#but we'll die
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You know if the last time I killed an animal a god came and killed most of the crew I would simply not kill one again especially if I was warned
#epic the musical#epic the thunder saga#odysseus#eurylochus#but we'll die#thats on you tf#jorge rivera herrans#thunder saga
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ME WHEN SUFFERING TO DIFFERENT BEAST TO SCYLLA TO MUTINY TO THUNDERBRINGER
#I LITERALLY NEED TO BE SEDATED#nyx talks shit#JUST A MAN FUCK U#OOOOHWSOKHSADJLKASDASDJ#epic: the musical#“I HAVE TO SEE HER”#BUT WE'LL DIE#“I KNOW” FUCK UF CUFKJFLK FIUDFDFHJDF
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We're on a new platform with a totally different audience...we have to prove ourselves all over again...convince a totally new group of people to think we're funny and worth your attention....so allow me to drop some of my "A" material....the funniest thing I got.......here goes....... jeef berky
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THUNDER SAGA IS SO GOOD AAAA
spoilers for the thunder saga in tags if you havent listened yet
#i also love the new versions of troy and cyclops sagas#but man the thunder saga#MAN#MANN#ITS SO GOOD#ive been singing the whole thing on repeat for a while now#i was expecting thunderbringer to be my least favorite but surprisingly its scylla#i like scylla too but thunderbringer was so badass lmao#scylla kind of pales in comparison#i think#i also really like suffering and different beast#in mutiny i like the end specifically#like where they see the island? of helios aka the sun god#i love how they re-used the im just a man motif there#v nice#i also liked how ody's voice has a growl-ish ???( idk how else to decribe it) tone to it#like where he says youve doomed us all#and who do you think he'll send#also the faster faster parts were soooo good too#yeah i think scylla paled in comparison sdbhfjkg#i really do love the saga as a whole though#and to add on it at the end of thunderbringer the HEARTBREAK in both ody and his right hands voices#i cant spell his name to save my life im sorry#euroylsicus#or however you spell it idk#i have to see her#but we'll die#i know#AAAAAAAAAA#SO GOOD
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THE OREGON PARKS CODES HAVE POTENTIALLY BEEN SOLVED!
My friend @trickengf and JimBag_777 on Twitter solved the codes by aligning the known runes with potential letters
FULL THREAD HERE!!
The codes in turn read...
"DON'T SHAKE HIS HAND"
"WORST FRIENDS"
Huge congrats to these two for solving it and to everyone who gave it a crack. We're not 100% certain yet but these do seem to be real enough sentences to fit the Gravity Falls vibe the Book of Bill has going for it.
They got nothing on us!
#gravity falls#gravity falls fandom#alex hirsch#oregon parks department#Oregon Parks#Runes#They fucking solved#Gravity Falls is real and it will never die#at this rate we'll solve code 4 on Kryptos next#The Book of Bill#Bill Cipher#Cipher#This was fun to see#My server got pretty close too early on#It's so cool to see this cracked at last#dipper and mabel#mabel#dipper pines#mabel pines#grunkle stan#dipper
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NPMD best line deliveries
oh shit! oh fuck!! i didnt think thered be a skele'uhn here ?!? im so fucking scared of skele'uhnz!!!
dont frighten him pokey you nasssssty boy
were going to jail...and with my luck no one will even B O T H E R making me their bitch...
🐦 heyus the thing about a bãrbĕqüe...it brings folks together...from awl wawlks of laife...theyres a storhé behand everyh burrghurr...everyh kehbahhb...
but I...called God a sonofa B word...who am iaieEUGHAHuhuuuh...
#honourable mention FUCK YOU CLIVESDALE GO GET FUCKED YOU'RE FUCKING LOSERS AND WE'LL KILL YOU#and ofc W E D O N T G I V E A S H I T A B O U T Y O U R P H O N E#nerdy prudes must die#npmd#starkid#starkid npmd#hatchetfield#hatchetverse#hatchetfield trilogy#tgwdlm#black friday#lords in black#max jagerman#peter spankoffski#grace chasity#richie lipschitz#ruth fleming#steph lauter#nick lang#matt lang#jeff blim#will branner#lauren lopez#jon matteson#mariah rose faith casillas#joey ritcher#kim whalen#angela giarratana#corey dorris#curt mega
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So with the growing support behind Kamala Harris, I've been seeing more of THESE:
Do NOT pay them any attention.
Not only are these posts incredibly ignorant, narrow minded and naive....if we lose our rights how can we help the seas abroad?? I ask this because I NEVER get a concrete answer.
Kamala Harris is PRO-Palestine whereas Trump said he would "finish the job".
So between an Accomplished Attorney NOT COP who jailed pieces of gutter shit like Donald Trump or a Convicted Felon known for being a scammer, failed businessman and rapist; pick your poison.
