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You should get an AO3 account

With the rise of AI and the well known epidemic of AI companies scraping Ao3 for training data most authors on Ao3 have locked down their fics to logged in users only. This is unfortunate for authors and readers. As an author I've noticed a steep drop in readership on fics restricted to logged in users and when recommending fics to my friends I've noticed that the folks without an account can't find the fics. The logged in users only toggle, not only keeps people without an account from reading a fic, but also from seeing its listing at all. More than 50% of fics I come across have this setting turned on. So, you should get an AO3 account. I know this seems daunting and unfair because it's an invite only system but, you can invite yourself through the homepage if you don't already have one, and in the past few years I've never heard of someone who requested an invitation through this method, not getting one. And for those of you who are hesitant because you don't write, that's okay. It's not weird at all to click on a commenter username and find that they have 0 works and 10,000 bookmarks. It might take a week for the invitation to actually show up, but I can almost guarantee you will get one, just keep an eye on your email. It's free to join and donations are optional. You'll have more to read if you have an account and maybe give your favorite author the chance to protect their work from AI without a loss of readership and feedback.

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The Crash-Bang Incident - Part Two

Part One

PSA!!! Anywhere between 50-90% of this portion of the fic was written by the lovely @queenie-ofthe-void. I honestly can't tell who wrote what at this point, so let's all just clap for Queenie and call it a day!

Or: on the way to the tunnels with a concussed Steve Harrington passed out in the back seat, Max crashes into Eddie's van.

“Okay,” Eddie says, voice quivering, lips invisible behind the bandana. 

Dustin stands to the side, watching as Steve pats his shoulder consolingly, as if he’s not the one whose face looks a bit like the raw meat they’d thrown all over the train tracks to lure the Demodogs in.  

It never would’ve happened if Dustin hadn’t gotten into his car and practically forced him to help find D'Artagnan.

His gut curdles with the thought.

Or maybe he’s just hungry; it’s been hours since lunch, and he’d barely even finished the cafeteria’s gross meatloaf. His mom’s is way better.

“Hey, shithead,” Steve calls, and something smacks into his face. As it falls, Dustin clutches at it on instinct, barely stopping it from hitting the ground. “Put that on.”

It’s a bandana he must’ve found in the recesses of Billy’s trunk. He runs his fingers over it, grimacing when something crusty and brown flakes off onto the ground. He drops it, wiping his hand on his jeans.

“No, thank you,” Dustin replies curtly. “I brought my own.”

As if that was what they were waiting for, everyone starts tying on the face and eye covering’s they’d stolen from the Byers’ house. Dustin’s own is a scarf he’d found in Ms. Byers closet, and it smells nice, like the perfume she sometimes wears. Much better than Billy’s crusty old thing.

“What the fuck is that?” Eddie squeaks.

Dustin shines his light around, pointing at each of the Party members, making sure they’re all covered. He ends on that Eddie guy, who’s eyes look even more frightened behind the ill-fitting swim goggles he’d acquired from somewhere, hair sticking out every which way from beneath the band around his head.

The guy’s looking at Steve’s studded baseball bat like it’s going to grow teeth and bite him. Any relief Dustin had felt at adding another adult to their monster-hunting group has fled by the time he watches Eddie lean away as Steve swings the bat up on his shoulder, barely avoiding impaling himself on one of the protruding nails.

Dustin’s got to admit it, though; he doesn’t care what Mike says, Steve’s cool.

“You need weapons to fight monsters, Munson,” Steve replies, striding away.

Eddie stands there for a second, looking absolutely dumbfounded, before he rushes to catch up, staying so close that Steve almost trips over the guy’s foot.

Steve might be cool, but this new guy? Not so much. He might know something about D&D, but he looks like a strong breeze might tip him over, and when they find the hole into the tunnel, he stays behind Steve, peering over his shoulder like the monsters he doesn’t seem to get him might jump out at any second.

“A little space, dude?” Steve asks.

Eddie skitters back a few steps, and Steve wastes no time jumping into the hole, landing on his feet like some sort of superhero.

“So cool,” Dustin breathes, staring down at the top of Steve’s head.

“We brought rope!” Lucas calls, and when Dustin turns back, Mike’s already winding the rope around the closest stump.

“Do you want to die?” Eddie asks. He kneels down beside Mike, and slaps his hands away, ignoring his huffing as he twists the ropes into configurations Dustin’s never seen before pulling it all taught and yanking on it hard to test its ability to withstand weight. “You’ve gotta use a bowline, or it’s just gonna unravel.”

He stands, dusting the dirt from his knees while the Party stares incredulously at him.

“What?” he demands, hands on his hips in a clear emulation of Steve. “I was a boy scout.”

Dustin can’t help the way he snorts. “Looking like that?” he asks, outright laughing when the guy squawks. 

It’s just, Dustin had been in the boy scout’s before the move. His Mom had thought it’d help him make friends. It hadn’t. The kids were nice, for the most part, but no one had ever come over for sleepovers, or eaten lunch with him at school, or called his house just to talk.

Then they’d moved to Hawkins, and he’d met Will, and Mike, and Lucas, and he’d never looked back. But, he still knew the trademark looks of a boy scout, especially the ones that got into it enough to carry it into adulthood: Dorky haircuts, frumpy t-shirts, boots they can hike in, like they need to be ready to survive the wilderness at any moment. 

Eddie doesn’t have any of that. His boots look way too heavy to hike in, his jeans have too many rips just begging to be caught on low-hanging branches, and his hair’s long and wild. It even looks like he’s wearing makeup, that black stuff Nancy rubs beneath her eyes sometimes. 

