#changed the wording a bit

[midnightsun-if]

There’s no way I can pass up, “i’m gonna remind them you’re mine” for my girl Scarlett please 🙏

You don’t know how you keep getting dragged into these things…

Sure, in the light of day, Aurelian Academy was the picture perfect institute for higher learning and a practical hub for possible connections within the supernatural, and even sometimes human, world, but at night? When the enchanted lights dimmed, when the professors turned in for the night in their wing, and the moon rose above the shimmering lake that made its home on Aurelian’s campus?

That’s when the real fun, as you’ve been told, begins. Parties, secret meetings, illicit affairs, and more all occurred under the cover of night within Aurelian, and you just happened to have been pulled into once such event— a party that Blake hadn’t stopped gushing about since he heard of it: It’s supposed to be the biggest party of the year! How could I possibly miss it? And, since you’re my best friend, I’ll need you by side when I attend. It won’t be as fun without you.

The fact that it’s barely into the second semester didn’t seem to matter to Blake in the slightest.

Seriously, who thought it’d be a good idea for both sirens and succubi to be housed in the same dorm? That’s only a recipe for disaster— added to the fact that the incubi dorm was a relatively short distance away, and you have a whole slew of potentially bad ideas.

Though nothing bad as my idea of actually attending, you gripe, hand tightening around the flimsy plastic solo cup, sloshing an almost luminescent blue drink over the brim. Blake has been lost in the sea of people, I’m not even sure what time it is, and I think I’m going to go deaf if this music doesn’t shift gears soon.

All in all? You weren’t having the best of times. Not that you minded parties, you’ve been to quite a few in your time, but this sort of thing hadn’t ever really been your scene. The air, intermingled with a variety of scents, is almost cloying in your nostrils, the beat of the bass thrumming your ear, and it’s only due to the privacy wards that you haven’t completely keeled over due to the sound. Your only saving grace is the fact that your girlfriend had agreed to come save you after a certain amount of time.

Getting the chance to see Scarlett, even if it’s in a throng of gyrating bodies and a dimly lit room, she’ll definitely be a sight for sore eyes. You just have to hold out long enough for her to arrive. And she’ll hopefully take me back to her room, you muse, taking a sip over the surprisingly sweet concoction in your cup. Which will lead to the actually exciting part of my night.

For now? You’re content with sticking to the sides of the party, the shadows wrapped around you in a comforting embrace, as you waited for your emerald green eyed savior to arrive.

“You’re not having fun are you?” The sudden voice causes you to flinch in surprise. Your attention immediately settling on the form of Isabel, an occupant of this very dorm, who had a charming smile stretched across full lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so miserable at one of these things.”

You shift. “I’m not miserable,” you reply, not wanting to seem rude. “This just isn’t usually something I go to.”

Isabel hums, amber eyes sparkling. “I can see that.” She tilts her head, slowly appraising you in a way that immediately sends alarm bells ringing in your head. “I can say, with quite a bit of certainty, that you haven’t ever been to one of my parties before?”

She’s right.

“Why do you say that?”

“I think I’d remember someone as beautiful as you attending,” she purrs, leaning closer, locks of raven black hair falling over her shoulder. “None of my sisters, or myself, have been able to take our eyes off you since you arrived with that incubus.”

Sisters. The realization hits you instantly. You’ve completely forgotten that Isabel was a Siren, a species that always traveled in pods, a group that grew as close as family. Who also happened to make a game out of who could get the most valuable prize by the end of their hunts. How do I keep getting into these situations?

Isabel’s smile only grows. “I must admit I’m surprised none of them have snatched you up yet.” Her hand trails down your arm, before you’re able to jerk it away. Something she doesn’t seem to take offense by. “It’s possible they’re too shy to.” She tilts her head, eyes flashing carnally. “Pity. But it only means more of you for myself.”

“Look I have a—”

“She’s already spoken for, Laurent.” A sharp voice interrupts your rebuttal, accent thicker than usual due to the agitation you detect laced within her tone. “You’ll have to take your games elsewhere.”

Isabel’s entire countenance shifts as your girlfriend finally comes into focus— Scarlett. Your eyes rove over her form, clad simply in a red-laced corset top, paired with a belt and tailored black pants, as well as her signature heels, she looks every part of the unflinching conquerer that roams the halls during the day. Not a single strand of dark auburn hair out of place, emerald eyes narrowed into slits as she takes a protective stance next to you, the only sign of her anger being the slightest clench of her jaw. Something anyone that wasn’t you could, and would, miss.

“Wasn’t aware she was yours, Voltaire.” The siren holds up her hands, clearly not wanting to get into an altercation with your girlfriend. “Maybe you shouldn’t let her wander off alone without you.”

Scarlett’s brow arches, an imperious look etched across her face. “I’d take that into consideration if your opinion mattered in the slightest to me.” She waves her hand, a flippant gesture of dismissal if you’ve ever seen one, and drawls. “Run along now. I do believe your time in our presence has run its course. No need to insist upon a place that doesn’t want nor need you.”

Amber eyes flash dangerously but she wisely keeps her mouth shut, giving you one last look, Isabel turns and disappears back into the throng of bodies, no doubt heading over to her sisters that stood near the open bar.

A gentle touch to your cheek pulls your focus towards Scarlett’s face, a bit more emotion now showcased— if the slightest downturn of her lips, and the darkened state of her gaze, was anything to go by.

“Why did you entertain her for so long, my heart?” It’s asked softly, no accusation in her tone. A question borne purely out of curiosity.

You rub the back of your neck. “I panicked and sort of froze.”

