#tw: vague death mention

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Doodles from a discord stream, where a pal asked for a space-au beach episode sjshdjdhd

So, here’s the gang hanging out on a beach planet while waiting for a repairman to show up n fix their ship lol

Ft pilot Reader not being fond of big bodies of water, or swimming!

Context:

pilot-Reader grew up on a sub-planet turned into a space-animal reservation called Sanctuary. Rlly it’s a temporary home for anyone who needs aid after being evicted from their planet, or surviving a war, or struggling to find their place in the universe, etc etc. But they had big habitats for the Lasts Of Their Kind- a member of a species that is abt to go extinct, basically. One of em was a big sea-serpent type creature, new and unknown to the people working at the reserve but observed to be volatile with deadly consequences. Reader falls into its tank one day and has a Moment with the creature before the workers have to make the decision to kill the creature before it can harm Reader. The memory is confusing and full of anger and grief, and they blame themselves for what had to be done to make sure they left the water safely.

[crumbleclub]

drabble.

Outside of Fredbear's Family Diner, there are a set of handprints in the sidewalk. The Afton and Emily children had lined up, biggest to smallest, and pressed their palms into cold, wet concrete. They were excited to leave their mark on this place.

Maybe they'd all come back one day to see how much they had grown; how tiny the handprints in the sidewalk seemed to them now. They couldn't wait to find out who they would become.

Every child who'd left their handprint in the sidewalk was gone, now. None of them had made it to twenty years old.

[starpirateee]

www.tumblr.com/sleepless-in-starbucks/744084849385766912/guy-whos-stuck-in-a-timeloop-for-so-long-he-stops UHHHH this is so Ted coded to me. do what you want with it :3

Oh wow, yeah, that is an awesome prompt, I'm so behind that! hope you like what I did with it :)

Every day was the same. Ted realised that some weeks in, when history literally started to repeat itself. People started having the same conversations with him, and he started picking up on the ways to respond that didn’t end in a spiral of confusion.

He was dead. He thought he’d figured out that much.

Over the last days, his mind had started piecing itself together, and he came to realise what was happening, bit by gruelling bit. In the morning, he awoke in pain. Sometimes in his neck, most of the time in his chest. The worst of them kept him pinned for a while before he could force himself to work through them. That was the first thing he wondered about. Where the pain had come from, and how he could go about stopping it.

The day the flashes started was the day he truly realised that he may be dead. That this was no more than a sick, twisted purgatory, designed around what used to be his day-to-day.

The flashes came much without warning, and they were the only thing that was different about the endless repeat of the day. The environment around him was strangely pristine, but the flashes showed him the mess swept under the carpet. Death. Rebirth. A knife, dripping in blood.

Every time, he was just trying to get by, to ignore everything that was the same. Maybe he was trying to get lunch, or taking a break on a bench somewhere. Every time, the world would flicker like a dodgy bulb in a subway station, and he was once again faced with the blood, the death, the unexplainable pain.

Eventually, even that became something he got used to. 

After that, he stopped trying to fight the loop. If every day was going to be some flavour of the same thing, then he was just going to roll with it. It always took less effort to resist than to fight, after all, and this pristine nothing world where nobody ever experienced anything new wasn’t… So bad, all things considered.

“Are you fucking crazy? You’ve been saying that for a week now, what the hell’s going on?”

“A week? What're you talking about?”

Ted became an expert on hiding his fear, Those few weeks of being trapped in this endless hell began melting into days he’d long since lost the energy to care about. He stopped counting after about four and a half weeks. His mind lost the capacity to keep track at some point, and he never bothered to try and get it back. Every day he counted felt more like another line scraped into the wall of a prison cell. A pointless count for an exit that would never come.

Death row felt a lot different when the only conclusion was that he’d died a long time ago.

It got to the point where the only thing that changed at all was the colour of Ted’s ensemble. Blue shirt. Grey trousers. Brown trousers. Olive shirt. A collection of vaguely hideous ties, one after the other and then over again.

