thelastwalkingsoul

[thelastwalkingsoul]

OK so in season 5 where gabriel has all the miraculous rings:

IMAGINE he just... wore those ALL THE TIME, idk i thought this was funny:

#💀 #I thought the exact same thing #miraculous ladybug

[thelastwalkingsoul]

PLEASE

I will never be the same again

Screaming crying throwing up

I finally watched the most recent season of miraculous ladybug

Help

[thelastwalkingsoul]

When Steve gets to his last year at Hawkins High, it feels like some kind of veil has been lifted right in front him. Or maybe it’s more that the veil’s actually been slowly lifting for years, and he’s noticing it all the more because it’s no longer there.

Either way, when he receives his yearbook, it doesn’t seem like the huge deal that his younger self would’ve made it out to be; he flicks through the pictures half-heartedly, doesn’t even care when the candid ones taken at sporting events catch him in unflattering poses, lip jutting out in concentration.

If he tried to voice his disinterest, Henderson would probably spout off some precocious shit about societal expectations, and Steve would pretend to nod sagely before stealing whatever dorky hat he happened to be wearing—it’s not like he could let the little shit suspect that he occasionally had a point, Steve would never hear the end of it.

The yearbook signings are predictably inescapable: people passing their books back and forth in class or in the cafeteria—and that one’s a risky move, with the threat of drinks spilling on the pages, whether accidental or malicious.

Steve thinks the fever’s dwindled out until he spends a free period in the school library. The seniors typically all bunch together in one of the far corners, the spots with the comfiest seats—loners included, like the perks of age for once outweigh the usual ridicule.

But that silent truce is not exactly being upheld, Steve notes—Eddie Munson is sitting alone at a nearby table.

It becomes painfully obvious when the signing starts up again. There’s a cluster of girls on the yearbook committee who initiate it, and soon every senior in reach is either passing over their own book or signing one.

Almost every senior.

It’s not like Eddie’s the only person ever to be held back. He’s not even the only one to be held back for next year, either: John Nelson off the swim team is in the same position, and he’s still been asked to sign.

But Steve knows that’s not what the source of exclusion is, not really.

He’s gotten good at spotting silent cruelty—good at avoiding it too, before his popularity gave him a temporary shield.

It’s all just bullshit, he thinks. It’s been a recurring thought lately.

He brings out his own yearbook because he knows it’s expected. When it’s finally passed back round to him, he ends up right near the seat opposite Eddie’s, just by chance.

But actually sitting there is his own choice.

He can tell that Eddie has spotted him even though he’s not looked up from whatever homework he’s doing; there’s a silent tension in the way he’s holding his pen.

Steve mulls it over before he asks the question. It could blow up in his face, but what did that matter, really? In the grand scheme of things, it would hardly count as a major embarrassment; it’s not like it’d be any more mortifying than telling his dad that he didn’t get into any colleges whatsoever.

So he pushes his yearbook across the table, because what the hell.

“Wanna sign?”

Eddie glances up. There’s a guarded look in his eyes, and Steve can almost hear him mentally replaying the question.

“Pardon?” Eddie says with pointed emphasis, like he’s daring Steve, let it drop and we’ll say no more about it, Harrington.

Steve doesn’t take it back. He shrugs and flicks open the yearbook, finds a blank spot and taps it once with his finger, a silent offer.

Eddie stares like Steve’s a riddle, like he’s wondering just who the show’s for—but the other students have turned away, have gone back to their seats, yearbooks temporarily forgotten.

Eddie’s hold on his pen relaxes, ever so slightly.

“You sure, Harrington?” he says. There’s still a wary edge to his voice, but there’s an undercurrent of something else, too, like he’s secretly amused despite himself. “Haven’t you heard what folks say? I could curse you.”

Steve scoffs. “That all you’ve got? I’ve dealt with way worse, man,” he says mildly.

A corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches into a surprised smile. Then it’s gone almost like it had never been in the first place, his gaze turning thoughtful rather than defensive.

And obviously this isn’t Eddie’s first rodeo at the whole senior year thing. Steve wonders if there’s a veil that’s been lifted for him too, wonders if he can see straight through it right now.

The bell rings.

Eddie stands up, gathering his stuff.

Steve thinks that’s the end of it: something that’s neither a success or a failure.

