#I'm v nervous about it

[revenantghost]

I lied, I think I'll do Mon/Fri since Tuesdays tend to be super busy for me afhsjgjgzjg But there are seven chapters, so four-ish weeks of posting!!!

Ehehehe just finished my final pass for my Vashwood reverse bang fic and it'll start posting this Friday 👀

[everyandanything]

Chapter 19 is up everyone!

And thus, the trial comes to a close. Plus Paul’s testimony 👀

There’s not much I can say without spoiling, but feel free to come and threaten to throw me off a bridge afterwards, honestly deserved. 

Hope you all enjoy!! 💕

[queenoffoliage]

.........does anyone know that I have been very ..normal about these two since my first drawing of them

[unclewaynemunson]

Tadaaaa here is the sequel to this post, which came from an ask that got me in a chokehold for days now so kudos to the lovely anon who sent that prompt to me! You can also read the whole thing on ao3 :)

As soon as Eddie got into the passenger seat of his Wayne's truck, he saw the whole world go blurry. He tried to blink away his tears, but it was no use – nothing ever escaped his uncle's notice anyway.

'Wanna tell me what's wrong, boy?' he asked while he started the car.

Eddie grimaced. 'You know how they say you should never meet your heroes?'

'Hm?'

'Well, I met mine. On the fucking train. Just yet.'

Wayne shot him an incredulous glance.

'What was the Black Sabbath guy doin' on a train?'

'What? No, it wasn't... No.'

'The Hobbits guy?'

'Jesus Christ, Wayne, Tolkien died like fifteen years ago, keep up.'

'You want me to keep guessin' or you gonna tell me?'

Eddie rolled his eyes.

'Yeah, no, you wouldn't guess it right anyway. It's this poet.'

'Don't think I ever heard you talk 'bout poetry before,' Wayne remarked.

And that was exactly the thing. Ronan Right had been something... private. Something between Eddie and the faceless blob in his mind that embodied Right – and maybe Jeff. Okay, and Jeff's mom. But it wasn't someone he'd talk people's ears off about on any occasion he got, like he did with plenty of other musicians or writers that he'd get all obsessive about.

Until Steve, that was. Steve, who had been casually listening to his music. Steve, who had recognized the book in his hands and effortlessly opened the floodgates of his obsession. Steve, who had said the most beautiful things about Corroded Coffin without even knowing who Eddie was. Steve, who had talked with him about their shared passions for hours. Steve, who he now somehow had to merge with Right in his mind.

Steve, who seemed so perfect that it made all of Eddie's alarm bells go off at the loudest possible volume. Because this couldn't be real. This was something straight from a disgustingly sweet romcom scenario, and if there was anything Eddie could be certain about, it was that his life was no romcom.

So during the short walk from the station to Wayne's car, Eddie's head had already come up with a dozen scenarios that were completely spiraling out of control – even though they'd all make for great songs, no doubt about that. Steve would die some kind of tragic death on his way to their first date. Steve was secretly addicted to crack. Steve was a stalkerish fan who had lied to him about being Ronan Right to get close to him. Steve would cheat on him on their wedding day.

The list of possibilities was endless and terrifying – while the list of possibilities for this having a happy ending, on the other hand, was exceptionally short.

'Was it that bad?' asked Wayne while they headed out of the city.

Usually, Eddie enjoyed amping up his dramatics to a maximum around Wayne, providing the much-needed balance to his uncle's calm and steady demeanor. But right now, Eddie felt himself deflate in his seat. He couldn't bring himself to make a show out of it.

'No,' he said, quietly. 'He was perfect.'

And Wayne must've heard it in his voice, must've picked up right away that this wasn't Eddie being dramatic, that something serious was going on here, because he gave him this look that was cutting way too deep into his heart.

'Nobody can be that perfect, you know,' Eddie continued. 'It's impossible. And he – he gave me his number. And I just know that if I call it, and we get to know each other better, I'll get crushingly disappointed sooner rather than later. Because something has to be, like, disturbingly wrong with this guy.'

Anyone else than Wayne would probably tell Eddie that he was being ridiculous, that he should get over himself and call Steve; that he should allow himself to let good things happen to him or some shit. But Wayne wasn't just anyone. Wayne was the one person who knew exactly what Eddie meant. The one person who had seen from up-close the shitshow that Eddie's life had been, who had retained a front row seat through all of it. And he had had his own fair share of misery himself, Eddie knew that much. He was too old and had gotten punched down too many times to still hold naive illusions of the possibility of good things.

