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.
I just got off the phone with mom, and we came to the realization that my family has lived in a series of unplottable houses for a couple generations now.
-The First Unplottable House is on my dad’s side of the family, in Delphi, Iowa. The directions to it are the stuff of Buried Treasure: Turn off the county road with a fraction in it’s name, to the Named Dirt Road, then turn at The Discount Eggs Sign on to the Unnamed dirt road that takes a meandering path THROUGH a corn field, DO NOT take any forks on that road or the farmer will shoot your ass, then take the paved road that dead-ends on ALL the way to the end- No, farther, the road keeps going it’s not a cliff-The only indication that You Have Arrived At The Correct Driveway is that a fat gray pony will charge the car, screaming, then escort you the rest of the way there.
It’s on the side of an enormous river, they’ve owned the property since 1911, and that’s the ONLY route there.
-The Second Unplottable house is in Bedford, Ohio and belonged to my mother’s parents. It’s at the corner of two side-streets, right across from the tiny Italian grocery store. Due to strange development decisions, the house is about 30 feet above street level and rendered invisible by a chestnut tree so majestic Hyao Myazaki would probably put it in a movie. The driveway, however, is VERY visible from any of the surrounding houses, the grocer, or the street.
At least in theory and old photos, becuase if you actually GO there, your eyes slide right past it to the neighbor’s lillac bush, or to the retro neons of the grocery store or up the Chestnut tree. it is literally HARD to look at that driveway, all the world around it wants to pull you away.
-The Third Unplottable house is in Salinas, CA, home of my paternal grandparents. It is the single most BORING house possible- like, if you were to ask a third-grader to draw a prototypical house, they would draw my grandparent’s house. Utterly Unremarkable.
Except for the part where my Grandfather, spurred by his success with the “non-fruiting” peach tree, decided to plant a California Redwood Tree, and it grew to approximately 150 feet over the course of a few short decades. It is the tallest damn thing for miles around, and SOMEHOW deliveries keep being missed, mail is delivered to the neighbors, and any non-blood family that tried to visit would end up on the other side of town.
-The Fourth Unplottable House was the one I grew up in CA. The Directions to it are as follows: It’s the Bright Orange house Right Across From The School. You know, the one with six flamingos and the Volunteer Avacado Tree.
SOMEHOW, we got everyone’s mail but OURS (we still wonder about the letter from Fort Knox for Mr. Thomas Saxophone), the other kids got lost trying to visit and ended up in Mr.Phan’s yard on the other end of the block. Officer Brown, Mom and Dad’s friend, who had GPS back in the early 90′s becuase silicon valley, regularly got lost looking for our place. The Flamingos did nothing.
-My parent’s current house is the second house on the right after two right turns off the state highway that runs through town. Sounds easy, right?
Except that due to a couple small trees and a bend in the road, the house is invisible from the road. I have to stand out in the road if i want my pizza delivered. The Mailman is the only person who could reliably find the box, but he drives a subaru that’s older than my sister from the passenger side by leaning over, and delivers mail based on the aztec lunar calendar, so he’s probably not actually human. I tried to host a party, tied rainbow balloons to the mailbox, and all nine friends had to be waved in from the street.
-My current apartment building Does Not Exist, according to my Bank, medicaid, Google, and City Hall which was a bit exciting when I first moved in and had to call everyone that yes, I was sitting in a building that really exists.
Unless it’s my classmates, becuase they can apparently come to parties I don’t host. This Friday I had a friend telling me she had a great time at my place last Teusday… when I was home alone. She assures me that I held a houseparty with “Those polish things you make” (I make great mini klatchky, but haven’t served them to her) and that “You were definitely there, we talked about Carvaggio and you drive me home”
personally, I think people are allowed to ship a “toxic ship” as long as it’s fictional and they can separate fiction from reality. shipping a fictional “problematic ship” doesn’t mean you’re “abuse apologist” in real life. the same way people who enjoy fictional villains are not “murderers” in real life.
it’s okay if you think this ship makes you uncomfortable and so you personally dislike it. what you can and should do is avoid their contents and refrain from interacting with people who do ship them. that mute and block buttons are your friends.
what you shouldn’t do, though, is harass people who ship them and brag about how they’re “red flags irl” and how you’re “morally superior” simply because of fictional characters.
I promise you, minding your own business and not caring about what ship strangers on the internet ship will make your fandom so much less toxic and a whole lot more enjoyable.
Leaving kudos literally takes a single click! I kudos everything I like. I get annoyed when the site tells me I've already left kudos, haha. Please just click, folks. I promise writers love to see it.
"You have to become comfortable with the fact that most people who enjoy your fic will never bother to kudos or comment on it."
Shockingly, I am comfortable with this fact. Lack of kudos or comments doesn't bother me.
That doesn't mean it shouldn't change.
If you enjoy a fic, leave a kudos or a comment.
He's not evil he's just drawn that way.
pulled an all-nighter and then promptly passed out, i drew this sometime and have no recollection but i think i get what i was going for
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*
billy: *beating the shit out of demos*
also billy: heyyy demogorgon thingy i have a snack for you. aren't you hungry? wouldn't you like a big yummy human to eat? i have the perfect meal at home and his name is neil you just have to promise to behave
the local demogorgon cornered by billy: *sweating buckets*
MANIFESTING
“this ship is not canon” babe, they’re fictional characters. they’re not real. they’re literally dolls we play with. we don’t care about whether or not these fictional characters’ love story is canon in this piece of media that is also entirely based on fiction. I mean, sure, canon would be lovely, but it’s a bonus. it’s not necessary. what we care about is the fun of talking about these 2 idiots being in love.
we don’t give a fuck if they didn’t kiss in “canon”. they had raw sex in thousands of fics about them though. and I’d say that’s more than enough to make people who ship them happily ship them even harder. happy shipping!