#{ damned hymns: music }

[perilegs]

It's not an immediate change. When the party arrived in Baldur's gate, Nøkk became quieter. Bit by bit. You could hear him sing to himself or tell tales by the campfire less and less. If he didn't need it to cast spells, Nøkk's violin would have started to collect dust. The night before the journey to the Bhaal temple was dead silent.

#there was a tweet about what your tav/durges questline would be called if they were a companion and #i wanted it to do something with both bhaal and nøkks class as a bard and started thinking about canaries and #that one reddit post where someone was so sad bc they hadnt heard their roommate sing in a while #and idk i just love nøkk so much. he cares so much about how he presents himself but you cannot get that man to shut up #he's deathly afraid of the tadpole in his head but that won't stop him from humming to himself as he does whatever around the campsite #and i know he and wyll love telling stories back and forth. maybe they both know the same story and tell it together #and he's always on that damn violin #but the proximity to his father makes is a deer feeling coming straight from his core #humming to calm himself down while seeming nonchalant to others isnt an option #this is the kind of thing that paralyzes a man #as for most magic users. magic is nøkk's very essence. his soul. but as a bard. that magic is a melody. music. a hymn #bhaal smothers that. #under his influence. nøkk and his music. the essence of his soul. has been nothing but a tool for murder. #he's been reclaiming it bit by bit #but old habits die hard #auugh i love nøkk so much #oc: nøkk #oc: nøkk text #by makes is a deer i meant makes it a deeper #ill fix that when im on my computer and can edit tags

[aphroditelovesu]

Hey, i'm also from brazil and i love the way you write! Taking advantage of the fact that I saw you talking about yandere apollo pjo, could you do some headcanons about what he would be like due to the differences? like, in today's world. Would he look at your phone or something?

❝ ☀️ — lady l: it's a headcanon, in a way, but also an imagine, a combo of both! I ended up geting excited and focusing more on the platonic part and I hope everything it's! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes!

❝tw: obsessive and overprotective behavior and fluffy.

❝☀️pairing: yandere pjo!apollo x gender neutral!reader.

❝word count: 742.

Apollo is the god of poetry and will always be writing the most beautiful poems for you. All of his hymns will be dedicated to you and any pop influence he will use as inspiration to worship you. Apollo dedicates each verse to you, each word carefully thought out in the overwhelming love that the god feels, transforming pop influences into hymns of worship.

In the intervals between his divine exploits, Apollo is captured by the passion of modern melodies. Transforming pop influences into passionate songs, his lyres resonate in heavenly places, echoing the immortal feelings he has for his earthly muse.

Apollo as a divine father is smothering and protective. He doesn't give a damn about the rules that govern the gods, not when it comes to his favorite child. He will distribute gifts, presents and will help and support them in everything he can. Apollo will always make it clear that they are his greatest pride.

As you face challenges and monsters, Apollo protects you, interfering in divine destinies when necessary. The sun god becomes a constant presence, guiding and encouraging his favorite child to embrace its heroic nature. Apollo, the divine father, defies heavenly rules in the name of love for his child, doling out divine gifts and guiding them along the path to greatness.

One day, while you were facing a particularly difficult challenge, Apollo decided to intervene in a more direct way. He descended from Olympus, enveloped in golden light, and appeared at your side. His presence was warm and comforting, like the rays of the sun emanating from his divine form.

"My dear child," Apollo said with a beaming smile. "The time has come for me to join you on this journey. Together, we will face the challenges that present themselves, and I will guide you with my divine light."

Apollo watched with beaming pride as his child flourished under divine tutelage. He guided the mortal steps with the light of knowledge, shaping the favorite's destiny as a sculptor carves a masterpiece. Each of his child's deeds was a glorious echo of the pride Apollo felt, reflected in the rays of sunlight that illuminated his celestial face.

Apolo is very connected to modern technology, oddly enough. He would have a cell phone, the best and most expensive, and it would be full of photos of you. His music playlist would have all genres, an eclectic god, after all, he is also the god of music and appreciates all types, honoring his essence as the god of music.

He wouldn't touch your cell phone unless you allowed it or if he had some kind of suspicion. In this case, you can be sure that the god will search your cell phone in search of something. And he will definitely take selfies of himself to leave for you.

During moments of rest, Apollo shared divine stories and ancestral teachings with you. His words were like ethereal songs, dancing in the air and penetrating your heart. Each narrative was filled with wisdom and profound lessons, like the notes of an eternal melody.

On a starry night, after an especially epic victory over a colossal beast, Apollo gathered the gods and goddesses for a divine celebration on Olympus. Heavenly music filled the halls as everyone rejoiced in their achievements and the union between the divine and the mortal.

At the height of the party, Apollo raised his golden lyre and began to sing a song that transcended the limits of Olympus. His melodious voice resonated, telling the saga of his favorite child, full of courage, triumph and divine love. The song inspired tears of joy in the eyes of the gods and goddesses, witnessing the success of his protégé.

At the end of the performance, Apollo looked at you with pride in his eyes. "My child, you are a masterpiece that surpasses any divine song. Your heart is a melody that enchants the gods and transforms Olympus into a more radiant place. May your journey continue to shine like the stars that adorn the night sky."

Since that day, the bond between you and Apollo has only grown stronger. The god's blessings continued to guide you, while the teachings shared under the stars became a beacon of wisdom on his journey. And so, under the protection and love of Apollo, the heroic epic unfolded, marking destiny with the eternal light of the god of music and poetry.

#pjo #percy jackson #the trials of apollo #apollo x reader #pjo!apollo #yandere pjo #yandere percy jackson #yandere apollo #yandere apollo x reader #yandere greek mythology #greek mythology #greek gods x reader #yandere greek gods #yandere headcanons #headcanons #imagine #yandere au #platonic yandere

[unfinishedslurs]

prophetic nightmares of the dead (steddie)

Eddie’s been dreaming of dying. 

It started his first round of senior year, some kind of prophetic fuck-up from his brain. No one knows except Wayne. Wayne gets it, kinda, from his time in ‘Nam. Knows how vivid nightmares can get, knows all the tricks to waking up and remembering you’re alive. 

“It’s that damn music,” he mutters to make Eddie laugh through tears, after Eddie’s woken him up again with his shrieking and stumbling out of his room. “Or that game. Your imagination is vivid enough without you feeding it, boy.”

“You’re right,” Eddie responds unsteadily. “No more of that devil shit for me. I’m going on the straight and narrow. From now on it’ll be…fucking church hymns and songs about the Lord.”

Wayne hums in absent agreement, still rubbing Eddie’s back. The glass of cold water sits heavy in his hands. He takes a drink. 

It was practically routine. 

He got better at waking up silently, at not running to his uncle after the fourth, seventh, twentieth nightmare in a row. Avoided sleeping at all, showed up to school with bags under his eyes and cranky as all hell. His grades dropped lower than ever, Wayne got more and more concerned, and Eddie kept dying every night. 

The Queen of Hawkins High wasn’t the person he was expecting to understand his predicament. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“Um, you know, just... on a daily basis.” He smiles, tries to make her laugh. Every day until I get out of this damned town. 

Slowly, he wheedles it out of her. 

“I keep having these dreams,” she admits. “Nightmares. Every night, for years. It’s always…it’s always the same.”

A chill goes down his spine. 

“I’m sorry, I sound crazy.”

“No, no, no,” he scrambles to reassure her. “Keep going, it’s okay. Safe space, right? It’s just me, you, and the trees here.”

She nods, unsteady. “There’s…a monster. And he…he’s after me. And when he catches me, I always…the dream always ends with me…” She raises a trembling hand to her eyes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Almost like she’s checking if they’re still there. 

His blood runs cold. 

“Dying,” he whispers. Chrissy lets out a sob. “Every night, since ‘83, you’ve dreamed of dying.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s me, too, Chrissy.” He jumps up, pacing in circles. “I…every single night, since that Byers kid went missing. It’s not the same as yours but this is…this is fucking crazy, what are the odds—oof!”

Chrissy has barreled into his chest, clinging to him with her arms around his neck. He can feel the collar of his t-shirt getting damp. 

“Uh,” he stammers as she sniffles into his shirt. His hands hover around her, not sure what to do until he settles them around her back. “There, there?” He tries to soothe. It’s not very soothing, with the way his voice shakes. “It’s okay.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” she gasps. “It’s following me. I keep seeing things when I’m awake, my mother and a clock and a monster—“

“Shit,” he says, a sinking feeling in his chest. He’s not exactly superstitious, but he has a feeling there’s more to this than dreams. “Hey, listen, Chrissy, you’re gonna be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She just shakes her head, burrows in closer like she can worm into his skin if she tries hard enough. He’s never been hugged like this in his life, and he has no idea what to do with the scared teenager in his arms. 

“Here, hold on,” he says, and carefully removes her arms from his neck. She wipes her eyes, looking away. 

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he says. “Promise. I just wanted to give you this.” 

Fumbling, he drapes his leather jacket over her shoulders. Her cheerleading jacket can’t be very warm, especially combined with the skirt she’s wearing. 

She pulls it tight around herself, even though it probably sticks like weed and cigarettes and Eddie’s BO. He’s a little too preoccupied to be embarrassed about that right now, though. 

The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Chrissy startles like a scared rabbit, dread coloring her whole face, and Eddie makes a decision. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Looks like Hellfire’s getting postponed after all. 

They make a stop at Family Video, partially to rent a movie or two, but mainly because Henderson never shuts up about Steve fucking Harrington so now Eddie knows exactly where he works. Why the little rich boy is working a dead end job with Keith as his manager is a mystery, but it’s not one he’s interested in uncovering. Hopefully he’s on shift today. 

All of Eddie’s shit luck must have worked to make the stars align, because there he is at the counter, in all his ex-kingly glory. He doesn’t look up as the bell rings, apparently focused on whatever he has in hand. 

“Welcome to Family Video,” he calls, chewing on a pen. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Is that Blue Jeans?” Eddie asks, walking up to the counter as Chrissy goes to look through the shelves. Harrington jumps, slamming the magazine shut. 

“Hi, what can I get you—Munson?”

“Harrington,” he grins, reveling in the frown he gets in response. Harrington meets his eyes for one startled second before his gaze travels down to his Hellfire shirt, over his vest and bare forearms, and taking in the belt and ripped jeans. Eddie smiles wider. He oh so loves intimidating the jocks and moral majority of this town. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Harrington finally asks, eyes jumping back up to meet his gaze. 

“That’s actually why I’m here, I need you to pass on a message for me. We’re skipping, and—“

“We?”