#anti trump#fuck trump#anti maga#fuck maga#fuck republikkkans#anti republikkkans#politics#kamala harris#pro harris#pro kamala harris#vote harris#vote blue#vote democrat#get out the vote#go vote#election 2024#please vote#voting is important#voting matters#non anime#like i can NOT BELIEVE people want to GAMBLE letting that orange fucker BACK in office??#how IGNORANT AND NARROW MINDED CAN YOU BE???#like YES the palestine genocide is horrifice BUT if he gets back in office we'll have a genocide on OUR OWN SIDE#like for example trump wants to close down the pandemic preparedness office AGAIN.#do you KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE WILL DIE!?!?
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the next thing u know, yuu would have the possession of malleus' bones
#just kidding; but imagine if malleus kept his baby tooth to make it into a necklace and give it to lilia#nvm i think the information of lilia hatching him was kept by the council wasn't it ; it was further in book 7 & malleus was angry about it#but if the council hates lilia so much; how did malleus end up being being allowed to be around lilia now; even when baby silver was around#maybe we'll figure it out much later#twst#twisted wonderland#sebek zigvolt#malleus draconia#twst yuu#twst mc#fanart#no wait no way yuu get his bones ; he won't die before yuu#anyhow probably dragon teeth will regrow when they fall off like crocodile or shark
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i can’t imagine ford typing ain’t so I ruined the meme
my favorite part of this was drawing the avatars
my headcanon is that Dipper made a YouTube channel on supernatural stuff. it has 5 followers.
#gravity falls#ford pines#stan pines#dipper pines#grunkle ford#grunkle stan#grunkles#sea grunks#my art#i know the lighting doesnt make sense because the moon is in the bg but i want to die when i think of lighting#did ford push him into the water? we'll never know
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Fandom wankers in the SV fandom are always just. So. I mean...
Like oh is that fanon not matching your interpretation of the characters? You think the fandom is focusing too much on the wrong aspects of the story? Gonna write an essay about why everyone is misreading the subtext? Gonna pick a fight to defend Luo Binghe from the haters? Gonna piss on other people's poor reading comprehension levels while your own self-awareness score is negative one thousand? Funny. I think I read a book about a guy like that.
#svsss#scum villain#scum villain's self saving system#fandom wank#like I'm sorry but no matter what battle you are attempting to wage here you cannot win#the only winning move is to delete the post and walk away until you cool off instead#or else we'll be recovering your clown remains from the circus you mistook for a good hill to die on
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Daily yttd art day seven!!!!!! The sketch was originally for RanSara week for the sleepover prompt, but I didn't finish it until now.
#my art#Yttd#your turn to die#sara chidouin#ranmaru kageyama#ranmaru yttd#sara yttd#ransara#No character is safe from me drawing them with black nail polish. None!!!!!!#Also no character is safe from my nonbinary headcanons (ranmaru is nonbinary)#No ship is safe from my QPR headcanons either!!!! *Queer-platonics your RanSara* mwa hahaha#I really like them :3#described#I just realized I drew Ranmaru a little tall whoopsssss I don't think he's taller than Sara. Oh well.#also mayyybe I'll continue doing daily yttd art we'll see how I feel.#Because this one was fun
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who did this to you. part 3
🤍🌷 read part 1 here | read part 2 here pre-s4, steve whump, protective (but scared) eddie. now with robin!
The number rings in his head, echoing off the inside of his skull and sinking lower and lower until his heart strings join the symphony that leaves him shaking as the memory of Harrington’s slurred voice is drowned out by the dial tone that feels harrowingly like a flatline right now.
Said I’ll go blind. Or deaf. Or just… die.
Eddie doesn’t really feel like his body belongs to him anymore, or like there’s anything left inside him other than panic and fear and that stupid, stupid shaking that he can’t suppress even as he bites his knuckles. Hard.
The pain helps a little not to startle too much when the dial tone stops and a female voice begins speaking to him. Still he almost drops the phone, cursing under his breath as he pulls his hair to collect himself and get his voice to work.
“H— Hi, hello, Mrs Buckley? This is, uh. I. I’m. A friend of Robin’s, could you, uh��“
“Oh, of course, dear,” the woman says, and Eddie feels his eyes beginning to prick with how nice she sounds even through the phone.
Does she know Steve, too? Would she worry if she knew? Would she curse Eddie for not taking him to the hospital right away? Would she blame him if anything happened?
“I’m sorry? What did you say your name was?” she asks, repeating herself by the sound of it.
He blanks, for a whole five seconds, before he spots a note stuck to the fridge saying Don’t forget to eat, Eddie :-)
“Eddie,” he croaks. “Uh, Eddie Munson.”
“Alright, Eddie Munson, I’ll see if I can grab Robin for you. You have a good day, dear, yes?”
No. “Thanks.”
The hand clenched in his hair pulls tighter and tighter until the tears fall and he can pretend it’s from pain and not from— whatever the fuck is happening.