But then, lightning fast, Eddie darts across the table and scribbles something on the open page. Slams the yearbook shut and pushes it back over, and it feels like a challenge, like some of his caginess is back—like he’s just daring Steve to reveal that it had been a joke all along—

“Bet you’re counting down the days till you can hold your own copy, huh?” Steve says dryly, as he stuffs the book into his bag.

It’s a risk; he knows Eddie could easily take it as pure ridicule, could misinterpret it as Steve throwing the failed school years back in his face.

Eddie just shakes his head, but he could be laughing—the moment’s gone too quickly for Steve to know for sure.

“Nah, Harrington,” Eddie says easily, thrown over his shoulder as he leaves, “those things aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on.”

Steve doesn’t check the yearbook until he’s home. He eventually finds Eddie’s signature, simple black ink right in the upper corner of one page.

Good luck, Steve. —Eddie

Some of the letters are bunched a little too close together, drifting upwards on the blank page, as if they usually need lined paper to guide them—left-handed, Steve thinks vaguely.

Within a sea of scrawled nicknames and loudly enthusiastic messages, Steve finds that he kind of likes how mundane Eddie’s truly is. Likes the sign off with minimal fuss. Just “Eddie.” Likes how he was just “Steve”, too.

And yeah, if anyone needed to be told good luck, Steve thinks, with the kind of amusement that only comes from distance—pictures his past self, freaking out about monsters come to life.

He slots the yearbook into his bookcase. By summer he might forget about it all together, left to gather dust as he works for 3 bucks an hour, but for now he marks its significance: something real, hidden alongside the bullshit.

#mmm i love them interacting during high scho #pre steddie #steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson

[thelastwalkingsoul]

34 with an ao3 account is crazy

….. is it?

#been in fandom for a decade #absolutely gonne be here for another 3 at least #souls bs

[thelastwalkingsoul]

I was sad until I opened the Sims and made a dog called Chocolate Milk and I think you should look at him

[thelastwalkingsoul]

Screaming crying throwing up

I finally watched the most recent season of miraculous ladybug

Help

#tbh I didn’t know the writers knew how to write a plot 💀 #sorry that was mean #but also wow this is the first time I’ve been this invested #since I first started watching #in 2016 💀 #miraculous ladybug #ml season 5 #miraculous ladybug season 5

[thelastwalkingsoul]

For @steddielovemonth day 12th prompt by @acasualcrossfade

M | 1383 | cw: trans pregnancy | modern AU, ftmEddie

Steve wakes up and does the first logical thing that all people do. Checks his phone.

He blinks at the bright screen trying to decipher his notifications and sighs when he realizes the group chat is flooded with messages. It’s nothing new, although it never hit 99+ before. He scrolls up to catch up with whatever his friends have been up to at night. Wonders if he’s the only one that uses nighttime for rest.

He’s groggy with sleep and as he passes through the chat log, he’s struggling to make sense of the messages he’s seeing.

>>How about a gender-neutral one?

>>I vote Elrond!

>>WHO’S GONNA BE THE GODPARENTS

He scrolls and scrolls and finally reaches The Photo. And things, unfortunately, start to make sense. 

It’s a photo of a pregnancy test.

He immediately goes to his chat with Eddie. Tries to type a message, fails, and hits the call button. It takes a considerable amount of time for Eddie to pick up.

“The fuck do you want?” he growls upon answering, voice thick and distant. Steve clearly just woke him up but he couldn’t give two shits about it right now.

“Why didn’t you tell me first? Wait, is it not mine? No, wait, you can tell whoever you want, of course, but, is it mine?”

“What?” Eddie sounds tired and angry which, fair, it’s 7 AM, not his usual waking hour.

“We skipped the condom a couple of times, but you said it’s not possible, not with all the hormones you’re taking. I’m not mad, I’m not panicking, I just need to know.” Okay, maybe he was panicking a bit, but not bad panicking. It’s just not something he’s prepared for. Is he ready to be a dad? Would Eddie want him to be the dad? Would Eddie want to be a dad? Would he even want to—?

“Shit, fuck, do you want it? Are you okay with your body doing… this? Are you okay?”