So he didn't give him some bullshit advice. He merely patted Eddie's knee and turned up the radio.

---

Ever since Eddie had left Hawkins, it had become a habit of him to stay with Wayne for a couple of weeks every now and then. For all his desires to get the hell out of that town when he was younger, he still spent way too much time at his uncle's trailer. But it wasn't Hawkins that he came back for, it was uncle Wayne.

It was home. And it helped him breathe whenever the city got too intense. Helped him get detached from everything that distracted him from the shit that actually mattered. Helped him get his head right when Chicago was threatening to make him lose it.

Time seemed to move differently in Hawkins than in the city. Slower. More naturally, too, somehow. Maybe it was because of the lack of nightlife and flashing neon signs when the world was supposed to be wrapped in darkness. The fact that he could still see the stars when he stepped out of the trailer at nighttime. Maybe it was the quiet, which allowed him to actually hear himself think. Or maybe it was the predictability of it all: Wayne waking him up with a cup of coffee in the morning, the two of them sharing cigarettes on the porch, Eddie helping Wayne with some chores and then trying to write new songs until well into the night, when the world was his and his alone.

He kept reading Right almost religiously, but it was different, now. Now that he could hear Steve's voice say those words, now that he could envision the way in which the sun shone on his hair through the dirty train window and the shape of his hands clutching a walkman that had Eddie's music in it. It was all different.

After a week, Eddie had a whole album worth of songs about the deception of things that seemed perfect. He hadn't been able to write even one song about things ending well, about things working out. That wasn't his life. Things never worked out. Why would they, for a boy born in a household where the trifecta of poverty, addiction and violence was all he had ever known? In the five albums he had produced so far, he'd never experienced a lack of demons to write about.

So no, he wouldn't be calling Steve, even though he had read the number that was written down on the sleeve of his own album so often that it'd probably be impossible to ever erase it from his mind again. He'd protect himself, this time. He'd cherish the hours he got to spend with Ronan Right, the memories that were already starting to feel like a fever dream, and not let his heart break any further. Not this time. Not again.

---

'Got mail for ya.'

An envelope landed in Eddie's lap.

'What's this?'

'I dunno, 's your mail,' Wayne answered.

Eddie didn't recognize the handwriting and the Indianapolis post stamp didn't give him much of a clue either. It didn't make sense that someone would send him a letter at his uncle's place.

He frowned, roughly tore open the envelope and pulled a single sheet of paper out of it. It was neither directed at nor signed by anyone, but that wasn't necessary for Eddie to know who sent it.

'What is it, boy?' Wayne asked, a worried edge to his voice upon hearing the choked sob that freed itself from Eddie's throat.

Eddie knew that the words were only meant for him. But he and Wayne were a unit, always had been, ever since Eddie moved into Forest Hills. So he wordlessly handed the paper to his uncle, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes.

Wayne assessed the text with a wrinkled forehead, holding the paper at an arm's-length in order to read it.

'That from the boy you met on the train?'

Eddie nodded.

When his uncle looked up from the letter, Eddie caught an almost unfamiliar look in his eyes. It was soft, hopeful. Optimistic.

'You know I ain't any good with words, like you, or this – this poet,' Wayne said. 'But this...' He pressed the letter back into Eddie's hand. 'This looks like he knows you, Ed. Like he sees you. For all that you are.'

He didn't tell Eddie what to do; that wasn't his style, never had been. But what he did say kept bouncing through Eddie's head unceasingly, making him unable to sleep, unable to write, unable to think about anything else.

---

Eddie desperately wanted to say something meaningful when Steve picked up the phone. He wanted to thank him for reaching out, to apologize for being too much of a coward to call earlier – but what came out of his mouth instead was, 'How did you know where to find me?'

'Eddie, is that you?' It sounded like Steve didn't quite believe it.

'Yeah – yeah, it's me,' was the only thing he managed to get out of his mouth.

'Look, I'm sorry if I overstepped,' Steve told him. 'I just – I couldn't get you out of my head and it all felt so right, you know, like fate or some shit, so I just had to... I needed to try. And I knew your name, and that you were staying with your uncle, so I got help from some friends and they managed to find your uncle's address.'