He kept track of things that way. No matter where he crashed or fell asleep at the end of the day, he always woke up to the shrill tones of his alarm, in his bed, with more of the same awaiting him. The only memories he could keep track of were associated with what he wore. That shirt was the one he got drunk in when he realised he was trapped. Those shoes were the ones that he’d ran from a swarm of angry wasps in, after he’d kicked their tree enough times to piss them off. 

Those tiny changes were the only ones that mattered anymore. Needless to say, he was scared, at least for a while. Even after he stopped trying to escape. Knowing that every day was going to start at exactly the same time, with the same pain like he’d been killed the night before… It was nothing short of daunting.

That’s why he’d hid it. He went about his day like it was the most normal thing in the world. He tried to keep on his mind on the inconsistencies, though they were getting fewer and fewer by the day. One day, he became convinced that there wasn't anything to take note of, that there was no difference in the world.

That didn't make sense to him. Finding the inconsistencies became something of a hobby, and he found some kind of enjoyment in it. Whatever had done this to him had started... Working him out, to say the least. Figuring out that he was looking for something out of the ordinary.

Soon enough, there was only one thing left.

Every day, when he tried to go about his business, there was one man who seemed to be in a different place every time he noticed him. A homeless man, someone he'd normally expect to be in the same place at the same time. But, sometimes, he wasn't there at all, and that confused him more than anything could describe. If everything was supposed to be the same, then why was this strange homeless dude the exception?

No matter what the answer was, he became the only inconsistency in this neverending loop. And that made Ted all the more curious. The next time he managed to catch him, he stopped and made it incredibly obvious that he wasn't going to move until he got some answers. For extra effect, because ‘dramatic bastard’ should've been written on his résumé, he leaned back against the closest wall and folded his arms.

"Hey. You."

The man looked up blearily, and when he realised who was waiting for him- who that voice belonged to- his eyes went wide. "It's you..."

Ted raised an eyebrow. He wasn't quite sure whether he looked like he meant business, but he sure felt like it. "Listen, I've got a question, man." His eyes darted over the stranger. There was a huge part of him saying this guy was just like all the others, he was stuck in the same loop, and this question wouldn't make any fucking sense. But at this point, he couldn't care less what he said, who was listening, or what this random guy would think of him.

After all, it wasn't like any of it actually mattered in the long run. He'd only forget by the time the day reset anyway... "You know something, don't you? About what's going on here?"

He was fully expecting the homeless man to ask for clarification, or to straight up ignore him, but instead, he leaned forwards and seemed to stare into his soul through his body. His eyes glittered with an almost golden hue as the early morning light flooded into the opening of the alleyway they were conversing in. Ted almost felt like shivering. Something wasn't right here...

"You're different," he muttered, in a kind of voice that made Ted believe he hadn't said a word to anyone in years. "You're different, and I think you know it."

"Nah, I'm just like anyone else." But saying that had given him pause for thought. What if he was the same as everyone else? what if they were all experiencing exactly the same thing, but they'd all learned the script by now? His eyes narrowed as he forced himself not to think of that. "What about you, eh? You're not-"

"D'you think I don't know? That I can't... recognise it? You are different. Not like them. You're stuck."

Ted froze. His eyes went wide. For a moment, the world scratched like a broken record, and everything seemed to stop. He knew. This guy knew what was happening to him. Why? And why him?

"... I-I don't know what you're talking about."

The stranger's lips curled into something vaguely reminiscent of a smile. "I can see it on you... And I think you know what I mean."

He did. He just didn't want to admit it. Vague as this man was being, what he was saying did make sense to some degree. He scoffed, trying to act like that hadn't struck a chord and made his heart start racing. "You must be crazy if you think I'm gonna buy that..."

"You'll see."

The next day, just to throw Ted right off the accusatory path, the homeless man was in exactly the same place. 