“Hey Eddie,” Chrissy says, appearing behind him. She lays three movies on the counter. “I picked some out, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” he says as Harrington’s eyebrows jut up. Chrissy is still wearing his jacket, and he realizes exactly what this looks like. Shit, is Harrington friends with Carver? They probably have some jock bro code that’s totally going to end in Eddie getting beat up, shit—

“Hey Chrissy,” Harrington says agreeably. “Finally dump Carver?”

She blinks, startled at the insinuation. Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no—“

“It’s not like that,” Eddie breaks in, laughing to cover up the panic he feels. Trying to walk the delicate line between not a queer and not stealing a jock’s girlfriend. “Chrissy here just needs some company.”

Harrington nods, clearly not believing them. 

“Seriously,” he presses. “I mean, can you really see a girl like her with a guy like me?”

Chrissy frowns, but Harrington looks him up and down again. 

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But it’s really none of my business, I don’t get paid to care who dates who.”

Eddie blinks. It almost sounds like Harrington was calling him hot or something.

Before he can figure out what Harrington actually meant, he starts scanning the tapes. He pauses on the last one, brow furrowing, before he looks between Eddie and Chrissy with understanding in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t know why the sudden change of heart. 

“Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Shit. 

He has to clear his throat. “You have that here?” 

They don’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not exactly small town video store material. Eddie had to go to Indianapolis to find it again, he knows damn well it’s not at Family Video in fucking Hawkins. 

But the cover stares up at him anyway. 

“I found it on one of the shelves,” Chrissy says. “It looked like it doesn’t get checked out a whole lot. Is it any good?”

Eddie braces himself for the slurs. For the bored retail worker to disappear and the Bible thumping, red blooded American to come out. It’s not Chrissy’s fault, she didn’t know any better, but if Harrington knows this movie and now he knows that Eddie knows this movie, there’s some bruises in his near future. 

“It’s pretty good,” Harrington says easily. Eddie blinks his eyes open to see him smiling warmly at Chrissy, handing her the tapes. “For a, ah, certain type of people.

Well color him surprised. This is an interesting turn of events. 

“I own it,” Eddie blurts out without meaning to. Harrington’s eyes snap to him, widening at the confession. “It’s, uh, hard to find, I had to go out of town for it. That’s why I was surprised.” 

 “Oh, I guess we don’t need to rent it, then,” Chrissy says, completely unaware of the staring contest that’s happening between him and Harrington. 

Harrington looks away first. “Right,” he coughs, and goes to cancel it. Chrissy pulls cash out of her pocket. 

“Oh, Chrissy, you don’t need to—“

“Don’t be dumb,” she says. “I picked the movies, I’m paying for them.”

He shrugs, unable to fight the logic in that. He’s not exactly in the mood to spend money right now, anyways, since he’s definitely giving her a discount on the drugs after this.

“What was it you needed me to do?” Harrington asks as he prints the receipt. 

“What?”

“You said you had a message.”

“Right,” Eddie says. He completely forgot about that. “You’re going to the game tonight, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“Sinclair said you go to all his games.”

“He talks about me?”

“Dude, those kids never shut the fuck up about you,” Eddie says. “Makes me want to pull my hair out.”

“It’s mutual,” Harrington snorts, looking a bit touched. “Henderson already phoned me to ask to join the campaign, man, I’m not filling in—“

“He asked you?”

“Yeah? Wait, if this isn’t about that, then what is it?”

“Tell Henderson he got his wish,” Eddie says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m postponing the campaign.”

“Wait, really? Lucas is going to lose his mind, he was gonna be so bummed if he missed your nerd game—wait, why are you telling me?”

“‘Cause we’re ditching, Harrington, catch up.” Sinclair was excited for the end of his campaign? It makes him feel a little bit guilty, somewhere deep in his nonexistent soul. Oh, well. He’s postponing now. 

“I’m going to wait in the car,” Chrissy says, and takes the tapes and Eddie’s keys with her. 

“I see what this is,” Harrington says, leaning closer to Eddie and pillowing his chin on his hand. “You got them all riled up, and now you want them to shoot the messenger.”

“You caught me.” He grabs his chest, pretending to be shot. Then he leans forward with a grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Maybe I won’t tell them, make them wait for the entire time for you to show up. Henderson’ll do it, you know. Then who’ll be in trouble?”

Eddie laughs without meaning to. He doesn’t believe for a second that Harrington will do it, which surprises him. But it seems like Harrington is full of surprises this afternoon. 

“So she really hasn’t broken up with him yet?”

“Huh?”

Harrington nods behind him, to where Chrissy is in the van. It seems like she’s playing music, nodding along with a small smile. 

“I told you, man, we’re not—“

“That’s not what I meant, it’s just…” he grimaces. “She’s way too good for him. And she’s never seemed…you know. Happy.”

“Really? I’d have thought you and Carver would get along, you know, jock bonding or something.”

“The only jock I’m friends with these days is Sinclair, and he’s as much of a nerd as the rest of ‘em. Anyways, even if I was still on the team, it’s like…I dunno. He sounds like a preacher.”

“The devil knows scripture, too?”

“Something like that.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. How’d you two end up hanging out anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Eddie says lightly. “Shared visions, strange dreams, things like that.”

He waits for Harrington to laugh it off, to roll his eyes and go back to his girly magazine. It doesn’t happen. If anything, Harrington grows sharp, gets a cutting edge Eddie’s never seen on him before. Not even for the time he spent as king, looking for peasants to push around. 

“Visions? Did you see any weird dust, or animals? People acting weird? Or anything else like that?”

“What?” Eddie blinks, startled. “No? They’re just nightmares, dude.”

Actually, his dreams do involve weird looking animals. A bunch of ugly bats, with teeth that hurt. Whoever said you can’t feel pain in dreams was a fucking liar. 

They’re not just nightmares, Eddie knows. At least, not for Chrissy. Not if she’s outright hallucinating. There’s something wrong with both of them, and Eddie’s of half a mind to just drive them both down to Pennhurst and get it over with. But that’s their business, and he’ll be damned if he tells King Steve Chrissy’s secrets. Even if he doesn’t seem that bad, now, out of the fluorescent lights of their school. 

“Right, right, of course.” He laughs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m just…on edge, I guess. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Right,” he says again. “Well, have a good day, I guess. Tell Chrissy her tapes are due back in five days. And, uh, thank you for choosing Family Video.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Eddie says, feeling equally unsteady after the weird turn their conversation has taken. He heads for the door, only pausing when Harrington calls out. 

“Oh, and, uh, Eddie?”

“What?” He pauses, one hand on the door. 

“If anything…weird happens, let me know, all right?”

He has no idea what that means. “Don’t worry, Harrington,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I live weird.”

When he gets back in the van, Chrissy studies him closely. 

“What?”

“What did you and Steve have to talk about? I didn't know you were friends.”

“We’re not,” he snorts. “Me, friends with the King? Can you imagine? Nah, we share custody of some of the freshmen in Hellfire.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I feel like…” she trails off, biting her lip raw. 

“Like what?” He encourages. 

“You called me a queen. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”

“Uh…” Eddie says, stumbling a bit. He does want to be friends with Chrissy. Even without the fact that they’re probably going to end up at the same cell in the nuthouse, she’s sweet and quiet in a way that makes him want to ask if anyone’s ever told her she can be loud. Her eyes are big and sad, but he can see a smile glancing along the edges of her mouth when he looks at her. She’s clever, he’ll give her that. He’s been caught hook, line, and sinker. “No, I’d— I’d like that. To be friends with you.”

Her smile feels brighter than the sun. 

“Then what’s so weird about being friends with Steve?” She asks, glancing towards the Family Video window. Harrington looks like he’s back to reading his magazine, but glances up like he can feel them watching him. Eddie looks away and starts the van. 

“Well, for one thing, you’re not one of the assholes who called me names and pushed me and my friends around.”

Harrington’s not either, really. Too busy standing around and being self obsessed to bother. His friends did all the pushing around for him. Wouldn’t do to get his hands dirtied with the freak. The familiar bitterness rises in his chest, and he tries to push it down. Looks at Chrissy out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out of his parking spot. 

Her smile has faded, and he could kick himself. “Jason is, though,” she says quietly. 

“How long have you guys been dating, anyway?” He asks, eager to change the subject. He pulls out of the lot, all too ready to leave the video store and the man who resides in it behind. 

“Three years.”

Eddie chokes, not expecting that answer in the least. “Three years?”

“We got together when we were fifteen,” she says, a grimace pulling at her mouth when he glances at her. Shit, maybe Harrington was right and there is trouble in paradise. 

“How do you stand him?”

“He loves me,” she says. It’s not an answer. 

“Yeah, but Chrissy, he’s like, a major dick.”

“He loves me,” she repeats. “He wants to go to college together. He wants to live in Hawkins, and have a pretty white wedding, and a job that pays and a wife that’s pretty and sweet and doesn’t have nightmares about dying every night. A wife that’s not crazy. And she’ll have his kids, all two and a half of them, and she’ll always smile and stay at home and never do anything with her life because she gave up all her dreams for him—“ 

He pulls onto the side of the road. “Jesus,” he breathes, twisting in his seat. “Chrissy. That’s not love.”

“He’s safe.” She looks at him imploringly, eyes wet. “I just have to make it until summer. He can have his pretty little girlfriend, his pretty little life. He can have whatever he wants. I just have to make it to summer.”

He swallows back bile. “What’s summer?”

She looks down. “I got an early admission. University of Chicago. I have scholarships. I’ll pack everything, and run away there, and I’ll never have to see him or my mom or anyone else in this fucking place ever again.”

“I used to hate Steve,” she whispers. “Even if he was nice to me, I used to…just wish he didn’t exist.”

“Shit, Chris, so did I. He was an asshole.”

She shakes her head. “No, because it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t because of that. I was just…jealous.”

“Of Harrington? I think everyone’s been jealous of him at some point.”

Her face screws up. “You don’t get it,” she says. “I didn’t want his house, or his money, or his car, I just wanted…”

“Him?”

“No!” She pulls her hair in front of face, looking at him desperately. “I wanted to be him, because he was…”

He really doesn’t know where this is going. “Because he was…?”

“Nancy,” she breathes with a sigh. “He had Nancy Wheeler, and she was pretty, and smart, and I…I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Oh. Holy shit, Chrissy Cunningham is coming out to him on his ratty couch. He’s safe, she’d said about Jason, and he’d thought she was talking about all the other ways he was convenient, but… there’s safety in a shield. Easier to hide behind a boyfriend then have people asking questions you can’t answer. He’ll eat his shoes if Jason knows, but at least he’s good for something. 