No way in hell was he a boy scout. He doesn’t look like he’s been prepared for anything in his entire life. 

“What?” Eddie whines, stomping his foot like he’s just a big kid, worse than Lucas’s younger sister. “My Uncle signed me up!”

Dustin opens his mouth to reply, but then Steve calls from the hole in the ground, “hurry up, shitheads!” and they all jump, having entirely forgotten his presence. 

Mike’s the first one to grab onto the rope and shimmy down, clearly upset at himself for having gotten off task. They all watch him descend, waiting until Steve’s caught him and moved him out of the way, ignoring his grumbling outright. 

Dustin goes next. He sits and lets his feet dangle into the hole. It feels a lot higher off the ground, now, like his legs are dangling over an endless abyss. Still, everyone’s waiting for him, so he grabs onto the rope, and begins his descent. 

He flips and crawls backwards on his elbows until all of him is dangling, hands clutching at the rope hard enough that they sting, legs wrapped tightly around it, but he’s still slipping, too heavy and lacking any real upper body strength to stay afloat.

He slips.

He falls. 

Dustin barely has time to scream, shocked by his freefall before all the wind’s knocked out of him when he hits the bottom. But the bottom’s got arms and fingers, and it staggers when he hits it. 

Dustin opens his eyes and peers right up into Steve’s mostly-covered face. 

“Ow, Henderson,” Steve grumbles, but he’s clutching Dustin so tightly to his chest that Dustin can hear his heartbeat hammering where they’re pressed together. 

Dustin knows he must be heavy, but Steve takes his time setting him down. “Thanks,” he mumbles, stepping back to wait with Mike while Lucas, Max, and Eddie make their own way down, much more gracefully than Dustin had. 

Eddie’s eyes are bugged-out and wide as he looks around the tunnel. Dustin can’t blame him. It’s dark enough down here that the beams of their flashlights are eaten by the darkness long before anything is truly illuminated. 

“What now?” Eddie asks, shuffling close enough to Steve that their shoulders brush. 

But, Mike’s already strode off into the darkness with a call of, “come on!” so they have no choice but to follow. 

“Hang on, Wheeler!” Steve replies, rushing past the rest of them. Eddie tries to follow, but Steve calls, “guard the rear, Munson?” and he falls back, grumbling just loudly enough for Dustin to hear the words, “–you say, captain,” whispered snidely. 

Dustin hangs back with him, just a few steps ahead as Lucas jogs to catch up. In front, Steve finally elbows his way past Mike, and the tunnel’s narrow enough that Mike’s having trouble sliding around him. 

“What am I supposed to be looking out for?” Eddie asks him, voice hushed like he’s afraid he’ll get caught cheating on a test. 

Dustin hums, unsure of how much to say. The guy seems sort of freaked already, but he doesn’t need him to get eaten like Mews, so he replies, “Anything with too many teeth.” Thinking of Dart in pollywog form, he continues, “or no face.”

The sound of Eddie’s stomping footsteps stops for a second. Dustin keeps walking, listening intently until he hears them start back up again, quicker like he’s running to catch back up. 

“No face?” he hisses.

“Uh huh,” Dustin replies. 

“How can it have teeth and no–”

“Look, dude,” Dustin cuts off, ignoring Eddie’s huff. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

The tunnels are dark, wet, and crawling with vines. It’s bigger than he expected, like it’s made to fit something larger than Dart. Dustin wishes they could take their time, collect samples and study what looks like some sort of alien flora lining the ceiling and floor. But Steve’s yelling at them to hustle, so they hustle. 

Steve’s haggard voice eats at his guilty conscience. He wouldn’t have gotten himself wrapped up in this and gotten almost beaten to death if it wasn’t for Dustin. Now the guy looks like he could keel over at any moment. If he dies, it’ll be Dustin’s fault.

His morbid spiraling is abruptly cut short when a high-pitched scream rings through the tunnels from behind him. Dustin turns to find the new guy on the ground, face mask pulled down around his neck.  Everyone rushes over as the guy– Manson? Munston?-- falls to his knees and practically hacks up a lung, screaming between breaths. 

Steve shoves Dustin aside and kneels down next to him. He asks what’s wrong, when– oh, it’s Munson– shouts, “it’s in my mouth! It’s in my mouth! It blew all that shit in my face, and I’m gonna die, fuck Harrington, it’s all over for me, man. I’m not gonna make it!” 

Damn, and Dustin thought he was supposed to be the dramatic one.

But as Steve rubs circles into the guy’s back, Munson’s breathing evens out, and everything goes quiet again. He looks up at the group of kids standing in front of him and has the audacity to sound embarrassed when he says, “oh, actually I think I’m alright.” Dustin can’t help but groan and turn back to the Party who look just as fed up with this guy as he feels. Sure, he knows what D&D is, but he’s not a fighter, doesn’t have cool hair and a kick-ass car.

Steve helps Munson to his feet again, and he leans in close to Munson’s face as he readjusts the black bandana over his nose and mouth. Dustin thinks he hears the guy gasp, probably still struggling to breathe. But they’re wasting time, so Steve gives him a rough pat on the shoulder and ruffles Dustin’s hat on his way back to the front of the line, and they’re off again.

It’s quiet as they enter the large cavern they’ve been searching for. The stench of gasoline burns the hairs in Dustin’s nose and makes his eyes water a bit. But they get everything drenched before making their way back to the entrance they came from. Dustin pushes his way to the front just in time to catch Steve flick his lighter open and toss it. 

For a moment, back on the boarded up bus, Dustin had briefly considered how maybe smoking does make you look cooler. Because nothing had ever been cooler than Steve Harrington flicking his lighter open, and closed, not a care in the world even in the face of certain death.

