queenie-ofthe-void

[queenie-ofthe-void]

In the Morning, P11

Final chapter!! This is a brief chapter to wrap things up. I debated adding it to the epilogue or adding the epilogue to it, but felt like we needed to get back into our little routine, the right way this time.

I´ḿ super blown away by the fact that people loved this so much, even when it took me a whole-ass year to continue it past a few chapters.

Who knows, maybe I´ll actually touch Of Monsters again. IDK, kinda eying the Pennyroyal idea (Steve as Poison Ivy type meta / Eddie as Harlequinn.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Prologue / P1 / P2 / P3 / P4 / P5 / P6 / P7 / P8 / P9/ P10 / P11(hi!) / Epilogue / Ao3

Their first full day after is the hardest.

Throughout, Kas didn’t speak, but then night falls and he doesn't sleep.

He sits, ignoring the furniture, curled in the far corner of the cabin, back to the wall, wings twitching whenever someone moves too quickly or gets too close.

There’s no baring of teeth, but nothing even close to a smile.

Steve never thought he’d miss that damn nightmare couch; still he never leaves the room.

Eventually, the Party begins to seek entrance.

Dustin comes first, of course.

He bursts in, too loud in a mix of joy and terror, talking too fast and blinking back tears.

Kas flinches.

Steve barely keeps Dustin from throwing himself into a hug, placing a stern hand on his chest and giving a pointed look between him and the huddled mass in the corner.

Despite the initial reaction, Kas is staring, as if trying to remember the lyrics to a favorite song.

Dustin deflates slightly. "Oh. Steve told us. You don't fully remember."

There’s no answer, but Dustin nods anyway. "That’s alright. I can remember for both of us."

Much later, Robin shows up.

She brings welcome supplies: clean clothes, canned goods, shampoo, and conditioner.

And a stare that Steve is very much not dodging, at all.

"You’re nesting," she says in a studiously casual voice, watching as Steve unpacks a few spare blankets, setting one aside for Kas, who sits curled up on the ratty (non-cursed) couch, like a half-feral dog unsure if it's allowed indoors.

"I’m not nesting," Steve mutters with a petulant edge.

Robin just gives him a look, raising her eyebrows. "Really? You sewed a pillowcase that Cryptid Beauty over there ripped with his claws."

"It was an accident!" he says. "And it’s not like we have a ton of spares."

"You. Sewed. A. Pillowcase," she emphasizes again. Then: "You call him Big Guy when you think no one’s listening."

Abandoning the unpacking, Steve presses the heel of his hands against his eyes. "Please don’t."

"I’m not gonna make fun of you."

Caught off guard, he looks up.

Robin shrugs, already turning and digging back into the bag of clothes. "I was worried at first, y´know? Afraid he´d Stockholmed you or something. But I know you and know you’re not an idiot. And big teeth aside, it's not weird. We all saw you after you came through the gate, like you’d fight the military and God if anyone touched him."

Steve exhales. "He’s still…dangerous."

"Yeah," Robin agrees. "So are you."

Above them, the Hawkins sky stretches, dark and cloudless. There are stars again, no red lightning or ash.

Kas stares up at it in silence.

Steve doesn’t try to break the moment and just stands next to him. Shoulder to wing.

After a while, Kas murmurs, "They’re scared of me."

Steve nods in agreement. "Yeah."

Kas tilts his head and looks at him fully. "You aren’t, though."

There’s no reason to lie, so Steve answers. "I was. At first. Then you grew on me like the rest of the fungus down there."

That gets him a soft huff of amusement.

Kas sobers quickly, though, shifting slightly and tucking his wings close.

"What if that’s a mistake?"

With a shrug, Steve replies, "Wouldn’t be the first…or worst one I’ve made."

Over the next few days, they enjoy easy companionship. It's simple. Uncomplicated.

With word that Dustin survived the first encounter, the rest of them started to return in waves. 

Lucas. Max, who never says anything, just watches him in silence. Mike. Nancy. Both of them are awkward in the sense that they don’t know what to say, and experience has shown them not to try.

Even Will. He doesn’t say much, just sits in camaraderie with a fellow Upside Down survivor.

Kas never offers them anything.

But he stays. 

Chooses to stay.

He stops walking into the living room, as if it’s a trap.

He eats the first batch of, frankly, terrible soup Steve makes. Doesn’t say a word when Steve adjusts the couch cushions to support his wings.

When Steve sits beside him, a little too close, he doesn’t move away.

They end the day together. Steve stretched out on the bed, his hair damp and, most importantly, clean from a shower, his hand absently flipping through a magazine he wasn't reading.

Kas shifts beside him, curled under the blanket. Breathing even. Not asleep, merely resting.

Softly, he hears:

¨Goodnight, Stevie. Thank you.¨

Steve looks over and smiles.

¨Goodnight, Kas. You´re welcome.¨

･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

tags: @dame-zoom-a-latte @queenie-ofthe-void

[queenie-ofthe-void]

“Eww don’t ship them ! They’re just friends/ they hate each other/ they barely have any interaction/they never even met/they’re not from the same series !”

Pussy. Back in my days, we shipped Elsa and Jack Frost to hell and back because they were both ice themed.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

I think he deserves more love

Demo!Steve

[P4tre0n] [Linktr.ee]

[queenie-ofthe-void]

In the Morning, P10

I lied. There´s one more chapter before the epilogue. But to be fair, it didn't exist last night. I was rereading and thought, 'No... no, there needs to be something else here.'

So, working on that and revising the epilogue to fit.

cw: kinda body-shaming? It's not intended that way, but it may read like it, so being safe. Attempts to use guns to solve problems.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Prologue / P1 / P2 / P3 / P4 / P5 / P6 / P7 / P8 / P9 /P10(hi!) Ao3

Around them, the chamber lay hollow and quiet.

Steve´s heart still hammered in his chest, and his legs had gone numb from supporting Kas´s weight.

But they´re still here.

Kas shifts against him, not fighting, too heavy to stand on his own.

With an exhale, Steve softly says, ¨OK. C´mon, Big Guy. We need to get you out of here before something remembers it's angry at us.¨

His muscles scream in protest as he braces Kas´s arm across his shoulders, cursing the height difference that meant the wing membranes dragged faintly on the floor, edges torn and frayed.

The peachy gray flesh was patchworked with bloody slices and bruises, dark patches littering his skin. Steve´s limited first aid extended to light aftermath patch-ups; not any type of battle triage; didn´t think he had enough of anything sanitary to treat him with, much less what he could even do.

 His cargo offered no resistance, just the slightest, exhausted sound, like the last bit of air escaping a balloon.

“...Okay.”

Only ruin greets them as they navigate through the dead tunnels. Nothing stirs, no pulses, the vines lie or hang slack. The air is still and thick.

They barely clear the chamber before a loud groan reverberates through the walls. The floor shakes.

¨Great. Just classic.¨ Steve moans, how could he forget the rules: the lair always collapses after the boss fight. 

He tightens his grip, hitches Kas higher and moves.

Its not an easy endeavor; for all his hollowed cheeks and ravaged wings, Kas is solid.

And heavy.

¨I just want you to know that I´m doing this purely for spite, so that you wake up and owe me forever.¨

Kas doesn't respond, semi-conscious at best, but something about the weight against him feels… deliberate. Like he´s letting Steve carry him.

They hit a slope, slick with vine-rot, causing him to slip. Steve nearly faceplants, but hauls them both upright with a strained grunt.

¨You know you have wings that can fly, not just look dramatic, right? How do you even fly? Your bones are made of lead; we´re putting you on a diet when we get back. No more unidentifiable jerky and apocalypse potatoes; I think some elephants weigh less than you.¨

There´s a pointed lack of response. 

¨If I throw my back out dragging you all this way (which y´know the next time you go full monster rage blackout, please meltdown a little closer to the house?) and you die, I´m going to be pissed¨

More hard-won distance, a few more steps.