Maybe he had been imagining seeing him at different times in different places. Why would he be? Clearly he was just like anyone else, and Ted truly was alone in this reality.

The way they'd talked yesterday almost gave him the sense to see otherwise. It seemed at the time like he knew things nobody else did, that he could give him answers to the multitude of questions racing around his head. 

But evidently, Ted was the crazy one here.

"Hello again.."

That voice- his voice- drew him back to the present. He stopped in his tracks and turned his gaze towards where the voice had come from.

"Wh- again? But I- you're-" he didn't know how to explain the fact that he couldn't feel anything other than relief upon finding out he wasn't the only one. So he cut himself short so to not sound like an idiot.

"I told you, didn't I? I'd recognise it anywhere... You don't look the same as you did last time."

And it was true. His appearance was the only thing he could control, so he did. Even then, it was only some things. A constant repeat of the same day meant that his hair didn't grow, that he never needed to shave... There wasn't a lot that was actually in his control, but god did he take what he could, when he could.

He blinked, trying desperately not to stare at the homeless man. "How the hell d'you know that?"

"This is your loop," he shrugged, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to say. "But, you've never been the only one stuck."

"What, you too, huh? You're stuck here in this endless fuck up too?" For some reason, he took an interest to that. In some twisted way, it was kind of relieving to find someone else. But apparently, this was his loop, so logic would determine that it was his fault. He'd never thought about that before...

"Yes. Maybe... Well, I could be."

"You... Could be?"

"You could go. I could take your place."

"I'm not following. What the hell are you saying?"

"I'm saying you could go live again. Don't you want that?"

The homeless man shifted, pulled himself into standing, and looked Ted in the eye. They were exactly the same height, down to the last inch. Looking at him this way, Ted came to realise that they could almost pass for the same person, if someone didn't bother looking too hard. Besides the obvious difference in eye colour, there wasn't a lot between them at all.

He ran a hand through his hair. He had come to pretty much get used to the repetition of everything, and besides, it had been a long time since he last saw a... Wednesday? Thursday? What day was it even supposed to be right now? "I dunno..."

His attention was turned when the man grabbed his arm, looking at him with desperation shining in his eyes. "Listen, I don't wanna go back... I can't. You gotta say yes, man- you gotta!" 

"Huh? Why?"

There wasn't a coherent answer to that question. Ted stared into those golden depths for what felt like a long time, and when his expression didn't falter in the slightest, he sighed. "I don't even know how you'd do that... I tried to get out for, like, two weeks straight, and I couldn't do shit."

"You can't escape by yourself. He'd notice."

"He? Who?"

"... That doesn't matter. You have a chance now, you could get away. Take it."

"What, and you're just gonna take my place?"

This apparently most obvious of questions earned him an enthusiastic nod, but no further clarification on how he was going to go about that. He sized him up again, wondering just how they'd managed to go about their lives as two completely different people who looked that similar. 

There had to be a good ten years or more between them, and yet, it almost felt like he was looking in a mirror. The stranger's age showed in a far more obvious way: thick silver streaks peppered his long hair, and despite the unnatural golden shine in his eyes, they were slightly dim, to the point that Ted could clearly imagine what they looked like when he was his age.

"Sure," he resigned eventually, deciding he didn't have the energy to fight, or to question what the hell the golden eyed man was talking about. "If you can actually do that, then what the hell? Might as well make it interesting, huh?"

The grip on his arm was loosened. Instead, the stranger offered his hand out. Ted hesitated for a fraction of a second, and then took his hand to seal the deal. He was still highly sceptical, but he supposed this had gotten strange when this man recognised him for a second time. Nobody had gone that far yet, so for him to call him out for looking different... That was practically unheard of. He'd been so used to this place having a script that an indication of anything else threw him.

Did he know to trust the golden eyed stranger? Could he trust that it wouldn't just land him in exactly the same position the next time he woke up? At this point, did it even matter whether he did or not?

