazis and asked, “Best you got? Present your f***ing faces to me. What happened to your face?”

“Get out. Your people poop in the street,” a Blood Tribe member said to the man in response.

The man then said, “You don’t know my people,” in response to the remarks made by the neo-Nazis. While shouting “f***ing cowards,” the man continued to follow the march.

Meanwhile, Democrat Tennessee Representative Aftyn Behn said that her “office is closely monitoring the Nazi rally downtown.”

“These groups, once relegated to the dark corners, now feel empowered to spew their noxious ideology out in the open due to our state’s leadership REFUSING to condemn their speech and actions,” Behn said on X (Twitter).

— Rep. Aftyn Behn (@AftynBehn) February 17, 2024

The vice mayor of Nashville and Davidson county, Angie Emery Henderson, also chimed in on the news of the White supremacist march.

“I even have to say this. NAZIS are NOT WELCOME in NASHVILLE. In America everyone is free to demonstrate & to say what they want, so: SHAME ON YOU ALL! Get your hateful, dangerous, fascist, nazi [sic] nonsense off our streets & off our beautiful Public Square.”

The leader of the Blood Tribe group, Christopher Pohlhaus, a former U.S. Marine, was also caught on video expressing his support of President Joe Biden due to his approval of funding the war in Ukraine. The footage was allegedly caught in Florida while members were speaking with a reporter.

“My vote is useless. I think Biden’s better than Trump ’cause he sends rockets to Ukraine,” he said in the video. “Heil Ukraine!”

Christopher Pohlhaus, a former Marine and leader of the”Blood Tribe” has been quoted saying “Biden is better than Trump” & “Heil Ukraine”…..🚩🚩🚩 https://t.co/s6FljQUxLo— MaryAnn_Warrior (@MaryAnn_Warrior) February 18, 2024

— Collin Rugg (@CollinRugg) February 17, 2024

Stay informed! Receive breaking news blasts directly to your inbox for free. Subscribe here. https://www.oann.com/alerts

[wqbytop150]

WQBY (the world of Q)