¨It doesn´t matter, though, not anymore,¨ Steve says. ¨You´re free now. Hell, we get back and I´ll figure out how to bake cake down here. Oh! Do you think if we close our eyes and lie to ourselves, it might taste like chocolate?¨

Kas stays heavy but makes a weak sound, half groan, half laugh.

Steve hears it. Feels it. Keeps talking.

“What matters is that you came back. I saved you. You saved me. And whatever else happens next, I´m not leaving. ”

No answer.

But there are claws that catch his arm in a steady, yet shaky grip when he stumbles again.

Despite doing his best to come back the way they came, the journey doesn´t end back at their home. Instead, it leads them to a gate, too shiny against the blackness of a small cavern.

The literal light at the end of the tunnel.

It´s close. They can make it.

¨C´mon Big Guy,¨ Steve urges breathlessly. ¨Just a few more feet. Work with me, c´mon.¨

The threshold is just in front of them—one step, then another.

Together, they cross.

The air on the other side is a welcome relief, even though it is cold and wet. 

Less welcome is the relief of the soldiers who ring the gate in tight formation.

There is immediate chaos, shouting erupting as soon as they become visible.

Steve barely registers it, brain still catching up to the fact that they made it-until he hears the distinct click-clack of guns being readied.

“Hands up!” “Step away from the creature-”

¨Don´t you dare!¨ Steve snarls, twisting his body to put himself fully between Kas and the soldiers.

Protective.

Unmoveable.

Kas stirs behind him, claws shifting in the mud as he works to right himself.

Steve doesn´t let him. ¨No. You´ve done enough. Let me talk.¨

Shifting his attention back to the soldiers, he barks, ¨He´s not a threat! Put the weapons down!”

Proving military intelligence remains an oxymoron, guns snap up anyway.

A soldier steps forward. ¨That thing is a mutation, we don´t know what-¨

¨Would you like a list?¨ Steve cuts him off with a snap, ¨Here´s the damn list. Used to be a nerd. Got eaten by bats. Ripped up by everyone´s least favorite mold wizard. Kicked his ass. Saved my life. Not your enemy.¨

Dustin´s voice is heard, cutting through the noise. ¨Steve?! 

He barrels through the soldiers before they can stop him, skidding to a halt as he sees who Steve is half-carrying.

Eyes wide, he stares. There´s no fear to be found—only pure, aching relief.

¨Your…Oh–Oh my god–-Eddie! Is that you?.

With visible effort, Kas raises his head, locking his gaze on Dustin. It's sharp, focused, like he´s anchoring himself to the sound of his voice.

Dustin steps forward again. "You came back," he says softly, as if afraid a loud noise would shatter the illusion. 

 Kas stares for a beat, and then his voice comes out raw and quiet.

“...You know the rules about missing a session, Henderson.¨

Dustin appears to stop breathing for a moment. With a choked half-sob, half-laugh,  he throws his arms around Kas.

Kas doesn´t hug back, though that may be due to the way he´s standing almost entirely under Steve´s power.

Dustin seems to realize this as well, pulling back, attempting to compose himself by swiping an arm over his face a few times. It doesn´t work.

Robin finally pushes through to Steve’s side. In a single, sharp glance, she takes in the scene.

Her gaze flicks over them both, covered in blood – the sleeve clenched in Kas´s hand, the white-knuckle grip Steve has keeping them both upright.

Audibly, she says nothing, but her eyes scream at him. She knows.

The attention shifts as Eleven steps forward, quiet and calm.

¨It´s gone,¨ she says simply.  Henry is dead.¨

Steve’s knees nearly gave out again from the combination of crushing relief and the giant Murder Moth hanging off him.

¨Put the weapons down. He´s not your enemy.¨ Steve´s voice breaks, “Not anymore.”

The guns are finally lowered.

Behind him, the gate shudders, unstable now that its creator is gone. It shrinks, collapsing inward.

Kas shudders, not in pain, but in shock.

Steve tightens his grip. ¨Not anymore.¨ he quietly repeats.

When there came the question of what to do with Kas, the not-quite suggestion to go back to base for ¨observation¨ was shot down, with prejudice. 

There are scarce few places available, even in a renovated Hawkins that Steve deems safe enough to bunker down.

In the end, they take Kas to Hopper’s old cabin, cleared of vines, reinforced, not a cell. It reminds him of their little home. 

Steve still refuses to leave Kas´s side.

“I survived longer than anyone down there. I fought a demo spider with a bat. I ate things I still think are permanently embedded into my taste buds. You can try to make me,” he tells the soldiers with a slightly feral smile. “But you’ll lose.”

They don´t try.

The blankets are thin. The bed is too small. The power only works when you flick it three times and threaten it.

Steve never leaves.

But for the first time, Steve sees Kas sleep.  He drops off deeply, his wings twitching faintly as he dreams.

Steve sits at the edge of the bed, thumb brushing over the back of a clawed hand, before he, too, succumbs.

Then there are no more sounds except their quiet breathing.

Some time after, Kas stirs, rousing Steve. It's still dark, the moon high in the night sky.

Eyes open, brown, tired, human. They gaze into the sleepy hazel pair opposite.

Steve leans in with a soft smile.

“Hey. We fell asleep before we could say goodnight.”

Kas stares back, the faint light casting his face in shadow.

Then, sleep rough, but steady:

“Good night, Stevie.”

A beat.

“Thank you.”

No threat.

Steve’s voice catches.

“Good night, Kas,” he whispers back. “You’re welcome.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

tags: @dame-zoom-a-latte @queenie-ofthe-void

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Popstar Chrissy doing a mash up with her best friend Eddie and his world famous metal band Corroded Coffin. They tour together to promote the album. The vibes between the fans is relatively good since the new album dropped, but the concerts are still a weird mix to see together.

Steve somehow wins a backstage pass and is excited to meet Chrissy. He's loved her music since she first started, and Robin is gonna be so jealous that she wasn't able to be there with him. So he gets led backstage into a green room where he's told to wait. He scans the room and is surprised to find a lack of soft pastels and bling that she normally wears. Instead the room is filled with black and leather, littered with half-full pop bottles and a few open notebooks scrawled with drawings and weird lyrics.

Of course he realizes the mistake a second too late when the door opens and in walks Eddie, who is just as confused as Steve because "this is Not the groupie he asked for." Steve's upset he apparently doesn't get to meet Chrissy after finding out she's already left, but now he's miffed that apparently he's not hot enough to be asked back-stage by a rock star. Eddie would be lucky to have a guy like Steve interested in him. Steve's a damn catch and he knows it.

They bicker. Steve's full of sarcastic remarks and "you wish you could pull someone like me" which immediately hooks Eddie. Sure this isn't the guy he asked for, but Steve bitching at him is absolutely adorable. No one's talked to him like this in ages and damn Eddie forgot how much he likes being told off. It's a move that's always worked on him. Except the downside of fame and fortune is he's surrounded by people who put him on a pedestal. Being worshipped was fun at the start, but Eddie wants this guy to step on him and he wants it bad.

Now he's asking Steve to stay. Steve's worked himself up so much that he almost says no. But that's also the problem… he's worked himself up a little too much. This world-famous rockstar is about to get on his hands and knees begging to suck Steve's cock. It's been a while since Steve's been laid, and even though this guy isn't his usual type, he's got pretty, brown eyes he knows will shine like stars when his throat is stuffed full.

Steve sneaks out in the morning. He doesn't mind one night stands but hates the awkward "good morning" and "well this was fun" part of the charade. It might have been the best night of his life, but he's sure as hell not going to tell him that. The guy's a rockstar, which means he's probably got an ego to match the size of his dick; One he's going to be fantasizing about for a long time.

