weezardthewizard - Tumblr blog

weezardthewizard · 1 hour

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originals by Andy Virgil and “nineteenth century sources” pft… back on my painting bs… enjoy ..

#dr who

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weezardthewizard · 3 hours

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The day’s almost over, and every god-damned second of it has been irritating.

Jeff’s being dragged to a distant cousin’s wedding somewhere out of state, which is annoying. The fact that they’re down a vocalist means that the Friday slot they’ve been gunning for at the Hideout is now even further out of reach, which is also annoying. They’re out of Schlitz, which Eddie knows is his own fault because he drank the last can and then forgot to replace it, but is nevertheless even more annoying still, and-

He hears a noise outside, and finds himself instinctively looking out the window to investigate for reasons he can’t explain. The sight fills him with an unreasonable and entirely unproductive urge to smash something.

Most annoying of all, it’s 11:30 at night and the little neighbor brat across from them is sitting on her porch finishing off a sleeve of saltine crackers that he knows in his soul is what she’s decided qualifies as dinner.

Eddie gives a wordless snarl of directionless irritation under his breath, and stalks over to the refrigerator.

She’s already gone back inside when he arrives at their door. She answers after the third knock, and looks about as pleased to see him as he is to be there.

“Look,” Eddie says through gritted teeth, not bothering with the pleasantries that Wayne would probably expect of him but that he can barely bring himself to give a shit about on a GOOD day, and shoving the tupperware of lasagna at her. “I could not give less of a shit if you actually eat it or not. Just. Fucking. TAKE IT.”

“Why?” She demands with an exasperation that sounds like she’d genuinely love to be mad at him but doesn’t have anywhere near enough energy for it right now.

The answer should probably be ‘Because my uncle’s never seen a lost cause he didn’t immediately invest himself in and if he found out that I wasn’t keeping that up while he’s not around to do it, he’d kick my ass,’ but in all honesty it has nothing to do with Wayne anymore. Eddie’s over here pushing food on a fourteen year old who’s name he’s not convinced he ever learned at what might as well be midnight purely because her day to day routine pisses him off.

She’s not going to bother eating any real food on the days her mom isn’t around, with the occasional exception of leftovers- and he knows for a fact that half of those end up going to the Kelleys’ dog, anyway. Logically, he’s aware that he’s in no position to be criticizing either of those things, but that doesn’t make it any less annoying to watch.

There are some nights when he sees the light on in what (judging by the faint sounds of Kate Bush) he assumes is her bedroom when he finally goes to bed at three, and they’re still on, hours later, when he finally gets up. She’s almost as pasty white as he is, and the contrast between her skin and the constantly darkening circles under her eyes make her look like a fucking raccoon.

On a few of the mornings that he’s either woken up or failed to sleep before Wayne arrives home, he’s seen her from out the window, sitting outside at the asscrack of dawn with her arms around her knees and a look in her eyes like she’s seen more shit than any one person should, and now has no desire to see anything else, ever again.

All of these things annoy Eddie on their own, but the truly enraging thing about it all is that this is not his problem. This is in no way his problem! He has no legal, familial, or moral obligation to do anything about this random kid who he barely knows and (frankly speaking) doesn’t particularly like- but he knows it’s just going to bug him more if he doesn’t.

Back before he’d gone to live with Wayne, Eddie had found a stray cat haunting the alley behind the place his parents rented. For no reason that he could ever puzzle out, it had hated him with an intensity that seemed to encompass all of humanity.

The feeling had been mutual.

But unfortunately, the animal had also been mangy, perpetually shivering, thin enough for Eddie to count individual ribs from afar, and overlooked by everybody else. And so Eddie had found himself sneaking out every night to leave a bowl of scraps that he KNEW was going to convince this animal he didn’t like, and that loathed him, to stick around.

It made taking the trash out every week an unholy pain in the ass, and forced him to learn how to sleep through demonic feline yowling, but he’d nevertheless felt an undeniable sense of relief watching it slowly fill out. It had bothered him, for some reason, that it clearly wouldn’t happen otherwise.

Dad had thought that was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard. Eddie had completely agreed. Wayne, meanwhile, had heard the story and for some bizarre reason been proud of him.

The fact of the matter, Eddie thinks, watching this little redhead give him the same fucking look that goddamn cat had and feeling his annoyance slowly drain into matching exasperation- is that while he may not be a particularly hardworking, honest, or even generally decent person, in some ways he is still very much Wayne Munson’s nephew.

