#'maybe youll get it this time'

[bunnieswithknives]

How much can you fit under your skin?

For @warning-heckboop's AU :3

[tooquirkytolose]

Serve cunt with your fits. Wear the ridiculously over the top garment/accessory, put your whole fucking cock into it!!!!! Yes to the platform boots!! Yes to the ruffles and the glitter and lace!! To the leather and spikes and chains!!!! PUT YOUR WHOLE PUSSY INTO THE LOOK AND WORK BITCH!!!

don't wait for a special occasion, wear it to the grocery store who give a shit, this dress doesn't care if you're wearing it to a black tie event or a picnic in the park you will die one day and your body will rot and deteriorate so wear the dress while you still have a body it can go on!!! Unleash the cunt now

[pricetagged]

raft of the leucothea

A little Kyle piece for the Gaz lovers 💖 to tide you over while I work on the Nikolai and the Price stuff.

Shipwrecked. Washed ashore, injured and sick, and thankfully not alone. A man called Kyle Garrick has washed ashore with you.

No big warnings, just some ever-so-slight dubcon naked cuddling (for survival!).

----------

The harsh, salty spray stung your cracked cheeks. Like clay left to bake in the sun, you felt the cracking and peeling of stinging flesh. But you felt it, that was the important thing. 

Sunshine seared through your eyelids, a high noon wake-up call. Glowing ember-red, turning the sands to hot coal beneath you. You only had a second to process it before you rolled over, cramping muscles seizing in a paroxysm of a crawl as you hacked and coughed briny, burning seawater.

Alive then. 

You were scared to open your eyes. You could pretend that they were crusted shut, sand and grit and god only knows what flaking over. Irritating, painful. A conjunctivitis of caustic circumstance. If you opened your eyes, it was real.

No, it was better as you were. A temporary balm to a blistering scald. Eyes-wide-shut, blind to the horrible damp marl and putrid air burning through your smarting nostrils. Sea life and smoke; pungent enough to turn your stomach once more.

You moaned as you collapsed on the shore, skin-fever hot and itching. Grit and shell-shards dug in, piercing your sensitive flesh. Clinging, burrowing. Discomfiting. Like the discordant memories swimming to the surface, all driftwood and screams and kicking, aching feet.  

There was no more screaming.

The waves lapped at the shore, a gentle balmy breeze carrying the soft sloshing of surf. Hazy popping and crackling accompanied it, a paradisiac white noise that scrambled your sluggish thoughts. Your eyes fluttered open. Temporarily blind from solar glare, you blinked moisture back. Tried to, at least. You were parched, eyes-dry and throat drier. 

Perhaps you expected to see devastation. Destruction. Flotsam and jetsam and bodies strewn along the beach. There was a fire, yes, but it was not from the casket of the ship. Debris visible, but neat. Collected and organized into tidy little piles by a great smoking fire. Through the heat-haze of the flames, you spotted a flash of green: fresh leaves. Gaseous white billowed up; perfect for maximum visibility. 

"Ah, you're awake." A shadow fell over you, gentle hands supporting your back until you were somewhat upright. "Here, you'll need this."

You grimaced as your cracked lips crinkled around the fruit, harsh little fibres stabbing in. But the relief–

Light, nutty, refreshing. You guzzled it down, big greedy slurps as your hands raised to cup it closer, throat constricting as you lost your breath–

"Hey, hey, slow down," the stranger spoke, easily plucking the coconut from your shaky fingers. "You'll make yourself sick. Again."

"Thanks." You could at least croak out your gratitude, squinting to get a better look at him. "The others–?"

He was gorgeous, dark eyes and eyebrows slanted into the perfect expression of concern. He looked surprisingly normal, given the circumstances. Only a slight split on his full lips, a smear of sand crusted into his curls, marred his handsome face. You watched as his mouth twisted, as he rolled his neck glanced away. A grimace, more telling than words. 

"Just you, me, the sand and the coconuts. Paradise cruise, eh?" He finally spoke, nose scrunching as the joke came out a little flat. 

It wasn't a shock, but it was jarring all the same. Though you swallowed, your voice came out thick. "At least you're here. Wouldn't have gotten this open by myself."

It was feeble, words half swallowed as survivor's guilt and gallows humour met and warred. A dysfunctional marriage of relief and self-reproach curdled the coconut water in your stomach. A third player entered; unease. Anxiety, sending your heart rate spiralling high as your breaths grew shallow. Something stung your eyes, and you couldn't entirely blame the smoking fire–

"Hey, hey, look at me," You couldn't look away, not from his steady, unwavering gaze. Beautiful. Like sunlight filtered through whiskey, warm and soothing. "Breathe as I breathe– in, out, in– hold it– okay, out. That's right, that's perfect–"

He talked you through it, brought your trembling, clumsy fingers to his chest as he breathed in counts of eight. Kept his palm over your hand, cupped it against the rise and fall of his ribs. You could feel the firmness of his muscles beneath, feel the way his heart beat a steady rhythm just below your fingertips, and slowly, you relaxed into it. 

Your cheeks were wet. You realised that around the same time you realised his other hand was rubbing ataractic circles on your back. A shameful emollient, setting you at ease but lowering your gaze. Here, in the arms of this stranger, who were you? Troublesome castaway, retching on the beach as he built a signal fire. Slurping down the fruit that he offered, then crying in his arms–

"Stop that," His hand paused between your should blades, chin tucked as he leaned down to catch your gaze. "You're doing so well, love. Bit of a fucked up situation we're in here."

"How are you so calm? How are you so organised? I feel like I'm going to drift away like–like–"

The hand at your back pushed you forward, pressing until you were draped across his lap. He rocked you, stubble against your temples as he shushed and soothed. Analgesic whispers that slackened your tight limbs, sent eyelids fluttering until you slipped into slumber. Mind numb, docked in restful harbours. 

-----------------

When you woke up, you were hot. Shivering, teeth-chattering, but hot. You could no longer smell the fire, but you could feel it against your bare skin. Toasty, crackling embers smouldering and making you sweat. 