And as if Eddie hadn't been enough of an emotional wreck over the past week, his vision got blurry with tears yet again.

'Sorry, was it – did I go too far?' Steve sounded nervous.

Eddie could perfectly envision the way he would be frowning and anxiously running a hand through his hair; as if they had already shared a whole lifetime of getting to know all about each other's mannerisms instead of a few stolen hours on a train.

He hated the idea of Steve thinking he had done something wrong when all he ever did was so fucking right, so he determinedly shook his head, then realized Steve wouldn't be able to see that, and started scraping for words.

'No, Steve, you... You're perfect. And that scared the shit out of me, because so far, my life hasn't really done perfect. Most of our songs, they're – well – creative retellings of my own shit.' Now that he started talking, the words actually came a lot easier. 'They're all real, at the core, when you peel away the layers of, like, monster slaying and fantasy imagery. Like, everything underneath all that, it's all... me. Damage, betrayal, fear, violence – all that shit is true. Life hasn't been kind to me, Steve. And I was convinced that you'd only become an addition to that long list of crap, because you seemed way too perfect. I never thought I could have something good. And you're good, Steve, you're so fucking good. So I couldn't believe it.'

A long silence ensued at the other side of the line. Then, a sigh.

Then, 'Eddie,' in the softest voice possible, like his name was something breakable. Eddie didn't remember ever having heard his name said like that.

'I think that was exactly what I heard in your songs. Why I kept listening to them. Why they inspired me so much.'

Eddie tried to swallow away the lump in his throat, suffocated by the emotions bubbling up inside of him.

'I wish I could hold you, right now.'

Eddie's breath caught. He knew exactly what he needed to do: he needed to stop running. He needed to trust that Steve could be right, for him. That Steve could be something good.

'I mean, you could come over to Hawkins and do just that, you know,' he suggested.

'D'you want me to?'

He nodded, again forgetting that Steve couldn't see him.

'Yeah, I'd like that. Probably still got half that cookie somewhere in my pocket, y'know. Maybe we could share it.'

Credit where credit is due: the line “He sees you, for all that you are” isn't mine, it's one of my favorite quotes from Schitt's Creek and I really wanted Wayne to say that to Eddie about Steve, so here we have it <3

@ My beloved 🥐 anon: I hope you like this ending, and that I came close enough to your suggestion to have Steve make Eddie a character in his next poem <3

Taglist: @kathorakiryu @goodolefashionedloverboi @undreaming-rambles @fangirlycupcake @ghouligans-central @henderdads @dolphincliffs @anglhrts @ajamlessbaby @yearningagain @vampireinthesun @xxbottlecapx @kissaphobic-kas @mad-h-w @booksandsience @obsessivlyme @ppunkpuppyy @barnes-bestgirl @capital-p-platonic​ @eddiemunsonmeltdowns @callme-keys​​

[nooskadraws]

find me at london mcm in the artist alley at table j-01 this weekend for queer victoriana, trans ocs, these new items, and also talking extensively about gale dekarios! see you there!

[likesummerrainn]

We're no worse off than the worst of 'em, it's fine

to @cowboyshit from your wrestling secret santa!

[queen-scribbles]

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[whitecreekvalley-if]

The LOCALS (NPCs)

Charles " Old Man" Gannon - 59 - he/him

A real tough cookie. He runs a tight ship with his ranch (and 2/3 of his boys), never one to dish out niceties easily. The guy's a workaholic hardass, and you'd think he's allergic to sentimentality. But, deep down, buried under layers of grump, there's a heart that's seen its share of battles – just takes some digging to find it. Reigning champion of not dealing with generational trauma; He's a graduate from the school of hard knocks and believes everyone should tough it out.

Soledad Torres-Marks - 78 - she/her

Alice's grandmother and retired sheep wrangler, she's a permanent fixture at the local bar where you'll find her knitting away and trading stories to the wee hours of the night. Despite the silver in her hair, she's got a quick wit that could give any youngster a run for their money. Don't be fooled by the cozy vibes – she's been known to wield her cane with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, especially if you're on the receiving end of a cheeky remark.