God help him.

“Because you look like on your own, all you’ll eat is cereal and oyster crackers,” Eddie tells her instead, pushing the tupperware into her hand and counting it as a victory when she reflexively grabs it. The kid’s eyes widen when she realizes what she’s done, but the thin, irritated line her mouth pinches into means she’s not going to fight him on it.

Point for Munson.

“You look like if hepatitis was a person,” she retorts, still holding the lasagna, and then slams the door.

Eddie genuinely hates that that makes him laugh.

#stranger things #fic

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weezardthewizard · 4 hours

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It's an easy task he is given. Humans break so easily and this one is no different. He's given enough time by his Master to watch, to stay in the shadows and wait for the perfect moment to strike.

It's almost too easy. This specific human is so tired, seeming to drag itself around its house. Only sustaining itself because other humans come and force it to do so. It is weak. Despite it's size and the warnings from the Hive, this one will be a kill he knows he will not enjoy. There's no sport to it.

The window isn't locked. There's no alarms or traps. He slides in with no trouble, no resistance.

And there it is. Laying in bed, asleep, not stirring at his quiet footsteps. It is curled up in a tight ball, arms wrapped around itself, making it look almost small. It is completely vulnerable. An easy kill.

But it feels wrong. The idea of killing this human, now that he's here...

His Master has no problems with killing his creations. He won't hesitate to kill Kas either. He has to kill this human, or he will be killed himself. His survival instincts burn strong and bright.

His hand is gentle when he reaches out to brush its hair back, pushing the stray strands away from its eyes. It doesn't wake, but it does shfit in its sleep. It seems to almost seek out the warmth from his hands, trying to turn its head to press against him.

He can't help but wonder why it is left on its own. Can't help but wonder how stupid the other humans must be to leave this one behind, to not see how important this one is. He wonders if they realize how vulnerable it is.

This time, when he reaches out, he touches its skin. A finger on its arm, feeling the heat of its skin and the steady thrum of its heartbeat.

It hums, eyes slowly blinking open.

He should leave. He needs to leave. He has to kill it. He cannot let it wake properly. It will kill him, try to at least, forcing him to finally go through with his Masters command.

"Eddie?" Its voice cracks, sounds so sad and desperate, confused. There's a shine of building liquid in its eyes. It doesn't try to hurt him, grabs his top, holds him there. "Is this- are you real? Are you really here?"

He blinks at it for a moment. "Yes."

It laughs, a sound that is such a horrible mix between relieved and distressed. It lifts himself up, throws his arms around... him? He hugs him tight, hands clutching at the back of his top.

"I'm not..." He tries, but he cannot find the words. He waits until he pulls back from the hug, so he can look him in the eyes. "I am not... right."

He scoffs at him, something about his grin tickling at something in his head. "Well, yeah, obviously. You were dead, dude."

"I was dead?"

But that's not right, is it? He doesn't remember being alive long enough to have died. Although, the more he thinks about it, the more his head aches. It feels like theres something on the edge of his thoughts.

"Yeah. Fuck, I don't even care how you're back. Dustins gonna be so happy to see you again."

"Dustin... Henderson?" He leans back, staring at the wall.

He sits up, finally looking concerned. Not as panicked as he should be though. "What do you remember?"

"Dustin was... crying?"

He isn't sure where the thought came from. He knows it to be real though. A kid, holding him as best he could, crying over Eddie. Over him.

His head hurts. Being near Steve is only making it worse.

"Woah, hey, where are you going?"

"I can't... be here. Not safe."

"You are, you're safe here, I'm not about to let you get hurt again."

"You are not safe." He gently pries Steves hand off his wrist.

"I can take care of myself."

Eddie snorts, rolling his eyes. "You can't even feed yourself. Just... give me some time to get my head right, ok? This is all... a lot. And I was about to kill you in your sleep."

"Ok," Steve winces, looks a little ashamed. "Good point. But where else can you go? I have plenty of space. Parents aren't coming back any time soon either. You'll be safe here."

"But what if I-"

"No, nope. Don't give me any bullshit excuses. If you have somewhere safe that you would rather go to, that's fine. If not, you're staying here."

"I have somewhere safe I can go."

"Really? Where?"

Shit. "Uh... Skull Rock?"

"Doesn't exist anymore. Looks like you're stuck here."