He decided to put this to the test. That night, he scribbled the first thing he could think of onto a post it note, and left it on the mirror in his bathroom. If the timeline did reset, then that note would be gone. That's how this worked, right? 

Part of him refused to believe it would work. He was sceptical, maybe a little broken too. Everything had been the same for so long, he physically couldn't comprehend a world where the days moved on, when the linear frame of time was stretched out in front of him again. All things considered, this hadn't been so bad! At least it wasn't 2004...

Chance made Ted fortunate that night. When he woke up the next morning, the first thing he did was check the bathroom for his post it note. Immediately, he noticed it wasn't on the mirror, and his first thought was that whichever deal he made the previous afternoon hadn't followed through, that he'd simply been enticed by the unnatural colour in the stranger's eyes. Then, he noticed a flash of yellow in the corner of his vision, and he slowly turned towards it. Sure enough, on the ground by the sink, was the note he'd left himself yesterday.

Funny, he swore he'd written on a green note yesterday...

He was probably just imagining things.

He gathered up the note, crushing it in his fist, and dropped it into the bin as he made his way to the kitchen. If he'd have bothered to pay attention, he would've noticed that his note had been green, and that the yellow note left in his bathroom wasn't even written in his hand. But Ted had never noticed details before, and today was not the day he was going to start.

Right now, his mind was occupied with more important things, like the fact that it was now Friday, and after several weeks of exactly the same Thursday, that was a refreshing thing to think about. His phone finally displayed a different date. That pain in his chest awas nothing more than a memory. He could actually feel the way things had moved on.

His first thought wasn't that of relief, nor was it delight. The first thing he felt when he realised that he had moved on with the world was dread.

Nobody he knew was even aware of the situation he'd been trapped in for weeks on end. They had lived the previous day once, spoken to him once. He'd gone over and over exactly the same conversations more times than he cared to count, and knew every word by heart. 

Before he'd made that deal, he hadn't thought about what being forced back into normality would do to him. He hadn't thought about the nervous tension that would refuse to subside from his shoulders, or the way his thoughts would race to the same tune as his heart, or the fact that he would feel so out of place, even in his own apartment.

That feeling only worsened on the way to the office. It was like someone had planted a brick against his chest, and he was just supposed to continue on with his day without acknowledging that there was a brick on his chest. Every breath felt like it was going to induce another brick, and it was too warm of a day to excuse that shiver that racked his senses and made his hands shake uncontrollably. 

He shoved them in his pockets and bit his lip. Not today. Not on the day the things were finally starting to get a little more normal. Not on the first Friday in two and a half months...

"God, Ted, what happened to you? You look like you're gonna have a breakdown..."

Paul's voice was way too familiar. In part, that was a good thing. He'd known Paul for ages, that hadn't changed in his time away. But for such a long time, the first thing he'd said had been something so completely different. Ted hated this already, and he'd only actually been in the office for fifteen minutes...

There had been a point where he'd perfected this. He'd known exactly what to say at any given moment, but now? Now it was just him and the broken memory of what he'd done to himself, and how far detached he was from reality. 

He faltered. Jesus, how pathetic did he look right now? It was just a question! It didn't even need a long answer! 

Paul's brow furrowed. How long had it been since he'd said anything? Why hadn't he said anything? It couldn't be that hard! 

"No, I'm- I'm fine, Paul."

Oh yeah. Paul was gonna believe that, wasn't he?

"This about yesterday?"

"Yesterday?" There had been endless yesterdays. Which yesterday was he talking about? Of course, there had only been one for him, but which one? Which one was the real yesterday?

"Mhm, you came in telling Bill you'd had the strangest conversation with some guy near your apartment block, and then you didn't say anything else..."

Huh. 

That actually had been yesterday... 

This, he could work with. 

It was a little easier to remember than something that happened right at the beginnning of the loop, that was for sure. A little of the tension relieved itself from his chest, and he heaved an audible sigh that he was sure was noticeable.