Scarlett’s eyes narrow at that. “Did she do anything to you?” A darkened gaze, that flashes obsidian, turns to look back at the room, in the direction that Isabel had disappear off to. “If she did all you have to do is tell me and I’ll handle it.”

“Honestly, I didn’t realize what was happening until it actually happened.” You shake your head, taking Scarlett’s hand, that had limply fallen back to her side, in a gentle hold. “She caught me when I was thinking of a fairly distracting topic.”

“Oh?” Dark auburn hair falls over Scarlett’s shoulder, reminiscent of Isabel’s earlier action, but somehow more elegant, and your girlfriend’s gaze darkens for an entirely different reason, the obsidian black telling of a completely different hunger. “And what would that be?”

Stepping closer, you wrap around arms loosely around Scarlett’s neck, tugging her closer until her body is flushed with yours. “You.” A satisfied purr rumbles out of Scarlett. Her head titling into the gentle touch of your fingers running through her hair. “Out of pure curiosity what were you going to do?” At her raised brow, you elaborate. “You said you would have handled it. How?”

There’s a beat of silence, wherein only the party surrounding you both intercepts it, but when Scarlett offers you a sultry smirk, you immediately felt the familiar swoop in your gut, heat building between you both. It’s of no surprise when Scarlett leans closer and places a hard kiss to your lips— somehow making it deep, passionate in a way that only she could, without ever introducing her tongue. “What would I do, my hear?” She purrs, tugging at your bottom lip with her teeth. “I’d remind them that you’re mine.”

She dips her head, placing an open-mouth kiss to your neck. Clearly delighting in the way you arch against her at the familiar action.

“I suppose I have a different course of action now.” Scarlett steps back, keeping your hands interlaced as she leads you towards the exit, hips swaying in a rhythmic fashion. “Something that’ll be far more rewarding.”

Your breath catches. “And that is?”

“Reminding you that you’re mine.”

[butchfalin]

the funniest meltdown ive ever had was in college when i got so overstimulated that i could Not speak, including over text. one of my friends was trying to talk me through it but i was solely using emojis because they were easier than trying to come up with words so he started using primarily emojis as well just to make things feel balanced. this was not the Most effective strategy... until. he tried to ask me "you okay?" but the way he chose to do that was by sending "👉🏼👌🏼❓" and i was so shocked by suddenly being asked if i was dtf that i was like WHAT???? WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY TO ME?????????? and thus was verbal again

[hopefully-helpful-daemon]

Jason, laying on the couch: Do you think that 9/11 happened in the paw patrol universe?

Bruce: Sometimes I wish I hadn't adopted you..

[sp0o0kylights]

Part One

There’s a bloody and battered Steve Harrington on Phil Callahan’s couch. 

There’s also a somewhat shellshocked (but otherwise perfectly fine, thank God) Eddie Munson passed out on the other side of it, having refused to leave after dragging Harrington to Phil’s front door. 

Hopper and Powell both are unable to be raised via radio, dispatch is being cagey and keeps insisting they know nothing (but also cannot send an ambulance his way due to ‘unusually high call volumes’, what the fuck) and being that it’s now 3 am, Flo has long left the station.

Which leaves Phil as the last adult standing, slumped in a chair and quietly wondering if this is how the apocalypse starts. 

(Given the ER has apparently been overtaken by some sort of government task force to deal with a “gas leak and related poisonings” --suspicious quotation marks very much implied-- it kind of feels like it might be. 

“There are men in containment suites here. The big bulky white ones you only see in movies.” 

The nurse he begged through back channels to talk to had hissed on the phone, voice low and frantic. 

“There’s talk they’re going to quarantine the hospital. Do not bring that kid here. If you think he’s worse tomorrow, drive him to St. Peters in the morning, but otherwise just keep an eye on him.” 

St. Peters, the next closest hospital, is a full hour and a half drive away--and that’s if Phil takes his cruiser and keeps the lights and sirens on.) 

Callhan alternates between watching the clock and the rise and fall of Harrington’s chest as he breathes. Contemplates when his small town, boring life started going completely sideways. 

The nurse had assured him Steve probably just had a concussion and a few fractured ribs. The head wound had already closed by the time Phil checked it and it likely won’t need stitches unless it reopens. 

They are living out the best case scenario here. Steve’s (probably) going to be fine. He just needs to take things easy for a while, which Phil himself will be insisting he do, since that kid will not be going home to an empty house.

Not when he knows Steve's parents are gone and as helpful as Munson’s been, Phil can't ask him to watch Harrington.

For all the chains, swagger, and dumb habit of stealing Phil’s cowboy hat, Eddie Munson’s still a kid himself. 

Nevermind that Phil’s pretty sure the two aren’t even friends, let alone friendly. 

Sure Munson’s been spotted at a couple of Harrington’s parties, and yes there’s definitely rumors the brat's started dealing, but unlike most of Steve’s crew, Munson knows to bolt long before the cops show up. 

Definitely isn’t the type to play sports, in the same way Steve isn’t the type to stage large scale lawn-flamingo heists. They just don’t cross paths much. 

Plus it’s just downright irresponsible to even think of asking Munson and okay, maybe as a cop Phil himself has a responsibility to the city of Hawkins, but the city isn’t currently bleeding all over his couch. 

Add on the little fact that Steve had repeatedly said that he didn't want to be left alone…

(That he hadn’t realized how bad off he was until he was already behind the wheel of his car, chasing down a half-remembered promise of help Callahan had once offered. 

Phil would bet his last dollar that was why Munson hadn’t left yet. 