She’s turning pale. “I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I don’t know why I thought—“

“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, grasping her hand as she tries to flee. “Chrissy, I—Chrissy, wait. Me too, okay?” 

She freezes. “You too?”

“Yeah, Chris, me too.”

“Like you had a crush on Nancy too?”

The look he gives her speaks volumes. 

“Oh.” She settles back down on the couch, her too-thin wrist trembling in his grip. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, just to make sure. 

“Okay,” she says. 

“Good.” He sighs, lets go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “So, Wheeler, huh?”

A flush blooms across her face. 

Steve breaks the surface again, looking panicked, before being dragged back under. 

Immediately it’s chaos. 

“Steve?” Nancy calls, looking over the side of the boat frantically. “Steve?”

Robin jumps in. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie says, as something determined flashes over Nancy’s face. “Let’s think about this—“

She takes a deep breath and dives in after her. 

“Shit!” He looks at Chrissy, eyes wide with dread. “We’re not going in there, are we?”

Sounds echo from the shore. Shit, the police. 

They’ll probably die if they go down there. But if the cops find them, they’ll take Chrissy’s Walkman, and then she’ll definitely die. 

He sees the same resolve settle over her face. 

“This is crazy,” he mutters. “This is crazy! Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

 She takes his hand. “On three?”

He lets out a hysterical laugh, gripping her hand tightly. 

Chrissy counts to three. 

They jump. 

He spits blood. It dribbles down his chin, and Eddie follows it down, down, watches a few drops land on that glorious chest and thanks every god there is that he’s too scared for the frankly impressive boner that wants to form. 

Chrissy elbows him. 

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re drooling,” she whispers. 

“Can you blame me?” He hisses back. “Look at him! That was some fucking Ozzy shit right there!”

She gives him a look. 

He toes one of the dead bats by his foot. Ugly little fucker, with sharp teeth. It’s almost familiar. 

He doesn’t get too far with that train of thought. 

“Sense of humor still intact, that’s good.” She chuckles nervously. Then she shakes him. 

“Ow, Rob!”

“You have to stop doing shit like this! ‘Hur, dur, I’m Steve, I’m going to go into the highly dangerous portal and get eaten by bats because I’m stupid—“

“I don’t sound like that!” He bats her hands away from his torso. “Also, you seem to be forgetting the part where I was dragged against my will.”

“You can’t take any more concussions, Steve!”

“No concussion,” he says, and takes her hands in his. She pauses to breathe. They look like they’re in their own little world, and something bitter twinges in Eddie’s chest. “No rabies, no concussion, I’m okay.”

“You’re definitely not,” Nancy says as she moves in to wrap his injuries. He grunts in pain. 

“I’m fine,” he insists, and Eddie snorts. He gets a scathing look in return. 

“We are not fine,” Eddie says. “We’re in some sort of hell dimension, shit, I…” he turns in a circle, finally taking in the world they’re in. Everything is grey and barren. Red lightning cracks across the sky. 

It looks exactly like his dream. 

He lets out a nervous laugh. “What the fuck,” he says. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—“

“Eddie?” Chrissy grabs his hand, and he turns to her with wide eyes. 

“Chrissy, it’s just like my dream. This world, those weird fucking creatures, it’s exactly like…”

She turns pale. 

“Dream?” Nancy asks, sharp. “What dream?”

“It’s crazy,” Eddie says weakly. He’s starting to believe it less and less. 

“It’s both of us.” Chrissy straightens, raising her chin. “It’s always the same thing. For me, it’s a monster. He takes my eyes, snaps my limbs.” Mercifully, none of them point out the similarities with the recent killings, although all three of them straighten. “For Eddie, it’s…”

“Bats,” he says. “Ugly fucking bats, with sharp teeth. Everything is grey and desolate, and there’s this kid—“

The other three exchange what can only be described as a look. 

“I’m crazy,” Eddie pleads, trembling. Please, for the love of God, please tell me I’m crazy. Stick me in the loony bin, tie me up and leave me on the front steps of Pennhurst. Please. 

“You’re not crazy,” Nancy confirms. It feels like a death sentence. 

“So, what’s the story there?” Eddie asks, tripping over a rock. “How’d you figure out the whole ‘Prophetic Nightmares mean death’ thing, anyway?”

Steve furrows his brow. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I’m not.” Eddie lets out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m not at all. But I think some part of me had always known, you know? Like, it was too real to be just my imagination.”

Steve nods. “As far as we can tell, it’s only people who die from the Upside-Down,” he tells Eddie. “Has to be directly from it, no second-hand murder or anything.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “And it can change, you know? You might be having nightmares one night, and then you do something significant enough to change your…fate or whatever, and they’re gone. Or maybe something happens, and you start having them. It’s not always set in stone, you know?”

“Well, good,” Eddie breathes. There’s a chance they get out of this. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know all this? Like, do people just come up to you and tell you their nightmares? Do you go around asking everyone in Hawkins what they dream about?”

“As far as we can tell, it started with Barb.”

“Barb?”

“Yeah, uh, Barbara Holland?”

“The one who died from the chemical leak?”

There’s a heavy silence, where Steve looks at Nancy. There’s regret in his eyes. 

“She had a nightmare, the night Will disappeared. Told Nancy a monster took her, something with no face and lots of teeth. Nancy told her to lay off the horror movies.”

Something sinks in his stomach. 

“That night, they came over to my house, you know? We were messing around, being stupid, and Barb cut herself. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, we told her to go home and went inside. The next day, she was missing.”

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “The chemical leak?”

“Bullshit,” Steve confirms. 

“Shit.”

Steve blinks, eyes jumping back up to his. “What?” He asks, sounding breathless. Poor guy. Those bites must hurt like hell. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, even though his mood sours a bit at the idea of Steve not listening to him. “I was just saying, you and Wheeler looked pretty cozy. I think you’ve got a chance.”

Steve stares at him. “…what?”

“Christ, Harrington, your ex-girlfriend! Nancy Wheeler, who leapt after you without a second thought and was giving you eyes the whole time she was patching you up. I’m telling you to win her back.” Sorry, Chrissy. She'd told him she was over that particular crush, though, so he figures it's fair game.

“Nancy? You want me to date Nancy again?” He asks, as if the idea is so far out of the realm of possibility that it’s baffling. 

“Do you not?”

“Not really.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, because if there’s anything he’s learning about himself these days it’s that he’s a bit of a masochist. “Isn’t she the perfect girl for you?”

She is. They fit so well, Eddie could see it from space. Nancy Wheeler, with her determination and fearlessness, guns in her room and fire in her heart. Steve Harrington, the hero, the protector, standing at her side where he belongs. It’s so storybook it practically writes itself. 

But Steve’s shaking his head. “We weren’t…good together,” he says haltingly, as if he’s debating on whether to even tell Eddie this. “I wanted to ignore it all. I was scared of what I’d seen, scared of the government guys whose NDA’s I signed, just…scared. I wanted to pretend like it never happened, like  everything was normal. Nancy couldn’t do that. She lost Barb, and I…told her to forget. I told her to just put out the story the Feds were selling, because I was a coward. Barb’s parents sold their house to hire an investigator for a girl we knew was dead, and god, Nancy’s face…”

Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to hear this. He looks back up at the girls walking ahead. Nancy looks as fiercely determined as usual, but for the first time, he wonders what’s behind it. 

“I hurt her, and she hurt me,” Steve continues. “I…shit, I really thought she loved me, you know? I thought we would get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. Realizing it was all…well, bullshit, that was almost worse than any concussion I’ve had, but I don't blame her. I wasn’t what she needed.”

“And now? I mean, you’re clearly a different guy than you were back then,” Eddie says, because he’s kind of nosy at heart. Steve’s being all introspective and shit, just giving up all this information for free, and he wants to know more. It’s not at all because something in him turns smug when faced with the fact that the world’s most fated couple aren’t fated at all. Are actually kind of terrible together, if Steve’s to be believed. 

“It’d just be the same thing all over again. I’ll always love her, but we want different things. Different priorities and stuff. I wouldn’t be able to keep up, and she’s not going to slow down for me.”

It doesn’t mean he has a chance. Eddie’s got, like, negative chances with Steve Harrington. Still, the little peacock in him preens. 

“What does she need, then?” 

Steve’s face is almost wistful. “She needs someone like Jonathan. He’s got…drive, or whatever. He’s someone you know you can trust to do what needs to be done. The two of them made sure the stuff about the chemical leak was published, you know that? Nancy needed closure, and Jonathan made it happen. He’s cool like that. And he’s good to have in a fight, too. Throws a mean punch.” He smiles wryly at that, touching his temple like he’s lost in a memory. “He’s passionate, and caring, and he’s so stressed all the time, but he still manages to be, like, soothing. And he’s got those eyes, you know? They’re big and sad and like, wet all the time. He always looks like he’s about to cry, but it works for him. He’s just…he’s good at making people feel safe.”

Eddie barely processes the words, too busy staring at Steve in confusion, jealousy churning in his gut. Which is to be expected, given that he’s been pushing said jealousy down for this entire conversation, but he doesn’t know how they went from Steve’s relationship with Nancy to how pretty Jonathan Byers’s eyes are. 

He’s good at making people feel safe. God, he had it all wrong. In the wake of finding out they’d lived through three world-ending apocalypses, that might be the greatest confession of love he’s ever heard. And it’s from King Steve, about a boy that humbled him so bad he drop-kicked his crown straight across the country. 

Steve catches him staring and shuts his mouth with a click. Everything has a washed, gray tinge to it, but he swears his cheeks flush.

“I’m rambling,” he laughs, looking slightly panicked. “I was just trying to say that Nancy and I don’t fit together. Not like that. I don’t really know if we ever did.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I’m starting to see why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

“Nothing,” he squeaks. Well, in for a penny, out for a pond, right? He’s already in hell, might as well try and sus Harrington out while he’s at it. “Just…Byers? Really?”

“I don’t—“

“Didn’t he kick your ass?”

“Not you too!” Steve groans. “I already got the third degree from Robin. I was asking for that beatdown. Shit, some of the stuff I said was so nasty it makes me want to take a shower when I think of it.”

His eyebrows fly up at how easily he’d given up denial. “Gotta say, I didn’t think he’d be King Steve’s type.”

“He—I—he’s not—“ he stammers. Never mind, then. Denial still firmly in place. 