Top 150 for the week ending February 4, 2024

You're Hired--NEIKED, Ayra Starr -4

Heart Still Beating--Nathan Dawe, Bebe Rexha -2

Never Be Friends --Jost, Mingue -1

Anyone ---Morgan Page --7

Graveyard--A R I Z O N A -26

One On One --The Knocks, Sofi Tukker -5

It's Love (If We Get It Right)--Anthony Russo -3

Jet Plane ---R3HAB, VIZE, JP Cooper -15

Close Your Eyes--Lucas Estrada, Tribbs, Stephen Puth -20

Dark Skies--A R I Z O N A -14

Other Boys --Marshmello, Dove Cameron -16

Both--Tiesto, 21 Savage, BIA -12

Feels Like Us --GT_OFICE, ALWZ SNNY, Robbie Rosen -6

***Spicy Margarita --Jason Derulo, Michael Bublé -(new)

Diamond Therapy --Diplo, Walker & Royce, Channel Tres -13

Dirty Desire --Vicetone -23

I Don't Wanna Worry--NEEDTOBREATHE -21

All Fcked Up --Kapuzen -9

She's On My Mind --Romy -8

Weak ---Vintage Culture, Maverick Sabre, Tom Breu -19

Bad Blood --Theresa Rex -18

You---Svidden, Seeb -17

More Baby --Chris Lake, Aluna -32

Kill Anyone --Two Feet, Ari Abdul -11

Spend The Night --BJ the Chicago Kid, Coco Jones -29

I'll Be There --Robin Schulz, Rita Ora, Tiago PZK -31

Good Morning --Timmy Trumpet, Alie Farben YOU -39

***Reckless Child---Milky Chance -(new)

U Miss Me--Vicetone -22

***Yes, and? --Ariana Grande -(new)

Good In Goodbye--Frank Walker, Trivecta -10

Lift Off --Dombresky -28

Flex--Tony Dark Eyes -25

Next Years Light --Elliot Moss -24

Go Off ---Mike Candys -33

Easy ---3LAU, XIRA -35

Strangers--Kenya Grace -40

Jaguar --Yaeger -34

Dizzy ---Sick Individuals, LOUI LANE -30

Lullaby--Britti -38

See You Again --Vicetone, Anna Clendenning -44

Cutting Loose--Disco Lines, J. Worra, Anabel Englund -41

No Reason---The Chemical Brothers (Chris Lake remix) -45

Rhythm Machine --Westend, Max Styler -27

***Triumph--Bishop Briggs -(new)

Sorry Now--A R I Z O N A -47

AEIOU--PNAU, Empire of the Sun -46

Stress You--Lucas Estrada, SUPER Hi -55

Nevada--Vicetone, Cuzi Zeuhisdorff -49

Hangin' On -- A R I Z O N A -88

Oh LALA--Idris Elba, Sasha GiGi -56

Sorry Ain't Enough--Michael Gerow -80

Lie To Me --Jubel, KIDDO -83

ADHD--Mae Stephens -53

I Got Time--Brittney Spencer -64

Mas Que Nada--Oliver Heldens, Ian Asher, Sergio Mendez -65

Dance Is The Answer--Dubdogs, RUBACK, Ticon f/Raja Ram -84

Do You Feel It---VAMERO, Cyril M. Mougleta -87

***No Man's Land--Marshmello, Venbee -(new)

Waking Up --Felix Jaehn, Leony -82

***Forever (Stay Like This) --Armin Van Buuren -(new)

Wanna -Paul Dally -106

One Last Dance--Imanbek, Ali Gatie -96

Living In A Haze--Milky Chance -78

Save My Love--Destiny Rogers -37

Wanna Dance--Alie Farben, James Carter, VARGEN -103

How Do I Say Goodbye--Adventure Club, Delaney Jane -129

Dreaming--Marshmello, Pink, Sting -68

Run Free (Countdown)--Tiesto, R3HAB -42

Mirrors--Caravan Palace -36

Body Moving--Eliza Rose, Calvin Harris -43

Get Dirty--Return Of the Jaded, Tommie Sunshine -109

The Tower---Future Island -70

Fire --Alan Walker, YUQI, JVKE, (G)I-DLE -113

Heat Rising --Pete Tong, Jem Cooke, Jules Buckley -115

Tension--Kylie Minogue -73

I Don't Remember--Walker & Royce, VNSSA -95

Missing You --Frank Walker, Nate Smith -94

Biggest Regret---Gorgon City, Bbyafricla -86

***Waterslides --Tiesto, Rudimental, Absolutely -(new)

One By One--Robin Schulz, Topic, Oaks -91

***Deep In Your Love --Alok, Bebe Rexha -(new)

J Christ --Lil Nas -131

Face to Face --Kenzie -99

Dreamteam--Galantis, Neon Trees -48

Run --ATB, Nu Aspect, Orem -50

<> Sweet Venom--ENHYPEN -(re-entry) [last on 12.17.23 @# 59]

Boyfriend--USHER -118

Fall Again--HAYLA -(re-entry) [last on 12.18.23 @##100]