"Yeah, no, that guy was weird as fuck... Dunno, I see him all the time, but he managed to pull me yesterday." It had sunk in deep. Not a word of what he'd said had made sense, but he'd be damned before he tried to explain that to Paul of all people. Normal Paul Matthews didn't know the meaning of 'off the cuff'...

"What was so bad about it? I mean, you look like you're on the verge of a panic attack."

"Don't worry about it," he answered brusquely, and momentarily, Paul stopped in his tracks. Ted pressed his lips together and refused to elaborate further. There was no need to elaborate on something that made that little sense anyway. He didn't have to tell Paul anything, but especially not about the homeless man he'd spoken to who'd apparently taken his place in that strange loop.

It was exactly the same all day. Ted stopped bordering on a panic attack at some point when the conversations became less and less predictable, and just started having one. The longer the day went on, the worse he felt. 

He'd been right. He'd been absolutely right. Returning to reality had been the worst of it. He knew he should've never made that deal! Who cared if tomorrow never came? He certainly didn't! The predictability was great, knowing the next step was one of the perks!

Those closest to his office in the middle of the day would swear they heard him break down into a fit of sobs directly behind the door. None of them would be able to say for certain whether or not that was the case, but one of them had dared to get close enough, and heard the poor bastard muttering to himself through gasps of breath.

"I wanna go back. I- fuck- I can't take this shit anymore!"

He knew better than anyone that there was no going back. Not for him. Not anymore.

[averlym]

" just...come here. just sit here with me" (...that one scene from princess momonoke, click for better resolution)

[whump-in-the-closet]

A hero who’s become desperate for revenge, no matter the cost. And a villain to blame everything on.

The villain however is elusive, and the hero’s search always comes to a dead end. The pitched battles have been drawn out for years, and the hero’s need for revenge has intensified, worsened by a feeling of uselessness at being unable to catch one measly villain.

And then they find the Villain’s weak link: their sidekick. Nowhere near as experienced, twice as naive as the villain.

The sidekick disappears and when the villain finally finds them, weeks later, alone in an empty warehouse, there’s relief that’s instantly replaced with panic.

It’s a trap. There’s a knife to the sidekick’s throat.

And the hero? The hero is very happy with this development. They’re determined to make the villain suffer as they once suffered.

And if hurting the sidekick makes the villain scream and beg, then so be it.

[profanepurity]

I made an AO3 and some sketches to go along with the fic! For those of you who want more Sister Eliza and Primo content, Watchers in the Sky is out now! Given the season, it felt right to introduce the first angel into the mix of this au. I'll probably move my other silly little fics onto AO3 as well. 🖤

[hiccupbutpurple]

Okay random OC lore drop lol (thank you @evilwriter37 for giving me an excuse lol) - imma just talk a bit about them abstractly as an intro lol!

TW: Implied but unspecified mental health issues, family issues, referenced abuse and mention of death

- So my main character is Nix. They started as Nicky from when I was a kid watching Nicky, Ricky, Dicky and Dawn but then kinda became the personification of my intrusive, random thoughts and personal experience, and deviated so far from canon I now consider them to be an OC.

- Nix is pretty sarcastic and acts as the braincell when Aspen isn’t available, they’re definitely a trouble maker and will manipulate their way into anything but is still very caring of the people they love. They tend to lash out and can forget consequences exist sometimes (leading to a lot of different trouble). They have 3 siblings (taken from Nrdd) and overall a pretty good family but also feels overlooked or outcast from that family. They especially have a lot of conflicts with their sister.

- Robin completely lacks any social inhibitions and impulse control and she’s often the driving force for plot. Her adopted family is great but she went through a lot as a young child and lost her younger sister. I want to focus a lot of her development around the concept of family and trust. Romance is also a big part of it as she has crushes on Nix and Aspen but their feelings towards her are more complicated.

