Steve Teaching Robin His Evil White Boy Ways Is Very Important To Me. He's Boosting Her Up Into A Girl's

The S1-S2 party: “Steve has always taken all this stuff so well.”

The kids (mostly Dustin): “He’s practically invincible.”

Nancy probably: “He’s too dumb to be affected by Trauma.” (The rest of the party hates that but Dustin’s the only one who argues)

Robin not even a week after star court: “Steve is traumatized and hurt, he just tries to hide it, and he’s not even that good at it you guys just don’t care enough to notice (Dustin is offended; he does care he’s just a kid and Steve is actually pretty good at hiding it.)

Eddie a week out of the hospital: “Steve, you're not very good at advocating for yourself." (Steve didn’t get his injuries attended to because he thought he could handle it and ‘the others needed him’)

Steve: “I'm supposed to be advocating for myself??"

The entire party (minus Dustin) after Robin and Eddie scream at them for over an hour about Steve’s condition (they’re a little nicer to the kids it’s not really their fault): “Oh shit, we fucked up.”

Steve after people start being nice to him all of a sudden: “There’s an imbalance in the universe, am I being Vecna’d? Did he not really die? Shit. What is happening?”

Eddie and Robin: *crying*

They laugh but I'm actively making a giant project that appeared to me in a dream so I don't know what we're laughing at honestly

No, I am not 'hoarding craft supplies.' I am sourcing materials for a very big project that will be revealed to me at a later date- perhaps in a dream.

I think the key point is that sex work will always happen. Sex work HAS always happened, for as long as we have recorded history. If it's illegal, no one doing sex work can get medical help or call the police if they're attacked, etc. If sex work is legal, we can regulate it- and crack down on exploitative and violent practices and even human trafficking. When they legalized weed, a lot of the money left the industry, and the worst of the environmental crimes, illegal exporting, exploiting workers and immigrants were more able to be addressed. We have less murder over weed now, at least.

Some of those anti sex work ppl can’t even fathom that there’s people who WANT to do sex work on their own volition

joining tumblr for the first time now is like in movies when the city kid goes to the small small small town and someone there is like “we ain’t got nona that weefee or whatever but we’s got Jimbo who yells the news and that’s good enough” and points to Jimbo who is currently asleep on his rocker

Except for us it’s like “we ain’t got no al-go-rithm but we do have haiku-bot and that one destiel screengrab that tells us the news and that’s good enough”

Lowkey Hesh has the scariest facepattern of all the Ghosts. Like yeah, Keegans spooky ass blue orbs would freak you out, BUT HESH? THE VAGUELY HUMAN FACE SHAPE? BUT NOT QUITE RIGHT??? I would simply pass away.

TikTokers are such pussies when it comes to ships. “B-but they’re not canon 🥺🥺🥺😭😭😖😖” honey back in my day we shipped characters from entirely different medias uphill both ways in the snow

The radio crackled on. Robin clutched the microphone as steady as she could, the poor thing not used to the rough location of Steve's beat up Beemer.

"Evening, Hawkins," she announced into the mic. Not in her typical bravado. This was all Robin: trembling, scared, but defiant against it. "This is Rockin' Robin, here with Sailin' Steve in what very well may be our last broadcast."

She adjusts her spear, getting Steve to double check his shield. Not easy to do while speeding down the road, but when their destination is the same no matter where he goes, it doesn't quite matter anymore, does it?

"It's been a pleasure serving you lovely people and WSQK Radio," Robin continues, her voice shaking less as the certainty of her words takes over. "But it's time for us to sign off one last time."

"The end of the world is calling, baby," Steve says, loud enough for the radio to pick up. It's the first time he's ever dared to speak into it, and the wave of power it gives him makes him feel possessed. With the way his hand moves off the wheel to twist the knob of the barely functioning sound board between them, turning the music up as he accelerates and fueling his words, he may as well be. "We're here to pick up the call."

Steve grips the stick in front of the sound board, clutching the leather as familiar as the denim beneath his war clothes. "We've got one final song for you all, dedicated to an old friend of mine."

He smells ash. Tastes blood on the tip of his tongue. Feels the sting in his sides like a call from the other side.

Not painful. Hopeful.

Daring.

Trusting.

Fueling.

"We're gonna finish what you started, bud. I'm gonna make him pay."

As the first notes of the guitar solo to "Crazy Train" begin rattling his car, as his fingers tighten impossibly more on the wheel and a tear rolls down his cheek, he feels the ghost of a hand on his shoulder.

Ring laden.

Strong in its fear. Familiar in its loss.

Steve grits his teeth. Takes a deep breath as a calmness burns just as bright as the fire of vengeance.

"Eddie Munson, this is for you."

Then he shifts the stick, grips the wheel, and speeds straight into the apocalypse.