#thank u for the love on this ❤️

[loveinhawkins]

you’re too young to be lost

Part 1 Part 2 ao3 (Complete)

Faintly, Dustin can hear Steve’s voice get calmer, but no less insistent.

“Eddie, what’s…? Okay, okay, I’m—”

The bathroom door clicks shut. Dustin strains to listen, but their voices are low and muffled; he can’t make out any words.

He sits up shakily, moves his leg with both hands so it’s stretched out in front of him. Remains on the last step, rests his head on one of his knees and just…

Breathes.

Footsteps, quick and light.

Steve.

Dustin doesn’t know when exactly he learned to tell who’s coming without looking, but he does remember thinking in The Upside Down that if everything was suddenly plunged into darkness, he’d still be able to know where Steve and Eddie were, just by listening to their footsteps.

Steve comes to a stop halfway down the stairs. Dustin hears him sigh, like he’s relieved and sad at the same time. Then he keeps walking, slower now, until Dustin can feel him sit down beside him, on the last step.

Dustin sniffs against his jeans. “Is Eddie okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Steve replies, and he says it reassuringly, but Dustin can’t help noticing that it’s not exactly a ‘yes.’ “He wanted me to come check on you.”

And that’s said like it’s what Steve would’ve done anyway. Like it’s an absolute certainty.

A hand in Dustin’s hair, gently ruffling through it.

“C’mon, lemme help you up.”

Dustin takes Steve’s hand reluctantly although it turns out he needs the support, his bad foot still unsteady beneath him. He doesn’t get it; he’s walked on it by himself in far worse circumstances, had done so in The Upside Down while Steve… took care of Eddie. Sure, he thought he was going to throw up from the pain, but he still managed it.

“There you go,” Steve says, and he guides Dustin over to one of the couches in the living room. His voice lowers, as if talking to himself: “Okay, ice, elevation…”

He props Dustin’s foot up with a couple of cushions before heading off to the kitchen. When he returns, he’s holding an ice pack, all official looking, kind of like the ones the school nurse has on hand.

“Okay, twenty minutes with this on it,” he says, carefully pressing the ice to Dustin’s ankle, “then we’ll rinse, repeat in a few hours.”

Dustin nods.

Steve tilts his head a little, forehead creased—like he doesn’t know what to do in the face of Dustin’s uncharacteristic silence.

“Can I take a look at your neck? Wanna make sure it’s clean.”

Dustin nods again.

Steve’s motions when he cleans Dustin’s neck with antiseptic wipes are practised, steady—the air of someone who’s done this countless times before. He probably has, Dustin reasons.

“Yeah, speaking from experience,” Steve says, and his voice sounds like he’s trying very hard to keep things light, “you don’t wanna just slap make-up straight on there.” He moves closer, hisses through his teeth when all the foundation is removed. “Shit, Henderson.”

“It’s not that bad,” Dustin says. “It didn’t even bleed, really.”

Steve blows out a breath. “Dustin—”

“You’ve had worse.”

Much worse.

Steve stares at him. “That… that doesn’t make it all right.”

Dustin shrugs. Looks away. He thinks of saying, Figured I should finally pull my weight when it comes to taking hits, something along those lines, but he knows Steve would never hear him out.

He’s thought about it, though. Had an awful lot of time to reckon with it, while waiting for Eddie to wake up in hospital: the thought that Eddie had leapt into danger to keep him safe. That Steve, too, could’ve easily been in a hospital bed multiple times over the years—escaping that possibility by the skin of his teeth.

Starcourt. Steve yelling at him to go.

Your fault.

Steve sighs. “Hey, look at me?” When Dustin does, he says, both gentle and serious, “Did you ever think that maybe, like, the one silver lining to getting the shit knocked outta me was so that you wouldn’t have to?”

And his voice has got this tone, a patience beyond his years, like he’s explaining that’s just the way the world works.

It rankles Dustin. He remembers Mike admitting once that before Will disappeared, the angriest he’d probably ever felt was when Nancy came home from school crying—that it suddenly didn’t matter if she was older or not: just that she was his sister, and he wanted to fix the world for her.