Eddie wakes up alone. And he tells himself that's fine, it's no different than any other time he's pulled a groupie at a show. The tour moves on. Show after show, Eddie's security asks if he's interested in anyone, but he honestly couldn't be bothered. He can't stop thinking about the guy who got away. Some random hook-up in Indiana of all places, the state he spent his entire childhood trying to escape from, has taken his big AND little brain hostage. He'd rather fuck his own fist to a memory than try to chase the feeling between someone else's legs.

Too bad he never got Steve's last name.

But… Chrissy only left early because she wasn't feeling well. Normally she wouldn't abandon her fans, but it was an emergency. It wasn't an accident Steve got pulled backstage; he really did win a one-on-one with her for pictures and a live shout out, along with some exclusive merch.

She's got Steve's info. She's tired of listening to her best friend mope about his mystery man.

More importantly, she's got a plan.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Nothing hits like "romantic couple and a third guy who's not dating either of them but is definitely a part of this dynamic"

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Don't hold me if you don't wanna know me is so freaking good...the angst is angsting in the best way! I cannot wait to see how it goes when Eddie finally (hopefully) actually talks to Steve!! Will Robin even let him anywhere near Steve?

Also, I do like Jonathan on the show but I also enjoy seeing someone actually bring up the fact that he was really creepy when he took those pictures...

I'm so glad you like it! This fic started as just a small concept and turned into a full fledged angst fest. People have been so encouraging and it's been really lovely.

The scene with Jonathan always sat wrong with me and I wanted to address that here. Did I plan to make Jonathan such an asshole he became OOC? No. But I was having way too much fun with it to stop.

Small delays on the final chapter but that's life. Eddie will most definitely be talking to Steve in the next chapter... let's just hope it goes well!

[queenie-ofthe-void]

this scene was sooooo fucking important to me, i decided to draw it <3

[queenie-ofthe-void]

nice pair of characters who trust each other more than anyone else in the whole entire world it would sure be a shame if one of them betrayed that trust for the sake of trying to keep the other alive. it would sure be a shame to love someone so much you destroy them

[queenie-ofthe-void]

In the Morning, P9

I stayed up far too late, woke up way too early, and took advantage of every break. My eyes are literally only still open because of the ADHD meds, and they FEEL LIKE IT (anyone else have that feeling? I unfondly refer to it as meth-eyeballs)

But. It's done. The Morning is over. I´ve got the next chapter and the epilogue written; I just need to review again, not catch a few stupidly obvious typos, post, see them, and curse.

CW: Oh, lots of stuff. More vaguely creepy and not good flirting from Kas. Canon-typical violence. Murder (in a good way). Not eating breakfast. Evil headaches. Kas crashing out. Vecna´s Canonical Lack of Bodily Autonomy and Personal Boundaries.

Prologue / P1 / P2 / P3 / P4 / P5 / P6 / P7 / P8 / P9(hi!) Ao3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

Steve awakens the next day with a groan and an impressive crick in his neck, because that’s what you get when you sleep on a mattress made from war crimes and bacteria.

Despite this, he can instantly feel that the house feels…different. He’s not sure what caused the change; it’s not the foreboding anticipation after their routine had ended, nor the tentative optimism from the return.

Now, it hums with something sharper, thinner – a string drawn too tight, ready to snap. When he makes his way out of the room, he gets his answer.

Kas is leaning against the wall, breathing raggedly in a way Steve’s never seen before. The guy had wiped out an entire squad of soldiers in a moment, and barely blinked, and to see him like this now…it’s sobering.

Before he can decide how to approach, Kas sinks to the floor, back against the wall, wings folded in tight. He stays like that for a moment, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small black die, slowly turning between his fingers.

Deciding to make himself known (although he’s under no illusion that Kas was unaware of his presence), Steve drops into a seat on the floor a few feet away, rubbing the sleep from his face.

“Y’know, you never did explain what that was for. I’ve been wondering about it since we took our little doomed day-trip the other day.”

Kas rolls it once in his palm. “Decision tool.”

Steve raises his eyebrow. ‘So, like…what? A Magic 8-Ball for if you kill someone?”

The look he gets in response is a strange mix of scowl and smile. “Or not. Sometimes it's breakfast.”

With a startled laugh, Steve puts a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Wow. I can’t believe my fate this whole time has been tied to a little nerd rock in your pocket.”

Kas hands him the die. “Roll it.”

Steve blinks. “What, now? I hate to break it to you, but there aren’t that many options for breakfast, and I’m not on the menu.”

Kas gave a nonchalant shrug. “If you’re so curious. Roll it.”

Steve narrows his eyes, “Don’t think I didn’t notice the lack of agreement on the menu, Count Chocula. Alright, let’s see how long I need to tolerate your special brand of weird cryptic horror and emotional whiplash.”

Cupping the die in his hands, he rolls.

clack. clack. clack.

It rolls on the floor, coming to a cockeyed stop a few inches away. 

10.

He squints at it. “What’s that mean?” Steve asked.

Kas leans back, his expression unreadable. “It’s undecided. Could go either way.”

With a sigh, Steve tilts his head back. “Well, isn’t that just the story of my life?”

There’s no reply, but when Steve chances a glance back over, he finds him staring–something in his eyes that Steve almost recognizes.

Kas leans in, his voice a quiet rasp near Steve’s ear:

“Who knew you’d be so flexible, Stevie?”

Steve freezes, the jolt of static that shoots down his spine doesn’t feel like fear.

They stay like that for a charged moment. Kas draws back, lips parting just barely –

Then the house shudders.

There’s a humming building in the walls. The already dim red lighting goes darker, flickering.

Kas rocks backward, eyes wide, before clenching them shut and clutching his head with a pained growl. 

Steve tries to reach out, surging forward. “Kas!”

Avoiding the hand, Kas staggers to his feet, wings flared wide and trembling.

“He-he knows. He’s calling–hard. I can’t-”

Steve goes on tiptoe to grab his shoulders. “Fight him, Kas! You have to fight it!”

Kas’s eyes snap open, pupils blown wide.

“It's stronger–closer–can’t–” His voice fractures, equal parts Eddie and something darker.

The humming intensifies, the red light pulsing. Vines writhe their way across the floor. 

Kas snarls, tension in every line of his body. “Steve. MOVE!”

Steve wraps his arms tighter instead. “I’m not leaving you!”

Kas seems to flicker, with black veins briefly streaking across his face.

There’s another violent pulse as the vines split the door open like a mouth, revealing a cavernous tunnel.

An unseen force jerks Kas backward, his feet dragging as his wings beat against nothing.

Don’t-” His voice trembles. “Don’t follow.”

Steve grits his teeth, hauling him back as best he can. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

The force yanks again, this time harder. 

They lock eyes, Kas’s face wearing a raw, pained look Steve’s never seen before.

And then – the force wins.

He’s dragged towards the gaping maw of vines, into the dark.

Steve lets out a sharp breath. “It had to be tunnels again. Dammit.”

And runs in after him.

There’s no clean or straight path. It writhes. Vines slither, damp and fibrous, across the ground, twitching at every movement. 

As he chases after Kas, the worse it gets. The air is hot and wet, with a suffocating smell of iron and rot. The further he goes, the more some kind of pressure bears down on him, like something pushing back with every step.

Kas is just ahead, hardly visible in the shifting red glow. With each forced step, his wings jerk as if trying to fight something under his skin.

Steve’s lungs burn. His legs ache. But he doesn’t stop.

“Kas!” Steve shouts.

He sees Kas stumble but doesn’t stop; talons scraping deep gouges in the floor in an attempt to anchor himself.

The falter lets Steve catch up. He grabs Kas’s arm.

“S-Stop,” Steve pants. “Just…stop moving. Please.”

Kas wrenches his arm free, staggering backward, breathing heavily.

“He’s inside my head. Pushing.”

“Then push back!”

Glaring, Kas spits out, “You think it’s that simple?”