He waits, phone pressed to his ear with a kind of desperation he’s never really felt, and never wants to feel again. He doesn’t even know what to tell Robin; what to say. It’s not like they ever hang out or have anything to say to each other, so why would she—
“Munson?” Robin’s voice appears on the other end, a little too loud for Eddie’s certain state, and he does drop the phone this time, scrambling to catch it and only making the situation worse as it dangles by his knees.
He drops to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest and reaching for the phone again.
“Hi.”
“What do you want? How’d you even get this number? I swear, if you—“
“It’s Blue. I mean, Steve. Harrington.”
That shuts her right up, and Eddie clenches his eyes shut for a moment, hoping to keep the tremor out of his voice if only he takes a moment to breathe.
The moment stretches. And Robin’s voice is wary and quiet when she speaks again.
“What about Steve.”
Eddie rubs his face, leaving more dirt and grime to fill the tear tracks, and clenches his fist before his mouth.
“Eddie,” Robin demands, dangerous now. Nothing left of the rambling, bubbling mess he knows her to be on the school hallways. “What. About. Steve.”
“He… He’s hurt.”
There’s a bit of a commotion on the other end, before Robin declares, “I’m coming over. You tell me everything.”
“You— I mean, he’s in the hospital with my uncle, so—“
“I am. Coming. Over,” she says, enunciating every word as though she were making a threat. Maybe she is. But the certainty in her voice helps a little, anchors him the same way that Wayne’s calmness did. “And you tell me everything.”
Eddie finds himself nodding along, knowing intuitively that there is nothing that could stop her now. Knowing that he doesn’t want to stop her.
“‘Kay.” It’s a pathetic little sound, all choked up and tiny. She doesn’t comment on it.
One second he hears her determined exhale, the next she’s hung up on him and Eddie is greeted by the flatline again. He lets out a shuddering breath and leans his head back against the wall.
Breathing is hard again, but it’s all he has to do now, all that’s left to do, so he focuses. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. His lungs are burning and there’s something wrong about the way he pulls in air and keeps it there, desperately latching onto it until the very last second, his exhales more of a gasping cough than calm and controlled.
It takes a while. Longer than it should. But with Harrington’s blood still on his hands, with his heartbeat in his ears so loud he can’t even hear the words Wayne used to say about breathing in through the mouth or the nose or… or something, he—
He’s fine. He’s home. Wayne’s got Blue, and Buckley is on her way, and… He’s fine.
People don’t just die.
They don’t.
He’s fine.
Eventually, Eddie manages to breathe steadily, the air no longer shuddering and his hands no longer shaking. It’s stupid, really, being so worked up over someone he doesn’t even really know. Sure, everyone knows Steve fucking Harrington, and everyone sees Steve fucking Harrington — whether they want it or not. He has a way of drawing eyes toward him even if all he does is walk the halls with his dorky smile and that stupidly charming swagger he’s got going on. Always matching his shoes to his outfit.
Eddie can relate.
Always reaching out to touch the person he’s talking to; clapping their back or shoulder, lightly shoving them in jest, ruffling their hair or chasing them through the halls, moving and holding himself like teenage angst can’t reach him. Like he belongs wherever he goes. Like he’s so, so comfortable in his own skin. Like the clothes he wears aren’t armour but just a part of him; a means of self-expression.
Again, Eddie can relate. He can relate to all of this.
It’s almost like the two of them aren’t so different after all. Just going about it differently.
And now he’s… Bleeding. Slurring his speech. Wheezing his breath. And Eddie feels protective. Eddie feels responsible. Like he should be there, like he should get to know more about him. About Steve. About Blue.
But he can’t. And he won’t. So he gets up with a groan that expresses his frustration and the need to make a sound, to fight the oppressive silence that only encourages his thoughts to run in obsessive little circles, and he hangs up the phone that’s been dangling beside him all this time.
He needs a smoke.
He needs a smoke and a blunt and a drink and for this day to be over and for time to revert and to leave him out of whatever business he stumbled into by opening the door to the boathouse and, apparently, Steve Harrington’s life.
But unfortunately, the universe doesn’t seem to care about what he needs, because just as he steps outside and goes to light his cig, he catches sight of a harried looking Robin Buckley, standing on the pedals of her bike as she kicks them, her hair blowing in the wind to reveal a frown between her brows. A wave of unease overcomes Eddie, an unease he can’t really place. Maybe it’s the set of her jaw, or the tension in her shoulders, or maybe it’s the worry and anger she exudes.
It never occurred to him before that Robin Buckley might not be a person you’d want to set off. And not because of her uncontrollable rambles.
“Munson!” she calls over, carelessly dropping her bike in the driveway and stalking toward him.
Almost as if summoning a shield, Eddie does light the cigarette. Pretends like the smoke can protect him.
She doesn’t stop at the foot of the steps, though, climbs them in two leaps and gets all up in his space with that unwavering look of determination — so unwavering, in fact, that it almost looks like wrath. Cold. Eddie wants to shrink away from it, not at all daring to wonder what could make her look like that upon hearing that Steve’s hurt.
I don’t wanna die, Munson. I never… I didn’t. With the monsters or the torture.