He thinks he feels something close to that anger, now.

“That’s not fair,” he says. “You… you were a kid, too.”

You still are, he adds inside his head.

Because yes, he’s obviously always known that Steve’s older, but he equally knows that there’s not such a huge chasm between them. That Steve might try and carry himself like someone much older, like Hopper, but he shouldn’t be there yet, not even close—as if The Upside Down and everything else has forcibly pressed fast forward on his life.

Steve nods like he’s conceding the point. Then he says, “Yeah, but I got to be, what, twelve, thirteen, fourteen…” He trails off, counting the remaining years on his fingers. “All that without any alternate dimension shit.”

Dustin doesn’t think that’s all that good of a rebuttal. The thought must show on this face, because Steve chuckles and says, “How about we just agree that we’re both stubborn as fuck?”

Dustin tries to smile. “Yeah, okay.” He takes a deep breath. “I’m… I’m sorry, I… didn’t mean for Eddie to—” He glances down. “Didn’t mean to upset him.”

“You didn’t,” Steve says immediately and doesn’t back down even when Dustin shoots him a look of disbelief. “He’s… he was just scared for you, Dustin.”

His eyes linger on Dustin’s neck, the silent, ‘And so am I,’ made clear.

“Listen,” Steve continues after a pause, “remember when we went looking for your weird little slug? Dash or whatever.”

Dustin smiles and rolls his eyes. “Dart.”

“Sure, him. I think about that all the time, man.”

Dustin frowns in confusion. “You do?”

“Oh, yeah.” Steve’s eyes go a little distant for a moment, like he’s walking the railroad tracks all over again. “Just damn grateful I bumped into you, like, you can’t even… And I’m so, so glad you told me stuff.” He gives Dustin an earnest look, eyes imploring. “You can tell me anything. You know that, right?”

“I just…” Dustin swallows. “I just wanted it to be over,” he admits in a whisper.

And Steve smiles sadly, like he can already tell Dustin isn’t talking about Gates and Monsters.

“I know,” he says softly. “It’s not your fault other people are dicks, okay? It’s not your fault.”

And Dustin can hear the unspoken Please tell me as loud as anything.

He digs deep. Opens his mouth.

Talks.

He does his best not to falter, tries to recount it like he would if he was on the walkie, just bringing everyone up to speed.

But it’s hard. It’s so hard.

When he gets to exactly what had been said that led him to throw a punch, Steve goes very still. He doesn’t say anything, like he’s holding in his anger for Dustin’s sake.

Dustin almost wants to tell him not to bother, that his own fury has kept burning ever since he heard it. That they can be angry together.

But then he reaches getting pushed up against the bathroom wall, and he finds that breathing is becoming more and more difficult.

He feels another sharp twist of guilt—that the point is surely what had been said about Eddie—but he suddenly can’t help thinking about what might’ve… He can almost feel the knife against his throat.

Nothing happened, really.

But he… he could have—

“Hey, hey,” Steve says softly. “You’re okay, Dustin. You’re okay.” He cups the back of Dustin’s head, breathes in and out slowly, a guide for Dustin to catch his breath.

Dustin tips forward slightly, heaves out juddering breaths as Steve holds him up. Eventually, little by little, his breathing comes easier.

“That’s it,” Steve says. “That’s it, just… yeah, there you go.” He squeezes Dustin’s shoulders. “Just gonna take the ice off for now, okay?”

He says it with a quiet reassurance, like he’s also saying You don’t have to talk anymore, not if you don’t want to. I’m so damn proud of you.

Dustin finally manages a good, deep breath as Steve removes the ice pack. Steve must notice, because as he stands up, he gives Dustin a relieved kind of smile.

“I’ll be five minutes max, all right? Just sit tight.”

Dustin listens to Steve go up the stairs. He again tries to pick up on any conversation coming from above, but he can’t hear anything—and in the silence, soon finds himself in a losing battle with sleep.