That he’d watched the way Steve had clung, first to Munson and then to Phil,  wrecked and shaking, his voice splintering as he pleaded, “Please stay, I don’t wanna die alone, I--sorry, please--”

Phil had been in a full-blown panic trying to reassure the kid he wasn’t about to keel over and he was a cop, for fuck’s sake!

Munson, who had once famously melted down in middle school over animal control’s attempts to put down an injured possum and tried to start a riot?

Even if he hadn’t needed the extra hands, Phil would’ve let the little brat linger, if only to head off the inevitable nightmares this whole screwed-up mess was bound to leave behind.) 

No ones going anywhere until Phil has answers or orders. 

The clock chimes in the background, a reminder of the late hour and he uses it to shove all thoughts of death and teenagers away. 

Attempts, once again, to walk through what he’ll do if the next call he gets is about an evacuation, or a curfew, or some other government issued order, and he still can’t get a hold of Hopper or Powell. 

If the hospital closes they’ll need to make a statement. Call some sort of town hall about what to do, where to go in case little Suzie or Bobby eats shit on their bike. 

Calm some people down in case the gas leak thing gains traction. Starts going around causing the same panic Benny’s death and Will Byers disappearance had. 

Wouldn’t be hard, given those two incidents happened last year.  

(Would the county send the stupid staties if Phil was the one to call in? Say he can’t get a hold of his own people? 

Would they care about the lowest guy on the force panicking, or would they think him a small town moron and ignore him until it was too late?

What if this really is the fucking apocolypse and Phil’s the only cop left around? 

‘Can I survive the end of the world with two teenagers in tow’ is not a thought exercise he’s ever entertained.

If he had, King Steve and Menace Munson would have been his last possible pick for the role, definitely not with one of them injured, and oh, dammit, he’s catastrophizing again--) 

Running on caffeine fumes and sheer panic, Phil’s thoughts loop relentlessly, the clock chiming again and again until the first light breaks through the windows and Steve finally stirs. 

Finds he must have fallen into some sort of half-asleep trance because he’s jerked to full awareness when Harrington moves to get up and ends up falling back down, loudly hissing and clutching his head. 

“Easy, easy.” Phil mutters, up in a shot, coming to hover over Harrington like the kid’s a nervous horse. “You’re with--uh, Officer Callahan? At my house.”

Then, like Steve might not know, adds;  “You’re pretty hurt, kid.” 

“Oh.” Steve says, squints up at him, holding his head in both hands. “Alright.”

That's a dramatic under-reaction, and Phil’s instantly worried about brain damage as Munson starts to come alive next to them. 

He crouches down next to Steve, hands hovering uncertainly. “You remember what happened?”

Steve stares at the floor, then at Phil. 

“Sort of?” 

“Waz’ goin’ on?” Munson says, blinking rapidly into awareness. 

“Go grab an ice pack for Steve,” Phil says distractedly, as he reaches out, telegraphing his movements. Begins gently combing through Steve’s hair to get a look at the cut. “Top shelf, left side of the freezer.”

He earns a foggy stare and a grunt that might’ve been “Sure”--or possibly, just a default teenager noise, before Munson tumbles upright, staggering off like a baby deer. 

Phil might’ve rolled his eyes and made a comment on teenage zombism, if Steve didn’t flinch every time his fingers so much as brushed against his skull. 

“Scale of one to ten, how bad’s the pain?” He asks, only just remembering to keep his voice down.

“It’s throbbing, man.” Steve replies, which isn’t as concerning as the fact he’s allowing Phil to manhandle his entire head without complaint, despite the pain. 

Thankfully, Phil’s prepared.

“Let’s fix that, then. Pick a hand, any hand.” He jokes lamely, as he fishes in the pocket of his pants, finally pulling out the little pill bottle he’d retrieved earlier. 

“Uh…” Steve stares at him uncomprehendingly until Phil holds out his palm and shakes the pill jar, two pills bouncing down. 

“Oh.” Steve says. “That hand then.” 

“This will make you a little loopy, but it’ll help with the pain.” Phil warns, handing them over. “I’ll get you a glass of water to take it with.” 

Not that he apparently needed to because Steve’s already popped the pills in his mouth and swallowed them dry. 

“Hope that’s because of the pain and not because you’re used to doing that.” Phil chides sarcastically, rising to his feet. Water will do Steve good anyway, he could barely get any down the kid last night. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Steve tosses at his back, the first real sign of his usual attitude. 

Which means the kids’ definitely going to be okay, at least. 

Phil rolls his eyes, fighting the urge to show relief as he passes Munson, the older teen now looking far more awake despite his hair looking like a rat made its home there. 

“Munson?” Steve says, startling loudly when Eddie drops down next to him on the couch. “Shit I thought I hallucinated you.” 

“No such luck, your majesty. Here, ice pack,” The older teen still sounds like he gargled gravel.  “Put it on your head.” 

Phill grabs a water bottle for him too. 

He returns as Eddie manages to wedge the ice pack into Steve’s limp hands, holding two bottles of water himself; one for Harrington and one for Munson,  who sounds like he could probably use it too.

“Do that, drink this, then,” Phil says, trying not to push but needing answers as he hands out the water, “Start talking. What the hell happened?”

Harrington presses the ice to his temple, and meets Phil’s eyes.

“How much do you know?” 

And nope, no, fucking no, that is not how this is going to work today, thanks!

“Uh-uh, you answer first!” Phil snaps, arms crossing over his chest. “All we have established is that you showed up here looking like you went ten rounds with Michael Myers and then tried to drive afterwards.” 