But those are the words of a semi-conscious teenage boy beat to a pulp, they can’t— There’s no way. Eddie misheard him, or Steve was talking about some kind of inside joke, using the wrong terminology with the wrong guy. It happens. It happens when you’re out of it, really! The shit he’s said when he was shot up, canned up, all strung out and high as a kite… He’d be talking of monsters, too, and mean some benign shit.
But the way Harrington looked, none of that was benign. The bruising all over his face, the blood still dripping from the wound by his temple or his nose, the way he held himself, breath rattling in his lungs, or—
“Hey!” Buckley demands his attention, giving him a light shove; just enough to catch his attention, really, and just what he needed to snap out of it. Still the smoke hits his lungs wrong and he coughs up a lung, further cementing his role of the pathetic little guy today.
“Hey,” he says lamely, his voice still croaking as he crushes the half-smoked cigarette under his boot. “Sorry.” He doesn’t know for what. But it feels appropriate.
She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at him as she crosses her arms in front of her chest.
“Tell me,” she says at last, and even though there is a tremor in her voice, she sounds nothing short of demanding. “I want the whole story, and I want it now.”
And so he does. He tells her everything, bidding her inside because he needs the relative safety of the trailer even though the air in here is stuffy and still faintly smells blue. He pours them both some coffee and some tea, because asking what she wants doesn’t feel right in the middle of telling her how he found her supposed best friend beat to shit in the boathouse he went to to forget about the world for a while.
She stills as she listens to him, staring ahead into the middle distance somewhere beneath the floor and the walls, her hands wrapped around the steaming mug of coffee. Eddie stumbles over his words a lot, unsettled by her stillness, her lack of reaction. She doesn’t even react to his fuck-ups. People usually do.
He wants to ask. Where are you right now? What have you seen? What’s on your mind? What the fuck is happening?
But he doesn’t ask, instead he tells her more about Steve. About how he seemed to forget where he was. About the pain he was in. About the smiles nonetheless. The way he reassured Eddie.
That one finally gets a choked little huff from her, somewhere between a sob and a laugh.
“Yeah, that sounds like him alright. He’s such a dingus.”
There is so much affection in her voice as she says it that Eddie can’t help but smile into his mug.
“Dingus?” he asks, hoping for some lightness, hoping to keep it.
But the light fades, and her eyes get distant again. Eddie wants to kick himself.
“Just a stupid little nickname. An insult, really.”
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what to do with that. If he should ask more or if he should say that he has a feeling Steve might appreciate stupid little nicknames. Especially if they’re unique. Especially if they’re for him. But what right does he have to say that now? What knowledge does he have about Steve Harrington that Robin doesn’t?
So he bites his tongue and drinks his coffee, cursing the silence that falls over them as Robin mirrors him, albeit slow and stilted, like she doesn’t know what to do either. Or where to put her limbs.
“Wayne’s got him now. I took him here, after the boathouse, because I didn’t know what to do. He said he didn’t want the hospital, said there’s…” He trails off.
Robin looks at him, her eyes wary but alert. “Said there’s what?”
It’s stupid. Don’t say it.
“Eddie?”
With a sigh, he puts his mug on the counter and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “He said there’s monsters. In the hospital, I mean. He said that.”
Instead of scoffing or at least frowning, Robin clenches her jaw and nods imperceptibly, her eyes going distant again. Eddie blinks, the urge to just fucking ask overcoming him again, but with every passing second he realises that he doesn’t actually want to ask. He doesn’t want to know, let alone find out.
He just… He just wants to go to bed. Forget any of this ever happened. But he can’t do that, so he continues.
“Brought him here and Wayne took one look at him and convinced him he needed a doctor. And, Jesus H Christ, he was right. I’ve never… I mean, those things don’t happen,” he urges, balling his hands into fists even in the confined space of his pockets. “Right? I mean… Shit, man.” He bumps his shoe into the kitchen counter; gently, so as not to startle Buckley out of her fugue like state.
“You’d be surprised,” she rasps, staring into the middle distance again and slowly sinking to the floor. There is a tremor in her shoulders now, barely noticeable, but Eddie knows where to look. Without really thinking about it, he grabs two of his hoodies he’d haphazardly thrown over the kitchen chairs this morning while deciding on his outfit and realising that it was altogether too warm for long sleeves today. But now, right here in this kitchen, the air tinged with blue, they’re both freezing.
Because fear and worry will take all the warmth right from inside of you and leave you freezing even on the hottest day of the year.
She barely looks at him when he holds out his all-black Iron Maiden hoodie to her, freshly washed and all that, but she takes it nonetheless, immediately pulling it on. It’s way too large on her, her hands not showing through the sleeves, her balled fists safe and warm inside the fabric. It would make him smile if only it didn’t highlight her stillness, her faraway stare, and the years he has on her. She’s, what, two years younger than him? Three?
It seems surreal. Everything, everything does.