The fever slowed your mind, too. Thoughts turned to sluggish, sticky mulch as you nuzzled into the strong bicep supporting your neck. His skin was smooth, slightly tacky where it met yours, and you whined a little as you tried to pull away. 

But moving sent your head spinning, aching muscles seizing until all you could do was cry. 

"You're alright, just sleep. Don't move–"

"My clothes," you slurred the words, heavy and sticky on your tongue. Crystallising like spoiled honey, you tried to spit them out faster, but they just dripped. Molasses-slow, and murky. Confused. "I'm not– my clothes are– what–?"

"I took them off you–shh, shh– They were tattered anyway, we'll need to dig through the piles and see what we can repair." You felt his arm flex below you, rolling your head until it was resting on the pillow of his chest. You tried to open your eyes, but the image was hazy. Like looking through seaglass. "It's cold here at night, freezing. The fire's good, but body heat's best."

"'m too hot– feel too–" 

"Yeah, noticed you weren't just cold when you wouldn't stop shivering," his forearm banded around your squirming body, pinning you to his. "I know, baby, I know. It's not nice. Gonna try to sweat it out of you. Don't exactly have the luxury of good food and medicine." 

His voice was pitched low, sweet. It made you want to cry, mind adrift and body at his mercy. Holiday turned tragedy, swallowed up by the sea and spat up on the beach like refuse. Control slipped through your fingers, finer and more fickle than the sands below and all you could do was cry. 

You felt his fingers, whisper-soft, stroking through the ends of your salty, parched hair. Your tears dripped down, soaking into your flushed cheeks and the sparse, scratchy hairs on his chest. He paused for a beat, fingers swiping over your damp forehead. Whisps pushed away until you felt a butterfly kiss against your clammy forehead. Quick and gentle and fleeting. 

Small waves kissed the beach, too. Susurrus, splashing caresses that almost sent you drifting off again. The rumble of his voice tickled your cheek, made you blink slowly until you could make out his face through bleary eyes.  

"It's just you and me and this island," He spoke it softly, sting mollified by surety. Bittersweet ointment for a distressing prognosis. "I've got you; I'll take care of you. I promise."

Your answer was faint. "What if no-one comes for us?"

His arms curled tighter around you, twisted until you were splayed atop him. In another time, another place, you'd be flustered by the open splay of your legs, bare against his lean waist. Here, shame withered away, fizzled out. Ephemeral as seafoam. 

"I told you, I'll take care of you. Rescue or not, it's you and me now."

Later, you'd blame delirium, fever dream-fugue, for how the words echoed in your mind. 'Just you and me.'

You and him, and the island.

-----------

[abnomi]

I FINALLY FINISHED THE THEO 3D SCULPT (theo belongs to @kwillow !! IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR WEIRD GUY.) i enjoyed making this as much as i enjoyed learning from the process. theo was a lovely subject for me to visually dissect even if he looked angry with me the entire time!

+ more under the cut :-)

Full turnaround!

Somewhat poor quality gif of him spinning around!

Flats to make it easier to see the coloring!

A few other shots!

[arom-antix]

Hey, just wanted to reach out to say that I found you pointing out and calling this person was really great and you shouldn't have apologized. It was incredibly true what you said, and to be honest it seems out of touch with the reality of a great deal of the japanese fandom, the nuances and their culture. Also, it was as you pointed out, extreme and may I say rude. I want to mention too that the way it was written, as if entitled of the knowledge and the 'explanation' made it all worse in context of the 'fucked up'. The original poster always gets away by using the 'well-written academic'' statement of their 'metas' as an excuse to do or say and make everyone else agree and if not, uses victim narrative and discourses exactly selecting wording for people to agree on it or feel bad.

I don't know if they tagging you in the way they did made you reblog and apologizing/backing up, but no one thought bad about you pointing it out. On the contrary, a lot of people had been bullied and discriminated by this person when they called them out/disagreed going onto lenghts of sending their friends to harass people, and the other persons can't even defend themselves because they are effectively blocked. To quite a few people in the fandom has been done, even accusing them as 'acephobes' (when they're not) or even Nazis by spreading lies. So yeah, I just wanted to say that. I think you were right to call them out publicly.

Thank you very much for this ask. To be completely honest I agree with everything you said here and don't actually feel bad about pointing anything out. I mainly apologised because I didn't want any potentially poor phrasing from my side to cause unnecessary hostility and because I myself have gripes with this person's behaviour but didn't want to cause a scene.

My honest opinion is that they have a serious issue with taking accountability for their own mistakes and highly overestimate their own intellect. If you're reading this, @thegirlwhorideslikeasamurai, sorry if I seem harsh, but it's true. I saw your post lamenting how you're the only academic meta writer / fan in the fandom and I didn't interact then because I honestly do not care enough to start that drama but with the information Blonndiec has just given me, I think it's necessary that someone calls you out.

You're not an academic. You're not beyond the mental capabilities of other fans. You're actually incredibly childish in your metas and analyses and I am not kidding when I say that I was halfheartedly writing essays more academic than every analysis I've seen from you when I was barely a teenager. I don't know how old you are and I frankly don't care. You're not as clever as you think you are.

Also, don't think I didn't notice that you didn't reblog my correction (link here to my correction and here to their "response" for those who didn't see that exchange) of your post so that you could control what your followers saw of the exchange. You're the opposite of an academic. You control information to tailor the narrative, you don't cite your sources properly if at all, you don't format your posts in anything close to how an academic analysis would be, you make unbased claims, you reference posts and canon material without in any way indicating where that information is from, you reference your own (equally unacademic) metas and your conclusions from them without indicating what post it's from or that it's your own theory this new one is based on and instead present it as a common fact, and I could go on and on and on. Your posts are also riddled with logical fallacies and you talk in absolutes and opinions when there's no canon basis to claim such things. I'm sorry, but that's not academic in the slightest.