“No,” Steve says. “I think you’ve done it before.”

There’s a shift in the tunnel. A sudden pulse rolls through the floor, a low, deep sound like a heartbeat in a bottomless pit.

Kas shudders, and he clenches at his skull again. “This is what he wants. He wants you to see me fail.”

Without an ounce of hesitation, Steve closes the gap between them.

“You showed me how he made you, that you fought. You could’ve kept me at arm's length, but you didn’t.”

Kas’s jaw tightens as his breath shakes.

“You aren’t going to fail,” Steve murmurs, voice quiet. “But I need you to stay.”

Lowering his hands, Kas focuses his gaze on him; eyes blown wide, wild, not gone. Not yet.

“Why?” he demands.

Almost immediately, Steve opens his mouth to answer, but stops. 

Not because he doesn’t have one.

But because he’s not sure if he can say it, not like this. Not now.

So, instead, he reaches out, slowly, and sets a hand on Kas’s wrist.

Not forcing, no pulling. Just there.

Breathing deeply, once, twice, Kas closes his eyes. 

As he does, the air shifts again, pressure easing slightly.

Kas exhales. “He’s pissed.”

“Good,” Steve mutters. “I love disappointing creepy psychic bastards.”

There’s a puff of air that might be a laugh from Kas.

Another pulse, weaker.

Straightening, Kas shakes his head like a wet dog. “I can hold it. For now.”

Steve doesn’t let go; doesn’t think he can.

They stand like that for a long moment, surrounded by the pulsing walls and choking red light.

Then, without looking at him, Kas says:

“If I lose it down here…don’t try to talk. Don’t beg. End it.”

Steve frowns deeply. “No.”

“Steve…”

“I said no.” His voice is rock steady. “That’s not how this goes.”

There’s no reply. Kas simply looks at the hand wrapped gently around his wrist. Accepts it..

It gets worse the deeper they move.

The walls close in; the ribbing of black vines pulses with a low, sickly light. The floor is uneven and slippery to walk on, scattered with scraps of places Steve remembers: a school locker here, a warped bicycle frame there, a half-cracked mirror leaning.

The Upside-Down was no longer copying Hawkins; it was digesting it.

Kas is slowing.

Every step looks like a fight. His wings drag, shoulders hunched.

Steve stays close; he won’t be able to catch him if he collapses, but at least he can cushion the fall.

They reach a chamber, one that was neither built nor designed. It was formed – a circular cavity chewed out by the vines themselves.

In the center, there’s another mass of vines, similar to those seen at the Creel House, the rootwork shot through with bones and rusted metal. 

Not like a throne or stage. It's a nest—a wound.

Chest tightening, Steve comes to a cold stop.

Next to him, Kas staggers forward, clawed hands twitching.

“Kas-” Steve starts,

The air hums, the pressure building again, running like static up his spine.

Then the sound comes: a thin, high note that buries itself in the walls, the vines, under the skin.

Steve recognizes its presence. Cold, knowing, the same feeling he had when Vecna rose Max for the first time.

Kas doubles over suddenly with a choked-off snarl. His wings spasm, flaring wide.

Steve surges forward and grabs his shoulders. “Hey…Hey! Kas! Look at me.”

Jerking against his grip, Kas forces out, “Can’t…he’s in my head-”

“I don’t care!” Steve’s voice cracks with emotion. “I’m here.”

Kas is shaking as he lifts his head, black bleeding into the edges of his eyes.

The hum builds.

Then: a voice - it seems to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, including Kas.

Steve sees it in his face.

YOU ARE MINE

A shudder. Kas gasps, claws digging into his arms as if trying to rip something out.

YOU SERVE ME. YOU OBEY. NOT QUESTION. YOU DO NOT CHOOSE.

“That’s a lie!” Steve says, holding tighter.

With a choked-off laugh, Kas disagrees. ¨No. He´s right. I was made-¨

Steve cuts him off, ¨I don't care! I don't care what he made you do. It's what you've already done! Every damn day you chose to give me! 

The hum intensifies.

Shaking off Steve´s hold, Kas gives a raw, almost animalistic scream, with furious beats of his wings, slamming them into the wall.

His body convulses, claws gouging the ground, once–

–and again.

Then, with a gasp, he grabs Steve. Hard.

Their eyes lock. Steve´s breath catches.

"Steve," Kas´s voice is broken. Human. ¨If he takes me-¨

¨You don´t belong to him. Not anymore.¨

Kas snarls, ¨You can´t save me!¨

¨Save yourself!¨Steve shouts, ¨I´m here because its my choice.¨

The hum reaches its crescendo. The vines suddenly whip towards him.

Kas roars again, borne of primal fury instead of pain, and flares his wings wide, knocking Steve back.

There´s a moment. A frozen second, where Steve thinks he lost him.

But then, Kas turns.

And leaps, claws first into the twisted mass in the center.

He slams them, again and again, as vines lash at any part they can. Wings, arms, throat; none of it stops him.

As he continues tearing into the nest with raw strength, he howls like a wounded animal, finally unchained.

Steve scrambles to his feet, crying out: ¨Kas!¨

There’s a final strike—a sickening crack.

The hum shatters, the room pulsing before falling silent.

Kas collapses.

Steve reaches his side just in time to catch him as he falls forward, his knees buckling under the weight.

He exhales shakily. "OK. It's OK," he whispers, "You're still here." 

Kas shifts against him and lifts his head. 

Barely audible, he says in a ragged voice, "I can't hear him anymore." 

He drops his face again. 

Steve gives a sharp, barking laugh, "Good. I'd really hate to have to do this again. You weigh a ton." 

A shuddering breath against his neck is the only reply.

Entangled, they sit in the wreckage of the room. There´s a grounding silence as the air slowly settles around them.

Steve doesn´t let go.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

tags: @dame-zoom-a-latte @queenie-ofthe-void

i fear i have slipped rapidly into incoherence. if I double posted or something let me know.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

If anyone wants a tutorial on how to make stuff in canva I recommend thecutestgrotto's very helpful guide

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll write 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP. No limits to the amount of emojis you can request, please feel free to send multiple!

Thanks for the tags @turinspeachjam @hbyrde36 @cloudsurfing42 and @madaboutmunson!

✨ My steddie BB "Cursed Prince Steve and Bard Eddie" fairytale AU is at 12k now! working on the task of strength this weekend, so having fun making familiar faces pop up

🏴‍☠️ Eddierotica: "Eddie writes the world's worst erotica about characters who are just poorly disguised versions of himself and Steve. They're not dating" now features plot and an actual set up outside of the erotica! Going to aim to have the first two chapters done for the Switch Eddie week event, so be ready for pirates and vampires!

👽 Back this week to actively working on my Star Trek AU Enemies to Lovers! Gonna do my usual hopping around writing chapters concurrently, so you may get various stages as Eddie and S'tevan's relationship evolves

Tags and a SFW snippet of ✨ under the cut:

Shockingly, the prince didn’t call for the guard as he expected. Instead, he gestured for Eddie to come closer, beckoning with a gloved hand clad in fine leather.

As he drew near, Eddie raised an eyebrow. The prince had a chessboard set up halfway through a game. A quick glance around showed no one else around to play against.

Maybe he was trying to figure out how the pieces moved in private?

“If you’re looking for a job at the palace you’ve come to the wrong person. Try the kitchens instead.” With that, the prince turned his attention back to the board.

Eddie clutched at his makeshift disguise.

“I uh, have no need for a job, I am of noble blood!”

“No you’re not.”

Curses.

“I beg your pardon, of course I am!”

“No, you’re not.” The prince finally moved a white pawn. He then got up and sat down on the black side of the board while pointing towards Eddie’s feet.

“Putting aside how worn your boots are, your footsteps are light and quick. The only nobles who walk with the same pattern are either away from the capitol for the season or taller than you. Except Sir Brenner, but Sir Brenner walks with a limp. Besides, your clothes do not bear the colors of any noble house in the region.”