Robin Buckley in his home, sitting on his kitchen floor, swallowed by a hoodie that is a size too large even for him, but it was the last one they had in the store and he doesn’t mind oversized clothes, can just cut them shorter when the need arises or layer them or declare them comfort sweaters for when he wants to just have his hands not slip through the sleeves on some days. And now Robin is wearing his comfort hoodie because her best friend was bleeding in his car earlier and then on his couch and now in his uncle’s car, and they never even talk, but he knows that Robin’s favourite colour is blue, but not morning hour blue because that makes her sad; only deep, dark blues.
Her favourite colour. Her favourite person.
It’s so fucking surreal.
He drops down beside her, leaving enough space between them so neither of them feels caged, and mirrors her position: knees to his chest, chin on his forearms. Staring ahead.
And silence reigns.
“Your uncle,” she says at last, finally breaking the silence that’s been grating on Eddie’s nerves and looking at him, really looking as she rests her cheek on her forearms crossed over her knees. “Tell me about him.”
There is a gentleness to her voice now despite how hoarse it is. Maybe she’s just tired, too. And scared. At least the shivering has stopped.
Still Eddie frowns, confused as to why she should be breaking the silence to ask about Wayne when everything today has been about Harrington. About Steve. About deep and dark blues.
“Uncle Wayne?” he asks. “Why?”
“Because,” she begins, and sighs deeply, works to get the air back in her lungs. Eddie wants to reach out, but instead he just clenches his fingers a little deeper into the fabric of his hoodie. “My best friend is hurt very badly and the only person with him is your uncle, and I need to know that he’s in good hands. Or I swear to whatever god you may or may not believe in, and granted, it’s probably the latter, but still I swear I’ll give into my arsonist tendencies and burn down this city, starting with your trailer if you don’t tell me that your uncle is a good man who will do anything in his power to make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs. And deserves.”
Her jaw is set and her bottom lip trembles, but it doesn’t take away from the absolute sincerity in her threat.
“So, please,” she continues, her voice breaking just a little bit. “Tell me. Tell me about your uncle.”
Tell me about your favourite person.
Eddie swallows, and mirrors her position once more, so she can see his eyes and know he’s sincere. Because he’s learned something about eyes today, about how much in the world can change if only you have a pair of eyes to look into.
And he nods, looking for somewhere to start. “He’s the best man I know. He’s the best man you’ll ever meet.”
She clings to his eyes. Searches them for the truth, beseeching them not to lie. He lets her.
“Took me in when I was ten, because my dad’s a fuck-up and my mom’s a goner. Took me in again when I was twelve after I ran away. Makes me breakfast and I pretends the dinner I make him is more than edible.” He smiles a little, because how could he not? “He’s my uncle, but still he’s the best parent anyone could wish for. Writes those little notes that he sticks to the fridge, y’know, the one with the smiley face? Tells me to eat, because I forget sometimes. I tell him to drink water, because he forgets. First few years, he’d read to me. And the man’s a shit reader, has some kind of disability I think, and at some point I learned that he wasn’t reading at all. He was telling me stories all the time, conning me into thinking that the books were magic, and that every time I’d try to read the book for myself, the story would change.”
There’s a lump in his throat now, and his eyes sting again. But Robin doesn’t seem to fare any better than him if her wavering smile is any indication.
“There’s no one,” Eddie continues, “who will make you believe in magic quite like uncle Wayne. Or in good things. And d’you wanna know what he told Blue when he said he was scared of going to the hospital?”
Sniffling, Robin shakes her head.
“He said, Okay. Then we do it scared. And all of that after he just… with that patience he has, told him everything that was gonna happen. And that he’d be there with him through it all. That he knew the doc and wouldn’t let anyone else near him, and that there’s no need to be scared at all.”
He sighs, breathes, stills. Swallows, before looking back at Robin.
“So, if there’s one person who’ll make sure that boy gets the help and care he needs and deserves…”
“It’s uncle Wayne,” Robin finishes his sentence, her voice still hoarse, but Eddie likes to think it’s for a different reason now.
“It’s uncle Wayne,” Eddie says, nodding along as he does.
There is something like understanding in Robin’s eyes now, and Eddie hopes it’s enough. Enough to calm the spiking of her nerves, enough to settle the coil of freezing nausea that must reside in the pit of her stomach, enough to let the next breath she takes feel a little more like it’s supposed to be there.
He wants to say something more, wants to reach out and reassure her that everything will be okay, but he can’t know that. He doesn’t feel like it’s entirely true, let alone appropriate right now.
There’s something in Robin’s eyes, in the way she holds herself, like she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like she accepts his words at face value but doesn’t really believe them. Like she’ll only rest when she’s got her best friend back in her arms and hears the story — the whole story — from him.
And Eddie doesn’t fault her, because the thing is, he doesn’t know what happened. Steve said that Hagan came at him, but that’s really all he got out of him before he started talking about death and shit, and Eddie really didn’t want to ask any more questions then.