To be clear, you don't have to be an academic to post on the Internet. You don't have to be anything at all. You could up front be a genuine idiot with no remorse and that's fine. But when you claim to be an academic and also put down the rest of the fandom for not being on your level, you have to be able to back that up. It'd still make you sound like a prick but at least your arrogance would have a basis. It currently does not.

I haven't personally seen the discussions that Blonndiec is referencing and I'm not going to claim anything definitive (because that would be unacademic of me, take notes) but if what they're saying is true and did happen as described, which I have empirical, if anecdotal, evidence to believe could very well be (a friend of mine has personally been blocked by you after they criticised you without actually mentioning your name which I of course can't prove is the reason for the block but the timing is awfully convenient), you should know that you should be ashamed of yourself.

If there's context missing, feel free to enlighten me and call out any incorrect accusations. You have every right to defend yourself. However, I encourage you to cite your sources since you're such an academic. If you don't, then it's just your word against Blonndiec and anyone else who might comment's word and that doesn't prove anything. Don't misunderstand, acephobia and nazi rhetoric should absolutely be called out but only if it's actually happening. False accusations can ruin lives. I hope you know that.

I'm not a fan of calling people out publicly and, again, thank you for this ask, Blonndiec. But considering many of the issues I've personally seen and those I've been informed of by second hand sources were posted publically, I don't really feel bad about calling this out. I could do a full breakdown of just the insulting "academic" comments alone and how there's no academia to be found in said academic metas and, Samurai, if you give me reason to, I will show exactly what I mean point by point (and academically just to give you an example of even low level academia).

If you respond to this, do it in a reblog. That's what a real academic would do. If I'm wrong and you can prove it, you'd have no reason to not show my post in your rebuttal. If I'm right, you'd have every reason to be upfront about your mistakes and how you intend to rectify them. There's nothing wrong with being wrong but there's a lot wrong with refusing to admit to it in a way that lets others peer review you (academic thing, look it up) and come to their own conclusions about the situation. That's what you did when you just @'ed me instead of reblogging my response. A true academic wouldn't hide a peer review. You'd know that if you were one.

I swing in many academic spaces and yet that doesn't make me any kind of expert and I don't claim to be one because I'm not. But since you want to be one so badly, reblog this with a response and show us all how smart you are. I'm dying to know what your academic take on this is.

[strangersteddierthings]

No Regrets - Part Three

This one got longer than I expected, so it's only about Spring Break. We return to the apocalypse next part.

Part One🦇 Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five🦇Part Six

"-eve?"

Waking up again is disorienting. His head aches like the beginning of a migraine. There was something he was thinking about but it's fading quickly. A conversation in a boathouse...? That's not right. The boathouse was empty. The police had beat them there.

"Steve?"

No. No conversation in a boathouse. But there was a phone call. He knows he remembers that. Joyce had called last night. Her and Murray sharing a phone between them as Steve- Oh! Right. Steve told them he knew about Hopper in Russia.

"You have to go, though. Hopper is alive and waiting. And there's a demogorgon. Demodogs, too. You have to kill them all. Any connection to the Upside Down left alive helps Vecna. It's like having a tether to here makes him stronger."

"I can't just abandon El," Joyce sounds conflicted, and Steve gets it. He does.

"You aren't. You're going to be giving her back her dad. She's got Jonathan and Will and Mike. Argyle, too, if he wants to be there. Just. Just get them on the road and back here as soon as you can. If they don't leave soon than Brenner will-"

"Brenner? What do you mean Brenner? He's dead. Right? He's supposed to be dead."

"Yeah, well, he's not. He- I don't know the full details, just. I was just given an overview because, y'know, other shit was going down. But he makes El relive a lot of traumatic shit from her past and yeah, it gets her back her powers, but she's just a kid. She's just a kid."

"Her abilities, they aren't gone?" It's Murray who asks.

"No. She's just traumatized, in a different way. It was... it was Jonathan who said this, actually, to me. I mean, he hasn't said it yet, and if everything goes the way I want, he won't need to say it ever, but that's- sorry, that's not important. He said he thinks El blocked her abilities because she lost Hopper. An internal block, you know? 'Cause she couldn't save him with them, so what was the point of having them?"

"And you think bringing Hopper back will free her of that block?" Murray asks.

Steve can't help it. He laughs. "Hell no. I think years of therapy might, but having her dad will help. There's no way it hurts, right? Also, uh, you're the parent here, Joyce, so I'll let you decide what to tell her, but the big, awful thing that Brenner made her relive? It was a massacre. At the lab, when she was there. Another guy, another number, killed a bunch of the people there. It was El who saved the remainder. She stopped him from killing anyone else by opening the first gate to the Upside Down. She tossed him in and closed it. She's not a monster. Oh, that part you have to tell her. She's not a monster."

"Steve!"

There's more to the phone call, Steve knows he knows that but there's yelling and it's distracting.

"Steve!!"

"What?" Steve snaps, both with his shout and back into himself. He's sitting at the picnic in Forest Hills. Everyone is looking at him with varying degrees of concern.

"You okay?" Robin asks, "we've been trying to get your attention for a while now."

"What? Yeah, sorry," Steve says, distracted, standing up and looking around. Eddie's trailer is right there, and Wayne's truck is parked in front. He knows Wayne. Knew Wayne? He's in charge of the gardens at home base. A real green thumb, not that you can tell by looking at the trailer now. "You think that with Fred's death, they'll stop suspecting Eddie?"

"What? We don't know that they suspect Eddie," Dustin is quick to say, "I know he didn't do it, and so do you so-"

"Yeah, I know! I do know that, but Chrissy died in his home and then he ran. Of course, he's a suspect. But he was in jail last night. So. They can't suspect him still, right?"

Nancy purses her lips, giving Steve a look he knows isn't good. "Well, it will depend on when they apprehended Eddie, which we don't even know they did. How do you know he was in jail last night?"

"Good point. I don't, not for sure. But Wayne might," Steve says as he starts walking away. He can hear everyone at the picnic table shouting for him and scrambling to follow. Steve picks up speed, dashing up the steps and pounding on the door before anyone catches up.

