Elias Walker Father Of The Year

I've been here for about 13 years I think and I've heard tumbling but NEVER tumblogs

Teach me how to use my tumblog

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 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

stop normalizing ai use in fandom 👎

And we need them more feral! We have jumps-out-windows grabby-hands, blaster-saber thief-boy, and egg-munching murder-frog-baby- I need more kids that bite. I want arson. I want criminal behaviors so excessively successful and absurd their Masters weep with disbelief.

I am desperate for more order 66 survivors struggling with trama while trying to raise a feral padawan. I know we have kanan and Ezra but we need more.

I love this idea, especially if this one where the Upside Down is canon, and Steve takes one look at the slavering freak drooling on the glass and goes "Welp," like a Midwestern father, and brings out the bat. I want him completely unimpressed, like Eddie is losing his shit and Steve is like "This might as well happen. I hate closing shifts."

80s Vampire Movie Steddie AU

No listen hear me out

Steve is working the closing shift Friday night at Family Video (open until midnight. Fucking awful if you ask Steve)

It’s just after eleven and it’s been a surprisingly quiet night. It looks like he might actually get out of here on time for once, instead of being held up by annoying, indecisive customers who leave the store a mess

Aaaand he spoke too soon, because someone just came barreling in through front doors, panting and wild-eyed like they’re being chased by the hounds of hell (or the cops)

(Why do the weird ones always come in on Steve’s shift?)

But then Steve does a double take, because he actually recognizes this guy. Long hair, patched vest, chains–

“Munson?”

It is indeed Eddie Munson, resident drug dealer and fucking nerd of Hawkins High. He’d been doubled over, hands on his knees while trying desperately to catch his breath, but Steve’s voice seems to shock him back into action; he scrambles for the front doors and turns the lock with fumbling fingers

Shit

Keep reading

MANIFESTING