The next thing he knows, he feels a gentle hand on his head. It’s Eddie: he can feel the bottom of his rings, the care taken to ensure that they never once catch in Dustin’s hair, no matter how boisterous his hugs are.

Dustin’s getting slowly lowered down until his cheek rests on a pillow. He must make an involuntary, sleepy noise at the movement, because he hears Eddie whisper, “Shh, s’only me.”

The almost silent sound of a blanket being unfolded, then placed over him. Warmth.

He just hears fragments of speech, like the sensation of nodding off in a car—knowing that it’s him rather than the radio fading in and out.

“… he asleep?”

“Yeah, I… thought he… must be exhausted…”

And then he loses track of all words, of everything.

-

A faucet running. Scrape of a pan being brought out of the cupboard. Clatter of bowls on the counter.

“… just feel like… never gonna…”

“I know. Look, I can… talked to… gonna go up to the school.”

“Since when have… ever fucking cared?”

“I know, but… trying my best here.”

“… I know you… shit, Steve, I’m sorry.”

Dustin keeps his eyes closed. He drifts back into consciousness, becomes aware of the entire conversation around him when he hears Eddie mutter, like he’s despairing at himself, “Just what the fuck did I think I was doing?”

The click of a burner on the stove being switched on.

Steve’s reply is slow and careful. “What do you mean?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Hellfire. School. The whole fucking thing.”

“Eddie. Come on, you couldn’t have known that—”

“No, just let me—god, I might as well have painted the damn target on his back myself.”

Another click: the burner getting turned off.

“Eddie—”

“Don’t—I chose to—but he—” Eddie’s voice is growing increasingly strained. He inhales shakily. “Sometimes I wish I’d never—he’s just a kid, man, he shouldn’t have to—”

His voice breaks.

Dustin, ever so slowly, raises his head. Peeks over the top of the couch.

Eddie’s back is to him. He’s standing by the counter, shoulders shaking.

Steve is stepping away from the stove. He reaches Eddie, murmurs, “C’mere,” and just…

Holds onto him. Presses a kiss into his hair.

-

Dustin feigns sleep for another ten minutes or so, then begins to gradually ‘stir.’ Steve spots that he’s awake first, retrieves another ice pack for his ankle.

Eddie sits down on the other end of the couch, seems to make himself as small as possible in the corner—hunched up, staring as Wheel of Fortune plays on the T.V, as if suddenly fascinated by it.

Dustin repeatedly checks his watch, like that will make his allotted twenty minutes go any faster. When the time’s up, he immediately flings his ice pack off—“Oh sure, just get that all over the floor!” Steve calls from the kitchen, but he doesn’t sound all that concerned about it—and crawls gingerly over to Eddie.

It takes a few moments for Eddie to notice that Dustin’s moved; when he does, his eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Careful with your foot,” he says, too quiet.

“I’m fine.”

Silence. Eddie opens and closes his mouth a couple times, deliberating.

“Hey, um. Henderson, I’ve—been thinking, and it’s… it’s fine if you don’t want to, uh… I’ll understand if—”

“Shut up,” Dustin says, as firm and gentle as he can make it.

Because there’s no way he can listen to Eddie finish that thought, no way he can listen to Eddie even suggest the idea that anyone should regret knowing him—as if that’s even possible. As if Dustin ever could.

“Starting high school would’ve sucked without you.” Dustin says it with as much feeling as he can, tries to make it impossible for Eddie to argue. “Dude, you know the Party rules: friends for life. No take backs.”

Eddie exhales with a slight shudder, like he’s been winded. Then, voice a little hoarse, he says, “O-okay. Can I… make another rule, then?”

Dustin pauses. Nods.

“If you’re…” Eddie swallows. “If anything like this ever happens again, you’ve gotta tell someone. Me or Steve or your mom or… just. Someone. A-and you… you’ve gotta give the full picture, I don’t care how ugly it is. Just. Christ, all that matters is your safety, okay?”

“That’s not all that matters,” Dustin says impulsively, thinking of dirty looks towards Eddie, of poisonous words.