His mind’s quickly changed at the stench of the Upside-Down burning, black ichor bleeding from the vines as they screech in vain. It’s a smell he’ll never forget, and as he thinks he’s going to vomit, Munson grabs the back of his collar, hauling him after the Party who’ve already taken off behind him. He’ll leave the smoking to Steve, who’s probably the only reason it even looks cool anyways.

So they run and run and run until Dustin’s wheezing for breath. He knows Steve’s an athlete, and Lucas has always been sporty, but Dustin’s never particularly excelled at gym class. 

Actually, after everything that’s happened tonight, he thinks it’s kind of insane that Steve’s still going after hunting down demodogs, walking all the way to the lab, getting the shit kicked out of him, and leading them through the tunnels, he just keeps going. Like the energizer bunny. 

Maybe if Dustin’s not going to take up smoking, he could take up running instead. Seems like it might be useful if they have to do more Upside-Down shit next year, too. But, hopefully this is it. El’s going to close the gate, and the Demogorgon and Mind Flayer can go back to being terms from D&D instead of real-life monsters out to kill them.  

Time moves weirdly in the tunnels – every patch of tunnel looks so much like the rest that time could have not been moving at all, and Dustin wouldn’t have noticed. But he’s pretty sure they’re about halfway back when Mike makes a strangled squawking noise and goes down hard.  

Everyone’s screaming, but with how closely Mike’s been following Steve, he gets to him first. Dustin doesn’t even realize what’s got him until Steve whips his bat out and strikes the ground next to Mike’s foot. The vine wrapped around his ankle whines and writhes as the nail bat hits it again, and again, and again. 

It’s quiet now, every single one of them brought to silence as the nails on Steve’s bat catch the light of all their flashlights pointing straight at him as he absolutely wails on the vine. Even Mike just sits there, staring up at Steve the same way he’d always looked at El when she’d used her powers. Dustin makes a mental note to make fun of him for it later. 

As Steve finally lets the bat thunk into the ground and stay there, propping himself up with it as he catches his breath, Munson makes this weird, high-pitched whining noise. Dustin whirls on him, ready to tear a vine off him with his bare hands, but there’s nothing there. Just Munson, staring at Steve with wide eyes, cheeks pink in the sallow light of Dustin’s flashlight beam. 

“What?” Dustin demands, moving the light up and down Munson’s body, double and triple checking for any wayward vines. “Did one get you?”

Munson shakes his head like a dog, sending his frizzy hair flying into his face. “Nothing!” he says, and then makes to stride past Dustin and continue walking.

It causes a minor traffic jam when Max and Lucas make no move to let him past, so all four of them stand there, bunched up together while they wait for Steve to help Mike up and lead the group once more. Eddie sulks his way into the back, arms crossed like he’s pouting. 

Dustin’s ready to get out of the dark, but his legs still feel wobbly from trying to climb down the rope, so he’s thankful when the group comes to an abrupt halt. Steve’s got his arms out wide, corralling everyone behind him. Dustin sees his gloved hands drift slowly towards the nail bat on his belt when he hears chittering in front of him. Peeking around Lucas’ shoulder, he spots a lone demodog crouched to spring.

“Dart?” Dustin asks, pushing his way through the crowd, eyes glued to the tell-tale yellow markings  on the creature’s back end. He thinks he hears Munson whisper “did he just call that thing Dart?” but the question’s drowned out by a chorus of too-loud shushing.

Dart flinches slightly at the noise. Dustin holds up his hands, removing his goggles and face mask even as he listens to Steve repeatedly tell him not to. The guy worries too much. So what if Dart ate Mews, it’s not like he knew any better. Plus, Mews was his mom’s cat, and Dustin’s never had his own pet before. Sue him, he misses his little buddy.

He was a total asshole, locking Dart in that dingey, disgusting cellar. Dustin can’t imagine how much it must’ve hurt his paws– claws– digging through the cement foundation. So he apologizes, over and over, until Dart relaxes. The adorable creature dips its head when Dustin remembers the candy he’s still got shoved in his pocket.

“You hungry? I’ve got our favorite, see? Nougat” Dart shakes his tail. Well, Dustin thinks he would if Dart had a tail. He wiggles his butt a bit, and that’s good enough for Dustin. So he unwraps the candy bar, slowly placing it between them for Dart to suck into his maw of razor sharp teeth. 

Steve is practically hissing through his own, less impressive, teeth at him to back up, but Dustin knows what this moment really is. He tries not to tear up, as he unwraps another bar. Dart eats it with more excitement and less hesitancy.

“Is he feeding that thing nougat?” Eddie practically screeches before being violently shushed again. “Oh, holy shit. Dart? As in D’Artagnan? As in this kid is feeding this monster a Three Musketeers bar so he named it–”

“Yes, oh my god new guy, we get it,” Mike snaps. “Pull it together.”

Without looking back, Dustin waves them to pass as Dart’s distracted. With Steve in the front again, Munson grabs him by the front of his shirt to get moving.

Dustin fixes his goggles and mask back on before solemnly wishing his little buddy farewell, and they’re headed down the tunnel again.

The trek back to the cavernous opening feels faster than their trek in, so before Dustin realizes, Steve’s already hoisting Max and Lucas up the dangling ropes. When Munson and Steve move to help Mike, a low, rumbling growl echoes from a distance. 

Fear rips through him, high on the edge of adrenaline, when Steve starts shouting. The older boys link their fingers together to boost Mike up while Lucas pulls at his arms. What was at first a low growl has erupted into a roaring stampede, the tunnels quake around them with the force of it. 