“I...I could be visiting!” Eddie retorted, grasping at any thread he could to get out of this alive. The prince tilted his head. Eddie could have sworn the mask had taken on a smug expression in the last thirty seconds.

“Hmm, a visitor who was not present at this afternoon’s royal luncheon for the king and queen to interrogate? Or did you mysteriously fall ill during those exact hours.”

Eddie blinked. Was the prince mocking him? Before he could reply, Stephen moved quickly to ensnare his hand. Eddie’s heart beat out a wild staccato as the prince proceeded to slide his glove off and trace the calluses on his palm.

“No one of noble blood would work with their hands uncovered enough to grow these, would they stranger,” the prince said smoothly. His tone, so self-assured and full of himself, grated on Eddie’s nerves.

Stephen then lifted the edges of Eddie’s mask and pressed a finger into the space where his neck met his shoulder.

“Odd how your skin is burnt here too.” Eddie didn’t dare breath. This close, he could see the prince’s eyes peeking out from his mask. The last few rays of the setting sun caught shimmering flecks of gold and green as they crinkled in amusement.

“Let’s see. We’ve proven you’re not a noble. And the fact that you tried to continue with this honestly terrible disguise means you’re not in search of a job. Which just leaves the obvious: you want something from the Crown Fool. So tell me stranger, what do you wish for me to do for you?”

Tagging a few folks to join in and work on their own WIPs!

@queenofshenanigans @queenie-ofthe-void @runninriot @apomaro-mellow @augustjustice

@vthx @pearynice @lingeringmirth @kikidoesfanfic @sunflowerharrington

@bellandora @wynnyfryd @zombiethingy @fkinkindagauche @scoops-aboy86

@little-annie @just-my-latest-hyperfixation @onirislanding @strangerthingswritersguild

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Somewhere Over The Rainbow event.

Look Up at the Storm

Prompt: Red | Song: Welly Boots by The Amazing Devil | Word Count: 2287 | Rating: T | CW: implied/referenced child neglect | POV: Eddie | Relationships: Eddie & Al Munson, Eddie & Wayne Munson | Angst, emotional hurt and a little bit of comfort, flashbacks, Good Uncle Wayne, Eddie needs a hug, S01 setting, Al loves his son he's just not a great father

Thanks to @kikidoesfanfic for sending me this song! 💗

Eddie struggles with his red rain boots. Daddy takes care of it though, tickles Eddie’s feet while he’s getting his thick socks on, because the boots are still too big for him and they help fill the gaps, Daddy says, and he knows the best way to get Eddie’s feet in without getting his jeans all wriggled up his leg the way he hates. And they splash and splash in the rain and Eddie screams with laughter and Mommy sits in her window laughing at the pair of them. Eddie has a rain coat, a blue one with little white dogs, and the hood keeps slipping off. It’s getting too small but it’s okay, Daddy says, they’ll get him a new one soon, go all the way to Fort Wayne to go and look, and Eddie asks if Mommy can come and Daddy brushes Eddie’s wet curls out of his face and says “Maybe next time.”

But there isn’t a next time.

Eddie sits in first period history, his knee bouncing and bouncing, his wallet chain and the desk rattling slightly behind the beat. Mrs Click throws him pointed looks over her glasses until she eventually outright tells him to stop it. So he does for a minute or so, but then his mind slowly drifts and so does his knee.

When the class goes quiet, everyone with their heads in their books, he can hear the tick tick tick of the grey clock on the wall over the scratching of pencils; he knows the minutes are counting down but he watches the clock all the same. The court hearing is at nine thirty, and Wayne says the lawyer thinks it will be over in half an hour or so. So he’s spent all morning in classes keeping an eye on the clock, watching the hands creep painfully toward ten, and then trying to work out when Wayne might get home after the long drive from Indy. He has coins for the payphone ready, burning a hole in his pocket.

When the lunch bell rings he’s out of the door before anyone else has even got out of their seats.

The payphone is free and he lets out a relieved breath as he pulls the coins from his pocket and drops them into the slot. His fingers tap out a shaky rhythm on the side of the phone. He lets it ring until he’s cut off because no one picks up.

Wayne’s not home. He doesn’t know if that’s good or bad. Wayne warned him to be prepared, and he is, or at least he was trying to be. But the last time he had spoken to his dad he’d told Eddie that the lawyer had said there was a shot he could just get time served, or maybe six months if the judge was a dick.

“It’ll be alright, Eddie, you’ll see? Have faith in your old man.”

Eddie wanted to, he always tried to, but it just got harder the older he got.

Wayne, he was the realist of the two Munson brothers.

“I know what he’s telling you,” he’d said to Eddie after a visit, “because he’s telling me too. But this isn’t like last time. You need to be prepared for this one, okay?”

And Eddie had scoffed and spat like a camel all night if Wayne so much looked at him. Al wasn’t a saint, Eddie’s not stupid, but sometimes when Wayne talks about his dad it’s like he doesn’t even like him. Like he can’t even stand his only brother. His dad made mistakes but he was looking after Eddie on his own, and Eddie remembers acting up after his mom died, he knows he was an asshole even if he didn’t mean to be, and his dad could have left him with his mom’s family, they offered enough times. And sometimes it was nice having the place to himself for the night, being able to bring his friends over, getting to stay up late even on school nights. Dad always left him money, he never went without. And if worse came to worst, well Uncle Wayne was a few minutes away.

Worse came to worst when he was eleven and he went to live with Wayne for six months. Worse came to worst again when he was fourteen and he went to live with Wayne for a year.

After he got out, Dad came to see him, and he said he’d probably have to stay in Indy on account of seeing his parole officer and then he just never came home. But he called from time to time, and he’d ask Eddie about his grades, told Eddie he was proud of him because no Munson had graduated high school before and Eddie was going to be the first. And he told him how he could be anything he wanted, he could go anywhere he liked, and Al would be right there with him, just not at the moment, because he’s getting things set up for them both, and he wants him to have a nice home and to give him all the things he had missed out on when he was growing up.

But he’s still growing up and the only thing he’s missing out on is his dad.

He doesn’t eat lunch in the cafeteria, instead he sits on the wall nearest the payphone staring the thing down and glaring at anyone who dares to come near it. He’s not hungry, just picks at a bag of potato chips he brought from home, but he throws them in the trash because his stomach is swooping and turning on a constant churn and he knows he’ll be sick if he eats anymore.

The bell rings and he tries the phone once more before going back to class.

The phone rings three times before Wayne picks up.

“Hello?”

His gut tightens.

“Hey, it’s me,” he says, and he hopes he sounds casual, hopes that the rising anxiety stretching him taught isn’t making it’s way down the phone line. “How did it go?”

There’s a long moment, a stretch where time seems all pulled-out like dough, until eventually Wayne sighs, one of those big ones, weary and tired and Eddie’s stomach drops again but this time it doesn’t come back up.

“Ed…,” and the way Wayne says his name is so sad and weighted that Eddie has his answer.

He hears laughter coming from a classroom, and he drops his head forward onto the payphone, folding in on himself. He clears his throat because he wants to sound strong for Wayne.

“How long?”

He says it like a man, but he feels like a boy.

His dad always says he’s proud of him, would that make him prouder?

“Why don’t you come on home, I’ll call the principal—“

“How long?” he asks again, firmer this time.

Another deep, loaded sigh comes from the end of the line.

“Fifteen years.”

Eddie’s brain whites out after that.

That’s not right. That can’t be right.

He thinks he can hear Wayne say something about appeals, about an early release for good behaviour maybe, but his brain keeps skipping on fifteen years, fifteen years. Fifteen fucking years.

“— be there in ten minutes? Eddie? Did you hear me, son?”

It’s painfully soft: son. Eddie’s not his son though. He wants to scream it but none of this is Wayne’s fault.