So they sit there for a while, the silence oppressive and unwelcome, clumsy and awkward; Robin’s mouth opening and closing a lot, like she wants to ask questions but doesn’t dare to ask them — and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s glad about it or not. Doesn’t know if he wants to hear the kind of questions asked with that kind of stare.
It is only after a long while, when Robin’s shoulders start shaking again and she buries deeper into the hoodie and her own spiralling thoughts, that Eddie breaks the silence again, replaying in his head the last moment between him and Steve.
“He’s not gonna break,” he tells her, aiming for gentle and reassuring.
What he doesn’t expect is the minute flinch, the jolt shooting through her body and the pained expression it leaves her with. What he doesn’t expect is what she says next.
“You know,” she begins, her voice as far away as her eyes, and it’s like she doesn’t even know she’s speaking. “Sometimes I wish he would.”
What?
Eddie blinks, swallowing hard.
“Just for, just for a break. Just so he can rest. Let the rest take over for a while.”
That… He doesn’t— What the hell does that even mean?
“Like maybe then the world would… snap back.” She snaps her fingers, just once. This time it’s Eddie who flinches. “And everything bad would disappear. But it won’t. And he won’t.” She swallows. Then quietly, almost inaudible, “He won’t break.”
And the way she says it… It was reassuring before. And now it feels like a burden. A curse.
Who the fuck are you, Steve Harrington? And you, Robin Buckley.
Eddie shudders, knowing he doesn’t want the answer to that anymore. He doesn’t want the questions either. So he buries his face in his hands, closes his eyes, and breathes. The adrenaline has worn off by now, the repeated panicking that added fuse to the fire has ceased now, leaving him worn out and strung out, tired and exhausted. He pulls up the hood, burrowing into the warmth.
And then he stills. His usually twitching, fumbling, fiddling body falling entirely still beside Buckley.
It’s like time stops for a while there, even though Eddie knows that it’s dragging ever on and on. He’s inclined to let it, though. He’s too tired, too exhausted to really care about what time may or may not be doing.
“Why’d you call me?”
It takes a while for Eddie to realise that Robin’s spoken again, asked him a question out loud, the cadence of it different to the endless circles of questions Eddie’s got stuck in his head since the early afternoon tinged in blue against crimson.
He lifts his head, tucking his hands underneath his chin, and looks over at Buckley. Her hair is dishevelled now, her mascara smudged and crusty. Her lipstick is almost all gone, with the way he sees her biting and chewing on her lips.
“I… It seemed like the right thing to do, y’know? He kept repeating your number. In the car, it was like… Sounds dramatic, but it was like his lifeline, almost. Repeated it so often it kinda got stuck.” He shrugs. “Seemed important, too.”
Robin frowns; a careful little thing. “How’d you know it was me?”
“Well, he just talked about you. Y’know. Tell me about your favourite person, I told him, because that’s the thing you gotta do to keep people, like, talking to you. Not shit about what day it is, or what. Just, y’know. Let them talk about things they like. Things they’ll wanna tell you about. ’N’ he talked about you.”
She’s quiet for a while, letting his words sink in. And Eddie wonders if she knew. That she’s his favourite person. If he ever told her. If maybe he took that from him now. It’s a stupid thing to worry about, really; the boy was bloodied and bruised on his couch just an hour ago, there are worse things at hand for Eddie to worry about. But now he wonders if he just spilled some sort of secret. Some sort of love confession.
“Did you, I mean… Are you guys, like, dating? Did I just steal his moment?”
Robin huffs, but it’s more like a smile that needs a little more space in the room, a little more air to really bloom. It’s fond. She shakes her head, her eyes far away again, but closer somehow.
“Nah,” she says, and the smile is in her voice, too. Eddie kind of likes her voice like that. “We’re platonic. Which is something I’d never thought I’d say. Not about Steve Harrington, y’know?”
And the way she drags out his name… Eddie can relate. Like it means something, but like what it means is nowhere close to reality. Nowhere close to what it really means. Nowhere close to Blue.
Robin sighs, the sound more gentle than it should be, and leans her head against the cabinet behind her. “We worked together over summer break. Scoops Ahoy.” Her voice does a funny thing, and her eyes glaze over as she pauses. Eddie waits, his lips tipped up into a little smile, too; to match hers.
“What, the ice cream parlour?”
Robin hums, her smile widening at what Eddie guesses must be memories of chaos and ridiculousness. “I wanted to hate him,” she continues. “But try as I might, he wouldn’t let me. Or, he did. He did let me. Just, it turns out, there’s no use hating Steve Harrington, not when he’s so… So endlessly genuine. There’s nothing to hate, y’know? And then he…”
She stops, her mouth clicking shut as her eyes tear up a little. The Starcourt fire. Eddie remembers the news, remembers the self-satisfied smirk when he’d heard about it, remembers sticking it to the Man and to capitalism and to the idea of malls over supporting your friendly neighbourhood businesses.
Guilt and shame overcome him as he realises that they must have been in there when it happened.