He’s been balancing on the knife’s edge of panic all night, and now that Harrington’s finally stringing full sentences together, it’s starting to show. 

Phil needs something here, he’s beyond desperate.  

Even if it’s just normal dumb teenager bullshit. 

“No, like, how much has Hop told you?” Steve clarifies hesitantly. “About the--the stuff? With the lab?” 

Which just makes things worse, since all roads seem to circle back to them.

(He knew that lab made evil space lasers and shit!) 

“I'm sorry, who's asking questions here? From the top, Harrington.” He raises his hand in the air, just in case Steve needs visual representation as Phil’s anxiety grapples with him. “Pretend Hopper hasn’t told me anything. Right now, you can pretend he doesn’t even exist.” 

Harrington squirts at him disbelievingly under the ice pack. 

Mutters; “I forgot you get bitchy when you’re upset.” 

Which is rich, coming from a Harrington. Their entire family turned being bitchy into an inherited skill set!

“The hospital says there’s a gas leak happening.” Phil prods, tone tight despite himself. “Is it from the lab? The government?” 

Was this a weapon that got away from them? Did they have Hopper? Is that why he wasn’t answering his damn radio!?

Phil knew they were on a time limit here, with the meds, but he hadn’t exactly anticipated Harrington starting off by talking about the lab. Selfishly thinks he’d have held off for a second if he had known this was related to whatever the hell was happening in town. 

“You kept mentioning the junkyard and some kid named Dustin.” Munson interrupts, hanging his elbows on his knees and peering at Steve. “You said you were going to be pissed at him if you died because he was being stupid.” 

Phil resists the urge to shush him. 

Unfortunately Harrington grabs onto that and runs with it, launching into a rambling, half-baked story involving babysitting, Hargrove being one of the kid’s racist stepbrother (unsurprising, Phil’s met his jackass of a dad), fighting with loose dogs and helping Hopper in the tunnels. 

Every mention of tunnels and dogs is delivered with sharp little glances at Phil, like he’s supposed to be in on something here. 

Phil isn’t, which he does not like, given the overall feeling of impending doom. 

Fortunately for Harrington’s head, but tragically for Phil’s sanity, the meds kick in after just twenty minutes.

On an empty stomach, ill-advised as that is, they hit even faster.

Which means any good information Phil might’ve squeezed out gets steamrolled by Harrington’s slow-motion nosedive into delirious nonsense. 

The kid’s answers grow less filtered and more disjointed, stopping part way through one sentence to start another. Phil makes the mistake of asking about the lab again right as Steve drops the word mindflayer, and suddenly Munson is firing off questions like it's a pop quiz on some weird board game.

Wings his hands in the air and drops back down in his chair as he mentally writes off getting anything when it dissolves into an argument over what a ‘demogorgon’ looks like. And sure, maybe he shouldn’t have expected too much, but then, he’s running on zero sleep himself here. 

 He turns on the TV with a frustrated sigh and flips it to the news station, keeping the volume down as low as it’ll go. 

Half-heartedly tunes in just enough to catch Stacy Whitherspoon droning about the weather, while listening for anything that might signal their impending doom. 

“--I’m telling you man, I don’t care what the kids say, it doesn’t have claws--” 

“Were you fucking there? No you weren't, cause you woulda seen the claws coming through the wall--” 

Eddie keeps throwing side-glances towards Callahan, like he’s checking to see if Phil’s clocking all this, and Phil mostly ignores it, because it’s more fun to watch Munson think Steve’s serious about actually seeing a monster. 

(Considers it payback for all the lawn flamingos that the brat’s stuck cowboy hats and sheriff badges on, and then splashed dramatically with red paint.)  

Of course Steve can’t just stick to the monster shit, and apparently, takes a jump into ‘whoops I may have given him too many pills’ land when he abruptly stops talking to just stare at Munson. 

“Dude,”  he says, with a thunderstruck expression, “did you know you have like, really pretty hair?” 

“Thanks, your majesty.” Eddie snarks in return, but it's too soft to be a reprimand. 

“Can I touch it? I wanna touch it.” 

Yeah, the drugs have definitely kicked in.

“If you let Callahan put the ice pack back on your face you can. You keep taking it off.” 

“Nooooo.” Steve whines pitifully, “It’s cold!” 

“Jesus Harrington, you really hit your head.” Eddie chuckles, now looking outright panicked as he coughs and looks pointedly at Phil, doe eyes seemingly sending out both ‘Are you hearing all this?’ and ‘Hello!? SOS!’  

“I gave him some Percodan.” Phil finally admits. “He’s fine, he’s likely just a little loopy from it.” 

He does not mention the pills are his own, left over from a minor surgery and not something all cops just happen to have on hand. 

He also does not comment on the fact that Munson looks instantly relieved, like he knows what a Percodan is. 

“I’m only loopy because Hargove cheated.” Steve grumbles in complaint, one foot in the conversation and the other off in space. “He hit my head. With a plate. Which is cheating.” 

“With a plate?” Munson and Phil both blurt out, nearly in unison. 

“With a plate!” Steve repeats with a bitchy undertone. “He tried to attack Lucas!” 

Another disbelieving scoff, much like the King Steve persona Phil’s grown familiar with.

“Lucas is like,” Steve pauses and looks down, counting on his fingers. Pauses again, then looks back up at them. “Maybe ten?” 

It’s stupid to even ask, but Phil can’t help himself. Steve had never truly clarified anything in all his rambling, and the Hargrove part had mostly focused on Steve’s worry over the kids, and the fact that the guy apparently had some sort of hard-on for bullying Harrington. 