At least until Steve lets out a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m trying to deny it. I can see that hanky in your pocket.”

Eddie’s eyes widen innocently. “Oh, this?” He asks, tugging it a bit for emphasis. It stays firmly in place, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pin it. He learned after the first three he lost to miscellaneous chaos. 

“Don’t play dumb, that’s my job,” Steve complains. “Shit, I can’t believe I said all that. That’s fucking embarrassing.”

“I mean, I just tried to get you to win back your ex-girlfriend when you’re in love with her boyfriend,” Eddie says mildly. “I feel like we’re both embarrassed here.”

Steve’s flush would be visible from outer space. “I’m not in love with him.” 

“Who are you trying to convince here?”

“I’m not!” He protests. “Like, yeah, I used to be, but I’ve moved on. Firmly moved on. I love him in the same way I love Nancy, you know? Like, she’s the first person I ever loved, and he made me realize that I like both. They’re always going to be part of me. But I’m not in love with him anymore.”

Eddie’s heart takes off without his permission. 

“Don’t tell Lucas,” she pleads. 

“I won’t,” Steve promises. 

Max hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me if—“

“I’ve been having Nightmares.”

Eddie sucks in a breath. 

“What?” Steve sounds…shit, there’s not a way to describe how broken Steve’s voice is with just those four words. 

“Ever since Billy died,” Max says. “I can’t…it’s Vecna. I know it is. He gets me.”

“Max, why wouldn’t you tell us? We could have—“

“I thought it would be easier,” she tells him, voice cracking. “If I just pulled away, I thought maybe it would hurt less when I finally go. And I think—I think I wanted to—“

She cuts off with a sob, and Eddie’s heart fucking shatters. 

“Max,” Steve says helplessly. 

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here, and I’m sorry for thinking I wanted to die but Steve I don’t, I don’t, I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to, Steve, I don’t know what to do—“

Steve pulls her into his chest. She curls her fingers into his shirt, and he meets Eddie’s eyes over her head. Eddie sees tears streaking down his face before he ducks his head back down. 

“I’m here, Max,” Steve promises. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ll do everything I can to fix this. You just keep that Walkman on.”

She nods into his shoulder, still crying. It’s violent, her sobs shaking her entire body. She looks smaller every time Eddie sees her, like she’s retreating into herself, and now she looks tiny. Looks all her fifteen years, clinging to the only adult in the vicinity she trusts like he’s her lifeline. And Eddie sees the resolve settle on Steve’s face, knows without a doubt that he’s going to do something stupid. 

“Yes, we do,” Max says quietly. Even from here, Eddie can see her trembling. 

“No,” Steve says. “No, no, no, no, no.”

She’s got a whole plan though. Outlines it with steel in her voice, confident enough that everyone nods along. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d believe in it too. 

Steve looks damn near apocalyptic. “Max,” he says through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you in the other room?”

Lucas stands up with her, but Steve stops him with a look. Still, he doesn’t sit back down until Max puts a hand on his arm. 

“It’s just Steve,” she tells him quietly. “We just need a minute.”

No one says anything as they close the door to Max’s room behind them. A deafening click of the latch in the silence. 

As soon as the door is closed, Dustin and Erica have their ears pressed to the wood. Chrissy isn’t far behind. 

“Guys,” Nancy hisses, even as she creeps closer, “really?”

“This should be a private conversation,” Robin whispers, wringing her hands as Lucas tiptoes across the room to join them. “Like, you know how Steve gets about you munchkins, obviously he wouldn’t take this well. Honestly, I’m not taking this well, and I’m not your guy's babysitter-slash-big brother-slash-dad. But it’s the best plan we’ve got, unless we want to just let Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One to give up and find his fourth victim somewhere else and we wouldn’t know who it was and then he really will open the gates and kill everyone we know—“

She’s shushed by four different people. 

Eddie gives in, crossing the room as silently as he can to join their little eavesdropping party. Robin follows him. 

“—said you weren’t ready,” Steve is snapping, voice barely muffled through the door. Thank God for shitty trailer soundproofing. “I told you all you had to do was keep the goddamn Walkman on, and that’s what you’re going to do! We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way, Steve!” There’s a light thump that Eddie thinks might be the stomping of a foot. “It’s our only shot at winning this. It has to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What are we gonna do? Wait for him to target someone else? Wait for them to die, because I was too selfish? Because I’m a fucking coward?”

“Yes!” Steve hisses, clear as day. Their little group of eavesdroppers look at each other with wide eyes. “Fuck, Max, if that’s what it fucking takes to keep you alive. He’ll find another target—“

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not letting you die on my watch, Mayfield. I’m not letting you die, period.”

Max sounds close to pulling her hair out. “You’re not letting me do jack shit. I know the risks. I’m willing to do what it takes.”

Eddie’s heart twists. Jesus, she’s a fucking kid. He’s with Steve, on this one. 

“Well I’m not,” Steve replies harshly. “And if those guys out there knew, they wouldn’t be so gung-ho about it either. You know damn well if you told them you were having Nightmares—“

Dustin loses his balance, and falls on the floor with a thud that seems to echo in the sudden silence that follows. Everyone freezes. 

When Steve opens the door, he’s glowering. Eddie can’t help but notice the tears in his eyes. 

“Seriously?” He demands. 

“You’re having Nightmares?” Lucas asks Max, heartbroken. 

Max’s face is thundering. “That was a private conversation.”

“If you wanted privacy, maybe you should have better soundproofing,” Dustin snarks. “We could have heard you from the living room.”

“Sorry for assuming we didn’t have to ask after closing the goddamn door,” Steve growls. 

Max pushes past them all, heading straight for the back door. 

“Max, wait—“

“Max!”

“Hold on—“

Steve starts after her, stopping them all in their tracks with a glare when they try to follow. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a derisive huff before slamming the door shut behind him. 

They stand there, crowded in the tiny hallway, frozen. 

“I think we may have fudged that one up,” Robin says quietly. No one disagrees with her. 

By the time they come back inside, everyone else is scavenging for apology food. Max is wiping her eyes, and Steve’s hands shake like he needs a cigarette. 

“I’m the bait,” Steve announces. No preamble, no room for debate, just laying it down and expecting everyone to go along with it. 

Obviously, he was hoping for too much given the kids they hang out with. 

“Will that even work?” Erica scrunches her nose. 

“Yes.”

“Wanna elaborate on that?” Robin asks quietly, moving into his space. He gives her a look, but lets her close the distance between them until she’s taking his arm and dragging him to the couch. He sits obediently, and Max immediately moves to the side Robin’s not on, leaving a bit of distance between them like she wants to be close but is scared to touch. 

“Nope.”

“How do we even know if it’ll work?” Dustin asks. “You can’t just decide Vecna will go for you instead, that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Nancy says apologetically. She backtracks at Steve’s deadly look. “Obviously, we won’t use Max anymore if she’s having Nightmares, but we have no way of knowing if Henry will come for you.”

“I could do it,” Chrissy offers quietly. Bile floods Eddie’s mouth, and he swallows it back with his protests. “He might still come for me, since I was cursed.”

“You’re not cursed anymore,” Steve reminds her. “You don’t even need the Walkman. Plus, he wants someone El knows. We don’t know that he’d come for you.”

“We don’t know that he’d come for you, either,” Lucas says. 

“He will.”

“He will,” Max affirms quietly. When Eddie looks at her, she’s staring at her own hands. 

“How do you know?” Erica asks. 

“Because I had my first vision while we were outside,” Steve says. 

That shuts them up. 

They’re distracted by Robin standing up abruptly enough to knock over her chair, yelling something incomprehensible at Steve about his “stupid box,” and where he can shove it, whatever that means, and storming off. Steve stays sitting exactly where he is, head down, looking defeated. 

Eddie and Dustin exchange startled glances. 

Chrissy creeps up to Steve cautiously. “Are you going to go after her?”

He shakes his head. When he raises it, Eddie notices his eyes are rimmed red. “You should,” he mumbles. “You’d probably help more than I would, right now.”

She nods and slips away. Eddie sends Dustin in the Sinclair’s direction, and plops down in Robin’s empty seat. 

“She not doing too hot with all this?”

Steve grimaces. “I told her where my will is.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, genuinely at a loss for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You not leave her anything?” It’s a shit joke, one that he kicks himself for making, but he laughs. It’s hoarse and cold and all too fake, but it’s a laugh. 

“Like, almost everything I have. To be divided as she sees fit.”

“Making her do all that? No wonder she’s pissed.”

Steve’s snort is real this time.

#prophetic nightmares of the dead au #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #steddie #how does chrissy survive vecna? i was going to figure that out #i think my original plan for this was some robin/chrissy as well or maybe nancy/chrissy/robin #btw that jancy speech that steve gave? biased as FUCK #when they got together steve convinced himself it was inevitable bc they're obviously made for each other #in reality they have reached granola bar levels of falling apart #eddie who has outsider pov to the whole thing and can see nancy twitch every time someone mentions her bf is like hmm. doesn't sound right #but i don't know enough about either of them to dispute it #steve gets vecna-ed

[cult-of-the-placeholder]

I have so many bishop thoughts and headcanons in my mind I can't focus on anything else so I'm just gonna regurgitate them here:

- Leshy has whatever the godly equivalent of ADHD. He is chaos incarnate, literally. He is always moving, always fidgeting with things under his cloak, is always pacing around and talks to himself a lot

- Also my man's invented flowers. Plants existed before his birth, of course, but modern day flowers were his creation, plants shaped and crafted to be bowls for the insects to dine from. He looks out for the smallest amongst them, even the most insignificant

- Among the siblings he was the most artistically inclined. He loved to paint, and sculpt, and in fact glass making was a great passion of his alongside gardening. On his 1,000th year anniversary of godhood, he surprised each of his siblings with a stained glass portrait in their temples, depicting each of them in the most significant memory he had of them: for Heket, it was her grandest harvest ritual. For Narinder, the very first sacrifice in his name. For Kallamar, the day he parted the seas to pluck the deepest ocean crystals for a ritual. And for Shamura, their weaving of a Time Tapestry that depicted the future

- Leshy hasn't made a single artistic piece since loding his vision. His crown can show him his surroundings, but it's not the same. Narinder's betrayal drained away his creative spark, and he has no desire to make anymore

- As a frog, Heket is very musically inclined. Before losing her voice, she'd often lead her congregations in the most vibrant hymns and choruses of praise, and in fact composed almost every musical piece that is used to sing glory to their names. She wrote hundreds, thousands, countless songs for her siblings, and her favorite way to funnel devotion was to have her followers sing to her. Wind and string instruments were her favorite, but she could play just about anything