- Mischa is an absolute himbo and also a thief. He also comes from a bad home and often goes overboard trying to impress the others and their families to compensate. He also lacks an impulse control but isn’t as wild as Robin (unless talked into it) and just goes along with things, so a lot of his development is about gaining his own sense of self and learning to take control of his life and decisions.

- Aspen is a loner and doesn’t particularly care about others (not in a mean way just in a, genuinely doesn’t care what’s happening way). She moreso gets dragged into things involuntary or just because she doesn’t have anything else to do. I want to focus a fair amount on her and her mothers relationship, her mother is very sweet but is definitely hurt by her child’s lack on interest in everybody and as a result can become more overbearing on the whole group.

- It’s basically just a found family, queer coming of age story with them dealing with their traumas and challenges from mental health and being queer as a short summary

[battle-subway-ghost]

YOU'RE ALIVE

👍

Wait, hwo did you know about that? Who is this.

[msftsn]

and @maljefe wrote in the journal : “  it was a pleasure to know you. ” she breathed out, gazing into his terrified face. show scripts of the tales of loni and kazimir.

❛  loni...  ❜ he gasps out, existential crisis momentarily forgotten as the shock brings out the most in human capacity. he stares at her with dread, electric blue eyes widened as blood splatters onto his face, covers him like paint would a canvas. and what a morbid artwork the scene makes; shewolf barely holding on above him, hovering as her breaths get weaker before she crashes down on top of the cyborg, landing harshly against metallic frame. his eyes are still fixated at the spot where she would have been just a moment ago while her blood begins to roll down his face, eyes still as shocked as he can be while he stares into nothing. he says her name again, distantly as if he doesn't quiet grasp the situation. and maybe he doesn't; if he did then in this very moment the entire city would be burning to the ground. well ... most of it; he'd have to keep it safe enough to get chris out of this hellhole.

the thought of chris snaps him back to reality, makes him raise his arms weakly as if to make loni move to get off of him. ❛ hey... you have to get up.  ❜ he speaks plainly before he raises his arms again, lightly grasping her arms to give her soft shakes this time. ❛  come on... chris will be angry if we're late.  ❜ he speaks, voice growing more desperate. why does this feel familiar, this sensation of dread and panic? ah ... that's right. he's felt it before as a scared teenager after his first murder, when he just wanted to protect a friend and then had to flee the country to keep his family out of the crossfire. when he had to abandon everything he knew at age 14 and had to find a way to survive in a foreign country. except, despite that childish terror and the dread and fear he's felt for months back then ... this here, this was worse. it sent him back to when his sister locked him in a dark room when he was seven, thinking of it as a game and only letting him out once his terrified cries reached her ears. except this time there was nobody to let him out of the darkness; the person who could have is laying motionless on top of his cold body. he shakes her again, stronger this time.

❛  hey...!! loni!! you have to get up...!! this is no place for sleeping...!! ❜ he says, louder, more frantic before he shoots to sit up, clinging to her as if she were a life vest. he can hear a pulse, faint and slow and nearing its limit but it's there. of course it is, it wouldn't be loni valadian otherwise. he thinks. if he's knows he knows a lot about her and at the same time nothing at all. fear crushes him like rubble and suddenly he's on his feet, holding her with a gentleness that seems so alien coming from him. and he's running, desperately so. with the fastest speed he can manage. foolish ideas of revenge abandoned behind him when he makes it out of the building while holding onto his past, present and future. he has to find the doctor that saved him. he has-- if anyone can come even close to saving loni (within a reasonable distance) it's that stupid doctor. he runs, ignoring anything around him, the route familiar against his will while he looks down at the one person he managed to consistently let down.

❛  don't die on me ... i promise i'll tell you everything you want ... i'll let you in ... just ... come back to me, please ... i can't lose you ... not again ...  ❜

[a-lost-archivist]

…There’s a very good chance he’s dead. He was likely killed when the panopticon collapsed. If he lived, he may be with Georgie and the others, and I have no hope of seeing him again. Alternatively he’s somewhere random in the multiverse, and my chances of finding him may just as well be none.