"Steve, what are you doing," Max hisses, because she's the fastest and therefore the closest.

"I just gotta-"

"Can I help you?" Wayne Munson greets, voice even. Steve watches as his eyes sweep the group, pausing on Nancy before coming back to Steve.

"Hopefully. Uh, I'm a friend of- well, no that's a lie. I don't want to lie to you. I'm not Eddie's friend, but I want to be, and Dustin here is, so we just wanted to know if you could tell us if Eddie's okay?" Steve says. "You already talked to Nancy yesterday, but she didn't know that we, like, knew him. Have you heard from Eddie?"

Wayne eyes him with suspicion, which is fair, "I ain't heard from him."

"Please," Steve says, because he's got to try one more time. Either Wayne doesn't know for real, or he's lying because he doesn't trust Steve. He's not sure he'll be able to tell which is which, but he has to ask again, "I swear that we just want to help Eddie. Whatever happened to Chrissy wasn't his fault, I know that. I just need. I need to know he's not- not out there, alone and scared. Please."

Wayne stares him down and Steve refuses to look away. Wayne's eyes flick away from him to the single police cruiser still stationed nearby, then back. "Get in here."

He doesn't need told twice. Wayne retreats into the trailer and Steve follows. Immediately his eyes jump to where the gate will form. Currently it just looks like water damage on the ceiling, but Steve knows. No gate yet, but it'll be there tomorrow. Probably fully formed by the time Vecna tries to take Max.

Robin, the last one in, shuts the door behind her gently.

"I told her yesterday that Eddie didn't do this," Wayne nods his head towards Nancy but he never takes his eyes off Steve. "Didn't stop them from arresting him."

"Thank God," Steve breaths out, which is the wrong thing to say, given how quickly Wayne's face morphs to anger, so he quickly adds, "shit, I mean, that means, he was in police custody when they found another victim last night, right? That'll prove he's innocent."

Wayne doesn't respond right away. Instead, he takes his time looking at each and every one of them, lingering on Nancy before settling on Max. "You live 'cross the way, don't ya?"

Max looks surprised to be recognized. "Yeah."

"Did you see anything?"

"I saw..." she trails off, brows furrowing as she thinks. She looks from Wayne to Steve. He doesn't know what she sees on his face, but he watches as she steels herself, a decidion made, before looking back to Wayne and saying, "What I saw is whatever I'll need to have seen to help Eddie."

"You'd lie to the police for Eddie?"

Max and Wayne have a silent conversation following the question, judging by their stare down and raising and following brow lines. When Max does speak, she says, "I've lied to police for worse people."

"Huh," is all Wayne says as he settles back against the counter behind him.

"Thank you," Steve says, even as his mind starts to calculate. They'll probably keep him the full 48 hours, since there isn't evidence enough to charge him. Right? There isn't really any evidence. Except, perhaps, what Eddie might have told them. Shit. Would Eddie say anything? "Can you let me know when they release him? Whatever happened, whatever he saw, probably freaked him out. I don't want him to feel alone. I mean, we don't."

Dustin is looking at him now like he's grown a second head but Wayne. Wayne is looking at him like he's made a realization. Drawn some unknown conclusion that he must approve of because he nods. "Sure, son."

"You got pen and paper? I'll write down my number."

The silence from his friends is deafening and does not bode well for Steve. He just knows they're going to bombard him as soon as they leave the trailer.

Which is exactly what happens. They wait until they're back by their cars before starting in, though.

"Steve, what the fuck was that?" Dustin says.

"How did you know he got arrested?" Max demands.

"Steve, you are acting so strange right now," Robin says, worry painted across her face.

"Explain," is all Nancy says, crossing her arms.

Should he? Does he even know what's happening? No. Not really. He's got memories of a future that's bleak and dark and terrible and he doesn't want it to come true. Are they even memories? Did those events even happen? He doesn't know for sure. All he does know if he wants to do everything in his power to prevent it from happening though. He doesn't want to have regrets about.... about something.

"We don't win," he says. "We don't win this one. Or, we didn't? We might now. Things are different this time."

"What?" Robin asks.

Steve ignores the question, giving instead more of the information he knows, "Hopper's alive. Joyce and Murray are on their way to Russia to save him."

"WHAT?" he's not sure who asked. Maybe all of them.

"And El is- I don't know. On her way, I hope. But she won't have her powers when she gets here. Or maybe she will? If she believes she's not a monster and really is the hero."

"Steve, you are not making any sense!"

"I know!" Steve shouts and drops into a squat. "I know! I'm not the- the figure it out guy, or the plans guy, or whatever. I'm just the guy who knows things he shouldn't, and I can't tell if it's because I actually lived it, or if I was just given knowledge about it somehow. I know the Upside Down has a red storm that never ends, more democreatures that just gorgons or dogs, and that Vecna slash Henry slash One is a goddamn monster who opens a giant hell gate and causes the apocalypse."

"Whoa, whoa," Dustin sooths, and when Steve looks up, Dustin's got both hands up and approaching like Steve's a wild animal. He kind of feels like one right now. "Slow down and explain."

There's a lot Steve could say. Should say. Steve is kind and soft, even in the face of the end of the world, but he's also learning that he's a little ruthless. Not heartless, but enough that he can see where they are, where they need to be, and how to get there in the easiest way possible. His eyes flick to Max. "Chrissy and Fred. They were both seeing the guidance counselor. You've seen them both there, right Max?"

"I- yeah. Yeah, I have."

"And Nancy, you've got a hunch, right? You need to go to the library to check it out?"

She narrows her eyes at him but nods.

"Okay. So, uh, let's use that as proof. You and Robin go check out your hunch, and I'll stick with Dustin and Max. Take Max to see Ms. Kelley and see if she'll tell Max anything that connects them?"

"You already know what we'll find, don't you?" Nancy asks, and Steve shrugs. "You're right. I won't believe you. Not without this proof. So, we'll go, Robin and me. And when we meet up, I expect you to tell me what we learned."