“He saved your life?”
Robin’s eyes snap toward him, wide and caught, and Eddie raises his hands in placation.
“In the fire? Were you there?”
“Y—yeah.” She swallows hard, avoiding his eyes. “The fire. He saved me. Yeah.”
Eddie nods, deciding to drop that topic right there; to lay it on the ground as gently as he can and cover it with bright red colours so he never steps on it ever again.
“He must be your favourite person, too, then, hm?” he steers the conversation back away into safer waters.
“He is,” she says, sure and genuine and true. “It’s just. I don’t think I’ve ever been anyone’s favourite. He has a lot of people who care about him, you know? A lot of people he cares about. Even more numbers memorised in that stupidly smart head of his.” She huffs again, burrowing deeper into Eddie’s hoodie, pulling the sleeves over her hands some more. “It’s stupid, to be so hung up on this. Is it stupid?”
“I don’t think it is,” Eddie says, scooting a little closer to Robin. “Like, I don’t even know that boy, right? But even I know that he’s got some ways to shift your focus or something. Give you a silver lining, or something to take the pain away even when he’s the one who… I don’t know, that’s probably stupid, too.”
“Nah,” Robin says, scooting closer to him, too, until their sides are pressed together and she can lay her head on his shoulder. “It’s not stupid. You’re right; that’s Steve for you. ’S just who he is.”
It is, isn’t it?
You’re so blue, Stevie.
She’ll say something corny when, when you ask her, jus’ to fuck with you. Sunset gold or rose, jus’ to mess with… But is blue.
Blue. ‘S nice.
Yeah. Yeah, he is.
Eddie lets his thoughts roam the endless possibilities and realities that is Steve Harrington, the depths he hides — or won’t hide, maybe, if you know how to ask. Where to look.
Maybe he’ll find out, one of these days. Not about the terrible things that leave him scared of the hospital, not about the horrible things that have him speaking of death and dying like he’s accepted them as a possibility a long time ago.
He swallows hard and shakes off these thoughts, because things like that just. They don’t happen. They don’t happen to blue-smiled boys who trust you to be kind even when they’re beaten straight to hell. And they sure as hell don’t happen when uncle Wayne’s around.
Nothing bad has ever happened when uncle Wayne was around.
And he wants to tell Robin, wants to make that promise. But part of him can’t bear the thought of being wrong. So he keeps his mouth shut and just sits with her, their heads as heavy as their hearts as they wait.
The sun is long gone when the phone above him rings again, spooking and startling them out of their timeless existence.
“Yeah?” he answers, his heart hammering in his chest. “Wayne?”
“Hey, Ed,” Wayne’s voice comes through the phone like a melody. Calm and steady. Robin is scooting closer, and Eddie shifts the phone to accommodate her so they can both listen. Somehow, they ended up holding hands — and holding on hard. “We’re coming home now.”
🤍🌷 tagging:
@theshippirate22 @mentallyundone @ledleaf @imfinereallyy @itsall-taken @simply-shin @romanticdestruction @temptingfatetakingnames @stevesbipanic @steddie-island @estrellami-1 @jackiemonroe5512 @emofratboy @writing-kiki @steviesummer @devondespresso @swimmingbirdrunningrock @dodger-chan @tellatoast @inkjette @weirdandabsurd42 @annabanannabeth @deany-baby @mc-i-r @mugloversonly @viridianphtalo @nightmareglitter @jamieweasley13 @copingmechanizm @marklee-blackmore @sirsnacksalot @justrandomfandomstm @hairdryerducks @silenzioperso @newtstabber @fantrash @zaddipax @cometsandstardust @rowanshadow26 @limpingpenguin @finntheehumaneater @extra-transitional (sorry if i missed anyone! lmk if you don't wanna be tagged for part 4 🫶)
#steddie#steddie fic#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#who did this to you#something has Shifted in this part and i wanna do a literary/meta analysis of it but i dont wanna ruin the fun or be annoying but hhh#also sorry if you don't like this bc it's so different from the other two but the sudden adrenaline crash will do that to ya#we'll get Blue back soon don't you worry 🤍#also eddie's mind is running in circles and he doesn't have wayne to stop him this time sooo if this feels repetitive and redundant???#then let's pretend it should read that way actually (and also eddie is an obsessive little guy he'll ruminate forever if he doesn't have#an outlet sooo)#also rambling fumbly robin going deadly still over an injured steve is the hill i will die on actually like that just makes me feral#dio words
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Supersons +1 prompt answer
If you asked Danny, 12 year old half-ghost hero of Amity Park, how half-life was going, he'd tell you things were mixed.
On the one hand, he had just spent the last three or four months in family/scientist/'this house is a death trap waiting to happen' therapy with Jazz, and by some miracle, it worked. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of dream as his parents poured over years upon years of research, crossing out lines, rewriting equations, and reevaulating everything they thought they knew about ghosts.
Was the shudders family therapy worth not going over how they'd like to dissect him? he's still not sure. The horror.