…I hope he’s alright. Martin, please be alright.

[swagtastic-bougie-pompadour]

Anyways. Apparently, uh… Director Clavell’s little ghost stint has let Boolong establish some temporary communication!

Gotta say? That funky little teapot had a wild life. The drama! The political intrigue! I never expected their life would have ended like that!

…Though I guess it makes sense, if Polteageist come from dying in a room with cold tea.

[sanctamater]

no one asked but i associate the dewitts with victorian familial post mortem photography

[momotonescreaming]

Zombie AU loosely based on the old tv show In The Flesh about the aftermath of a mini zombie apocalypse. So tw for talks of death and allusion to suicide.

There was a Zombie rising in Hawkins but it wasn’t like the movies. It didn’t destroy the whole world, humanity destroyed and living in ruins for hundreds of years. All the dead didn’t even rise. One night, only those who died in the last few years rose from their graves across the world. They were dead men walking, they could smell blood, and killed, and ate peoples brains but there was one major difference. Their bites weren’t contagious.

So while the army and small town militia protected the living and hunted the undead - there were scientists working on a cure. And they actually sort of found one. A new drug, that when injected into an undead’s spinal column once a day - will restore restore consciousness to the undead and all memories of who they are. They will no longer be rabid and desire to kill.

So the government rounds up all the undead left, forcibly medicates them with open wounds at the back of the neck, and entered into a rehab program in ‘Treatment Centres’ so they can be re-entered into society. They are given shitty therapy, thick make up and contacts to cover up their pallid skin and colourless eyes, and a new name. They aren’t “Zombies” - they’re Partially Deceased Syndrome sufferers. PDS. All the undead fucking hate that name. And there’s a whole range of them, from the very young to the very old.

There’s Will Byers. Small and scared, who went missing from his house and was found floating in the Quarry. He doesn’t talk about how he got there, but will silently draw during group therapy sessions. Drawings of broken coffins, of pushing through the dirt, of the quarry, of monsters, of ripping a person apart. Joyce and Jonathan take turns driving the hours it takes to get to the centre, both of them bursting into tears when they see Will. Small and timid, dressed in plain government issued clothes and a trash bag in hand - his funeral suit. What he rose in. They take him home and his bedroom is exactly the same as it was.

There’s Robin Buckley. A tragic accident. Hit by a car when riding her bike home from school. The school band played at her funeral, and she was buried in a dress she’d have hated but her mother would have loved. The therapist in the treatment centre talks about hobbies. Something to do when she goes back home. Robin doesn’t mention the trumpet. She tries not to think about how she doesn’t know if she can even play it now that her lungs no longer breathe air. She goes home and her parents are simultaneously too overbearing, and not bearing enough.

There’s Barb Holland. Went to a party at Steve Harrington’s house, had a drink, injured herself, slipped, hit her head, and then drowned in the pool while her best friend was having sex upstairs. The Holland’s mourn, Nancy blames herself and Steve, while Steve tries not to think about it. Barb comes back and has to learn to deal with a best friend who moved on without her. How do you learn to live with the consequences of your own death?

There’s Steve Harrington. He wanted to be a normal teen again. He didn’t want to the be the rich kid who had someone die in his pool. He’s heard the rumours. That he killed her and his parents paid to cover it up. Steve fucking hates it. The whispers in the halls, the stares. Steve fucking hates that a part of him can believe that his parents would. Anything to save their reputation. The famed Harrington name. They came back home from their trip because of this. And his father was pissed. Not upset that a girl died. He was angry at Steve. He yelled and screamed and threatened and berated and Steve shrunk down under his father’s steely gaze. He was a fuckup and useless and a good for nothing waste of space. He let a girl die. He continued to date Nancy, he loved her but she didn’t love her back. She tells him Barb was dead because of them. Because of him. He was bullshit, his love was bullshit, and she didn’t love him back. Steve goes home alone and bleeds out in the bath.