Max is completely silent the entire drive, an exact opposite of Dustin who shoots off so many questions in a row that Steve can barely remember the first by the time he's onto the next. Not that it would matter, because Dustin doesn't pause between any of his questions or comments to let Steve answer anyway.

Max launches herself from car almost as soon as Steve pulls up to the curb with a loudly groaned, "finally" before she slams the door and bounds across the street.

"Steve! Are you even listening to me!?" Dustin has finally lost steam or ran out of breath or something.

"Are you done yelling at me?" Steve retorts.

Dustin lets out a really big sigh then says, "For now. I just- Let's start with this. How do you know that Hopper's alive?"

"Joyce and Murray confirmed it when I talked to them on the phone. They're supposed to be getting El and crew heading back this way while they go to rescue him, but I don't really know how that's going."

Dustin squints at him. "I thought you could see the future now."

"No. I saw the future, so like, lived it or something. And it's like... You watch Back to the Future yet?"

"Yes."

"Okay, so like, the part where his family starts to vanish from the picture? Because he made his mom want to bang him-?"

"That is a disgusting oversimplification of the plotline, Steve."

"-it's like that. Except I want to change the events because we definitely end up in the bad timeline."

"Okay. Say I believe you. You said we don't win this time. Explain that."

Steve sighs. "Can that wait for like, everyone? Explain it all at once?"

"What made it so bad you have to alter the course of all of human existence?" Dustin demands.

"The Upside Down breaks through, man," Steve says, "Like, toxic air and no more sunlight or blue skies kinda bad. Full on, end of the world apocalypse type shit."

"Shit. We, like, lose lose," Dustin says in a small voice Steve doesn't think he's ever heard Dustin use before he huffs and falls out of view with a click and the sound of squeaking leather. Steve watches as Dustin reclines his seat back so he can stare up at the ceiling of the BMW.

"Yeah," Steve says before they fall into silence until Max sprints back, screaming for him to drive before she's even got the door closed behind her and certainly isn't wearing her seatbelt yet.

They all converge at the school, and Steve tells them what Nancy and Robin learned at the library, then Max puts together the thread that connected Chrissy and Fred, and he has to watch, again, as she accepts she's going to die. She even looks to him, as if he'll confirm that with a shake of his head or a nod.

He just blinks back at her until she looks away.

They want answers he isn't ready to give. Not until tomorrow, after Vecna tries to take Max. Given how today has gone, tomorrow shouldn't be much of a change. Nancy and Robin will still go the Pennhurst, and Steve will take Max everywhere she wants to go, but this time he'll be ready. It's not too late, so the little music store down from Melvald's will still be open. Hopefully they have Kate Bush handy. He'll make sure Lucas has a backup cassette player and-

"Wait. Lucas should be told. He should be here. Why isn't he..." Steve trails off, trying to remember why Lucas would be here. He went to party with the basketball team and- and what? There's something he's missing. Something changed. His head hurts and the white noise is back, and it hits him so suddenly he sways and stumbles backwards until he hits a wall.

"Steve!" Robin gasps his name and rushes to hold him up. Dustin is at his other side just as quick.

"I'm ok," Steve says with eyes closed. He can't explain it, but he's changed something. He knows he has. Lucas is with them tomorrow, he remembers that, and there's this feeling that he should be here now. That he should have shown up at the school, but the reason eludes him. Slips from his grasp like he's trying to hold water. "It's- there was something that was supposed to happen. Something that made Lucas find us here at the school. I remember that. I- I almost hit him with a lamp. But he's not here. He didn't- something's changed. Whatever happened before didn't happen again."

"What, like, you changed the past?" Dustin asks.

The laugh Steve lets out is manic, even to his own ears. "I don't know! I can't remember! It's there, the why, but I can't reach it. It's faded, man, like the picture. It's faded."

"Okay, I think it's time we get some rest," Nancy says. "Dustin, you'll radio Lucas tonight and fill him in. Tell him Steve or I will pick him up tomorrow morning to join us. Let's go everyone, before someone does show up."

Nancy takes Dustin and Max, and Robin sticks with Steve. She doesn't even question his detour to the music store, just helps him find the Kate Bush tape. Doesn't even raise an eyebrow when he buys two cassette players, five blank tapes, and a tape recorder.

"Who is the mix tape for?" Robin asks him only once they're at Steve's house and settled in for the night in front of the fancy stereo in Steve's living room. Robin's called her parents already and told them she was staying with a friend, and they had leftovers for dinner from.

"Just in case. Now, shh," Steve says, and once Robin has properly quieted, he pressed record on the tape recorder and play on the stereo. He's already found the track he wants, so it's just a matter of waiting the song out, pausing the tape recorder quickly, then rewinding the tape. He goes too far back, so his finger just hovers over the record button until Running Up That Hill comes back on, and he repeats the process. Over and over again, until the hour long tape is filled with nothing but one song.

Robin watches him do it in complete silence. She doesn't move or shuffle until after he's paused the recording, stilling again once he hits record. He knows she doesn't understand why, but also that she doesn't need to understand. He knows that she knows he'll explain as soon as he's able.

He's just afraid to say too much right now. He can remember tomorrow; the Pennhurst plan, how it is supposed to go based on what remembers Nancy and Robin saying. Max will bully him into driving her around, and they'll end up at Billy's grave. He'll be ready this time, he already knows the answers they're seeking but he doesn't want to risk too much.

He has a plan. And it'll work. It has too.

Because he can't remember what happens after. Patrick dies, and there's... water? A lake? But why is Patrick at a lake in the dark? He isn't, is the thing. It's like there are two memories overlapping in Steve's mind and he doesn't know which is real. Or if either of them are.

There's a memory of... of Eddie? Eddie talking about Patrick floating but there's also a memory of hearing it on the news, Patrick found dead in his room, murdered the same way as Chrissy and Fred with no sign of forced entry in his house. Both memories feel real, but Steve doesn't know, can't tell, which is.