“Is that where all your injuries are from? The fight with Hargrove?”  

He kind of hopes Steve says yes, if only because that’s normal shitty behavior. 

Phil can deal with normal shitty. He knows exactly what to do with normal shitty!

(Government agents in hazmat suits taking over the hospital is crazy shitty and he has zero idea how to even approach that mess.) 

Steve raises a hand, wobbily tilts it side to side in a ‘sort of’ motion. 

“I mean half was Billy, half was the demo, the dem, the dogs.” He struggles, before making a comically upset face. “An’ the tunnel. Fuck those tunnels, man.” 

Then corrects himself by saying, “Language, asshole.” 

“Steve,” Eddie says, and Phil can tell he’s struggling not to laugh. “You’re the one that said it.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s face untwists, taking back on the overall confused air. “I shouldn’t do that. Hey,” 

He tries to sit up, lean forward. “Did you know you have really pretty hair?” 

This would all be way more entertaining if Phil didn’t still need actual answers out of Harrington. 

Lesson learned: next time Harrington needs meds, he’s getting a pill. As in one, as in singular. 

“You should let me--like,” Steve trails off for a moment, apparently fighting the drugs and his messed up head both. “Like..style? That’s not the right word…” 

“You can play with it later. You have melted ice on your face.”

Steve is horrified instantly. “I have mice on my face!?” 

“No.” Eddie's struggling not to grin, and it's so easy to tell it's a real one when Phil has seen every shade of fake on that brat’s face.  “Here, let me get it.” 

He bats Steve’s hands away when the other attempts to ineffectively wipe at his cheeks, pulling out one of the black hanky’s he’s been sporting since about fifth grade to help and Phil freezes, because this one is different. 

This one he recognizes, because it’s from a specific bar in Indiana. 

“Just remember when this is over that you're mad at Callahan, not me.” 

“Why would I be mad at you?” 

“King Jockstrap, accepting help from the Freak? You tell me why that'd go badly.” 

A specific, special bar. One he himself visited a couple times, first on a dare and next out of curiosity, before he met Tracy and got engaged/married/divorced. 

It’s the kind of place with blacked out windows and multiple exits. Where he had made damn sure no one in there knew he was even associated with the police, let alone training to become a cop. 

Steve sounds downright hurt. “I gave all that stuff up. I gave everything up.” 

“What, being King Jockstrap?”

“Bring King of anything.” 

Phil felt that intuition of his kick in again. The one that said things like a Darcelle XV’s handkerchief weren’t exactly something a teenager just casually found. 

Definitely not in a town like Hawkins. 

(Absolutely not a kid like Munson.) 

“I can’t do it and help the kids. Jonathan and Nancy are both--” Steve cuts himself off. Starts again. “They keep telling me it's just me and. I don't want them to feel like they're…”

“Alone?” Eddie finishes for him, voice soft. 

Steve hums. 

“Yeah.” 

Phil only went a handful of times and he doesn’t recall what all the colors for the hankey’s meant, but staring at it, he’s hit with the same feeling he gets when he helps Flo complete a puzzle, or when he has one of those moments where he helps someone, instead of making their day worse. 

It doesn’t take much to change an entire worldview, but processing it? 

All the interactions Phil’s ever had with Munson, the complaints, the rumors?

 It’s like watching an explosion in real time, everything falling into place so fast it almost hurts. 

“Hey. If you're uh, if you're actually not mad at me, after this? I wouldn't mind continuing to make sure you're not alone.” 

“What's that mean?” 

What that means is Eddie Munson is going down in flames in real time, directly in front of the straightest kid Phil's ever met. 

Well. Okay. He's seen the hairspray, maybe not straightest ever, but…

Phil takes one long breath as the situation recontextualizes itself, then follows his gut and barrels over whatever clearly ill-advised, teen-crush filled nonsense Munson looks ready to blurt out.

“I went to Darcelle’s a couple times, when I was in my early twenties.” 

Phil has to talk to the ceiling, because he really doesn’t want to see Munson’s face right now. 

Harrington’s either, but Harrington likely won’t remember shit later. 

“I wouldn’t be let in if I went back now, not unless I pretended I wasn’t an officer, but.” He swallows. Tries to think on how much he wants Munson to know, and what actually would be a reassurance, here. 

Realizes, in that weird, back of the head sort of way, that offering reassurance is what he’s trying to do. 

“It’s a cool place.”  He finishes awkwardly. 

Dead silence meets his words and after a moment Phil pulls his gaze back to Harrington. 

Who is half leaning into Munson’s hands like a cat, completely unaware of the conversation happening around him, while Eddie stares frozen at Phil in a sort of mute horror. 

Silence stretches uncomfortably between them, long enough that Phil’s gearing up to say something really stupid to get himself out of this, when Eddie whispers; 

“Would you go back?” 

And shit, he hadn’t known Munson knew what a whisper was, let alone how to get his own voice to do it. 

Phil thinks honestly on the question though. He started this, he’s the adult here and he knows damn well he’s being asked something else. 

“Yeah.” He says, and can’t even tell if he’s lying or telling the truth. Figures it doesn’t matter, so long as Munson understands what Phil’s actually saying back. “Yeah I think I might. After the uh, divorce finalizes.” 

Eddie carefully extracts his hands and hanky both from Steve, fiddling with it in his hands. 

“I really want to go there again.” It’s spoken like a secret spilled, a careful thing Munson’s still unsure that he wants out there, attached back to him. 