“Okay, deep breath, please.” Eddie sounds much more awake now and Steve follows his instruction, anxiously awaiting answers. “I’m not okay; I feel, frankly, betrayed by my body, but I think we’re talking about two different things. Why did you call me? So early, may I add?”

Eddie’s calm. So Steve can be as well. He breathes in and out.

“I saw the group chat. The photo?” He bites his lip. Maybe Eddie hoped he wouldn’t see it at all?

“What? Hold on.”

Steve holds, listening to the shuffling on the other end. He hears the springs on Eddie’s bed creak and thinks it’s finally time to get him a new mattress. Or, if Eddie is up to it, move in together.

He flinches when the soft shuffling of the bedspread is broken by a loud snort, followed by manic laughter. 

Wasn’t it too early for mood swings?

“Stevie, baby,” Eddie finally wheezes out.

“Yes?” He perks up, eager for answers and hopeful from hearing the pet name. 

“Please put on your glasses and look at the photo again,” is all Eddie says, before bursting back into laughter. 

Steve frowns but reaches for his glasses, resting on their usual spot on his bedside table. Once secured on his nose, he opens the chat again and goes straight to the media folder to open the photo in question. He squints his eyes at it.

It’s a covid test, clear as day.

“You’re not pregnant,” he deadpans.

“Nope. Just good old corona.”

“Shit.”

Steve falls on his pillow, completely drained from the emotional rollercoaster. He thinks about calling in sick. He’s too humiliated to show his face to the world and, besides, how is he supposed to teach kids when he’s such a dumb idiot himself?

“And, for the record,” Eddie continues once his chuckles subside, unaware of Steve’s inner turmoil. “I would tell you first, and it would be yours. It’s just been you for a while and I’ve never fucked without a condom before.”

Steve did not know that. He slaps a hand over his mouth so no embarrassing sounds come out at the revelation.

“But yeah, it wouldn’t be possible on my current hormone cocktail. And I don’t think I’d ever be prepared for a little alien growing inside me. It’s one thing to say fuck gender norms for one day and wear a dress and another to completely overturn my body’s ecosystem for a year, maybe more, without turning back.”

“Yeah,” Steve nods because that’s all he can do. He knows a lot about Eddie’s body by this point, but possible pregnancy is not something that comes up in daily conversations.

“Besides, I’ve been talking with my doctors about getting an oophorectomy, so that will be off the table soon anyway.”

Steve frowns, not liking the sound of that but not wanting to assume anything. Again.

“What’s that?” he asks instead.

“Ovaries removal,” Eddie answers easily. “So the hormones they produce don’t fuck with my T shots.”

“Huh.” It will never cease to both anger and amaze Steve how much trans people have to go through to be themselves. “Makes sense, I guess.”

“Mhm. How are you feeling?”

Steve frowns at his ceiling.

“Me? You’re the one with covid.” The fact suddenly, finally, sinks in. “Shit, how long will you be quarantined?”

“Just a week, don’t worry. But I’m asking because you kind of deflated there.”

Steve huffs. 

“My boyfriend has covid, of course I’m—”

“No, I mean, are you disappointed you didn’t put a baby in me?”

Steve chokes on saliva and air, and has to sit up on his bed to take a proper breath.

“Eddie,” he wheezes out in a warning, his face going beet red.

“Are you?” he presses.

“I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Open cards, baby. It’s not on the table, but I won’t be mad if you want it.”

Steve sighs. He worries this kind of thing might break their relationship. It was a topic he avoided, not only with Eddie, but with others he dated before him. Not many people their age are ready for kids talk, for a commitment like that.

“Yeah. Sorry.” Sorry if it’s a deal breaker.

“Don’t be sorry. Nothing bad about wanting to knock up your boyfriend.”

“Eddie.” This time his warning comes with an amused breath.

“What? Just because I won’t do it doesn’t mean I can’t play along.” He can hear him smirk from the other end of town where Eddie’s apartment is. “It’s no condom town, baby, from now on. I want all your cum inside, pushing it deeper with your fingers when you pull out. I’ll keep it inside while we watch TV. And then we’ll go again and again until it catches. Until you give me the baby you want so much.”

Steve whines, eyes closed and imagination running wild.

“Shit, I’m so wet. Didn’t know I have a breeding kink. Huh.”