Robin and he falls sleep wrapped around each other that night.

-

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @apomaro-mellow @eddie-munsons-lunchbox @sirsnacksalot @livelifeliketheresnotomorrow @sageclipse @schnukiputz @mbloggotdeletedsothisismybackup @lumoschildextra @juleswashere3 @yet-still-more-banched @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @yearningagain @starlight-archer @chaosgremlinmunson @aol19 @goodolefashionedloverboi @gutterflower77 @moomkin77 @wonderland-girl143-blog @krazyperson @sevenmerrymagpies

[paintednailsandsoftdetails]

911, a confession

Let me start by saying that I don't really know what I'm doing here, so bear with me. If I actually go through with posting this, and you find yourself tagged and wondering who I am and why, or even if you happen upon it in the tags, I hope you take a minute to read this.

You don't know me, but you've been my community for a while now. I've checked your blogs daily for years, I've read your posts and loved your art and sent you countless anonymous asks to pick your brains- never hate though, because I'm not a Freak.

What I am, however, is a lonely lesbian with depression and (newly diagnosed) OCD, who has always needed some hyperfixation media/fandom to find life bearable. For some ~fun context, I was Raised by the glee fandom, I will die on the hill that watching queer as folk when I was 14 and discovering its fans 10+ years after airing made me who I am, I've got the most bizarrely timed stint in the 1D fandom under my belt, and I find nothing in the world more interesting and also affirming than Queer Reading (verb) media- to the extent that I earned an English degree and wrote a thesis specifically about it.

I haven't posted on here in 1.5 years, since I fell out of my previous fandom (apologies to anyone from said fandom who still happens to follow me and is seeing this, feel free to move along.) But I've been on this app every day since, because of 911.

(starting the read more here to spare you- again especially if you are tagged, I know you're probably feeling miserable rn but I do hope the entirety of this love letter reaches you)

I started "watching" mid season 5- by which I mean I was in a deep depressive state after disconnecting with previous media hyperfixation and, when I happened upon 911 trending while in need of distraction, I quickly fell down a rabbit hole. Tale as old as time, tumblr dot com convinces you that you need to tune into *insert media here* bc its fun and there are gay people! I caught myself up through all the big blogs and by the time May Day was airing I felt like I had a decent grasp on all the lore, all the fandom drama, all the places the writers were "definitely, so brilliantly" going to be taking the show that we had to look forward to, all without ever having actually seen an episode of the show (before you boo me, yes I've watched it by now, even season 1)

But I think it is important, and also a little messed up, that I fell in love with 911 through YOU, through the fans. Obviously watching the show initially through the lens of fan reactions first and not whats actually happening on screen can have some... interesting results. We've heard it all before, with the people who started watching specifically for Buddie around season 4/5 because they saw The Will and by the time they caught themselves up and watched the end of season 6 they wanted their refunds.

Here is where I want to make a clarification- the reason I got so interested, why I started coming back every day to check in on tags and certain favorite blogs I didn't even follow bc I was denying the want to become fully Involved, was because I fell in love with Evan Buckley. I won't lie, it was Buddie that caught my attention first- of course, thats what everyone here was talking about- and as much as I quickly started discover the value of the show outside of them (Henren my absolute Beloveds!!!!! Captain Dad Bobby Nash you are so special to ME. Chimney man of all time i can keep going) none of it was enough initially to bite the bullet and catch up on 5 seasons worth of a show I also knew would have elements I WASNT interested in (Copaganda and Taylor Kelly I am looking at you.)

But then I started really getting into fan's readings of Buck *insert footage of me learning the Buck Begins of it all for the first time* as a character separate from Eddie (as much as people were capable of anyway, and I will say some of yall continue to be absolutely atrocious at it) and I knew I was done for. Buck, this character so full of goodness, and his need to be Found but to also Find his own family and purpose and sense of self, for whom the show's thesis statement concerns the act of working to Make the kind of Love you want to have in this world, even if you were raised without a blueprint for it- I'm sorry but what else were me and my gay ass queer reading inclined hyperfixated brain to do other than take Evan Buckley into the folds and never let him go?

I love Buck. I was convinced by the time the s5 finale was airing before I had actually watched the show that Buck had to be bi. Even if they never did a thing with it you couldn't convince me otherwise and I was also confident that Oliver was portraying him with a similar mindset. I never wavered in that interpretation, even when the utter disappointment of the s6 finale and the failure to do anything truly meaningful character development wise through the lightning strike-Natalia speed run hit, and certainly not as I got fully caught up actually watching the show outside of tumblr live reactions during episode airings. I'll admit I was pretty ready to Check Out after the end of season 6, to the point where I hardly checked in on fandom at all going into 7 until the rumblings of possible canon Bi Buck reached me and I doubled back like "hold on, for real this time?" But when I say Check Out, I mean I was ready to walk away from the hyperfixation with a joint lack of satisfaction with canon & firm conviction that Buck was queer.

Things with Eddie are a lil different- and I want to try and keep this bit brief bc this is ultimately a post about Buck and Bucktommy and I have no interest in unsettling those of you who may have a queer reading connection to Eddie as real as the one I feel for Buck, but unfortunately this conversation cannot exist separately from the Eddie/Buddie of it all- I personally don't think Eddie is queer. I don't really think I ever did, even when I was in the thick of it with falling for Buddie. I know me saying this would cause certain audience to pelt me with accusations of fetishizing Buck or treating Eddie as nothing more than a vehicle for Queer Buck via Buddie- false! I actually think Eddie is an incredibly fascinating character, a deeply compelling representation of grief and fatherhood and masculinity, and also a hilariously weird lil bitch guy. I just don't feel like- especially having removed fanon glasses while actually starting to watch the show, and taking the time to acknowledge that the things about Buddie that appealed to me on a romantic level (this is NOT about their friendship which i stand by being beautiful and important) all boiled down elements I was reading within and onto BUCK specifically, not Eddie. Perhaps an impossible concept for some, the idea that Bi Buck could feel so real and apparent to me primarily divorced from the idea that Eddie had to be queer as well, but I won't bore you with my explanations for it, though I suspect the people tagged and still reading by this point know exactly what I am talking about.