Phil nods. Feels a weird lick of fondness he probably shouldn’t have for him, given the way the brat seems to enjoy being Hawkins PD’s self-assigned pain in the ass, but, well. 

He already opened his door for Steve. 

What’s another wayward kid? 

Except this one he recalls, isn’t as wayward as he seems, or at least, not anymore, and he feels a little guilty as he remembers that Wayne Munson both exists and might be worried about where his nephew is. 

“You’re a good kid, Eddie.” He says, and watches as that seems to hit the teen harder than not-quite admitting Phil’s been to a gay bar. “Phone’s in the kitchen. Go call your Uncle, he should be home by now. Let him know where you are.” 

“Yeah, okay.” Eddie says, and then actually goes to do so, like a proper citizen who listens to adults and authority figures instead of a semi feral rugrat.

Which just leaves Phil with Steve, who’s slumped sort of sideways on the couch. 

“Hey Callahan?” The kid says quietly, drawing Phil’s attention to him. 

“Yeah?” 

“Thanks.” 

The knee jerk response Phil has is to ask What for, but drops the idea the second he realizes the kid’s eyes are drifting shut. 

Internally curses himself for apparently deciding to half-adopt teenager asshole’s while he himself is barely in his 30s, but fuck it. 

“Anytime, Harrington. Anytime.” 

[dreamsy990]

drew some of my fav ody designs! wasnt originally meant to be also replicating the styles but thats sort of just how my brain works. except i didnt copy the lineart styles of anyone here so its DEFINITELY a bit uncanny for a couple of these (LOOKING AT YOU QINNY IM SO SORRY) but whatever

the designs featured here (from left to right) belong to: me, @gigizetz, @neal-illustrator, @irunaki, @bigidiotenergytm, @qinnyanimation, and @foopsie-daisy

[lixettzunderscore]

this was supposed to be a silly sketch. but then i got uh... distracted. so here we are! i love this stupid idiot and his silly jokes and his dumb voice changer, i want to hit him with a chair <3

[bacchuschucklefuck]

soon it'll be dawn again

transcript under the cut ⏬

page 01

Fig: no way? - you're still up?

Riz: Wh– yes?

Riz: Why'd I not be.

page 02

Fig: I me~~ean - that took.

Fig: whole day.

Riz: Yeah?

Fig: 'm beat.

Riz: you should sleep.

page 03

Fig: nah. my guy's still up

Fig: I wanna hang out.

page 04

Riz: That's really nice.

Fig: Hah! - Nobody ever expects an Archdevil rockstar to be nice.

Riz: … yeah. - 's just budget work tho. (the stuff I'm working on) - I've heard it's boring.

page 05

Fig: yeah, but you do it…

Riz: It keeps things going, right? - Nothing happens if nobody sits down and - does the thing.

Fig: That's right… - though. Yeah.

page 06

Fig: sometimes it's someone else who - doesn't want the same thing to happen.

Riz: … - mm.

page 07

Riz (off screen): …It took me a long time to get that not everyone likes doing what I do. - 's probably because you guys are so nice– - or. - kind.

Riz (off screen): to anyone too, not just. - the people you /love/.

page 08

Riz: that's not how it is elsewhere. - The world's– not. hostile. - but 's not like it's kind.

Riz: So I'm doing as much as I can now… 

page 09

Fig: Hey.

Riz: ?

Fig: Go dig some dirt with me.

page 10

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - oh you meant like - actual dirt. (not incriminating information)

Fig: o yea.

Fig: there's clay in the backyard soil. - sometimes when I'm sun deficient or something I go touch dirt for a bit.

page 11

Fig: here u go

page 12

Riz: uh

Fig: now we make a thing! - 'm pretty good at freehanding a bowl.

Fig: I'll show u

page 13

Fig: just– yep, flatten that out as evenly as u can, then–! - actually ur nails'd be so good at cutting out the strip. [larger than usual space] wait. - wait. wait u can carve patterns with them! we HAVE to try

Riz: uh - What. do I carve?

Fig: anything!!!

page 14

Fig: and– yep just seal the inside uh. seam?

Fig: yep that works - okay time's up! all contestant hands up

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - okay - wh. what's next?

Fig: haha - watch this.

(sound effect text): FWOO—MP

page 15

Riz: WH– DON'T JUST DO THAT???

Fig: Now it's fired!

Riz: THAT WAS NOT SAFE

Fig: (actually it's just dry. if u add water rn it'll dissolve)

Fig: ok catch!

Riz: [blank speech bubble] - careful!!

Fig: dw no need haha

page 16

Riz (thought bubble): oh - it's warm…

Fig: now I want you to throw this.

page 17

Fig: u gotta do it - c'mon

page 18

Riz: wh– - It's like 3AM right now

Fig: oh it's not /fired/ fired it's not gonna make a loud noise

Riz: And then just? leave a pile out here?

Fig: pour water over it & it'll be gone I told u

Riz: but

page 19

Fig (off screen): RIz.

page 20

Fig: I've done all this before.

Fig: Can you trust that at least?

page 21

Riz: no, I– - I do. - I trust you.

page 23

Riz: okay what happens now

(sound effect text): glob

page 24

Fig: we do it again!

page 25

Riz: wh. [larger than usual space] What do you mean. (this clay's too wet also)

Fig: see! you're already learning

Fig: [blank speech bubble] - there are flows that are futile to fight. - The world changes.

Fig: Things change.

page 26

Fig: I've learned my lessons with "forevers". - But - as an artist

Fig: I can give you one thing: - You can always do it again.

page 27

Fig: most of everything depends on the rest of the world, - but this. - making new. - that's yours as long as you want it.

page 28

Fig: So?

page 29

Riz: Yeah. - Yeah! - let's make another one.