And just like in the Byers’ living room, watching Steve take hit, after hit, after hit, Dustin’s frozen in place, eyes locked on the shadows reflecting down the tunnel. As much as he wants to be like Steve, his feet won’t allow him to move, not even to save himself. 

Until he’s forcibly ripped backwards by his jacket to face them. Steve almost throws him into the air, Eddie’s hands boosting him up so fast together that he lands halfway out of the entrance while Mike and Lucas yank him to safety.

But the ground is shaking, the snarling deafening, and Dustin realizes with a gripping vice around his heart that he’ll never get the chance to learn how to style his hair with Farrah Fawcet hairspray– three pumps, damp, not wet– because Steve’s going to die down there. 

He’s going to be ripped to shreds in a hole in the ground, and it’s Dustin’s fault – he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for him. And now the new guy too, dead, all of it Dustin’s fault.

I know I already did a shoutout, but one more round of applause for @queenie-ofthe-void for the writing AND editing! I would be lost without you <3

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wrestling au or something HAHAHAH (with reference of an actual wrestling image i believe,, sent to the poolverine creators club ;)

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my silly little jester costume for the play I’m in is so fire you all wish you were me

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Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

just a little misplaced

Prompt #7 - The Good, The Bad and The Ugly | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: Language, A Bit of Grave Robbing | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Eddie & Corroded Coffin, Steddie | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, Hawkins Just Doesn't Know That

"Literally everything about this is illegal," Goodie says, leaning on his shovel, not doing a bit of digging. Eddie looks up at him from the hole in the ground that they've been digging. Slowly. Very slowly. It's harder than it looks in the movies.

"Well, I wouldn't have to do this if you hadn't helped Wayne bury all my favorite shit in a hole in the ground," Eddie whines. He cannot believe that's what they did when they thought he was dead. They could have just kept it, the assholes.

"What part of 'we thought you were dead' do you not understand? It's not like we thought you were coming back for it," Gareth snaps, popping Eddie in the calf with his shovel. Eddie hits him back with his own.

They don't have time for that kind of back and forth all-out war to start. 

"Ungrateful assholes," Eddie snaps, digging his shovel back into the dirt. Luckily it's fresh enough that it isn't totally impossible to dig through.

It's still time consuming, though.

Headlights cross the trees, illuminating the darkness and they all stop breathing. They chose this night specifically because it would be so goddamn dark. But now, that darkness makes those headlights seem close. Too close. If they get caught acting like graverobbers, they're gonna be so fucked. 

Especially since Eddie shouldn't be here. Eddie shouldn't be anywhere other than lost somewhere in the earthquake fissure. He definitely shouldn't be holding a shovel, digging up his own grave.

The crunch of gravel signals that the vehicle is indeed coming into the cemetery, not just passing along the road, and they've just gotta lay low and hope for the best. 

"Fuck," Gareth says, "we are so fucked."

He's not wrong.

Because this could get good, bad or really fucking ugly, quick. 

"Down, get down," Eddie hisses, and Gareth ducks with him down into the hole while Jeff and Goodie lay down on their bellies, getting as flat as possible in the freshly disturbed dirt. 

The car stops, engine going quiet, and they wait.

"I can see you, you know?" a voice calls out, and Eddie laughs. 

Steve. It's just Steve.

That's not just good, that's great. The best case scenario, honestly.

Eddie pops his head out of his own grave, and leans against the edge of the crudely dug hole, looking in Steve's direction. He can't really see him, it's way too dark for that, but just knowing he's there is enough to make Eddie smile. 

"Hey, Harrington! Grab a shovel, Goodie ain't using his," Eddie hollers, and resumes his digging. The faster they can get this finished, the less likely they're gonna get caught by someone other than Steve Harrington.

Steve hops in the hole, helping Gareth out. Eddie watches Gareth rub at his palms, "If I get callouses that fuck with my drumming just to dig up your shit, I'm gonna be pissed."

"You're always pissed," Goodie says, leaning against Eddie's headstone. It was fucking weird to see his own name written in stone, like he was dead.

He wasn't dead, just a little misplaced for a bit.

Steve thumps the point of his shovel against the wooden coffin lid. 

"Got it," Steve says. 

"Fuck yes," Eddie declares, as he gets down start digging out the rest of it so they can actually open the lid.

It's been hours, daylight is approaching, and they really need to get this shit done. Now.

He pulls out his vest. It's bloodstained, filthy from its time in the Upside Down, but Eddie's glad to see it again. He gets why Steve put it to rest here, but he kind of wishes he'd just kept it. 

Eddie gathers up albums, and various other trinkets. They must have decided if they didn't have a body, they'd have to equal his weight using his belongings.

Finally, underneath everything else, is what he was digging for the most.

"Hi, Sweetheart," he says, touching the guitar case with tender fingers. Then he hoists her up to Jeff, who takes her with care. Grabbing the last few loose rings scattered inside the satin lining, Eddie thinks they've gotten it all.

"That it?" Steve asks, quickly pulling himself out of the hole. 

"That's it," Eddie confirms, and then realizes what Steve did wasn't as easy as it looked. Eddie isn't as coordinated, isn't as strong, and they have to help pull him out. He collapses onto the ground, splaying flat.

"We don't have time for that," Gareth says, already shoveling dirt back into the hole.

They don't. He's right. The sun is starting to warm the horizon, and while Eddie doubts anybody will be out here bright and early, that's a risk they shouldn't take.

Kicking dirt in, shoveling as fast as they can, they work to quickly refill the hole. It's still gonna look dug up, there's no preventing that. But Eddie just hopes that if anyone sees it they'll assume it was somebody desecrating the murderer and not say a goddamn word. 