All of this potentially obnoxious prologue to say, I've spent the last however many months falling in love with canon Bi Buck *insert footage of me speed running back into my daily fandom involvement/blog check ins the moment I knew Buck kissed a man*, with Bucktommy, and with Bucktommy fans.

For a long while there I had resigned myself to an odd, though perhaps not as unique as I thought, reality of loving and fully believing in Queer Buck, not necessarily feeling the same about Eddie or Buddie, but also in full agreement with many that already 6 seasons in with literally nothing else having remotely worked, Buddie would be the only satisfying conclusion for Buck's love story. This is again not exactly how I felt about Eddie- but a big part of that for me is that I don't think Eddie's primarily story in 911 is a love story. He's the vessel for telling other important, beautiful stories about fatherhood and forgiveness and that is OKAY bc not every characters story is a love story!!! Evan Buckley's is though (Despite some very weird and confusing things mr stark has just said about his character that actively contradict what hes previously said and what audiences have been looking at and for this entire time, but I digress)

But then! By whatever happy accident we want to call it 911 had Tommy Kinard fall back into its lap as the solution to what felt like the impossible: They found the ONE way they could introduce a non Eddie Diaz love interest for Buck that COULD be satisfying for Bucks story. Someone with connections to the 118 and the shows history and potential for further development within main storylines as his job directly pertains to their plots. Someone with such compelling connections for interweaving these two characters that it got us- including the showrunner- talking about the Red String of Fate. That it got some of the beloved tumblr pals I had been watching for years, who NEVER would have believed they'd ever root for a Buck endgame that wasnt Buddie doing exactly that, and with joy, love, and conviction. Again I'll ask, what else were me and my Buck loving brain to do but take Bucktommy into the folds and never let go? (apparently I hadn't considered that there was apparently horrifying alternative- more on that next!)

As you all damn well know, falling in love with Bucktommy has not come without its trails. I have never seen things in fandom as vile as the things I've seen go down here. And as I mentioned before, I've been IN IT with yall for a while, even if you didnt know it. I was here, lurking, and I know this fandom has had its highlight reels of racism and misogyny and harassment (despite certain factions current batshit consensus that things were "never bad" before *gasp* a couple of people, some over the ancient age *double gasp* of 30 heard about bucktommy through tumblr the same damn way the 90% of you who havent been watching since season 1 heard about buddie and decided to invest)

What happened tonight made me cry, for about 40 minutes straight. And yeah, its been a devastating week for us all for a lot of reasons. On top of the ~national dread (I'm a lesbian in the US btw) today was my 7th out of 9 straight days of open to close shifts in a demanding retail/management position, and I have a head cold so maybe this was just a Breaking Point after a whole lotta shit.

But also, maybe, it was really fucking shitty to watch this play out. I've already seen countless people say it better than I could. Yeah, its a tv show. It's a fictional ship. But its also escapism, a spot of joy many of us were extra dependent on this week. It was something GOOD, queer representation and a love story on national tv days after a horrifying reality set in for queer people, and we are allowed to acknowledge how much losing that sucks just on a general level for a second...

Second over, now lets talk not on the general level. Lets talk about how I've watched real human beings get harassed, sent death threats, be told they are faking cancer and failing to properly grieve dead loved ones, I've watched deeply homphobic language be adopted and incorporated into everyday use despite constant correction and pleas from queer men to knock it the hell off, I've watched homophia as a whole run rampant and unchecked by big blogs, with some biphobia to boot, I've seen some images of horrific anti gay violence and historical trauma invoked as a way to make fun of others, I've seen lesbianism slandered and proffered as an excuse for such vile behavior in a disgusting erasure of the beautiful solidarity that has historically existed between gay men and lesbians in the face of homophobia, and yes, I've seen graphic descriptions of child rape via targeted fanfiction attacks.

Again, others have already said it better than I can: This isn't about Bucktommy. It's about the way that everyone who was Pulling for them as a couple, who DARED to *checks scribble on hand* enjoy a canon queer mlm couple featuring a character (or two) they've grown to care deeply for, has been subjected to all the above mentioned and more, and for...what. For. What.

In the name of a fanon couple that has not been legitimized by the writers in 7 years? of a fanon character interpretation of a canonically straight man (not just assumed straight, verbally assigned straight now on multiple occasions) that people cannot fathom perceiving this show, let alone liking these characters, without? For the version of this story that, if the writers REALLY wanted to happen could have happened so many fucking times by now- especially when the show was coming to what might have been its end in s6- and still hasn't? A version that has been dismissed multiple times by the writers cast crew and every other unfortunate individual who has been harassed repeatedly about it?

And I'm not here to say Buddie is inherently bad!!!! It brought me into this same as the rest of you. I don't even believe it would necessarily be a bad or wrong conclusion for either character or the show were it to eventually, finally happen!! But for the love of god, hear me when i say from the outsider pov of someone who has experience the show in the way I did first through fandom then stepping back to watch for real and now watching it with my mother who is a near Exact representation of the general audience of this show (experienced Procedural watcher, no idea about Buddie or fandom interpretation, had no sense of gay eddie to speak of, and is not shocked but pleasantly surprised by and endeared by Bi Buck) you are SEVERELY deluded if you think what happened tonight by breaking up Bucktommy "makes sense" to any audience outside of buddies who've been writing manifestos for years about how every single thing in this show is "carefully, intentionally, clearly" leading to Buddie canon. I swear to you the people at home do not fucking see it. The people at home saw Buck in a nice, developing relationship that finally seemed to be going somewhere real for him after discovering an important part of his identity late in life, and then they saw that relationship abruptly ended and Buck heartbroken, going to sit with his best, still straight, bud Eddie Diaz. The ONLY people this makes sense for are the people who I am afraid it seems may have legimately bullied this into happening.