- Even before Narinder's banishment, Heket was a very serious, rather surly individual. It wasn't easy to make her laugh, and in fact only her siblings could, and even then it was an uphill battle. But if they could, she had the deepest, biggest belly laughs, the kind that would leave a person bent over with their arms around their middle, tears of mirth streaming down her face. She hasn't had a good laugh since Narinder was imprisoned, and of course hasn't sung or danced either. Music now just makes her sad, and the sadness makes her angry: she forbids any sort of music in her temple

- Heket mothered/fathered most if not all of the mini-bosses of Anura. Frogs can swap their sex with ease, and she's a goddess: I think she should be able to lay her own eggs or fertilize another's on a whim 😌 each was the strongest child of each clutch, only one selected among hundreds as worthy to serve their mother's temple in lofty positions. Trained and cultivated from the moment of hatching, she is both incredibly proud of and incredibly hard on them, demanding perfection and depthless devotion at all times. Her children give it gladly, for they are so lucky to be in the presence of their mother who is holy

- Before banishment, Narinder was very close to Shamura. They all were, really, but him especially: he shared the eldest's passion for the written word. As a godling he'd so often sneak into Shamura's forbidden library to partake in ancient knowledge and prophecies, though he was of course too young to understand it. He'd often beg Shamura to read to him, and even after outgrowing that need, he'd often seek out his sibling so they could read in amicable silence together, shoulder to shoulder with each holding one side of the book

- As the god of death and the shepherd of souls, he was expected to pass judgements on the deceased, be they blessed or damned. It was a special joy of his, getting his chance to play with the heretics his siblings tortured and sacrificed. They would know no peace, even in death, for daring to go against the Old Faith

- The first time Narinder reversed death and let a mortal walk again was actually his niece: Heket's half-mortal daughter, Zepar. She had been slain tragically by a traitorous dissenter, and the way his sister wailed with grief rattled him to his very core. He didn't even realize death could be undone, he just... grabbed the little one's soul, fixed her body with his power, and breathed life back into her. It was a shock to everyone but especially to him

- Kallamar wasn't always so timid and faint of heart. After Shamura he's the oldest, and his sibling was already an adult when he was born. In comparison, the other 4 were born in relatively short periods of time, close together. Kallamar was kind of their ringleader when they were growing up, and Shamura once remarked it seemed he was, "Born without fear." He was cocky, knowing he was a god and therefore immortal and invulnerable. He wasn't afraid of anything: the entire world was his playground. He led his three youngers siblings on adventures all the time, always dragging them into some mischief or other. He was perhaps the most gullible of the siblings, believing them all to be truly indestructible. Was it any surprise, though? For several hundred thousand years, they were

- When Narinder attacked them all, it basly affected all of them but Kallamar the worst: it was the first time he'd ever truly felt pain, had ever bled, had ever been afraid for his life. Had ever been truly afraid in general. And it deeply scarred him; PTSD left him a husk of his former self. He developed crippling paranoia and anxiety as his mind introduced a slew of previously unconsidered possibilities: if the Red Crown could hurt them, then could anything else? How would he know it was coming? Would he know? Could he? Would... would his other siblings turn on him the same way? He felt horrible for thinking that way, because he trusted and loved them so much, but anxiety cannot be reasoned with. He started to doubt his safety with them, and withdrew into his shell. He stopped speaking to them as much, and whenever they were together he couldn't keep his eyes from starting around nervously. Looking for a trap, looking for a way out, hands subtly shaking and shoulders trembling beneath his robes. It makes him miserable, torments him, because how can he be suspicious of the family he so dearly adores? But Narinder has shattered his ability to trust--once the safest place, their family is no longer an undefeatable bastion and he's riddled with fear because of it

- Kallamar is very hard of hearing even with his crown: it amplifies any and every sound around him so he can always be aware of what's going on. He prefers to be underwater, deep in the Seas of Sorrow, where underwater volcanoes power his forges and he can make his many weapon for defense in peace

- He desperately needs therapy and regularly has night terrors and flashbacks

- Shamura is a prophet, clairvoyance a gift they've always possessed. There are many ways they record the future: in books as written riddles, sometimes as images woven into countless silk threads that make up their webs, and sometimes at their loom. Tapestry weaving takes a long, long time, and is only reserved for the holiest of visions: the birth of their siblings was each recorded in one wuch tapestry millenia before any came to be, and they waited anxiously for the stars to reach the appropriate alignment recorded in the threads

- On the day of Narinder's birth, they recieved a terrible vision, fortelling of the way their baby brother would one day betray them. They tried so hard to stop the prophecy, thinking perhaps it could be foiled with endless love and devotion, but despite their affections Narinder still raised his blades against them. It's a regret that weighs heavy on their mind for all eternity, even though they know there's nothing they could have done

- As the god of war and wisdom they know best to pick their battles, and are sought out for their brilliant mind as often as they are for blessings in battle. Silk Cradle was the origin of ritualistic pit fights, though usually reserved for heretics as a punishment, forced to bludgeon each other to death for the amusement of the faithful before their souls could be passed to Narinder for judgement

- Shamura raised all 4 of the bishops, naturally, and loves their siblings with all their heart. Watching them all grow into fine adults is something they will always take immense pride in. Their greatest wish is that the five of them can be together, for eternity, living in happiness while the mortals worship them and feed them their endless devotion

- Shamura is actually rather vain: they made and designed all of the bishops' robes by hand, spun of their finest silk and embroidered with golden threads. They preen frequently, and thoroughly enjoy bathing in the hot springs. A god must always look their best to inspire and strike awe into the mortals that worship them, no?

- Shamura doesn't need to eat, none of them do, but thoroughly enjoys nothing more than delicately sipping warm blood directly from a sacrifice's veins. In true spider fashion they'll occasionally leave particularly tasty mortals strung up in trapped webs, delightful little bloodbags for them to drink from again later. Sometimes they'll even feed the really yummy ones, just so they'll stay alive longer and keep naturally producing blood

I think that's it for now. Maybe now I can sleep lmao. I love the bishops

#the bishops of the old faith #cult of the lamb #headcanons #shamura #kallamar #narinder #heket #leshy

[denimbex1986]

'Since his breakthrough performance in Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later over two decades ago, Cillian Murphy has become one of the biggest names in acting. Later, Murphy honed his skills with an iconic performance as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders and a series of collaborations with beloved director Christopher Nolan. After appearing in The Dark Knight, Inception, and Dunkirk, he now takes on the starring role of the eponymous Oppenheimer in one of the most anticipated films of the year.

Alongside the Irish actor’s love for cinema, he also harbours a passion for music. In his youth, Murphy sang and played guitar in bands, even meeting his wife at one of his gigs in the mid-1990s. His most promising band was The Sons of Mr Green Genes, named after the Frank Zappa song, which featured Murphy and his brother Páidi. Acid Jazz Records even contacted the duo to offer them a deal, but they declined.

Though Murphy’s gigging days are behind him, music remains a huge part of the actor’s life. During an interview with the Sunday Independent Life Magazine, he stated: “The only extravagant thing about my lifestyle is my stereo system, buying music and going to gigs.” He still plays and writes alone and with friends and was even featured on a recent single by The Coral.

Expectedly, for someone so well-versed in music, Murphy’s taste is varied. Though he presents on the alternative station BBC Radio 6, his taste stretches beyond dad rock. From the early synth-pop of Christine and the Queens to fellow Irish performer Van Morrison, Murphy has littered his interviews and radio shows with wide-spanning music recommendations. We’ve collated a number of tracks he’s shared his love for throughout the years.

Murphy once awarded the title of his favourite band to Radiohead, naming ‘No Surprises’ as the song he wishes he’d written in an interview with NME. He states: “I think they’re the biggest band, who became the biggest band in the world without wanting to be the biggest band in the world. They’re probably my favourite band.”

Murphy also once noted his love for the contemporary Irish band Fontaines D.C. On one of his shows for the BBC, he stated, “I’ve been playing a lot of Irish music, but I am Irish, and there is a great explosion of new Irish music!” He names ‘Liberty Belle’ as one of his favourite tracks from their 2019 debut album Dogrel, but adds, “Every single tune, they’re relentlessly themselves.”

Murphy also shared his love for rapper Kendrick Lamar, noting that DAMN was the first album his 11-year-old son ever purchased. Murphy’s own was The Final Countdown by Europe: “I’m not ashamed of it; it’s a great riff. But Kendrick Lamar… Look, I think he tips it.”

Ranging from Beatles classics to contemporary rap and 2000s indie, check out our collated list of Oppenheimer star Cillian Murphy’s favourite songs below.

Cillian Murphy’s favourite songs:

Christine and the Queens – ‘Tilted’ Elbow – ‘Fly Boy Blue / Lunette’ Europe – ‘The Final Countdown’ Fleetwood Mac – ‘Man of the World’ Fontaines D.C. – ‘Liberty Belle’ Jackson C. Frank – ‘Blues Run the Game’ John Lennon – ‘God’ Kendrick Lamar – ‘YAH’ Low – ‘Always Trying to Work It Out’ Marvin Pontiac – ‘Small Car’ Massive Attack – ‘Hymn of the Big Wheel’ Paul McCartney – ‘Maybe I’m Amazed’ Radiohead – ‘Daydreaming’ Radiohead – ‘No Surprises’ Stevie Wonder – ‘Sugar’ The Band – ‘The Weight’ The Beatles – ‘Love Me Do’ The Kinks – ‘You Really Got Me’ The Strokes – ‘Someday’ The Velvet Underground – ‘Rock ‘n’ Roll’ Van Morrison – ‘Sweet Thing’'

#Cillian Murphy #28 Days Later #Danny Boyle #Tommy Shelby #Peaky Blinders #The Beatles #Van Morrison #The Velvet Underground #The Strokes #The Kinks #The Band #Stevie Wonder #Radiohead #Paul McCartney #Massive Attack #Low #Marvin Pontiac #John Lennon #Kendrick Lamar #Fontaines D.C. #Christine and the Queens #Europe #Fleetwood Mac #Elbow #Jackson C. Frank #The Dark Knight #Inception #Dunkirk #Christopher Nolan #Oppenheimer

[monstersdownthepath]

Monster Spotlight: Choral

CR 6

Neutral Good Small Outsider

Bestiary 5, pg. 23 (pic taken from 2e’s Bestiary 1, pg. 17)

Created from the souls of poets, songwriters, musicians, and bards of every sort, these glorious angels are the answer to the question of “where is that holy, vaguely-Latin orchestral music coming from?” whenever especially powerful celestial beings appear. Responsible for providing the background music to every upper plane, Choral Angels tend to remain in those planes for the majority of their existence, composing new songs and ballads to all that is Good. Occasionally, their superiors will ask them to deliver messages to the mortal flocks in their care, a task they do with as much pomp and presentation as one could ask for; subtlety isn’t their strong suit... unless they spot fellow musicians in distress. While this practice isn’t always authorized, the Choral Angels rarely care for dealing with red tape and will descend from the upper planes to provide musical inspiration to unfortunate creatives who’ve been abandoned by their muses and are falling into despair because of it. Sometimes, they even fall in love. And that’s where Aasimar Bards come from!