Stop the Time--Zombic -51

Rebel--TVXQ -52

Yard Sale --Alex Warren -54

Pull You Closer--Sistek, Sadie Rose Van -57

Drums--James Hype, Kim Petras -58

Years--Just_Us -59

Who I Am --Alan Walker, Putri Ariani, Peder Elias -60

No Strings--X Ambassadors -92

Untouchable--ITZY

Me--Steve Angello -93

Alibi --Ela Henderson, Rudimental -141

***Can't Get Enough--Jennifer Lopez -(new)

***Everyone Knows I'm High --SHAED -(new)

What Are We Waiting For-- for King & Country -85

***Lonely Nights --Papa Beats, J.O.Y. -(new)

***One Night/All Night --Justice, Tame Impala _(new)

Killing Me --Conan Gray -61

Still Got It Bad --Martin Jensen, MATTN -62

Summertime Friends --The Chainsmokers -66

Jungle--Alok, The Chainsmokers, Mae Stephens -67

Saving Up --Dom Dolla -68

Hungry Heart --Declan J. Donavan -69

The Greatest Thing Alive--Mark Knight, Green Velvet, James Hurr -71

Lil Boo Thing--Paul Russell (Galantis remix) -72

Proud --Victoria Nadine -74

Rusty ---Layto -75

I Can't Be the Only One --SIRA, YouNotUs -76

You Can Have It --Kungs, Victor Flash -77

Stay The Night---Just Kiddin, Camden Cox -79

All My Life--Tiesto, FAST BOY -89

Maybe In the Summer --Folinix, Chris Ruo, Geoff Duncan -90

Running In a Dream--Nils Hoffmann, Kasbo, Vancouver Sleep Clinic -97

Half Of Forever --Henrik -98

Holding Pattern --Nihil Young, Artiflex Mundi, Adam Nazar -100

***Murder On the Dancefloor --Sophie Elis-Baxtor -(new)

***Lead Me On--Fletcher -(new)

***Free Falling --James Arthur -(new)

(Trust Me Now) I'm Fine --Rozes -125

Give It To Me ---Lucky Luke -132

***Burnin' --Rinzen, Shallou - (new)

***When I Wake Up --Lucas & Steve -(new)

***Maktub--Gary Clark Jr. -(new)

Lighthouse --Calum Scott -136

***The Thief--Future Islands -(new)

***Beats for the Underground --Mau P -(new)

***Alive --K-391 -(new)

***Pick Me --Alec Benjamin -(new)

***When We Die (Can We Still Get High) --YungBlud, Lil Yachty -(new)

Us --Steve Aoki, ERNEST -102

Hungover --John Summit, Mathame, Camden Cox -149

Disco En Egypte --Bon Entendor -(re-entry)

Young & Foolish --Loud Luxury, Charlieonafriday -126

Overdrive --Ofenbach, Norma Jean Martine -138

Falling Behind --Sultan + Shepard -150

Daydream --Will Swinton -107

***Heart Pure --Grigore -(new)

Coulda Been Love --Randall King -128

***What Do You Do For A Living (I Do My Best) --Iamnotshame, EMME -(new)

Head Down --Lost Frequencies, Bastille -101

Superhero --AUDIEN -122

Losing You --Gabry Pointe, Bbhp, Joe Cleere -104

#alwayshappymusic

[lailoken]

“Rooted in the animism of the pre-Christian Scots, fairy belief was perhaps most truly folkoric of all popular belief systems by virtue of the fact it had never been dispensed from the pulpit or systernatized in texts, but had survived into the seventeenth century through purely oral transmission, handed down from generation to generation at the hearth and in the workplace. It is difficult to gauge the nature and intensity of early modern fairy belief because, with the exception of one slim volume written by Aberfoyle minister Robert Kirk in 1691, and scatcered references in witch records and antiquarian writings, they went largely unrecorded; remaining hidden, to quote Larner's memorable phrase, in the 'secret, uncharted areas of peasant exchange' for a further 200 years before being uncovered and celebrated by nineteenth-century folklorists. But nevertheless, contemporary research is increasingly emphasizing the fact that fairy belief was strong and widespread in the period, with Cowan and Henderson (Scottish Fairy Belief) recently stating categorically that 'What we can prove is that many Scots people, who lived mainly in the period from c. 1450 to c. 1750, had no doubt that fairies actually existed... They were a part of everyday life, as real to people as the sunrise, and as incontrovertible as the existence of God." Isobel's confessions, as we shall see, make it abundantly clear that fairy belief was chriving in seventeenth-century Auldearn.

In early modern Scotland the term 'fairy' seems to have covered a wide range of spirits and supernatural beings who were condemned, or whose existence was disputed, by the church. And among the most controversial of these were 'spirits of the dead'. Although the reformed church taught that the dead were not able re-appear to the living after death, people often claimed that they had seen deceased friends and relatives among the fairies or, less commonly, that a deceased friend or relative was a fairy. Both fairies and the spirits of the dead who consorted with them resembled saints in the sense that they were believed to possess supernatural powers and could be petitioned for a variety of benefits, but they differed from their holier counterparts in that they displayed more moral ambivalence and enjoyed a more ambiguous relationship with Christianity. This dissonance was further reflected in the fact that these categories of spirit did not live in heaven, but in fairyland or 'elphame', where they adopted a strange, simulacrum of human life: feasting under fairy hills, hunting with horses and packs of hounds, and following the fairy king and queen on their nocturnal processions through houses and across the night skies.”