[seraphinesaintclair]

“I Ask the Sea” by Seraphine Saintclair

[jollyparaphernalia]

*Inhales* Hey there, wanna see my 'In Stars And Time' AU? I call it 'Kingswap'

Hey, What's This?

My Brainrot <3 This is Kingswap: Also known as 'Hey lets swap The King and Siffrin's roles around in this play, and go from there'. There's more to it than that, but that's the premise. While 'The Guy Who Would Be Siffrin' has their life derailed in such a way that leads to them becoming the Main Villain, 'The Man Who Would Be King' likewise has his life play out in a way that has him in the shoes of a Saviour of Vaugarde.

WARNING This AU chatter post has spoilers for pretty much all of 'In Stars And Time', including stuff from 'Two-Hats'! and 'Start Again: A Prologue'. This is the Spoilers Zone. Also any Content Warnings that apply to In Stars and Time also applies to this post, just to cover my bases.

Let's Take a Look at The Stranger Who Could Have Been Siffrin:

Meet The Stagemaster. Potentially known as 'Sulking One'/SM/Don't Call Me Shirley Siffrin'. While the King and Siffrin in baseline ISAT woke up on a beach with no memories, i've decided it would be interesting to put 'Siffrin' in Corbeaux as a young adult when The Island disappears. He wakes up one day with no memories of his past, no name, and only a vague idea that he had a community in the city...that has forgotten him completely. He takes this Very Normally over the next 10 years (alongside some other...complications) and after some travelling, returns to Vaugarde to be a Menace.

He's also got some funny 'Craft Hands' that let him do things even when he has his hands in his cloak. These hands are also capable of conjuring wires/strings that allow him to physically bind/control people as an added bonus (For the Puppeteer motif) Watch the hands, Heroes!

But Wait, I thought The King Was Big, Why Isn't Stagemaster Big?

Because this tiny form isn't their 'true form'. THIS is what the Stagemaster ACTUALLY looks like, trapped in the House of Dormont by the Orb Door.

The Stagemaster...really isn't a person anymore. It's sort of debatable he was still human even before Big Mode. He can fly like this, and can control his cloak as though it's a part of himself (But he can still remove it) If you are looking at this going 'hey, he looks like a boss out of Kirby' then I did my job right. A theatre kid isn't very fun to watch unless seen, so, even before the Party gets to Dormont, it seemed fitting for SM to have a presence in Orbquest. So...Stagemaster controls a crafted avatar from afar - like playing a character in a game. There's a metaphor about disassociation from the self here. I personally love the idea of this nasty little guy interfering with the Orb Quest and antagonizing the Heroes - he is not NEARLY as powerful as his Big Form when he's Little Guy, so there's enough back and forth for Stagemaster to both be a threat, and also give some wiggle room for the Party to bully the Villain. Build up some rapport for funsies.

Stagemaster's a real piece of work. Imagine if Siffrin took all his self loathing, and then transformed that into outward loathing. If you took the WORST impulses from Loop and Act 5 Siffrin and put them in a blender, and then added a huge chip on his shoulder against the Universe, you might get the rancid creature you see here. Wet Meow Meow has transformed into a Feral Cat With Mange. And Rabies. And an impulsive urge to monologue. He doesn't even like puns!! Horrible!

The Party eventually calls him 'Smaster' for short before arriving in Dormont.

So if 'Siffrin' is in Kings place...Who or What is travelling with our beloved Party?

Meet Clovis (Named after an old King of Franks because I am very subtle). While Siffrin was a wet meow meow stray cat, Clovis is more a nervous dog. The King's explanation behind why he called himself The King seemed very utilitarian to me in ISAT, like he wanted to embody his role completely. So...here, Clovis puts all his eggs into his identity as 'Knight'. He doesn't serve anyone, he's just really into the idea of a brave, heroic persona. He's...very awkward and nervous, and often falls back onto 'what would a more brave, knightly sort do?' to make up for the fact his entire life was carved out of his skull with a spoon.

Look at this, took a perfectly good villain and made him a blorbo. Look at him, I gave him anxiety and sword autism. Like Siffrin, the party grows to love their weird wet dog. Mirabelle bonds over swords and anxious 'do it scared' behavior, Isabeau shares a 'battle bros'/'two bros sitting in a hot tub' dynamic, Bonnie treats him like a Substitute Teach ("yeah this is fine for kids c'mon lets go' 'uh, if you say so, boniface...') and Odile merrily bullies him (Paper beats rock)

Of course we need the Don Quixote reference. (He lost the fight, for the record.) Clovis is more than just a cute face, of course. Even he has his secrets.

Something is wrong here. Something wrong with him, maybe. Maybe he isn't supposed to be here.

Much like the King, Clovis also knows he's missing important things from his life, and has taken great effort (and personal injury) to keep what bits he can close to him - even when he really shouldn't.

The Party keeps Clovis from the Headache books not because they don't think they matter, but because the party doesn't want Clovis to hurt himself. They joke that he's an amnesiac prince from a far off land, but, well, at a certain angle, that's sort of the truth, isn't it? Clovis isn't a trap master like Siffrin, (or nearly as fast) but tends to walk as the lead of the Party because he's a Very Durable guy with some armor and protective Craft, so, any traps that explode in his face are easier to shrug off, and those that aren't...well, he's got quick reflexes.

But Wait! If The King is the looping hero, and Siffrin is the Big Evil Bad Guy, who does Clovis get as a Guide?