He’s one of the last ones left at the treatment centre and his parents hire a taxi to take him home. They couldn’t sell the house. Not when two kids died there. So Steve goes home and realises his parents are never coming back. He is dead, and he is alone.

There’s Chrissy Cunningham. A suffering girl keeping quiet. Headaches and nosebleeds and nightmares and shaking hands. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her but she knows she can’t tell her mother about it. She goes to parties and cheers at Jason’s basketball games and shopping with her friends. It doesn’t get better so she goes to the table in the woods and asks to buy drugs. Eddie makes her feel calm. Safe. He’s ridiculous and silly and isn’t as mean and scary as he seems. She has a seizure in his living room and dies on his floor.

There’s Eddie Munson. Wanted for a murder that wasn’t a murder and on the run from a homicidal basketball player and his stirred up mob. By the time the coroner rules the death the result of an undiagnosed medical condition it’s too late. He hides at Reefer Rick’s place until he runs out of food and has to venture out. He spies the green of a letterman jacket and ducks into an alley. Only he’s too late. He gets cornered by Andy and Jason and they kill him in an alleyway for murdering Chrissy. They call it justice. He slowly bleeds out and his last thoughts are of his Uncle Wayne.

His Uncle Wayne who picks him up from the treatment centre as soon as he gets the call and greets him with the biggest hug Eddie thinks he’s ever had. Wayne cries and Eddie would’ve bawled his eyes out if his tear ducts still worked. They go home in the middle of the night when no one can see them. The papers weren’t kind to Eddie and people aren’t kind to the undead neither.

All the undead go home, get their makeup, their medication, and find out that as part of their rehabilitation into society the young undead need to finish school. The adults have to go through community service. No other options. Government mandated. There are others like them at least, and they’ll try to keep them together, but they’re unable to say who. So they trickle back to school, hope that enough time has passed that no one recognises them, and try to spot the other undead in the halls. Solidarity and all that.

And Eddie doesn’t quite know what to do with himself when his now undead crush Steve Harrington is walking the halls. He remembers Steve’s death. The rumours. The funeral. The way everyone pretended to know him after death, just for a hint of his popularity. The way his parents packed up and moved town. And Eddie sees him now, hunched down over himself, not making eye contact. A shadow of his former self as he moves through the Hawkins High halls like a ghost.

Ah fuck. He's talking to Harrington, isn't he?

[humming-pokemon-helpers]

So, therapist, I have a question... do you think that there are people out there that can't be helped? That have done something so heinous that their soul is stained black forever? (@entropic-eyes)

I've... thought on this question a lot, actually. Fun fact for those not in the know; I did my graduate dissertation on human psychology on therapeutic rehabilitation for members of major criminal organizations. (Think major Teams.)

And so my opinion is... I think everyone can improve. (Whether they're willing to is a different story, though. A lot of people don't have a compelling motive if acting like a terrible person gets them rewards.) I'm the person concerned with the improvement, and as long as someone's willing to do so and given the means to try and do so, people can become pretty good citizens, even from the worst of circumstances. I've seen it happen.

Whether everyone can be forgiven and absolved of their crimes? Probably not. You could, theoretically, kill someone and then go on to be the most moral person possible; donating to charity, campaigning for human rights, ending wars. Doesn't erase the fact that you've caused irreparable harm. I don't mean that to say that it's worthless to try and become a better person. Just that... that mark's always going to exist, in the larger context of your impact on the world. And it's going to impact how others see you, too.

[strange-doll-child]

It's been hella long since I've drawn one of my sailors w o w(by hella long, I mean like a handful of months, but hello, Andy)

[risingsunresistance]

if we're mutuals and i unfollow suddenly and you happen to take notice of it, please do not take it personally i still love my friends n whatnot i am just. getting very tired and need to cut down the mcyt content on my dash

and if i unfollow and refollow a couple times that is just me testing the waters jdhfj idk what i wanna do man i just have to do something for my mental health