Not to mention the attention. Danny was sure he was going to throw up if his parents drag him away for more bonding time, only for a ghost to attack and for him to run off to transform. What made it worse was when the Fentons came barrelling out, guns blazing, alternating between getting mad that he'd interrupted their family time, and asking him questions about "Your suspicious spook culture, if you even have one you dangerous delusional delinquent!"
At least they were trying, but Danny was very much comfortable not spilling the beans on the whole half-ghost situation, thank you very much.
And that's why, when Dad proposed to take him to Gotham to show off their latest invention, he jumped at the chance. The home city of the Batman, one of the greatest heroes known to man (except for Martian Manhunter and Superman of course) and Dad promised to take him to Gotham Observatory too. Not to mention how much he wanted to get away from Jazz's smug looks of superiority. Gotham here he comes!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Damian Wayne scowled as he scanned the crowed of scientists with more smarts than sense. Really, a flying toilet seat. For what deviant?
"Maybe they're for people who can fly." Kent piped up beside him. Father had let the two of them run off together, and his company was mildly more appealing than being alone with his thoughts.
"Why would Superman ever need to relieve himself mid-air. I do not believe you would appreciate your father's rear end being on display for all the world to see."
"True." Jon hummed. His voice lowered to a whisper. "You think indecent exposure is what your dad meant by "scoping out any potential future villains?"
Damian gave Jon a flat look. The sooner this convention ended, the better.
The crowded shifted, and the mass of visitors pushed toward a certain corner, where a man large enough to rival Superman's build stood upon a podium, with a boy their age off to the side.
"Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you the latest in FentonWorks' innovations, the Fenton Ghost Zone Radar, soon to revolutionise the study of ghosts!"
"I thought ghosts were a magic thing." Jon said. "You know, stuff Constantine and JLD deal with."
"They are."
"Mixing magic and science is like, like, oil and water. No way this guy's serious, is he?"
"His name is Jack Fenton. That's Daniel Fenton, his son." Damian pointed to the boy in question, looking like he'd seen this scene a hundred times before, but with that knowing glint that promised something deeper. "They're normally spotted alongside Jack's wife, Madeline. Widely regarded as quacks by the larger scientific community for chasing paper-thin theories about ghosts, they've nonetheless gained funding from the government. This is the first time they've left their base of operations in Amity Park for years."
"Woah, you know your stuff, Dami!"
Damian glared at the young Superboy in disguise. "I read the briefing files. Didn't you?"
Kent looked uncomfortable and looked away. "Uhh, maybe?"
"Typical."
"Well, if he's so crazy, then why'd your dad even let him in." Upon another scathing glare, Kent relented. "Oh right, the whole supervillain thing."
"Enough chatter. We'll zero in on the younger Fenton. I intend to squeeze him like a grape, and make Father proud."
"Dami maybe you should be a little nicer-" Only for Damian to march off without him.
Honestly, inane niceties were above someone of his status. Those things were Superboy's job, and if Daniel Fenton wouldn't crack, then Damian was itching to try a new torture technique.
@impyssadobsessions
#damn that was a good ride guess#we'll die now that's pretty cool#dpxdc#danny fenton#danny phantom#dcxdp#dp x dc#damian wayne#jon kent#i don't nkow what im doing#im an amateur writer plz forgive me#inspired by prompt#still dont know how to do this stuff#uhh the only media i've watched with these kids is Battle of the Supersons 3D movie#it was pretty good#but man the fact that the kids just chill on the watchtower as it crashes to earth and they're like and i'm like WHAT YOU'RE 13 YEARS OLD N#unless ur name is Danny i guess since the original show has him be hilariously chill about a lot of things including his parents trying to#bitchslap him with ghost guns#supersons#soup persons
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#tgcf text posts bc I have nothing better to do#We'll just ignore that I have exams next week#hualian matters more than my future#i'll just die and become a ghost city resident#text post#hua cheng#hualian#tgcf#tian guan ci fu#xie lian#mxtx tgcf#heaven officials blessing#hualian invented love#crimson rain sought flower#san lang
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their relationship means so much to me...
#gotg vol 3#gotg#nebula#rocket raccoon#guardians of the galaxy#guardians 3#guardians of the galaxy vol 3#gotg nebula#fanart#art#my draws#literally showed this to my brother and he was like 'this is reallygood but nebula doesnt have the metal around her eye anymore'#IN ALL THE REFERENCE PICS I LOOKED AT I DIDNT REALIZE X_____x art flop!!!#we'll just say this is right before rocket repaired it for her#rocket x nebula#yeah this can be shippy if u want it to be. so what#anyone else ride or die for this ship or justme...
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— Atticus, Love Her Wild for @wincestwednesdays 2024 week three: sunshine / rock and a hard place
#yes this is late. im sorry (sobs)#wincest#wincest wednesday#supernatural#spnedit#samdeanedit#mialook#*#w#you and me#and if we die; we'll do that together too#there ain't no me if there ain't no you
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