“Uh…” He swallows hard, he’s not going to cry, not here, not at fucking Hawkins High. “ I have a… I have an English test. This afternoon.”

There’s no way Wayne doesn’t hear the shakiness in his voice, the way he can’t catch a full breath, but he doesn’t mention it and Eddie’s grateful for that.

“Alright. But come straight home after, okay? We’ll talk properly then.”

What is there to talk about?

He’s late for class, and Mr Mundy makes a remark he doesn’t hear before giving him a tardy slip. He just takes it from his fingers without comment, and wanders the hallways in a daze.

He takes his test, because his dad said he was going to be the first Munson to get a high school diploma, and he promised Wayne he’d keep going, even after his grades slipped when his dad got arrested.

He reads the questions, and then reads them again but his head is full of ants and his dad is going to prison for fifteen years. Al will be pushing sixty and Eddie will be thirty two and Mrs O'Donnell taps him on the shoulder softly and asks him if everything is okay, because class is over and everyone’s left but him. He nods wordlessly and hands her his empty test sheet.

The hallways are full of kids making study plans for the evening, or talking about their dates, and they’re all laughing because their dads aren’t going to prison.

Steve Harrington has his arm around some snooty sophomore girl and that Byers weirdo is putting up more posters for his missing brother and at least they’ll know Al couldn’t have done it because he was in jail. At least Hopper can’t pick him up for that one, fat fucking pig that he is.

He doesn’t want to go home but he doesn’t want to see his friends either so he gets in his van and drives around town, and he stops for cigarettes but they won’t accept his fake ID today so no beer, more's the pity.

He drives and he smokes and he drives and the shadows get longer and the sun dips lower and he finds himself at the park. He takes his cigarettes and a can of warm root-beer with him and he plants his ass on a swing.

His dad lied.

But Eddie knew that, didn’t he?

This was Al’s third conviction and he got off light before on account of having a kid at home and no mother in the picture, but everyone’s luck runs out eventually.

And it was there in the tone, there in the words, when Eddie cares to notice.

“I know you’re strong enough to this on your own now.”

He takes a deep drag from his cigarette as he lazily pushes himself backwards and forwards on a swing he outgrew years ago.

Al was supposed to be here, he was supposed to see him graduate, was supposed to be here to take him for his first legal beer, he was supposed to see him be a success, to fall in love, to have kids. He doesn’t want to do this on his own, he wants his fucking dad.

He doesn’t care that he’s nearly eighteen, doesn’t care that he’s nearly a man, doesn’t care that he’s too old to cry about it.

He just wants his dad.

Rain spits from the sky and a pair of little girls squeal as their parents pull them back to the safety of their car.

Eddie’s eyes burn.

“Eddie?”

If he looks up he’ll cry so instead he stares at Wayne’s boots, splattered with mud. He’s supposed to be at work and shame smacks Eddie square in the chest because he won’t have slept today, and having to chase after Eddie’s useless ass wouldn’t have helped.

Wayne sits on the swing beside him and reaches across to squeeze Eddie’s hand. He’d have yanked it away yesterday, he’ll yank it away tomorrow, but today he lets him do it.

Course fingers sweep his wet bangs off his face and the warm touch of his Uncle's hand is the final straw and he hopes Wayne will just think it’s rain streaming down his cheeks because he’s nearly eighteen and he doesn’t do this anymore.

“He lied,” he chokes out. Wayne nods in reply.

“He didn’t want to worry you. He loves you, Eddie. He’s so proud of you—”

“Don’t!”

“I’m proud of you, too.”

The rain eases, but the tears don’t.

The chain of the swing clinks as Wayne stands.

“Come on,” he says holding his hand out, “Let’s go home.”

Uncle Wayne helps him pull his red rain boots on. He’s rougher than Daddy, doesn’t know the right way to stop his jeans from getting caught up his legs the way he hates. They’re getting tight for him now and one of them has a split in the side but Uncle Wayne taped it up and he said it’ll last till they can get some new ones over in Fort Wayne.

Daddy leaves him here sometimes since they said goodbye to Mommy. Eddie doesn’t know why.

Uncle Wayne lives in a trailer and Eddie hates it because when it rains the forest looks creepy, and the windows rattle and the lights flash. Sometimes when it’s bad it sounds like a monster trying to get in.

He walks into the rain with his taped up boots pinching his toes but he doesn’t feel much like splashing today.

Big hands grab him and scoop him up into the sky.

“Look up at the storm, Eddie.”

He throws his arms around Uncle Wayne’s neck and follows the line of his hand pointed up into the sky. The sky is big, and some of it’s angry and grey, the clouds round and black and he tightens his arms around Uncle Wayne’s neck as a clap of thunder roars. But Wayne shakes him a little and when he opens his eyes he sees the blue peaking through the clouds and the fattest rainbow he’s ever seen. Colours like jewels hanging in the air.

Uncle Wayne kisses his wet cheek, and Eddie squeezes him tight, and they sit on the porch together and wait for the storm to pass.

****

It's 4am and I am sleep deprived but I think I got most of the typos and nonsense sentences. and if I didn't, well sucks to be me I guess!

@the-unforgivenn I got it finished! 💗

[queenie-ofthe-void]

The Young Adults of Hawkins.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

In the Morning, P8

I didn't use any of my free time at work today to read fan fiction, and instead finished this chapter. I had most of it already done, I´m just that damn excited to share this.

This clocks in as the longest chapter thus far; we are now biting into the meat of things.

cw: implications of torture, brainwashing, vecna's questionable design taste.

Prologue / P1 / P2 / P3 / P4 / P5 / P6 / P7 / P8 (hi!) / Ao3

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ

He could have struck him down quickly, stopping the torment with a single strike.

He should have.

Everything inside him, everything that was woven into his bones, screams to end this. To silence the voice that keeps digging, pushing, peeling back the layers, exposing the innermost core of him.

But he didn't. He couldn't.

Instead, he took away their game and told himself it was just a trite habit. A fragment of a dead boy's play at mockery. Good night, Stevie. I'll most likely kill you in the morning.

Meaningless.

But when the words caught in his throat, when he turned away into the shadows…

It hurt.

More than he expected.

He hates that it matters. Hates that the boy with the bat made it matter.

Because the boy looked at him like Eddie Munson mattered.

Not just as a memory but as something that could still be.

And that hurts. More than the bats ever did.

Kas sits alone on the couch, claws digging into the fabric.

The d20 sits in his hand again, a familiar weight. Familiar lie.

He doesn't roll it this time.

He knows what choice he's already made.

Steve woke up with the weight of the patch in his fist and that foggy, mouth-full-of-socks kind of feeling that usually meant he'd fallen asleep stressed, cold, and half-curled on his glorified mold pile of a mattress. It pairs perfectly with the way his body aches, like it's been run over by a semi-truck made of guilt and emotional constipation.

The silence of the night without its customary ending still hums in his bones, colder, sharper than the Upside Down's usual chill.

No ritual. No shadow in the doorway.

And there's no way to know if he's lost him.

But Steve Harrington has never been smart enough to know how to quit, not when it means giving up on a person who matters.

So he sits up, rubs his face, and mutters:

"Alright, Kas. Round two.".

Kas was already in the kitchen, hunched over the low table that served their meals. The big bastard looked half-predatory, half-bored, claws lazily rolling something small and black between them.

Steve squinted. It was some lumpy plastic… thing? A game piece? He had no idea. Probably nerd shit.

He cleared his throat. "Uh. Morning."

Kas didn't look up. His head tilts, the only sign of the greeting. His claw flicked the thing again; clack, clack, clatter.

Steve edged a little closer, trying to read the mood. "So. About last night-"

Kas finally looks at him. Sharp-eyed, mouth curved in something that might be a smile if it wasn't so thin, so razor-edged.