Like all angels, Choral possess a suit of restorative spells available to them, including Dispel Evil, Remove Curse, and Remove Disease at will, making them boons for any society that hosts one. Because they occupy a relatively low rung on the celestial ladder, Choral Angels can usually get away with sneaking off to aid those in need of their talents and provide much-needed morale where it’s at its lowest. These facts combined mean the generous beings can sometimes end up living among mortals as healers and musicians for years, though their penchant for song means they tend not to be the best at keeping their heads down when Evil is afoot.

Given their small size (literally Small, something I hadn’t noticed until I wrote it down!), relatively low importance in the halls of Good, and relatively harmless appearance, any fiend or vile mortal may believe that these creatures to be easy prey... And, for the most part, they’re right! IF, and only if, the attacker can get them to land, because if a Choral takes to the air, they can fight back with a staggering amount of destructive power for their size. I don’t mean physical power, mind, because a Choral in melee is absolutely pathetic, having only a 1d3+1 slam attack. What I mean is their primary offensive measure: Piercing Hymn.

This note of divine destruction is a ranged touch attack with a 90ft range that’s so damn loud anyone struck by it must succeed a DC 17 Fortitude save or be rendered deaf for minutes at a time, but more importantly it deals 4d6 Sonic damage. With a Fly speed of 60ft and 0 melee power, there’s no reason for a Choral to ever not spend its turn getting as high above a foe as they can and blasting them to pieces with holy hymns. Their Protective Aura is especially useful in helping them maintain their dangerous distance, because if for whatever reason some fiend, or even the party, needs to fight them at an appropriate level of 4~6... well, suddenly immunity to 3rd level or lower spells goes from a nuisance to encounter defining. Hope you have someone in your party with good ranged attacks!

As Heaven’s bards, you may expect the Choral to possess some bardic talent, but you’re only partially right. They do have Countersong to drown out hostile noises and a 3/day Sculpt Sound to cause diversions and silence allied movements, but their real power lies in the terror that’s unleashed if Chorals form a chorus. Able to Harmonize with one another to join their divine voices into a myriad of holy sounds, their abilities become more potent and dangerous the more Chorals spend their swift action to join in the song: two Choral working in tandem can cast Calm Emotions and Heroism at will to bolster those in their care while Harmonizing, four can use Shout to blast cones of powerful Sonic energy outwards, while an ensemble of six Choral can generate Greater Heroism for their allies and Holy Word for their enemies.

It serves as a fun lesson, I think. Even the most harmless and gentle agent of Heaven can split eardrums, turn a cadre of peasants into a heroic army, and obliterate an entire swath of villainous forces with song alone... if they work together.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 6 to 10 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

[halfahundredcats]

I can’t stop thinking about the first moment Ed and Stede see each other, in the last scene of A Gentleman Pirate. We don’t really know anything about Blackbeard yet, we haven’t even gotten a full view of him. We don’t know what he wants with Stede, but we do know that Izzy told him that Stede declined his invitation by saying he could “go suck eggs in hell.” When they encounter each other, Stede is on the deck, barely conscious. He’s been sold out, gut-stabbed, and hanged. He’s at peak vulnerability. Blackbeard comes striding out of the smoke, looking tough and intimidating (and yes, fucking hot) and stares down at him and in an ominous sort of tone tells Stede that oh yes, he’s heard all about him (which thrills Stede because he’s an adorable fool).

And the episode ends on that. It’s a pretty *standard* sort of cliffhanger.

Except that the song that starts playing as they look at each other and the credits roll is The Beach Boys’ “Our Prayer.” It’s angelic. They sound like a boys choir. Brian Wilson, the man who wrote swoony hits like “God Only Knows” and “(Don’t Talk) Put Your Head on My Shoulder” has written a damn a cappella, ascending-to-heaven-sounding hymn.

It doesn’t sound like your usual cliffhanger music. It doesn’t sound sinister or mysterious. It sounds like the musical effects you’d use to convey love at first sight.

And I just. The show made a promise with that music and actually made good on it. No buddy comedy. No queerbaiting. No playing it for laughs. It was set up as a romance from the very start, and they fucking followed through.

#ofmd soundtrack my beloved #ofmd

[griefabyss69]

THREE!!!!!!!!! OF THEM!!!???

Hello!!! Thank you for asking about this one I'm pretty excited about it! This is a newer WIP - Another steddissy started this year after a conversation with my friend. It's going to be a longer fic, because when I write in Chrissy's POV I'm incapable of keeping it short. This one is already 11K and honestly has just begun LMAO... I'll probably end up breaking it up into two fics because I can see a natural stopping point in the middle of the plot. Her backstory is a little made up in the way that fandom already has taken what little we were given about her and came to it's conclusions. I take the religious trauma of it all a little further, and so while it's not explicit in the text, she is from one of the c*lty sects of christianity, and is at the part of her story/healing where she's making moves to get out of it. Here's a long piece of it bc it's hard enough to decide on what to share!!!: (Contents: allusions to the shitty parts of christianity, rated T for vague horniness, canon levels of drugs)

When Chrissy had become friends with Eddie, she had liked how it seemed like their own private little thing.

Just two people showing each other the craziest stuff they could find from two different worlds - Eddie's were gifts and hers were something Eddie called a blurse, a blessing and a curse.

She had to agree, he gave her proper weed and let her pick through his hidden music collection and let her try on his clothes and -

-tried on her clothes.

And what she gave him in return had been stories, mostly. Things that even deeply into her indoctrination she had known felt weird, wondering if life really was always like that, or at the very least knowing she was never actually going to be what they wanted her to be.

So he cringed and laughed and sometimes got tears in his eyes and didn't even try to hide them and she got to have fun, mostly. Turned on, sometimes, but she thinks that if God didn't want that to happen then he shouldn't have let someone with Eddie's waist try on her cheer skirt.

Anyway, their private little bubble was comfortable and safe and she was trying so hard every day now, to keep the damned thing intact.

It's just that going to the secluded Christian College at the end of town everyday just happened to put her right into Eddie's area, and while everybody else thought she was studying at the library or going for a workout to keep in shape or if they were really out of the loop, on a date with her ex-boyfriend; she was with Eddie.

Yeah, sometimes she studied or did her homework at his place, if reading from the textbook out loud just to watch his smile fall further and further into disgusted horror when she found something really terrible counted as coursework.

Most of the time they shared exactly one joint, sat a respectable amount of inches apart on the couch, and ate whatever new thing he'd been trying out in the trailer's tiny kitchen.

Honestly it made her heart start singing praises that sounded nothing like hymns at all.

The bubble does, eventually, burst.

But it's not her fault, and it's not even Eddie's fault.

Steve Harrington rocks up to the trailer one evening, looking like he bathed in gold as the sun sets behind him, and Eddie's composure crumbles to the ground and rebuilds itself in two quick blinks, all right before her eyes.

Yeah, that has something inside of her withering to hide under a shadow, but it also does something beautiful for her heart anyway. She'd… not known, but maybe hoped, that if Eddie wasn't into her then it'd be because he's gay. Not for her ego or self esteem or anything, being Eddie's friend is like working at a self esteem factory, but because he's just so.

There's just something about him that's outside of everything rigid in her life, and she'd been maybe even too scared to think about it directly, but with how easily he acts around her even when he's being so polite with very particular things, how they can do a little bit of flirting and it's just for fun, even if she thinks way too hard about it later… maybe there's reason for that.

Guys don't just flirt with her and not follow up on it.

So the bubble has burst and Steve Harrington is here, reminding her about the way she also used to get flustered around him, though Eddie's doing a much better version of not letting it to get to him than she'd managed.

Though it wouldn't have been an issue if she'd gotten caught looking too long.

Her breath catches in her throat at the thought of Eddie getting found out and vows to protect him however she can, even though like, she could be reading this whole thing completely wrong.

Eddie protects her though, if not physically then from the first half of her day.

She keeps her eyes off of his bare forearms as he lets Steve in and gives him a familiar spiel, though usually he makes her hide in his room before letting someone in to do a sale. He must trust Steve enough, for some reason.

"Oh, hey! Chrissy, nice to see you," Steve greets her, the stubble on his face adding something extra to his smile that makes her want to put him in a bubble. "You also here for Eddie's… services?"

The way he says it honestly sounds… dirty, and she has to think of Antarctica and keep her breathing slow so she doesn't turn into a human tomato.

If Eddie's services were at all about sex then she'd…

Anyway.

"Sort of," she says, not sure how much Eddie wants him to know, not sure how much she trusts him. "Just a joint."

Steve nods, his smile relaxing into something more genuine at the corners, and it's weird for a second, because the smile before had looked plenty real.

"Nice choice," he says, nodding like he's actually impressed, and that's got to just be for conversation.

"Steve, you wanna stay and smoke with us?" Eddie asks, coming back down the hallway. "I was thinking about ordering a pizza."

Chrissy raises her eyebrows, unable to keep from looking surprised. Today was supposed to be what Eddie said was a perfected recipe day, something he'd been working on and she'd been his audience for.

She'd tried his first attempt and one in the middle, and if he'd improved it anymore since then, she wanted it.

Eddie shoots her a wink - a sorry, thanks for putting up with his bullshit, and a promise to fill her in later all in one.

"That um, honestly sounds good," Steve says, and under Chrissy's scrutiny he looks… just as awkward as Eddie does.

It's like watching seventh graders compliment each other's braces.

She smiles, tosses a piece of hair over her shoulder, and spins to head off down the hall.

"Awesome! I'll be right back," she calls, going into the bathroom so she can try to condense the supernova of what might be affection or even just plain excitement down into three minutes of silent shrieking.

#griefabyss69 writing #chats from the abyss #fun things

[jo-harrington]

Jo, love of my life, star that lights up my skies, can I get Werewolf for your blurb game?