“Yeah, it is,” Eddie says, a finality to his tone, like he’s somehow heard Dustin’s thoughts. “Look, Dustin…” He sighs. “It’s not your job to—to defend me, got it? Trust me, it… it means so much that you’d… means more than you’ll ever know.” He gives a knowing, bittersweet smile. “But you can’t fix the whole world.”

“I can try.”

Eddie laughs, choked with emotion. “And that’s a goddamn admirable sentiment. But nothing’s worth you getting hurt.” He hesitates, then opens his arms, and Dustin shuffles forward into a hug. “I can’t fucking bear the thought of you—of you—”

“Okay,” Dustin says. Hears Eddie’s breathing hitch, and holds on tight. “I’m okay.”

-

Steve makes spaghetti and meatballs, balances his own bowl on his knees while he sits directly on the floor—occasionally looks over at Dustin and Eddie sitting sprawled across each other with a fond smile.

For all the past heaviness, the rest of the night is light. Dustin takes advantage of Eddie’s distraction when he’s shouting out answers to quiz shows and steals a couple of his meatballs—though he suspects Eddie knows and just lets him get away with it.

And then, as it gets late, he begins to doze off, leaning against Eddie’s side. Feels a pair of arms around him.

Sleeps.

-

When he wakes, he’s back to being laid out on his usual spot on the couch, tucked in with the blanket.

He turns his head to see that Steve and Eddie are sleeping on the floor, atop a mattress they must have somehow brought downstairs without waking him up.

While Eddie has his back to the couch, Steve is facing it. And Dustin can tell from how they’re mirroring each other, arms outstretched, that they must’ve fallen asleep holding hands.

He smiles. Keeps smiling when Steve wakes up and catches him looking. He watches as some sort of understanding lights up Steve’s eyes; he winks at Dustin, as if in gratitude.

“Too early still,” Steve says kindly. “Go back to sleep.”

Dustin almost does so without thinking, but…

“I’ll be late for school?”

Steve shakes his head. “Called in for you. Said you’re sick.”

And at hearing that, Dustin feels a sudden flood of relief. He sighs. “Thanks.”

Steve shakes his head as if to say it was nothing. He continues, voice low so as not to disturb Eddie, “Got a meeting with the principal on Monday. Told Mike and Lucas to be careful, but that dickhead’s getting suspended already.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“Shut up,” Steve says softly. “And… hey, we can talk it through later, but I think you should tell your mom. Thought we could go the meeting together.” He makes a face. “I know it’s not exactly gonna be, like, plain sailing, but… it’ll make things better, in the end. Trust me.”

Dustin pushes back the knee jerk discomfort around the thought of confiding in his mom, pushes back the instinct to not tell her anything. That belongs to the days of The Upside Down.

This is…

This is different.

And despite his initial misgivings, the idea of Steve and his mom being a united front makes him smile. They’ll be unstoppable, he thinks.

“Mm-hmm, trust you,” Dustin mumbles.

He knows there’ll still be a steep hill to climb; they can’t fix everything just like that. And yeah, the meeting might suck. But it kind of feels better already, that Steve and Eddie know. That he’s got a few days here, away from everything.

He listens to Steve yawning, to Eddie’s deep breathing, and lets them both lull him back to sleep.

[fenneqy]

super late doodles but fionna and cake was very good

[taya-ki]

More of my small garashir series..

[dimeadozencows]

This came to me in an early morning queer haze

Kissing my medics good morning (I am your husband heavy and I love you)

[hyunpic]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HYUNJIN 🖤

[robo-boy]

caldre in public uhhhm

- i like to think they would go to the movies. but be extremely obnoxious

- cal would kick the seats in front of him and throw popcorn. andre would be not-so-quietly telling him to stop

- they like to go to arcades. andre likes to play pacman and cal likes street fighter2

- dont let these two in a restaurant alone. pepper and salt all over the floor (wether by accident or not), andre would send his food back 10 times because it had something on it he didnt like, and cal would tip the waiters like 2$

- MALLS.