It's not the worst place to be stuck, he reasons. It's better than going back to his little hidey-hole in the Upside Down. Especially because Steve puts a jumper on and cooks him some food. He doesn't bother putting pants on, confidently walking around in his boxers.

... Not that Eddie is looking or anything.

The food tastes horrible. Wrong. But Eddie forces himself to eat all of it, hiding his grimaces. Even though it tastes foul, it leaves him feeling a lot better. Full, healthier. More grounded to reality.

His house has two spare rooms. They're so clinical, neat and put together. They're worse than Steves room, which looked more like a nightmare than a bedroom.

Eddie tells Steve as much.

"Thanks," Steve glares. "But unless you want to sleep on the sofa, you need to pick a room."

"I'm stealing yours. It's the only one that doesn't look like bleach."

"Hilarious."

Eddie immediately follows him as he heads back towards his room. "I'll sleep on the floor? Come on, those rooms are horrible. I've seen better bedrooms in school."

"You're not sleeping on the floor." Steve climbs into bed, shuffling to make room and patting the space next to him. "Come on. Stay on your side."

"Sure, sure."

Eddie doesn't sleep anymore. He doesn't tell Steve that. It's nice to curl up, warm and comfortable. It's nice to have someone else there. It's nice to have Steve there.

He wishes he could say he's surprised at how quickly and how easily Steve falls asleep. But it's as nice as it is worrying. Steve still feels comfortable and safe with him, even though Eddie tried to explain that Vecna had something to do with his return and his change.

Steve doesn't move a lot in his sleep. Only once. Turning over, onto his front. Onto Eddie. He shuffles for a second, one arm curling around his waist, before settling. He doesn't move again the whole night, only the occasional squeeze on his waist.

#stranger things #fic

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weezardthewizard · 6 hours

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And I'm sure knowing this about herself, that she would ultimately be deemed “defective” even as a drone, doesn't fuck her up at all :)

I've been thinking a lot about this lately. About the Borg Queen telling Seven in “Dark Frontier” that she won't be assimilated again because she is “much more useful” to the Collective as individual rather than as a drone, while at the same Seven is not able to “be” an individual as easily or as immediately as other former drones. Even beyond her struggles on Voyager, there always will be the comparison with the other members of her unimatrix from “Survival Instinct”, for whom the memories resurfacing from a time before the Collective were a source of comfort while Seven could only remember fear. How that fear and that inability to understand what was happening to her made Seven act like a drone anyway, forcing their reassimilation and ultimately the death of all involved. Her one act while momentarily disconnected before Voyager, while being confronted with individual thoughts for the first time, was to lash out and return everything to the status quo in the worst way possible—Seven knows by that point that, paradoxically, she can't be an individual on her own, and especially not without always pushing back against her first instinct.

From her reclamation Seven inhabits, and imho always will, this border in which returning to the Borg for her is impossible, from both a moral and physical standpoint (she won't allow it to happen and in addition to that she would be considered malfunctioning), and being a person will always be painful, hard work and likely constant maintenance to her own physical and mental well-being because that's what it takes to shore fenses up against the endless consequences of her traumatic years with the Collective.

#star trek

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weezardthewizard · 7 hours

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Tmagp episode 8, the best goth and ruthless grandma

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weezardthewizard · 9 hours

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weezardthewizard · 10 hours

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if people are drawing Gerry with natural hair because Sam and Celia didn’t mention how shitty the dye job was than I can respect that 1000% however if it’s because he’s “happy” now, get the fuck outta here with that shit lmao, people can be happy and dye their hair really poorly, despite what you’ve been told it’s not a sign of mental illness, in fact, my new theory is that Gerry dose still have dyed black hair it just wasn’t mentioned because this time it’s really well done because he has people to help him with it now.

#the magnus protocol #gerry keay

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weezardthewizard · 12 hours

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I don’t think TMAGP-Gerry has the eye tattoos, but in my heart he still has shitty dyed hair. That had nothing to do with the trauma he’s just bad at dying his hair

#the magnus protocol #gerry keay

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weezardthewizard · 15 hours

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DO NOT DE-GOTH GERRY!!!! JUSTICE FOR MY BOY!!!!

As a goth, I know from many years of experience and knowing others that you can be happy, healthy, creative, not-traumatized AND alternative (i.e. goth, punk, etc) I'm begging you guys not to take away his gothboy swag

#gerry keay #gerry delano #the magnus protocol

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weezardthewizard · 16 hours

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