It's not like he had grass grown over yet or anything, it won't look too fresh for long. They might just get away with it.

They put all his stuff into a trash bag, except for Sweetheart. Once Eddie's hands are emptied, Jeff hands her over. 

"Buried in a hole," Eddie mutters, hugging the case close to his body, "How could they?"

"Thought you were dead," Gareth mutters again.

"Could've pawned her. Made a few bucks," Goodie adds, and Eddie gasps in horror. The thought. 

"We need to get you out of town," Jeff insists, and Eddie knows Jeff's right. Eddie left here for a reason.

Eddie puts Sweetheart into the car, as the rest of them load the tools.

"How'd you know we were here?" Eddie asks. They specifically didn't tell Steve they were doing this. He never would have approved.

"Eddie," Steve says, taking Eddie by both shoulders, "like it or not, I know you well."

Eddie grins. 

Yeah.

He does.

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play toys ?

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i really enjoy that i’m experiencing dashcon 2 in the same way that my forefathers experienced the original dashcon: though sporadic bursts in chaotic photos. i have no damn clue what’s going on except the ball pit is tiny, strange aeons won the duel and ousted the muppet joker, there was a live in person kung pow penis, and someone cosplayed the children’s hospital

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sketch dump saturday!

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"just write a little every day" ok but what if i write nothing for 3 weeks and then suddenly type like i’m being hunted by god

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Corroded Coffin Fest 2025 - Day 4 - I Know What You Did Last Summer

Summary: Gareth is home alone for a nice relaxing night in with pizza and tv. Surely nothing will happen to him.

Word Count: 998

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Shenanigans, boys will be boys in the most innocent way, Horror adjacent, cheesy, cliche, Gareth is a brave boy until he isn't, Keith is definitely an accomplice to this shenanigan, the logistics for this are probably off, just go with it.

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you don’t start on Day 1, you can still join! <3

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Gareth always thought his best quality was bravery.

Part of it was unfounded, having had a group of friends to back him up. Even on his own, though, he mouthed off and got into trouble. Consequences be damned.

If you asked his father, you’d get a chuckle and some response about the foolish carelessness of youth. Gareth would find out that he was not invincible one day.

And that was exactly befell poor Gare one summer evening.

He was home alone. His parents visiting grandma, his friends busy. He was left to his own devices, sitting on the couch with his hand tucked into the waistband of his pants. The tv flickered some cheesy d-list horror movie and there was pizza on the way.

What a great night.

Until the weird shit started.

The phone rang several times, but when he answered it, it was dead silent on the other line. Not even a ring tone.

"Hello?" He'd answered. He pressed on the switch hook repeatedly. "Hello?" He slammed the receiver, cursing the crank callers.

Then the doorbell rang, and all thoughts of the phone dissolved as he remembered dinner.

When he opened the door, though, there wasn't anyone there. He took a step onto the porch, looked up and down the empty street.

"Someone's fucking with me," he muttered and went to head back inside.

Just as he was about to step over the threshold, something crunched under his foot. He backed up in surprise and found an envelope.

No postmark, no stamp. Only his name and address.

Intrigued, he scooped it up. He walked inside swiftly let the door slam shut behind him, and tore the envelope open. Only to find a single piece of paper with a choppy scrawl:

I Know What You Did Last Summer

He frowned, confused. Last summer? What did he do last summer?

Got his driver's license, made out with Judy Neilson, crashed his bike into Hopper's cruiser?

Nothing that would cause him to receive a foreboding note like this. If he could assume it was foreboding with the phone calls and the ding dong ditch.

Someone was trying to spook him.

There was a knock at the door, a loud and unexpected one that actually got him to jump a foot in the air.

"Jesus."

Luckily, it was only the pizza guy. Keith, from the Palace Arcade and Family Video; how many jobs did this guy have?

"No tip?" Keith scoffed as he counted the bills that Gareth traded for the pizza box.

"Technically it's over 30 minutes so it should be free," the younger man snarked, earning a glare. He shot Keith a sarcastic grin in return and then slammed the door in his face.

He went back to the living room ready to devour his pizza. He raised the volume on the remote, took a sip of pop, but when he opened the pizza box he jumped once again.

It wasn't anything horrific. No blood or a dead rat baked into the cheese.

What he found were the perfectly crisp pepperoni, laid carefully to spell out:

I KNOW

First the note, and now this?

Whoever was trying to get to him was really going out of their way to do it. For something Gareth couldn't even remember!

And...he was hesitant to say that it was starting to work.

The phone rang again, and he was ready. Up on his feet, ready to give whoever on the line a piece of his mind. And when he picked up the receiver...

The house went dark.

All the lights, the TV. The ceiling fan in the living room slowed to a stop, the gentle hum of the central air went silent.

He slammed the receiver back down and grit his teeth in anger, choosing it over fear. Because he was getting annoyed. It was supposed to be a relaxing night in. And now he had to deal with this shit?

How had they even cut the power to his house?

"They didn't." He told himself. "It's just a coincidence. It's a blackout. Happens all the time in the summer."

There was a generator for times like these. His dad was always prepared. He would just have to go down and start it, and then back to dinner and Doctor Blood's Coffin.

Gareth grabbed a flashlight and descended the steps into the basement, grumbling all the while. He hated the basement. Mildew-scented and humid, with one swinging lightbulb overhead in the center of the room, and a door to the backyard that flooded during storms.

It was unnecessarily eerie and always scared him as a kid. Now, he was just annoyed.

He shined the flashlight over tarp-covered boxes, until the generator was illuminated, shiny and ready to be used.