"Save the morning-after speech, Harrington. I'm not one of your conquests."

Deciding against responding to that, Steve watches as Kas turns the thing again. Doesn't roll it.

He holds it for a long beat and slips it away into a pocket as he stands. Moving toward the door, he barks out:

"Come."

Steve stares. "Come where?"

Kas glances back, mouth twisting. "You asked what I remember," he says, voice dry. "Congratulations. You get the show-and-tell version."

Dry, bitter. A dare and a warning, both.

He steps outside. Scrambling to grab his bat, Steve follows.

They moved quickly through the dying remains of Upside Down Hawkins, crumbling, frozen in decay. Every surface was veined with black vines, the air thick with drifting spores and ash.

Kas hadn't slowed; he had only carried them as far as the town before simply dropping him to his feet and moving on without a backward glance. 

Steve works to keep pace, trying not to stumble over any of the vines, mind still working over the scene earlier. They only get past two more streets before he can no longer help himself.

"So, uh. That thing this morning. The little black… dice? Die? Whatever. The little nerd rocks for your game."

Kas keeps walking, shoulders tense, wings tight.

Steve pushes more, "So, like, you roll for luck or…?

That earns a sharp breath. Almost a laugh, but not quite.

Kas glances back briefly, eyes dark with dry amusement.

"Not today."

He faces forward again, pace steady.

Steve waits for more. Nothing comes.

He huffs. "Well, if you rolled whether or not to eat me today, I hope you got snake eyes."

Kas's mouth twitched, just the barest ghost of a smile.

"You're not worth the effort this morning."

Steve, unable to resist, fluttered his eyelashes and cooed, "Oh, you flatterer!" 

Then he grinned, swinging the bat up on his shoulder.

"Y'know, for a guy who won't shut up about how dangerous he is, you've got some real non-threatening hobbies."

This time, Kas's voice comes low, edged with humor so dry it might snap. "Call it a bad habit. Leftover."

And that's all he says.

But Steve sees the way his claws flex once, tight.

Kas leads him past ruined houses and the mirrored school; their destination soon becomes visible: the ruins of the Creel House.  

It's changed from the building where they faced Vecna last time. It's worse.

Gutted, the building sits like a haunted carcass. The walls, as Steve can see them, are covered in vines that pulse with the sickly red glow Max described from Vecna's mindscape as if the house itself is trying to breathe.

Kas stops just short of the twisted entrance. His wings twitch, and for the first time since this all began, he looks uncertain.

"He brought me here," he recounts, voice rough and low. 'After…after the bats. The body was dead, useless. But Henry… doesn't like to throw away broken toys, his trophies.

He's talking about Eddie. Steve realizes as his stomach turns.

With slow, deliberate steps, Kas moves inside.

Steve follows, heart hammering, bat gripped tightly.

The air here is thick with the smell of iron and rot. It lingers in his nose, and he suppresses a gag.

They make their way towards the back of the house, where the dining room once stood. Now, it's half-collapsed in the middle; a grotesquerie of vines, wires, and strange, bone-like growths sits, split open like a cocoon.

What walls remain are scarred, scorched, and deeply gouged where someone tried to fight. Was it Eddie? Kas? Steve can't decide which option is worse.

Kas gestures towards it, like a gothic-horror show version of Vanna White, spitting out in a voice filled with rage and self-loathing, "Here. This is where I was…remade."

As he speaks, he paces, the words pouring from him in a bitter, fast torrent. "I wasn't saved. A convenient tool, not meant to be redeemed but to be used and bent to his will, a weapon, a spy. A…thing, obedient, able to speak, hunt, think. To fool. I was not meant to remember."

Steve stares, trying to hear over the blood pounding in his ears. 

Then he rounds on Steve, eyes blazing in fury.

"And then you! You started asking, pushing. Worming your way in, making the memories come. Making everything so LOUD!" Bellowing the last word, he slams a fist into a wall, making the vines hiss and split.

Forcing a breath into his lungs, Steve pleads, "That's not–no, look, you're still fighting. You're here, we're here! That has to mean something!"

Kas laughs a darkly hollow sound. "Then you're an optimist. Or an idiot."

"I'm both," Steve snaps. "And I'm not leaving. Not without you."

The declaration causes Kas's gaze to flicker, his mouth twitching in bitter humor that barely masks the raw exhaustion now evident on his features.

"I feel him," Kas mutters, tapping his temple harshly with a clawed finger. "Even now. Pulling the leash tighter. He knows I remember."

Pulse racing, Steve questions, "Why even show me this? What's the point?"

Going utterly still, Kas tells him, "Because I need you to understand. When he calls…I may not be able to stop it."

He steps close—close enough that Steve has to tilt his head, his voice dropped into a harsh whisper.

"And if I turn? You will have to kill me."

It takes more effort than Steve wants to admit to keep his gaze steady with the ice that fills his veins. Despite this, his voice doesn't tremble as he says:

"I'm not giving up on you. Not after this, after everything."

Several emotions flash over Kas's face–pain, hope, fury–all tangled and raw before he exhales brokenly.

"Then you're going to need to prepare for another guest at dinner, Stevie."

Stepping back, he continues, "Vecna's not going to wait much longer." 

He turns sharply, wings flaring as he stalks back the way they came. "It's time to leave."

Throat tight and mind racing, Steve follows.

The trip back was silent, not heavy or hostile as it had been the day before, but just exhausted. As if neither of them could muster the energy to pretend they were fine anymore.

The words tumble endlessly in Steve's head. When he calls, I may not be able to stop it.

When they reached their humble home, Steve headed to the kitchen on autopilot. Fumbling for the small kettle, he drops in some of the bitter roots and fills it with water.

It's simply routine, as terrible and stupid as it is. Right now, though, routine feels like the only thing that holds him together.

Behind him, Kas has slumped onto the couch. No sprawl and no poise. Just sits like he's too tired to keep posturing.

Steve gives up the pretense of the kettle before taking a seat of his own, clocking how Kas seems to keep his face turned away as he does.

"So," he said in a voice that was practiced to be casual. "That was terrible. I will not be buying another one of your guided tours."

Kas keeps his gaze turned studiously aside. 

Steve doesn't let that stop him; he pushes on. "I get it now. Why you…changed. Why you push me away."

When it's clear no reply is coming, he exhales slowly. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend I understand everything. I don't. But I wasn't lying before when I said I wasn't leaving. I meant every word."

With a shift, Kas sends a slow glance sideways with that same unreadable expression he kept before.

Offering a small half-smile, Steve shrugs. "Besides, I've got way too much invested in the place just to quit. Plus, you have no instinct for interior design."

There's a beat of incredulous silence, and then:

"You think you're funny."

Steve grins. "No, I know I'm funny."

Kas can't stop himself from rolling his eyes. "You're something, Harrington. Not sure what yet."

He leans back into the couch, taking up his habitual tapping against the armrest.

"He didn't want me to remember. But I do. It's not clear, not like a movie. It's just…flashes. Fragments. Loud music. Blood. Hands. Faces."

Smile fading, Steve asks, "Do you… d'you remember them?"

The question elicits a twitch from Kas's mouth. "Some. There was one who talked a lot. A tone."

Steve snorts. "That'll be Dustin. Yup, that tracks."

He hesitates, trying to stay respectful of the moment but desperate to know. "Can I ask you a question?"

Kas gives him a deadpan look, one eyebrow raised. "Could I stop you?"

Looking down, Steve gives a brief smile before plowing ahead. "If he…if Eddie were still here, would he have wanted to come back? Like this?"

There is a long silence before Kas speaks.

"No."

The single word drops like a stone in Steve's stomach.

"But he didn't get the choice,' Kas adds flatly. "I do."

Deliberately, Steve meets his gaze. "Then I'm glad. I'm glad that you're here."

There's no response, but Kas never looks away, either.