—

The Visions of Isobel Gowdie:

Magic, Witchcraft and Dark Shamanism in Seventeenth-Century Scotland

‘Devotion to Spirits: Saints and Fairies’

by Emma Wilby

#the visions of isobel gowdie #Emma wilby #isobel gowdie #witchcraft #traditional withcraft #Scottish witchcraft #Scottish lore #Gloaming Folk #fairies #faeries #fae #faerie faith

[delcat177]

Calling in a favor

A friend, a cool artist and game developer based in Toronto, is putting together a MEGA RAD semi-annual horror anthology! Check the flash:

Cover art by Trevor Henderson

Rejoice with us, beings of meat!

OUR PRE-ORDERS ARE NOW OPEN.

PARADOX GHOST PRESS PRESENTS THE FIRST ISSUE OF BLEED ERROR, a deeply unsettling collection of short stories, flash fiction, and poetry about the bleed error of the universe printing outside the margins of reality. With cover art by Trevor Henderson and housing some of the most profound love letters to the uncanny, this glossy-covered, semi-annual collection is something you should let yourself be gently cursed by. You won’t regret it, we’re fairly sure.

PREORDER NOW!

We cannot stress how important pre-orders are to us as a small company that refuses to publish via major POD websites. This is our first issue, which also means we need a projected number of copies to print. Please don’t let us fall into the fathomless abyss of failure where our bones will be gnawed to dust by foes unseen. Please, please support us by purchasing early, and you avail a special discount! It would mean the world (and other shrouded, sinister worlds) to us.

And yes, we are still soliciting flesh – er, submissions! You can read more on the guidelines HERE.

SUBMISSIONS CLOSE MARCH 1st, 2022.

Source is the pre-order and submission page. Does your work fit any of the following?

We’re looking for short stories, flash fiction, and poetry that runs the gamut of everything from absurdist horror to bizarre science-fiction to unsettling dark fantasy. We love the uncanny; what we look for is the telling drop in your stomach when you absently look up at the skies and there are far more constellations than you’d remembered, brighter and closer and in configurations you don’t quite recall. We want stories about the bleed error of the universe printing outside the margins of reality. We are interested in stories with LGBTQ2S+ and diverse leads, especially with narratives that are not confined to tragedy tropes.

I know it does, because I know you (I’ve read your creepypasta, too)--if you’re a talent, and you don’t have a place for it to call home, why not consider getting in on the ground floor of something amazing? There’s almost a month left before submissions are closed, you can consider it a challenge!

Why is this calling in a favor? Why, I’m glad you asked!

It so happens this producer is one of my own, dare I say our own--a bona fide and quality-controlled member of the Don’t Starve fandom. Now, I know I am speaking from personal bias when I say that the DS fanbase is an overwhelmingly warm and talented community, but I as sure do not speak from personal bias when saying that as a whole, we god damn adore some quality uncanny horror. We are given to gas lights and goblins, be they in the literal, figurative, or far-flung future alternate universe form, and we want to see them thrive.

That’s why I am asking you, here, today, to open up your hearts (and if applicable, your wallets) and show a little consideration for the one of us that could be any, and rises to this honorable goal with heart in hands, breathless with anticipation and clutched viciously by the shadows of anxiety as numbers are crunched and dreams are made. I believe us to be capable of not just propping enough pre-orders to sell, but in making Bleed Error something we will be proud to have even the slightest hand in. I believe us to be the artists, the writers, the magic bean buyers who can propel something great to greatness. We can set that on its trajectory, and we can do it one reblog at a time.

And, anyway, you know...some of you guys like me too, and I’m not in it or anything, but...Zampano was good to me during what you know have been some difficult months, and that kind of character is, I think, worth rewarding.

IT COULD BE THE NEXT CEMETERY DANCE COME ON Y’ALL

This is an unsolicited advertisement, or unvertisement. It is done without solitication (or knowledge) of the creator. I just wanna see this cool as hell project get off the ground. Thank you!

#don't starve #don't starve together #horror #glitch horror #short fiction #flash fiction #horror fiction #trevor henderson #unvertisement #reblogs welcome #every click counts #indie #pretty please? #del starves #also check out the games #i'm genuinely like not in it #i couldn't plug myself that hard lol