“Jesus Christ Eddie, you can’t do this to me at the beginning of your quarantine!”

“Well, you’re the one who brought up kids! Which, I think we should have a serious talk about once I’m back in the world.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, and presses his eyes closed with resignation. He should have seen it coming. He loves Eddie, which is exactly why he’s been avoiding the topic of a future together, of kids, of a family.

“Yeah, sorry I’ve been holding back but I think I’m ready to make this serious if you are.”

Steve makes a sound. Questioning and confused because it’s all he can give him now.

“I know it’s a long shot, but we could adopt, or find a surrogate. I can wear a belly if it does it for you? Dunno, we’ll figure something out. If you want to, of course.” He’s rambling, which is a sure sign that he’s being sincere.

“I want to,” Steve assures him quickly. He is so relieved, so excited and full of love, that he’s about to cry. “I love you so much.” And there it is, his voice is already shaking, eyes wet.

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie coos back. “Now, can we get back to the horny part? I know you have to get up for work soon.”

Steve laughs at that, hand promptly sliding down his body.

“Yeah, let’s.” 

[thelastwalkingsoul]

thinking about married teacher steve and rockstar eddie.

steve’s students like to poke fun at him for “not being cool” or “trying to be cool”, and steve just feeds into it and plays up his cluelessness to modern things and what’s “hip” nowadays. he always just tells them they have no idea, and they’re gonna eat their words one day when they see how cool he really is, but all the kids just laugh and think he’s being sarcastic.

one day a group in his class is talking about the popular rock music star eddie munson, about his music and how much they love him, and steve joins in, asking them about eddie and what kind of music he makes and so on. he says something like “oh yeah, i think i know munson. yeah he’s cool, makes good stuff” and the kids are like “as if you know eddie munson, mr h, there is no way”. steve just chuckles and says “if you say so”

meanwhile eddie EATS EACH STORY UP when steve comes home with a something new to tell him all about what his kids were saying to him today

honourable mention but eddie also is WEAK for steve’s teacher outfits, the button ups, the vests, when he wears a tie WITH his glasses consider eddie a dead man.

on the last day of class for the year steve has given his class almost a free period of sorts to just chat and muck about being that it’s so close to vacation and all, and ofc the topic of steve’s uncoolness comes up again, and he’s just all laughs and smiles not even trying to fight back while they poke harmless fun at him, just looking smug as shit knowing these kids are in for a treat.

the bell goes and they all start to pack up their things to leave, and steve calls out to get their attention, remember the homework, stay safe, have a good break and all that, but THEN who else walks through the classroom door but eddie. munson. heading straight towards steve telling him “hey babe, ready to go?”

“yep, just let me grab my stuff” steve says back, and the class is stunned silent. eddie walks over to steve’s desk and puts a hand on his back as steve is leaning over it putting books and pages into his bag, “you guys are all free to go” he looks up to the class, smug as ever.

as he and eddie head towards the door, steve stops and turns around back to his class one last time, whisper shouting over his shoulder “who’s cool now?”

eddie is laughing infront of him as they walk out together, listening to the classroom they’d just left erupt into chaos.

[thelastwalkingsoul]

i love when artists explicitly write/draw eddie and steve with very noticeable, maybe even deforming scars. i love when they dont fail to mention the repercussions the things they've been through have left on their bodies. because yes, we talk a lot about ptsd and horrible nightmares and all the psychoemotional issues, but we should totally talk more about the physical side of it.

eddie with a scar on his jaw that tugs when he smiles and aches after a long effusive rant. having to use mobility aides like a crutch or a walking stick because the muscles on his leg never fully recovered and the scars on his abdomen hurt if he tries to tighten his core too hard.

steve with awful migranes and early onset hearing loss and complex vision problems and slight trouble breathing because his head/face got fucked up one too many times. the scars on his back that got infected because no one gave them notice, that are now scars that twinge when he moves his arms and hurt after a day of running around with the kids. the scars on his abdomen that restrict his range of motion. that raspiness in his voice that never went away after a bat tried to crush his windpipe.

i don't know where i'm going with this i just... we constantly recognize their heroic deeds, but i think it's also important to remember that they are not heroes. they are just teenagers who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. they were doomed by the narrative, literally cannon fodder, and their bodies tell the history of that, and of how they're still here despite it all.