He crossed the distance and laid the flashlight on the floor as he remembered the way his dad told him to use it.

He pulled a lever and turned a knob, and just as he was about to yank the pulley to turn the generator on, he thought:

It would be the perfect way for someone to lure me down and kill me.

He let it simmer for a second, then he laughed.

Stupid.

He pulled the lever and the generator roared to life.

The single basement lightbulb flickered on.

And there, on the other side of the generator, with his back against the wall, was Eddie. His face contorted into a demonic expression, made worse by the poor lighting, with eyes crossed, tongue extended, and teeth bared.

Poor Gareth screamed and fell to the floor, scrambling backwards to get away as Eddie rounded the generator and descended on him.

"I know what you did Gareth!" Eddie shouted and grabbed the front of his t-shirt. "I know what you did last summer!"

"Eddie! What the fuck?" Gareth shrieked. "What did I do?"

There was a heavy pause full of heaving breaths and tension.

"You broke my Ride the Lightning tape, you little shit!"

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and please remember to stay up late because that’s free time

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More of him in the booty shorts UGH!! Need me a man in some daisy dukes this summer

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The Crash-Bang Incident - Part One

Or: on the way to the tunnels with a concussed Steve Harrington passed out in the back seat, Max crashes into Eddie's van.

Let the record show that Max Mayfield never claimed she was a good driver. She said she could drive. Those are two separate things. Besides, the only seemingly competent adults in this shithole of a town had fucked off to some secret lab, and the next closest thing they had to a competent adult is passed out in the back seat of Billy’s car.

She can still hear the shattering of the plate against Steve’s head, see the way he’d crumpled like one of the ragdolls her Mom had finally given up on getting her to like. Max glances into the rearview mirror, eyes seeking out Steve’s face. She just needs to make sure he’s still breathing. Make sure Billy didn’t do something she’ll have to live with.

She doesn’t hear Lucas’s scream quick enough. There’s just the sound of metal on metal, the car twisting and lurching, steering wheel bucking beneath her fingers like a horse still untamed, and her neck twists sideways. Whiplash. Pain.

She opens her eyes to a car full of boys screaming and a looming black figure pounding its fist against the glass of her window. She shrieks, vaulting backward into Lucas’s spot, bumping her hip painfully into the stick shift,  seatbelt stretched to its limit.

“Are you okay? Fuck!” The figure shouts, wrenching the door open. He shoves his head into the car and looks over at her, eyes wide in his manic face. His hair’s wrecked – it’s a wild curly curtain clouding his face. “Shit, you’re a fucking toddler!”

Max, having finally decided that this weirdo is not at all a threat, lurches forward, slams her hands against his chest, and shoves the man out of the open car door. “I’m thirteen!” she replies, sneering. “Now if you wouldn’t mind, we’re kind of in a hurry!”

She pointedly doesn’t look at Steve still crumpled in the back seat, but it doesn’t seem to matter; the man turns his head, pupils turning into pinpricks as he takes in the limp form sprawled across Mike and Dustin’s laps. 

“Is that Steve fucking Harrington?”

“What’s it to you?” Mike asks snottily. Max turns toward him, already snarling in protection, but Wheeler’s got Steve’s head cradled in his lap, and he’s got his arms raised like he can shield him from this nameless threat.

“What’d you do to his face?” Eddie demands, almost whining, like Steve Harrington having his face bashed in is an affront to him personally. 

Max lunges through the still-open window in an attempt to stop him, but it’s too late. The weird guy’s already opened the back door and has pushed his way in past Dustin to peer down into Steve’s face.

“Don’t touch him,” Max hisses just as the guy reaches out to press his fingertips gently against Steve’s cheek.  

Steve hadn’t woken up as they’d dragged him to the car. It’d taken all four of them pulling his limbs into strange shapes and probably giving him a wicked roadburn. He hadn’t woken up as all three of the idiots around her had screamed unhelpful directions in her ear on the assumption that being louder would make them more intelligible. He hadn’t even woken up when Mike and Dustin started clutching at him as the stranger climbed inside. 

But one touch of this guy’s trembling fingers against his cheek, and Steve’s eyes slit open. 

“Nancy?” he asks, voice slurring around the name.

The guy laughs, all shaky past whatever bravado he’s lightly veneered on. “Guess again, big guy.”

Steve squints, making his barely-open eyes even smaller. She’s not sure how he can see anything at all, but he says, “Munson?” all soft and confused as he looks up at the other guy. “What’re you doin’ ‘ere?” he asks, voice slurring alarmingly. 

The guy, Munson, laughs again, and uses his free hand to tuck his wild hair behind his ears. Max can see his face now, and he might’ve just been laughing, but he’s not smiling as he asks, “I could ask you the same thing,” in a tone of voice that doesn’t hide the worry behind all that forced nonchalance. 

She can feel their window of opportunity closing. This guy’s going to commandeer the car, whisk Steve to a hospital, and that’ll be the end of her night. No more quests. No more delay of the inevitable. 

 Her palms are sweaty, and her windpipes shrinking in on itself like it’s one of those milkshake straws that gets stuck together if the shake’s too thick. 

Billy’s going to kill her when he sees her again. There will be no Steve Harrington and no inexplicable bat full of nails between them. He’s going to kill her, and that’s not something she can fight. 

But this? This is a plan with steps they can take to make sure everyone comes out alive. She’s a dead man walking, but Will doesn’t have to be. 

And that girl with superpowers could probably use all the help she can get, no matter how cool she is. 

She steps on the gas pedal, careening past the guy’s van where it’s still blocking the road, and continues on her chosen path even as the backdoor shudders with each turn of the wheel, trying to shut on mystery guy’s legs. 