Ashley my sun and stars. I have a thought you may or may not like. Keep an open mind here.

In terms of werewolf...I think lets keep an open mind for this one. What even is a werewolf? This might be relevant to some kind of plot in some kind of story later...idk...

TW: Billy Hargrove (he is a trigger warning in and of itself), minor aggression, violence, threats, allusions to difficult family life, foreshadowing(?)

Thoughts of Eddie's looks in this chapter are inspired by this and this by my beloved friend @hearsegrrl. You can buy her prints here.

Find other Hymns of Heaven here.

And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

Halloween 1984

Halloween was Eddie's favorite holiday.

A momentous occasion filled with ghouls and frights and candy.

This year, he'd done everything to make it a special one. For himself, his friends, and for you.

The Halloween one-shot on Friday had gone off without a hitch. Jeff, Gareth, and Dave were about to shit their pants when the boss was revealed five hours into their game, right at the stroke of midnight.

You, of course, had joined just like you promised Eddie you would; a little hesitant with the roleplaying, but you tried, and it made him proud.

Then last night, he and the guys planned a special Halloween show at the Hideout. To fit the Corroded Coffin name, Eddie insisted they all dress up as vampires, complete with costumes, fake blood and fangs, black nails that you helped paint, and a fog machine that he borrowed from the theater department at school.

It was no different than any other Tuesday; the same five drunks showed up at the bar plus you and a handful of your coworkers from Bradleys that you convinced to come. They were certainly not the typical audience for the music they played but they enjoyed it nonetheless.

And Eddie showed how grateful he was when he drove you home, fangs still glued on as he nibbled love bites all over your neck. Your squeals were music to his ears.

Tonight, Halloween itself, Tina's "epic" party raged on. The music was bad, the food was worse. The booze was acceptable--someone had picked the lock of Tina's parents liquor cabinet--but the company made it all some big headache.

You and Eddie were huddled in a couple of lawn chairs, solo cups in hand. Jeff and Dave had tagged along, finally upperclassman and eager to be invited, but they had disappeared a while ago, only to be found once it was time to leave. Eddie's lunch box that was filled with pre-rolled joints and tiny plastic bags was slowly emptied and refilled with handfuls of candy and a growing roll of cash, and it was safely trapped between his feet until people decided to approach while you "enjoyed" the party.

The music at these things was always bad but Eddie enjoyed people watching. At the homecoming afterparty, he'd cracked joke after joke about what couples would break up by the end of the night, and which ones would hook up. Tonight the two of you were trying to figure out what everyone's costumes were.

"I think they're supposed to be a horse..." You tilted your head to the side. "Half of a horse."

"A horse's ass," Eddie chuckled.

"Wait! A centaur!" you gasped and grabbed Eddie's shoulder to shake him. "Oh my god."

"That's a really shitty costume for a party," he grinned and sipped at his drink.

Not that either of you were really dressed up.

Eddie had considered reusing his vampire getup from the show but it was a little chilly, so party be damned he was bundled up in a hooded sweatshirt and his battle vest. You had tried to put in some effort and had shown up at his place in a belted white dress with a basket and mannequin's head from some display at work.

"Judith," you grinned. "And the severed head of Holofernes."

You'd dressed the part of some vampiric acolyte for the show the night before and he thought it had been hot but this? He was speechless.

"You look...I...weh...it's pretty badass baby," he agreed as he gave you a once-over.

Parts of the dress and your fingertips were stained red with leftover fake blood and there was a knife on your belt. Where had you gotten that?

"I...uh...don't think anyone's gonna know what that is though. Knife's pretty cool; use it to keep the creeps away."

"But that's what I have you for."

You had gotten cold about a half-hour in and had gone to the van to get your jacket and ditch the basket.

Eddie scanned the crowd for another ridiculous costume but he was simply annoyed by all of the Madonnas and people in their Star Wars bed sheet togas and--

"31...32...33..." the crowd over by the keg started chanting louder and louder, and party goers abandoned their conversation to see what all the hubbub was.

Eddie got to his feet to try and get a good look at which douchebag was marking their territory and immediately fell back into his seat when he recognized them.

"Not this fucking guy," he muttered with a roll of his eyes.

"Who is it?" you asked. "That Harrington guy you told me about?"

"No it's this other guy," Eddie shook his head. "Just started at Hawkins High. Been here a grand total of 3 days and already acts like everyone's scum."

"34...35...36..."

"Maybe he's scared, looks like he's trying to show off," you offered. Eddie knew you were too nice, too good...you gave people the benefit of the doubt.

"No, he's a real piece of work," he explained. "Parked next to me on Monday. Slammed his door into the side of the van and when I tried to say 'hey pal,' he slammed it again, told me it was a piece of shit anyway, and then flipped me off."

You pursed your lips and looked over at the crowd.

"37...38...39..."

"I think he almost ran a bunch of kids off the road earlier too. Saw it as I was driving home."

"What the fuck?"

"40...41...42..." The crowd started cheering and a spray of beer soared over heads and rained down on the concrete of the patio. "Billy! Billy! Billy!"

He howled, hands curled into triumphant claws at his sides, head turning up to the sky. He called out to the stars and the moon as the remnants of beer foamed at the corners of his mouth.

"That's how you do it Hawkins," Billy Hargrove then roared amidst cheers of his name. "That's how you do it."

He and his entourage passed the two of you as they made their way into the house, and Eddie felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end when Billy's eyes stopped on you for the briefest of seconds.

And it truly was only a second. Hell, he might not have even looked at you, there were plenty of people there. Eddie already didn't like this guy, already made his mind up about him, but it was though he could sense something inside of Billy, and it ignited something inside of him.

Danger. Protect. Hide. Fight. Run.

He wanted to ask if you felt the same way, but your attention had already drifted away from the commotion as you scanned the crowd for another silly costume. So he just pushed it down.

After a few more hours, sales started drying up and Eddie announced it was time to go. You agreed; it was a school night for Eddie and the guys and you had work in the morning. Eddie tossed you his keys and the lunchbox and told you to get the van started while he found Jeff and Dave.

Jeff had been easy to find. Tina's parents had a great home theater in the rec room in the basement and Cinephile that Jeff was had made his way down there once he saw that the party life wasn't really for him. It was a cozy little spot with sodas and a bowl of candy, and Jeff was settled on a cozy couch to watch The Wizard of Oz with a girl actually dressed as Dorothy, sparkly shoes and all.

"Alright, time to go," Eddie announced and he flipped the light switch. "There's no place like home."

"Come on Ed," Jeff whined. "Just a few more minutes. They're about to melt the Witch!"

Eddie sighed; these kids were lucky that he liked them so much.

"You have 10 minutes while I find Dave," he grumbled. "Then you better be in the van or you can walk home."

Dave took a little longer to find. Eddie checked the makeshift dance floor, he checked all of the bathrooms, and then he got to a corridor of bedrooms and walked in on several scenes he wished he would rather not until he came to the last door in the hall. Pretty and pink and carved with the name "Tina" on the front of it.

It was the only place left...and Eddie didn't know whether he should be a dick to his friend or proud of him. Especially for possibly bagging the popular party host herself.

He banged his fist on the door.

"Dave, stop your smooching," he hollered. "Jeff's mom said curfew was midnight." A wet smacking sound of lips separating emanated through the wood and then Dave's soft "oh shit" and Eddie had to hold back his laughter.

When the door opened, both Dave and Tina looked a little drunk and a little embarrassed as they straightened out their clothes. Eddie slapped a hand on Dave's shoulder and let him back through the house.

"Call me Davey," she called after them.

"Don't worry, he will," Eddie laughed. "Thanks for the party."

The crowd had already died down but there were still some stragglers. People milled about in the yard, bodies gyrated on the dance floor, Tommy Hagan and his girlfriend were horizontal on the couch and it was getting pretty heated.

"Get a room," he hissed at them. "Tina's is free now."

But as he and Dave passed the kitchen on the way toward the door, Eddie caught sight of a familiar white dress splattered with fake blood, crouched on the floor helping someone.

He had told you to wait in the van, but of course he took too long...hopefully whoever it was that you were with wasn't hurt or anything. Damn it.

But it wasn't until he noticed who you were leaning over that the uneasy feeling that had been ignited in Eddie earlier flared up again and his throat clenched.

Danger. Hide. Run.

The leather jacket, the sticky shirtless chest, the hand gripped tightly around your wrist that you kept tugging and tugging to get out of his grasp.

"I don't want to be here, they t-took me away from the only home I've ever known and it's not my fault," Billy whined to you, heaved. "And now I'm here and I can't go. I'm stuck."

"I know," you said sympathetically.

"I just wanna see the beach again," his grip on your wrist tightened. "The water and the clouds and the sun. And there's this diner where she works and I'd always go to get a burger and a malt."

"Yeah?"

"And she'd call me Silly Billy."

His eyes wrenched shut and he tugged you closer, enough that you lost your balance and had to steady a hand against his chest, right over his heart.

You froze and gasped in pain and Eddie saw red.

Fight. Protect.

Eddie shoved Dave towards the door with a quick "waitinthedamnvan" and then stormed into the kitchen.

"I think she was one and I'll never--"

"Get your filthy fucking hands off my girlfriend Hargrove!"

Eddie reached over and pried Billy's hand from your wrist, and then tugged you to your feet and into his arms. You were shaking.

"Are you ok?" he asked frantically, looking over every inch of you. "What did he do? Tell me. What did he do?"

"N-Nothing, I just saw him there on the floor," you stammered, eyes distant. "I didn't know...I didn't know..."

Eddie ran his hands over you, cradled your face for a second to make sure you were alright, and then once he was sure, he turned his sights on Billy.

He crouched beside him on the ground and grabbed the lapels of Billy's jacket. He hoisted him up enough so he could slam him back down onto the floor again.

"You don't get to look at her," he warned through gritted teeth.

"E-Eddie," you called softly. He ignored you and did it again. Up the slightest bit, and then forced back down again until he could hear the breath wheeze through Billy's mouth.

"You don't get to touch her," he growled.

"Eddie stop, he didn't do anything, he's just drunk. He's empt--" you reasoned but Eddie ignored you. He listed Billy one last time, up and up and up, until both of their noses were touching and glassy, vacant blue eyes had nowhere to look but murderous brown ones.

"And if you ever get near her again, I'll kill you."

"EDDIE!" Eddie dropped Billy onto the floor and straightened himself up. He turned back to you and faltered at the sight of your wide, fear-filled eyes. He looked down at Billy again, who was on the ground again but curled in on himself.