Archer "Archie" Gannon - 20 - he/him

The town's semi-elusive bookworm. He left home for college and only rolls back into town for holidays and the occasional break. Bookish and a tad awkward, he's on a mission to help his dad keep the family farm afloat through his studies. Little does he know, he's the golden child in his dad's eyes – a town secret he's blissfully unaware of. If he's not buried in his textbooks, you can catch him trying to teach the calves some cool tricks.

Jessie Ledenbaum - 25 - she/her

The infamous charmer at the general store where she runs the show along with her parents. Confident to the core, she's got this knack for flirting with customers that gets old ladies giggling. Those on the shy side might get startled by her boldness, but the townsfolk love the attention. Despite her big dreams of leaving town, there's a piece of her heart that's firmly anchored to her family. She claims she doesn't mind staying, but you can always catch the "but" on her face after.

Frank the Tank - 9 - bullmastiff

The goodest boy on the ranch. He enjoys his elderly life from the comfort of the wicker couch out front, occasionally wandering off to take a nap in the barn. He's got a knack for giving strangers the most bombastic side eye, and he even sighs like he's got a mortgage to pay. While retired, he's still the guardian of the homestead and will readily remind ne'er-do-wells that his bark is very much kinder than his bite, and he'll throw down with anyone - or anything - that threatens his folks.

[kingxfmischief]

[Alright, the new about page has been published.]

[sorrowveined]

Alucard has slept for a long time. Thus, it's only natural that the world has changed in his absence... yet, despite knowing that, it's funny how much difference a mere hundred years can bring.

It only takes an instant to turn the world on it's head. But while he's always known that, what's strange about this time is that the world itself seems to have very little to say about Dracula. Sure, his name can be found in legends and stories, but the general belief held by humanity seems to be that his existence is a mere rumor, or at the very least, something belonging only to the distant past.

But Alucard knows that his father is still here... he can sense it. The bone-deep awareness he feels; of dark magic and hatred and evil - it can't be mistaken for anything else. It was the reason he awoke in the first place, even, but it seems... that this time around, if he wants to understand the nature of his father's wicked plans - he'll have to dig around a little deeper than before.

"Though, humans certainly bring enough ruin to themselves on their own..." ...He may fight for them, and he would never hate them, but Alucard holds no illusions about the darker nature of humans - and it's never been more obvious than it is now.

"...Ah." But it seems he's not alone anymore. Turning to face the person who's newly arrived beside him, Alucard's expression is impassive - his somewhat melancholy true feelings hidden well behind a resolute mask.

"I hope I haven't caused you any trouble. To find me in a place like this... is there something you need from me, after all?"

@viitlumi ( starter for vito! )

[mercurytrinemoon]

Had an idea today to ask my tarot deck what can I do to obtain the very much important information on a specific person's rising sign

v important... as you can see

I asked two times and surprisingly, for the outcome, I got positive cards???????? Does that mean I will get a hold of their full chart one day?????

Literally cards were like, you've been seeking the truth... ask and you shall receive.

Interestingly, both times the main card was 3 of swords so I'm wondering, is it because I'm going nuts (borderline depressed) over this or is it a weird way for cards to tell me it's a Gemini rising??? (as a third sign and an air one??? or is this a stretch??)

[soraeia]

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[floofyflooftheallmighty]

How in currently feeling

[villainsrph]

hi everyone ! quick update, as usual!

I'm finally (knock on fucking wood) feeling better and getting in the swing of getting through doctor's appointments. I have another one tomorrow and then I'm applying for an IRL job right after, so wish me double luck!

being sick last week put a damper on some halloween plans I had for here, but I am going to try and cook up something fun for the holidays this year! ♡

I'm hoping to make good on my recent poll, and get my first promo template up soon!

...I didn't have as much news for an update as I thought, but yeah hi I love y'all!

[alexanaraxadel]

I think the reason I like sam riordan so much despite him being a volatile schizophrenic mass murderer (<3) is because he reminds me of peter parker except... much much more unhinged and unstable, lol. but the core sweetness and goodness he showed (in the first 7 episodes at least 💀) had such peter parker vibes and I've always loved characters like that

[eric-the-bmo]

Banning myself from making characters that are meant to be aro/aroace bc as soon as I start playing them the hopeless romantic inside of me starts gnawing and biting at its jail cell door