And if that is the case? We are sooo far fucking past the point of no return here. There is no true satisfaction in a Buddie canon endgame here for anyone who's lived through the past half a year in this fandom unless you were a perpetrator of any of the horrific shit mentioned above. I mean that with my whole fucking chest. If, and i do think it is a Big Fucking Fat if, Buddie does happen, and you find yourself no qualms happy and satisfied with it as your well earned endgame, I hope you know how rotted you are. And while I'm at it, I hope some way some how you come to see that this was not the carefully crafted beautifully developed loved story of all time you were gods bravest soldier in waiting for. Its just what left after years of meandering storytelling and cyclical character "development" with a bow slapped on top at the last moment because the gift giver was afraid you might kill them if they presented less.

Anyway. I said a million words ago that this was a love letter, and I do mean that. As much as its also been an mental health exercise for me to write this all out. So,

@kinardbuckleys @bucksboobs @kirkaut @tevankinkley @userautumn @sunglassesmish @tommyscurls @ohithankyou @buckxtommy @princessfbi @bigfootsmom @firewasabeast

(And so many other people I'm surely forgetting, and the few artists and writters on other platforms I dared to venture to- maybe never opening twitter again after this xoxo)

Thank you. You don't know me, I never quite got over the anxiety of trying to re-enter a fandom space after a time away, or maybe some of the imposter syndrome or embarrassment I felt accidentally falling in love with this show and Buck by just watching you all talk about him before anything else. But for the last few months, some of you years, you've been my community, my escape. I've loved watching your brains and your hearts work to discuss and create, even amidst the absolute shittiest fandom behavior Ive ever seen. And I am as grateful for getting to experience it from a far as I am devastated at the thought of losing it, of not individually typing in all your blog names (I was too anxious to even FOLLOW you guys truly rip) to see what new content or spec or art or love you had to share about Buck / Bucktommy every day.

In another life- one where idk perhaps people were kinder or showrunners weren't bullied and actors weren't dropped last minute after months of torment and a satisfying canon queer love story for a character who genuinely needs it could just Be in peace- I would have loved to one day put on my big girl pants (aka saved Buck url) joined the fandom for real. To have directly talked to any of you in a way that wasnt... this.

I would have loved to love Bucktommy with you.

[forecast0ctopus]

Sorry, it's really funny to me that we're watching your Star Trek obsession unfold. It's a great franchise. I love it, and ur artwork is great!

THANKS lmao it was inevitable……… i do think its funny that you say obsession though ive posted it Twice here like. you are not wrong but i think i managed to spare most of you by relegating my Thoughts to my close friends story

theres too much star trek media though i fear ive condemned myself

[ridragon]

You guys should read 17776. It's best to go in blind. It's about how football will look in the future.

(Warning that there is a very fast moving part specifically in the beginning in case you have photosensitivity, and the story includes gifs and videos. If you are sensitive to unreality some parts may bother you.)

[eyefocusing]

two of him :)

[swimmingchicken9]

i want a story with a character who has never felt romantic or sexual love in their life. they meet someone, & they try everything to feel something for said person & we watch them struggle and be awkward. and the ending is the relationship not working out. not messy or abusive, just a "hey, you obviously dont feel anything so i'm not gonna force you to be in a relationship. i'm not mad, i may not understand 100% but i respect you. you're valid."

i just want to be understood and validated

[mabaris]

not to complain about the enshittification of the internet but ign walkthroughs are pretty useless nowadays huh

[cherrraty]

i was originally going to post these alongside more recent fnv(extended) sketches but literally all of them contain ocxcanon in some capacity and i think its so embarrassing that i added and deleted several different sketch pages multiple times before giving up. i did more little animated gifs. you can have those.

[greasydumbfuck]

thinking about frank and sex (in a sad way)

[kkoct-ik]

the lesser known did symptom of not knowing anything about your life because not only do you not remember anything (and the memories you Do have are heavily fragmented so you have no idea when they occured), but you also consistently destroy all traces of yourself during dissociative episodes. rip every diary ive tried to keep and almost every social media account. i will never know what i got up to or who i was during those years

i have a spreadsheet i use for documenting memories that turn up before i can forget them again. where i also do my best to estimate what year or season or month they came from. but its all just such a mess. even 2021 onwards which are supposed to be my therapy years are very very patchy. i wish i could just know my life

[aran-morinorea]

WIP WEDNESDAY FRIDAY

It’s WIP Wednesday on a Friday! Let’s fuckin do it. Let's write things. Hell yeah.

Here’s how it works:

I will post the file names of five WIPs, and will also post a snippet of new content from one of them to get the ball rolling.

Send me an ask with the name of one of the listed WIPs and I will write you a minimum of three sentences in that WIP in response!

Multiple asks are fine ^-^

If you’re reading this, you’re invited!

WIP names:

With Tar-Telepta, Aran Morinórea (coruling Mordor for fun and aesthetics; silvergifting; on ao3 here):

A Major Diplomatic Incident (Elrond has to deal with this shit?)

The Worst Road Trip (my love language is kidnapping your uncle)

Without Tar-Telepta:

Donating Blood (vivisecting your maia boyfriend; silvergifting)

Mallachel (accidental time travel with Nargothrond Celebrimbor and melted Sauron; silvergifting; on ao3 here)

Non-Euclidean Nan Elmoth (maeglin mind controlling glorfindel for fun and aesthetics)

snippet from Mallachel:

“It’s not as if I have anything better to do,” Celebrimbor shrugs. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself. I’m certainly not going to be, you know, introducing my new cat to anyone else, never mind one of these shapes.” 

His heart climbs into his throat as Mallachel stands, looming over him as the room darkens. “Perhaps, Tyelperinquar Curufinwion, you could make an attempt at silence.”

“Oh, believe me, I’ve tried. It really never works,” says Celebrimbor. He could try to argue the patronymic, but that doesn’t seem productive. Unfortunately, what his brain comes up with to replace that impulse is reaching a hand up toward Mallachel’s hair. He wants to know if it’s smoking or entirely made of smoke.