Everyone’s screaming, and she has no idea where she’s going, so she utilizes the lessons her family’s taught her on being heard and screams, “shut up!” at the top of her lungs until the car’s catching crickets in its silence. 

“Lucas?” she asks, something churning in her stomach as he squeaks with what sounds suspiciously like fear. “Where next?”

Still, he reaches out and puts his hand on her knee, squeezing comfortingly as he says, “turn right here.”

Max turns. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” the guy, Munson, hisses. “The hospital’s back there!”

And the guy must’ve made some sort of gesture that jostled Steve because he makes a small, wounded sound deep in his throat. Max adjusts the rearview mirror just so she can glare at Munson threateningly, barely avoiding careening into a mailbox. 

Munson’s looking down at Steve with sad, worried eyes from where he’s crouched half overtop him, using the hand not holding up his weight to pet Steve’s bloody hair back from his head. “Sorry, Stevie.”

“‘m fine,” Steve slurs out. 

Max rolls her eyes and focuses back on the road, ignoring whatever spectacle’s going on in the back seat. She’s got hours to live, and she’s going to make them count. 

It’s a few short turns, following Lucas’s instructions until she’s careening off the road and bouncing to a stop on a grassy knoll, the boys in the back screaming as she slams on the brakes. 

When she twists the keys and pulls them free, the headlights click off, bathing the clearing in darkness. 

Max is the first one out of the car. The back door’s still open, Munson’s feet sticking out until he slides out, tumbling into an ungainly heap in the grass. He groans, flopping around until he’s on his back, messy curls covering his eyes. 

Dustin’s out of the car next, stepping over Munson like he’s a log in his path, not even glancing down at him as he orders everyone around. “We have to hurry,” he says, squinting down at his watch. He turns back to the car, yelling out “Steve!” in a demanding tone, as if he hadn’t just been cradling Steve’s shoes to his chest like he was a dying baby bird. 

 Steve shuffles out at the sound of his name, much more graceful despite what she expects must be a wicked concussion. There’s a trail of blood starting at his hairline and trailing down his temple. “C’mon, Munson,” he says, holding out his hand to help the other boy up. 

Munson peeks through his fingers up at Steve before flinging himself up on his own steam, eyes wide as he looks around the clearing like he’s never seen one before. “Oh, is this what hospitals look like now?” he asks, feigning shock. “Where’s the doctor?”

“What the hell are you talking about, dude?” Steve sighs, hands on his hips as he glares at Munson. 

Munson screeches deep in his throat, loud enough that the rest of them wince. He gestures at all of Steve’s body which, yeah fair. “You’re fucked, dude!” he yells. “Your brain’s probably bleeding out your ears!”

Steve says, “no hospitals,” just as Dustin replies, “we can check his brain after,” and strides farther into the clearing without a backwards glance, like he expects everyone else to follow him without question. Max resists the urge to get back in the car and leave all these idiots to die. 

After all, Steve and Lucas are still here. The rest of them can burn, for all she cares. 

“I thought I made myself clear,” Steve says, hands on his hips like he’s someone’s beleaguered mother, even though he’s slurring, and Munson’s right: his brain’s probably leaking out his ears. “We’re on the bench!”

Dustin stomps back with a huff, clearly fed up with the delay. “Steve, you’re upset, I get it,” he starts. His flashlight’s on and blinding Steve as it’s shined directly into his eyes. “But the bottom line is, a party member requires assistance, and it is our duty to provide that assistance.”

Munson laughs, halfway to hysterical as he pulls a hunk of unruly hair taught in front of his own face and bites it like a dog. Max wrinkles her nose, disgusted, but then the guy says, “what is this a live-action D&D game? And I thought I was a nerd,” and she sort of starts to like him. 

“Henderson,” Steve sighs, rolling his eyes when he’s immediately verbally bowled over.

“I know you promised Nancy you’d keep us safe,” Dustin says, finally pointing the flashlight away from Steve’s eyes, illuminating the ground between them. “So, keep us safe.”

Munson twitches beside Steve, inching closer to him as the silence lingers, showing exactly where his loyalties lie. But in the end, Steve sighs, shoulders slumping, and Max knows the plan’s back on. 

“If we’re doing this, we’re going to do it right,” Steve says, turning back to dig through the contents of Billy’s trunk as if it was his own. 

“Do what?” Munson cried, reaching up to pull his own hair by the root as he stomped his foot like a beleaguered father. 

When Steve turns back, he tosses a bandana at Munson’s chest. He scrambles to grab it, but it falls into the grass, and by the time he stands back up, Steve’s got a red bandana of his own tied around the bottom half of his face, and what looks like a pair of Billy’s old swimming goggles strapped across his eyes. The pressure’s got to be killer on his concussion, but Steve doesn’t complain.

He never seems to when it’s his own well being in question. Max kind of wants to stuff him back in the car and haul ass to the hospital, or better yet, out of this spooky fucking town entirely.

Munson’s just standing there, bandana clutched in his hand as he squints at Steve like he’s an alien. With the goggles making him so bug-eyed, she can’t really blame him.

“Put that on,” Steve says, pointing down at the bandana. “The air in the Upside-Down is like, toxic or something. Hop had to be on some sort of breathing machine.

Munson takes two steps forward and waves his hand in front of Steve’s face rapidly. “Hello? Anyone fucking in there?” When Steve smacks his hand down, Munson takes a quick hop back and throws his hands in the air, letting the bandana flutter back to the grass. “What the fuck is an Upside-Down? Have you cracked?”

“Eddie,” Steve sighs. He sounds tired down to his bones. Probably happens to anyone who has to deal with Dustin for more than twenty minutes at a time, never mind this new guy and whatever his damage is. 