[thelastwalkingsoul]

"I think it's sweet," Steve says.

Robin wrinkles her nose. "Nothing about Eddie Munson is sweet. He's a sewer rat, at best. Or like twenty opossums in a trench coat."

"Opossums are cute."

"He probably has rabies."

"You say that about me all the time, so I guess that's good. We'll have rabies together."

"He gave you a rock."

"You give me rocks all the time," Steve says, rolling his eyes. He runs his thumb along the textured edge of the rock Eddie'd handed to him.

"Yeah, good rocks." Robin scoffs. "That one sucks."

[thelastwalkingsoul]

If they were 20 somethings in this day and age.

Robin: Girl dinner is when you eat a girl out

Eddie: No it's not, what the hell? That's not the meme.

*Steve walking into the room*

Steve: What're you guys talking about?

Robin: When you go down on a girl

Steve: Ah... Girl dinner

Eddie: You can't be serious...

Same brain-cell Buckley and Harrington.....

[thelastwalkingsoul]

i think its so funny in st fics, particularly steddie ones, when eddie groups nancy in with the popular kids or, god forbid, calls her the queen of hawkins high. like babe that was the plot of S1. nancy was a prissy little nerd that had one (1) friend and the popular kids didnt like her. you might be tempted to argue that she became popular by dating steve but actually the opposite is true and steve became unpopular by dating nancy. nancy was so tragically uncool it is not even funny. its why steve liked her so much lmao

#I think people get it mixed up #like they go with the popular route when it really should be #omg I thought she was a prissy nerd omg she has guns?!?!

[thelastwalkingsoul]

no matter how terrible my day is. i can always end my day in bed imagining fictional characters making out sloppy style and fucking raw. and that's beautiful. there's some good in this world mister frodo and it's worth fighting for

[thelastwalkingsoul]

Nurture

For the STWG prompt "Nurture" We talked a little while ago about serial killer Wayne in the server....and I'm still obsessed

On the third day. Eddie came home. 

When no call for a manhunt came out, when no angry mobs stormed Reefer Rick’s place looking for Eddie’s head, when there wasn’t even a whisper of anything in the news, there was no other option. He didn’t even bother to try and sneak back into the trailer, just walked in and stared dumbfoundedly at the completely normal looking room in front of him.  

“Where…is she?” Eddie asked.  

No bloodstains, no disgustingly distorted corpse. No Chrissy.

Just his uncle, standing at the sink, washing his hands. 

“Somewhere peaceful. Somewhere safe.” Wayne muttered, continuing to rinse under the steaming hot water, not bothering to turn to look at his nephew, “What exactly happened?”

“I didn’t- I don’t- I would never-” Eddie stammered, trying to explain the unexplainable. 

“I know that, boy,” Wayne cut in, effortlessly silencing Eddie’s rambling as he turned around, wiping his now clean hands on a washcloth, “I know you better than anyone. You would never have done anything like that. You ain’t like me.”

Eddie’s breath escaped in a huge shaking sigh, and he immediately ran straight for Wayne, barrelling into his uncle’s arms and burrowing his face into his shoulder. The tears he had been holding in since Chrissy’s death came hot and heavy, Eddie’s entire body shaking from the force of grief that was finally being allowed to escape his body.  

He had been so scared. So sure no one could ever believe him. 

But Wayne understood. Wayne had always understood. Wayne knew him better than anyone. Wayne knew Eddie would never have done anything like that. Wayne…

It was then that the last sentence his uncle had spoken finally registered in Eddie’s brain. 

Eddie stiffened, slowly pulling back and looking at his uncle in horror. 

“Like you?” 

#liammmmm #I’m intrigued 👀 #eddie munson #wayne munson #serial killer cw #serial killer wayne munson

[thelastwalkingsoul]

TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

#oh #oh that was so sweet #omg #I- help #idk what to do with myself now #steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #soulmate au

[thelastwalkingsoul]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one or Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and is now tossing handfuls at salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a carn horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting its target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. Yes, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy smiled, pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without having anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they're both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

#grrr I love ittt

[thelastwalkingsoul]

I’m paying to force seven thousand strangers to see a photo of my late husband having fun with his dog. Tumblr Blaze is totally worth it. XD