- cal and andre would shop for hours at the mall

- cal would steal little shit from each store, shoving it in his pocket. andre wouldnt notice until cal fished in his pocket in the car and pulled out like 5 pins and 3 little mini figures

- andre would model clothes he wanted to buy. would always walk out of the dressing room asking "cal do i look ok"

- they both like swimming except they refuse to go to public pools so they opt for a lake

- andre screamed like a girl when a fish brushed up against him

- cal got scared thinking there was some kind of water snake so he scrambled onto land

- they cant handle themselves in public.

[emimii]

i like when misto gets to be freaky he deserves it as a treat

heres the ref below

[bg3-dyes]

i have finished all the body type 1 dyes... for now 😳 (edit: not anymore since patch 5 but STILL A LOT) everything is in the archive drive. special thanks to @salfur for handling the body type 2 outfits!

i added a spreadsheet (+ a pdf version) to the drive so you can check for specific items that may be missing - there are a BUNCH of items that have the same model, and are functionally identical once dyes are applied. so, for example, if you're looking for dye variations for the Anarchic White Outfit:

you can reference the Anarchic Blue Outfit dye sheet! ✨

also!

now that im finally done with the heavy lifting for this project..... the time has come for me to actually play the game. 🫣 im going to be streaming occasionally over on twitch, so feel free to follow me there if that's something you're interested in 💕 no concrete schedule yet, ill probably post updates on here to keep u in the loop on that (but i still gotta keep this blog tidy to keep it functional as an archive)

but anyway, for now.... i will take a nap 🫡

edit: adding my ko-fi since some people have been asking me about it - thank you for the interest & generosity! 💗

[basketobread]

sorry im still stuck in art block. do you guys still fw me? peace and love ❤️

[rninies]

jaw drops to floor, eyes pop out of sockets accompanied by trumpets, heart beats out of chest, awooga awooga sound effect, pulls chain on train whistle that has appeared next to head as steam blows out, slams fists on table, rattling any plates, bowls or silverware.

[calaphort]

skywishes and starcatcher 💞

[the-broken-pen]

“You’re going to blow out your arms,” the villain observed. They watched as the hero merely grit their teeth, shoving themself through another pull-up. It looked painful, and if the sweat slicking the hero’s brow was any indication, it was.

They waited for the hero to let themself drop from the bar and accept the villain was stronger. But they didn’t.

Three more pull-ups, and the villain stepped in.

“Hero,” they said slowly. “You’re about to tear the ligaments in your arms. You need to stop.”

The hero blew out a shuddering breath. Struggled for purchase, fighting gravity—and let themself drop.

The hero’s hands were bleeding, calluses torn open by the bar. The hero didn’t seem bothered when their own hands shook so much that their blood began to splatter on the gym floor.

For a moment, the villain could only stare at them.

Shit.

They didn’t know how to handle this. They knew the hero was dedicated. They knew the hero was strong, and perpetually trying to be stronger, but they hadn’t thought…

They hadn’t thought the hero would be so willing to tear apart their own body for success.

It was supposed to be fun, the villain thought. They felt a little sick as the hero pressed their palms together to soothe the bleeding, an action that was practiced and familiar. As if they had done this before.

The hero reached for something in their bag, smearing blood on the side, and pulled out a roll of blue electrical tape. The villain didn’t understand why, until the hero tore a strip off and made to wrap their hands with it.

The hero would be the death of them.

They crouched in front of the hero, plucking the electrical tape out of their hands.

“What are you doing with this?”

The hero blinked at the villain like they were the strange one in this situation.

“Wrapping my hands?”

The villain hissed in a breath.

“With electrical tape?”

The hero flushed slightly, looking down at their bloody hands. They looked close to tears.

“It…sticks to skin, really well. And it doesn’t move, either, when you move your hands or wherever else, even if you’re fighting. Plus, blood doesn’t make it come off, at least, not for a while.”

The villain blinked at them.”

“Blood doesn’t make it come off,” the villain repeated, processing. The hero nodded, reaching for the electrical tape. The villain settled it out of reach.