Steve drags himself to his sad excuse for a bed, flopping into it with a groan. As the red light dims, footsteps approach.

Steve blinks blearily up, and there he is. Kas. Leaning in the doorway.

His voice comes. Soft and fondly familiar in a way that hit harder than it should have.

"Good night, Stevie."

A beat. 

"Thank you for everything."

Another pause, then with the faintest dry humor:

"I'll most likely kill you in the morning."

:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:

tags: @dame-zoom-a-latte @queenie-ofthe-void

See? I had a plan the whoooole time.

[queenie-ofthe-void]

Six months. For six months Steve has been listening to this radio show and not ever one time did he expect to hear the host, Eddie Munson, growl out the words “Hawkins, Indiana," but here they are. The name said.

Steve stops the car dead in the middle of the road, can’t hear anything aside from the radio show host listing Hawkins facts in his sonorous voice.

He should have known. Like rationally, he should have considered it a possibility that Hawkins might come up on this late night talk radio show called Hellfire about monsters, cryptids, folklore. 

It’s just. He thought. Hawkins hadn’t exactly made national news, and what had was about a toxic gas leak and a government coverup, not exactly this show’s focus. 

But enough, apparently. Obviously. 

Eddie starts talking about the disappearance of Will Byers, and Steve lays his head on his steering wheel, tries to ignore the way his hands tremble. 

For six months Hellfire brought him comfort and companionship as he roams the dark street of Hawkins on what Robin calls his patrols. It’s not like he can sleep, not anymore, so what better to do than make sure everyone is safe? That there’s no signs of the Upside Down? That the gates are still closed? 

Hellfire has been his companion through it all and now—now—

Eddie’s talking about the Department of Energy, MK Ultra, a fake body in the quarry. 

He could turn it off. Or better yet, go home. But he sits in his car out by Lover’s Lake and he listens to Eddie detail the rumors and speculation. Listens to the callers who share their two cents and conspiracy theories—none close to the truth. 

The thing is. He’s become—fond of Eddie, of Hellfire. He doesn’t care about cryptids, isn’t interested in Big Foot, but he was captivated by Eddie. Not just him, though, it’s the whole thing with his producer, Gareth, and his two other best friends who pop in from time to time. They’re funny, nerdy, love that dork game the kids play. And if the low resonance of Eddie’s voice makes him a little melty? Well, that’s between him and 3am. 

Steve calls in, sometimes. Has called in. Just, you know, once a week or so. It's not like he knows anything about the monsters, but he asks questions, likes to listen to Eddie talk no matter if he understands.

They finish with a caller and Eddie says, "unfortunately, we'll probably never know what happened."

And Gareth cuts in to say, "Hawkins is only an hour a way. You know. If you find that interesting."

"What are you saying, Gar?" Eddie asks. "That we should go?" He laughs.

"Why not? We could do our own investigation. Maybe we'll find something the authorities don't want us to."

"Hmm, what do you think, listeners? Should we don our adventurer caps and head into the unknown?"

He doesn't remember putting the car into drive, but he knows he's speeding toward the little two-pump gas station on the edge of town and the deserted pay phone there.

The line beeps and beeps when he dials. He tries again and again, until finally there's a click, and Eddie's radio voice booming in his ear.

"Thank you for calling Hellfire," he laughs, manic. "You're--

"You can't go to Hawkins," he interrupts.

"Sweetheart," Eddie croons. "Haven't heard from you in a while. How are you?"

"I'm Fine. Stay out of Hawkins."

"You gotta ease into it a little, baby. Little small talk first."

"Eddie..."

"What do you know about Hawkins?"

"N--nothing. I've heard bad things about it. Cops."

"Cops," Eddie snorts. "I'm not afraid of Hawkins PD. Are you calling because you're worried for my well-being, sweetheart?"

"Yes." Steve doesn't hesitate.

"You're my favorite listener, you know that?"

"I'm being serious."

"It's cute."

"It's a really bad idea to go to Hawkins."

"Do you know what's funny? You didn't know what a chupacabra was, but you know about Hawkins."

"I--" he swallows. "Have specific interests."

Eddie laughs. "What do you know about Hawkins?"

"Nothing," too quick.

"Are you lying to me?"

"I can't say."

"You just keep getting more and more mysterious."

"Please, stay away. It's--there are things, people--you don't want their attention. Just, please. Trust me."

"I'll agree on one condition. Tell me how you know this."

"I can't," he whispers. "That's why you need to trust me."

"What's stopping you?"

He flashes back to an interrogation room, Hopper's stern face, the even sterner ones of the government agents, the four-inch high stack of papers to sign, again and again and again.

"NDAs."

Dead silence on the other line until Eddie asks, "wait, PLURAL?" excitement spikes through the speakers.

That's when Steve hears the distant click down the line, knows it isn't him or Eddie, knows--

The line goes dead.

"Fuck."

He goes straight to the cabin. It's late enough in the morning now that he's unsurprised to see the glowing ember of a cigarette near the porch steps.

"What'd you do, kid?" Hopper asks when Steve gets out of his car.

"Called into a radio show about monsters."

The chief sighs, drops his hands to his sides, muttering. The crunch of gravel way up the long drive has them both turning.

"Guess we're in for a long day." Hopper stomps out his cigarette.

---

Steve isn't allowed to listen to Hellfire anymore. Is forbidden from calling in. And he gets it, okay, he knows. He said too much on the radio, but he hopes that he didn't get Eddie in trouble, that they don't try to come to Hawkins.

He gets a late start on his patrols one night. Took the kids to the movies, caved within minutes when they begged to go for ice cream after, Robin giving him a fond eye roll when he stops.

It's late, summer sun set for hours already, and he's driving on backroads behind the lab. And it's been--it's been a few weeks, okay, since the last call, long enough that he's stopped thinking Eddie will show, so when he sees the van on the side of the road--when he sees the van he doesn't stop right away.

It's tan and white or maybe grey, old, from the 70's or something; spiky black lettering on the side. It says Hellfire.

Steve slams on the breaks so hard the tires squeal, car skidding. He parks haphazardly on the side of the road, only grabbing a flashlight before hurling himself into the woods.

He figures Eddie and the guys will be easy to find, bumbling through unfamiliar forest, but minutes pass with nothing but his own feet crushing through the underbrush. He's afraid to yell, afraid it will draw the wrong kind of attention, but he does a kind of hoarse whisper, knowing it's not enough.

There's a small rock formation that he skirts past, mind everywhere but on his surroundings. He hears a rustle, he thinks, turns, and in the space of a breath, collides with something distinctly solid, warm, and judging by the pained grunt, human.

"Fuck. Gareth?" A very familiar voice asks.

"Eddie??" He responds. His fingers scrabble for his flashlight, illuminating the leaf strewn forest floor and some nearby tree roots.

A beam of light illuminates his chest and face, forcing his eyes down. "Who are you?"Eddie demands.

Steve finally grabs his flashlight, points it at Eddie's middle. Has a second to take in his long, curly hair, his cut-off t-shirt, pale skin and the swirl of inky black tattoos. "I'm--I--I called into your show. I--I told you not to--"

"Oh," Eddie's breath hitches. "Sweetheart. You said not to come to Hawkins and then you--you--" He blinks, seems to struggle to find words. "I didn't expect you to be so beautiful."

He smiles. "i--your show, I loved it. I miss listening to you. I miss--" He takes a step, closes the distance. Eddie smiles and it grips something in his stomach, doesn't let go.

Over Eddie's shoulder, there's a flash of movement, catches in Steve's periphery. It's an unfurling, an opening, there's a shine of saliva, teeth.

His heart stops.

"Eddie--"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Run."

[queenie-ofthe-void]

MATT MURDOCK FANDOM DIAGNOSED AS VERY SICK 🤒

[queenie-ofthe-void]

working on cleaning / reorganizing some of my files so here's a bunch of eliot gifs