It's good ol' Loop! Our Loop, the Loopert we love and adore. SURPRISE! I fooled you!! This AU isn't meant to be a thought experiment, it's actually an overly elaborate way to give Loop as much psychic damage as physically possible!!

What's worse than having Another You take your place? Having a Tiny Version of your Nemesis take your place, earning the love and affection of your beloved family instead of you!

(They call him 'Princeling')

Needless to say, Loop and Clovis' dynamic is what we call in the scientific community fucking atrocious. Clovis wants to put his trust into this Guiding Star, and Loop is far, FAR worse to Clovis than Loop would be to a Siffrin. Loop may not be able to guess every single thought Clovis has, but any anxiety that is a reflection of Loop/Siffrin will be mercilessly picked apart with a smile. It's hate at first sight. At least Loop can take solace in the fact that Clovis is just as clueless as Loop/Siffrin was in their loops.

Clovis meanwhile is just intimidated. A guiding star of the universe?? And they hate him already??? 'Ohh...I really messed up already, haven't I? What'd I do???' Anyways, that's all for now. I just really wanted to get my initial brain worms out of my head and into the world. Please enjoy. If I do more posts like this, i'll prolly tag it as 'isat Kingswap au'. okay byyyyyyyyyeeeee thanks for reading! And thanks to the AU channel of the ISAT Discord for being so supportive of my brainrot!

[just-nc-tea]

ᛪ༙ SACRIFICE (EAT ME UP)

MASTERLIST & TAGLIST

⭑.ᐟ Park Sunghoon ⭑.ᐟ Wang Nichloas

You were supposed to die. It would have been so much easier just to die. But it chose you before you could do so. Picked your weak body to anchor itself in. Making you one tether between the human realm and the shadows clawing at its edges. Alive purely to keep the balance, to stop a war no one saw coming. Vampires, witches and werewolves all try to use your magic to prepare themselves. They watch you. Train you. Use you. But your powers aren’t gifted and can't be used and abused. They’re given to keep the world from burning, even if it means burning you and everyone you love in the process.

ᝰ word count. approximately 100k .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ genre. fantasy, supernatural, Vampire!Sunghoon x supernatural!Y/N, Werewolf!Nicholas x supernatural!Y/N, ANGST, fluff, Friends to Lovers? Enemies to Lovers? .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ warnings.character death, violence, blood, gore (more will be added during the writing process) .ᐟ₊ ⊹ ᝰ disclaimer. heavily inspired by &Teams and Emhypens lore, the vampire diaries, city of bones, supernatural and numerous fanfictions i have read over the years

CHAPTER ONE - coming soon

ᝰ taglist. @enhastolemyheart @dreamiestay @elairah @vviolynn @engenemilia  @xylatox @filmnings @tophstwinkletoes @firstclassjaylee @stormy1408 @haneulparadx @ari3ll4 @11vr1 @ggum-aki @reibelhearts @cinnased @yjmylove @yourmomssneakylink @immelissaaa @cherry012309 @astrelvs334 @reibelhearts @cinnased

⤷ GET ADDED THE SERIES TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT 🧛🏻 ⤷ GET ADDED MY PERMANENT TAGLIST HERE ⁀➴༯ OR COMMENT ✨

[approximate-ritual]

Has anyone Jewish explained to the The Pitt fandom why curling up in a corner and saying the Shema is such a loud act of utter desperation? Like, okay, the prayer is a declaration of faith, but do you know why Jewish people say it every night before bed and when they're in complete disaster scenarios?

It's supposed to be the last thing you say before you die.

Like, saying it at bedtime is kinda like Christians saying "now I lay me down to sleep", but you also see the grievously ill and those in natural disasters and people who are otherwise in truly hopeless situations reciting it. Not to beseech G-d to rescue them, no, but because you want your last words to affirm for yourself and all Jewish people that you believe in G-d and his oneness.

So seeing a doctor in the middle of a hell shift, that hell shift, curl up on the floor, rocking and saying it? That's powerful shit right there.

[itadooori]

i dont think hes happy

[theusernameiwantisntavailable]

Slightly late to the party, but happy Timberniversery and also Tim-bi day!!!

[khaoala]

❝Tomorrow is my birthday.❞

FIRST KANAPHAN as KANT PATTANAWAT and KHAOTUNG THANAWAT as BISON episode 7 of THE HEART KILLERS

[let-them-sing-of-others]

one of my favorite things about kevjean (particularly kevjean while they were at the nest) is how it doesn’t really matter whether or not it was requited — nothing would change either way. a kevin that does return jean’s feelings is hardly different from a kevin that does not. there may be a world where it’s completely reciprocated, but there is no world in which that makes any significant change in their dynamic. they are ravens, and the ravens have rules, and the rules must be followed because if they are not ravens then they are nothing. maybe they were both in love. maybe they weren’t. does it matter? there is only one way this story can go. you can change the variables as much as you’d like but the ending will always stay the same

[blighted-lights]

the way that ravage clearly loves and idolizes megatron genuinely makes me ill you have no idea. like this is someone who clearly still adores megatron despite being betrayed by him. and on the other side, the way megatron interacts with ravage in this entire scene is so,,, he's tired. he isn't at all what ravage idolizes and he knows that. he doesn't know what he is anymore but he's not the valiant savior ravage needs and wants him to be, and he Knows it.

ravage is clinging to a version of megatron that no longer exists (or maybe never did in the first place, and only existed in ravage's mind) and megatron no longer has anything to cling to so he rejects his past completely. these two make me ill.