“Not if you wrap it right.”

Dimly, the villain realized that meant the hero had done this enough times to have it down to a science.

“And you couldn’t use a bandaid?” The villain asked incredulously. The hero shrugged a shoulder, then winced at the motion.

Yeah, the hero had absolutely blown out their arms.

“Bandaids move—“

The villain hushed them.

“Be quiet for a second.”

The hero, wisely, went quiet.

The villain rubbed a hand over their face, then studied the hero for a moment. They took one of the hero’s hands into their own, studying the damage.

“Why did you do this to yourself,” the villain murmured.

“What do you mean, why,” the hero snapped. “It’s my job.”

“Your job is to save people,” the villain corrected. “Not destroy yourself.”

“I’m not destroying myself—“

“You are.”

“Shut up—“

“Hero.”

“I need to be better,” the hero snapped. Their voice rang out across the gym, echoing into the rafters, and they both froze. After a moment, the hero spoke again, voice soft. “I need to be better.”

They said it like they needed the villain to understand. The villain wondered who they were really saying it to—the villain, or themself.

“Better than who?”

“Everyone.” It was hushed, like a secret.

The villain watched them, waiting.

The hero took a shaky breath

“My whole thing is being the best. I have always been the best. That’s the only reason I matter. If I’m not strong enough, then I am nothing, so I need. to be. better.”

The hero had started crying, very quietly, like they were afraid to take up too much space.

The villain was not equipped to handle gifted kid burnout.

“There’s more to you than just being a good athlete,” the villain said hesitantly, and the hero shook their head.

“No. There isn’t.”

“Hero.”

“Can you give me back my electrical tape?” They hiccuped to contain a sob.

“No,” the villain said firmly, and then the hero really was sobbing.

“You don’t understand—“

The villain didn’t. Not really. They had never been the kind of talented that the hero was.

They wondered now if maybe that was a blessing.

“I don’t,” the villain agreed. “But I do understand that you’ve saved half the city, and you give everything you have to give, and you always do your best.”

“But I-“

“No.” The villain stopped them. “You are doing your best.” They tipped the hero’s chin up until they met the villain’s eyes. “And it is enough.”

The hero froze, eyes darting over the villain’s face. They wondered if anyone had ever said that to the hero, if whatever mentor they had was giving them anything other than orders to be stronger. Be better. Be more.

The villain had some new targets to take care of, it would seem.

For now, though, they had to take care of hero.

“We’re going to go wrap your hands,” they said softly. “And then we’re going to take care of your arms, and you’re going to take a nap.”

The hero nodded, watching them like they were some kind of good, selfless person.

“And if I ever catch you using electrical tape again, so help me, I will put you six feet under.”

That startled a laugh out of the hero, and they let the villain guide them to their feet.

“Fine.”

The villain turned to them. “Okay?”

Are you going to be alright?

The hero seemed to understand.

“Okay,” the hero agreed.

Yes.

And so, it was.

[felsicveins]

HELLOOOOO ! I JUST WANNA SAY THAT I ABSOLUTELY ADORE YOU ART SM !! I LOVE THE JD EX HUSBAND DRAWINGS SM THEY MAKE ME LAUGH !!

BUT.. DO YOU HAVE ANY LEFT OVERS OR SCRAPS OF CORY. HE IS MY FAV (also who is your fav ex?!) (sorry for writing in caps 😭)

Floyd and Cory go shopping 🧡

[someoldfires]

this one goes out to my slayer!guillermo enjoyers (that includes nandor)

[sugarpasteltmnt]

I read all of tnv today and I am insane for it please take my offering (that only took me like 2 hours sorry I have a project I have a deadline for and I couldn’t sacrifice much more time)

RIP Donnie in the back doing the family guy pose i love it so much LOOOOOOOOL

ALSO!!! PLEASE DO YOUR ASSIGNMENT FANFICS CAN WAIT!!!

[marxandria]

hihi!!,,, is there any chance youll ever draw tfc/aftg fanart ever again,,, i think about your lovely work all the time!!!

hi just for u yes <3