He bends down to retrieve the bandana himself and steps forward. Munson – Eddie – takes a quick step back, eyes wide like he’s afraid he’s going to get his ass kicked. But all Steve does is brush Eddie’s messy curls off his shoulder and out of the way so he can tie the bandana around his face himself.

“Just trust me, okay?” 

Max turns away, feeling suddenly like she’s seeing something she shouldn’t as Eddie shivers and shakes beneath Steve’s gentle hands.

Welcome to the fic that I started writing in (checks notes), 2023???? I had a blast writing from Max's POV, and the rest of the kids are coming! As always, a thank you for @queenie-ofthe-void for the beta editing AND the full-on writing of some parts of this fic, coming soon! I will post the credit when we get to that <3<3<3 But honestly, the fact that I have written absolutely anything at any given time as a MINIMUM of 40% due to you so <3<3<3

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🎸 or 📚 for the creative ask game?

🎸 Is there a certain piece of music or musician whose work always puts you into a creative mood?

this is a tough question (theres so many sonhs and artists i could say) but here’s a few songs that give me that little sparky feeling

- winning move by joshua kyan aalampour

- underground by cody fry

- i’m yours tonight by bloodwitch

-name something better by ray bull

📚 Do you have a favorite book, art style, comic, movie, tv series, or other piece of media that serves as an inspiration to you?

certainly, though my fav tends to change a lot. rn I'm definitely (re)fixated on stranger things and steddie, and i feel super inspired by them all the time. im constantly making them do things in my head and then sometimes i draw or write it down and sometimes i even post it for u guys.

as far as general inspiration to create at all, i'll list a few of my biggest inspirations over the years. NOT a comprehensive list by any means:

- flesh.png (on insta)

- various musical animatics (yes all the Hamilton and Be More Chill ones, i was so so obsessed with them back in middle school)

- into the spider verse

- literally any of my bookmarked fics on ao3

- my extremely talented writer friends @cuntylogan, @lieu42, and my buddy jack who isn't on tumblr anymore but can be found elsewhere at kcadbackwards

send me an emoji!

already answered: 🎸📚

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Creative Person Ask Game

🪴 What does your dream writing/creative studio look like?

🦾 What does your dream daily creative routine look like?

💪 What does your real daily creative routine look like? Morning, afternoon, or night?

📝 What does your note-taking or sketching or brainstorming process look like? Are you more organized or chaotic about it?

🤙 If there were slogans or posters on the walls of your creative headspace, what would they say? Any mottos you swear by?

🐣 Tell me about your earliest creative works or earliest memories of being creative.

🛀 Where and when do you get your best ideas (e.g. while showering, walking the dog, at work, in the car, talking to friends, etc.)?

🎸 Is there a certain piece of music or musician whose work always puts you into a creative mood?

😈 How do you beat the urge to procrastinate? What's your worst time-sink?

🤸 Are there things you allow yourself to do even though you know they're technically procrastination or unproductive, because you just don't always feel like being creative?

😤 Best remedies for when you feel stuck on a piece?

💀 How do you stay motivated during a hard/busy life season?

😫 Tell me about your worst/longest creative dry spell, and how you got out of it.

😰 Ever had a work totally flop when you presented it, or not meet your own expectations? What did you do when facing failure?

😴 What do you do when you need a break? How do you personally rest and reset your creative mind?

🤡 What's your most eccentric trait or habit? Something unique to your creative process that you've never heard of anyone else doing but it works for you?

☕ Coffee, tea, or matcha latte? Or some other variant thereupon?

📚 Do you have a favorite book, art style, comic, movie, tv series, or other piece of media that serves as an inspiration to you?

🤝 Do you collaborate with others, or do you find it easier to bunker down and work through things on your own?

🧓 Long-term or lifetime creative goals you want to achieve?

🧞 If you could sit down for two hours and pick the brain of one other writer, artist, musician, or other creator, living or dead, who would it be?

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having an online persona is kind of funny bc you post abt something like twice and suddenly that’s the only thing ur known for...u post about cheese a couple times and suddenly ur the cheese mutual

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Soft Steddie September Event!

Hello!

I’d like to announce Soft Steddie September is once again taking place!

Just like last year this is a sister event with @steddiesmuttyseptember. (Their event and prompts will be announced in a few weeks!)

With that in mind, this is 18+.

The goal of the event is to use the prompts provided to write something that makes you happy, or go awww!

Happy Endings is the goal (they can be implied but they should be Heavily implied)

Writers: No word limit

Artists Welcome!!

Be sure to tag the blog @softsteddieseptember when you post and include the prompt, ratings, word count, and any warnings. Like this

prompt | rating | wc | cw

Any NSFW should be under the cut. Use one prompt a week or combine them! Prompts can be combined with other events as long as it fits their guidelines! Combine them with smutty Sept to your heart’s content!

The prompts are split into each week, and anything included that week will be in the weekly masterlist. But, as long as they are posted by the end of the month, the post will be included on the big masterlist.

If you have any questions send me an ask here or @mugloversonly

Now for the prompts!

Week 1: (Sept 01-06)

Strangers to Lovers | Blind Date | Party | Cooking | Fairy tale

Week 2: (Sept 07-13)

Friends to Lovers | First Date | Secret | Falling | Pool

Week 3: (Sept 14-20)

Surprise | Wedding | Love at First Sight | Lake | Second Meeting

Week 4: (Sept 21-27)

Communication | Eavesdropping | Parents | Wrong Number | Anniversary

Week 5: (Sept 28-30)

Modern AU | Sunrise | Flowers