Eddie looked at his hands and then back up at you.

"Please, let's go," you shuddered and held out your hand to take his, and then you tugged him through the house and out the door.

Jeff and Dave noticed the tension between the two of you but didn't say anything, instead just silently sat in the back until they were dropped off. Eddie vacantly drove through Hawkins all the while caught up in his own thoughts.

He was only trying to protect you, he wasn't trying to hurt Billy, Billy was hurting you, you were scared, you were hurt...

But you were still scared and hurt. Your breathing hadn't returned to it's usual evenness and when he looked over your hands were shaking. You kept pressing into the palm of the hand that had touched Billy's chest and Eddie wondered...

What did he wonder? He had so many questions. Questions he knew you weren't going to answer. But he couldn't just let it go.

At the end of the night, after Jeff and Dave were dropped off at home, and Eddie had parked the van outside your apartment, he clenched his hands on the steering wheel and gritted his teeth.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he apologized softly.

"You didn't scare me," you replied and relief washed over him. "You didn't do anything wrong. You thought I was in danger...and I'm grateful that you stepped in Eddie. I'm just...I'm...I don't know...shaken. He felt...wrong."

"Felt?" he cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. You had said something like that before about people. How they felt. He just thought it was...what you thought of them.

"There's a lot of anger but also a lot of pain..." you started and then your eyes got distant again. "And then...a great, wide void..."

What did it mean? A void?

Eddie felt the panic build inside him again and your eyes immediately darted to his. The smile that suddenly appeared on your face was soothing but Eddie could tell it was forced.

"I think I had too much punch," you explained. "I need to sleep it off."

You leaned over to kiss him goodnight and mutter a soft "I love you" but before you could get out of the van, Eddie stopped you.

"Listen," he began. "I know...I know I took it too far tonight. And I'm sorry again. But...but if you ever see Billy Hargrove again...you put as much distance between the two of you as possible. Something's...wrong with that guy. He's bad news."

"Eddie, that's...you know how that feels when someone says that about you, I don't think--"

"No, I'm serious. You keep your distance from him," Eddie warned. "Not because of me, but for your own safety. Hargrove...he's dangerous.

"He's a beast."

#aasb #hymns of heaven #Eddie munson x reader #tw violence #tw angst

[classpect-crew]

Interlude: Space and Time

As many have said before, Space is often associated with visual art, and Time is associated with music. That said, some forms of each medium can be said to have more influence from the opposite Aspect. Take photography, for example: a visual art that is nonetheless closely associated with Time. If you're a fan of Life is Strange, you may recall Mr. Jefferson citing filmmaker Alfred Hitchcock for the phrase "little pieces of time" to describe film—or, perhaps, photography. Now, I couldn't find a damn thing on the web that attributes a quote like that to Hitchcock, and I'm not going to take the word of a man who says "selfie-expression" as gospel. That said, it's a perfect way to describe Time's association with photography. Time is concerned with moments, distinct spaces in each timeline which can be occupied and then manipulated by a Time player. So, although photography is a visual medium, the principles of Time have a lot more influence.

On the other hand, if you've ever been to a Catholic Mass—one where the whole congregation sings the hymns together with the choir—recall how the music and chanting grew to fill the entire space, how each arpeggiated chord extended from the mouths of the faithful and seemed to echo from every corner. Acoustics is a branch of physics which describes how sound moves through a space. Knowledge of acoustics is vital when designing a space for optimal sound quality, whether it's a church, concert venue, theatre, et cetera. It's important to note that physics and theatre performance—in particular, the stage and setting—are also closely associated with Space. By using principles of acoustics, one can ensure that the right sounds are amplified, sharpened, or sustained through an echo, while filtering out undesired ones. The Time Aspect is also closely related to technology, as well as repetition, so it's not unusual to see Dave modifying samples in his music, or Aradia's association with the music box. Space, on the other hand, is associated with organic sounds and symbols—the croak of a frog, for example, or Jade's ability to encourage her plants to grow by playing music for them.

It's important that one understands both their Aspect and its opposite. Without this deeper knowledge and appreciation, players risk becoming obliterated by the most negative qualities of their Aspect. Equius refused to rise up against authority and take control of his place in the narrative, so he was swallowed up by the Void and became largely irrelevant to the big picture. Gamzee even used his indigo blood to omit key information in Rose's journal, before it made its lengthy journey through space and time. Engaging with Time while failing to appreciate Space means that a Time player will struggle to see the bigger picture, always rushing from moment to moment and judging each without its proper context. They want to be present for everything, to have a hand in shaping fate—much like an overzealous Light player, who feels they might wither without the spotlight, or the self-obsessed Heart player, whose Main Character Syndrome can easily become terminal. (These three Aspects are next to each other in the Aspect Wheel for good reason.) In the end, they'll likely burn themselves out from the effort. Meanwhile, a Space player who neglects Time risks relinquishing their ability to impose their will upon the universe, favoring passive observation and failing to act when they're needed most. Like an overly-cerebral Mind player, paralyzed by choice, or a sullen Void player, unable to break the surface of an ocean of doubt, a Space player who has receded from responsibility will be a whisper beneath the waves. Drowning, after all, is actually a deceptively silent affair.

#classpect analysis #classpect #homestuck #space #space aspect #time #time aspect

[deadpuppetboi]

Goretober Day 1: Shatter

Jeremy Fitzgerald was a calm young man.

He never loses his anger, always keeps his cool, and always tries to make the best of any circumstance.

But this 'situation' was unlike any he had previously experienced.

This was very different and much more demanding.

He knew what to do because he'd done it so many times before.

He looked over the cameras, flashed his flashlight, and wound the music box as quickly as he could. A night like this wasn't out of the ordinary, but it felt like he was being tested to the limit. He stumbled over his coordination, double-checked on the incorrect camera, and entirely missed the music box as a whole.

Jeremy embarrassed himself, and the more he battled to stay together, the worse his difficulties became.

It was just three o'clock in the morning when his flashlight failed. The plastic boy's laughter rang out like a hymn, teasing the young guy as he fumbled with the mask over his face. He clutched the mask as the familiar shape of a malformed bunny entered the office and gazed down at him. And when the lights flickered and Jeremy held his breath, the broken animal walked out, its cables flicking out sparks.

Jeremy paused for a while before removing the mask and reached forward to wind the music box. He flashed the lamp as rapidly as he could to gaze into the Prize Corner, preparing to patiently wind the box to keep the one animatronic at bay.

The light flooded the room, and a chilly sensation exploded from his chest and coursed through his entire body.

A faint ringing pierced his ears, drowning out the plastic boy's laughing, the flickering lights, the noises of a gigantic figure crawling through the vents, and so on. But one song had begun to play at a breakneck rate, the rhythm strange and out of place. Each note bounces from one spot to another, creating an imbalanced symphony of a tune with no rhyme or reason.

But Jeremy knew the reason.

He knew the reason pretty damn well.

He shifted awkwardly out of his seat, his heart in his throat, pins and needles on his skin, and all he could hear was the music. The music, which was once far and out of reach, is now getting closer with each passing second, as does the young man's imminent doom and his disoriented feelings. His emotions kept him out of place and caused him to screw up everything for this one night only.

Immediately, he thought of the other close calls he'd faced in the past working in this God-awful place.

The slice of a hook, the chomp of a broken lump of metal, the grip of a bear, and hallucinations of shadows growing and stalking his every move. The fear that had previously grabbed his mind then dived into other feelings he had previously experienced. All jumbled and twisted into knots until finally unraveling into loose strands of what sanity Jeremy had left within him.

And the rage had taken control.

And for a few seconds, his body reflexively grasped for the nearest thing closest to him.

The fan.

He yanked it out of its cord extension, moving erratically, and what was on the desk fell off. He took a deep breath and drew his arms back, his hold on the fan tightening as his vision became obscured by white and black. A loud shriek split the air, bringing the music to a halt as a thin figure in black and white leaped into view.

That's when Jeremy hurled the fan.

The fan's internals shattered and scattered the ground below as a result of the impact. The force repelled the figure, which collapsed to the ground in a heap. But before it could realize what had happened or whether it would be able to get back up in time, Jeremy had turned the now-broken fan on its head once more.

The Marionette's head swung back from the blow, and its body fell to the ground. It hardly had time to look at Jeremy before it was hit again, the fan breaking apart in an insignificant mix of metal and cables alike. Jeremy slipped, his foot striking the animatronic's leg in haste. And without thinking, he raised his foot and smacked it into The Puppet's leg.

The Puppet shrieked in agony, its long limbs thrashing around like leaves in the fierce wind.

"No," Jeremy shouted, raising his other foot and slamming it into The Puppet's chest. "You're not going to get up! Not right now!”

The Marionette growled, twisting its head to look at the security man before attempting to swipe its claws at him. He drew back just in time, his hands reaching back to grab something, and swung it at The Puppet. It recoiled and tried again to attack the guard, only to be smacked again, its mask cracking even more.

Before it burst into massive fractures, it was simply thin cracks that could be readily repaired with super glue. Pieces of the animatronic's mask began to fall apart, sliding off in sporadic bits onto the ground below. The Puppet shrieked again before falling back from another kick to the chest.

"I said don't get up!"

Jeremy raised the flashlight and threw it towards The Puppet, yelling at it to stop moving. No matter what move The Marionette made or how it tried to flee, the night guard continued to assault, his wrath swallowing him whole as he vented his rage.

“For the love of God, why couldn't you just stop?!”

He began to shout about what was going through his thoughts, ripping apart whatever he could get his hands on and tossing it down into The Puppet below him.

Too many times, this awful creature tormented his dreams with cryptic messages, nearly took him to the ER, and even lost him his paycheck if he tried to flee in the middle of the night. Too much stress accumulated over time, which could never, ever cease, until the young man eventually had enough and put his foot down.

Enough with this job, or these monsters, or these never-ending hours, or the terrible music, and so on.

This was going to end.

Once and for all.

The Marionette's words and actions had little effect on the guard's fury. Its body was disintegrating piece by piece, the clothing it was wearing were being ripped apart in haste, and its mask was disintegrating, revealing what was behind it. Its pleas were cut off immediately by Jeremy's shouting, the music it had previously created was now reduced to scant clicks and ticks.

Digging deep from within the oil flowed like blood and guts as The Marionette's insides were ripped apart. Jeremy felt the grease spray on him like water from the faucet, but he clenched his teeth and continued his assault. Cursing the Fazbear name and everything it stood for, whether it was through lies of fostering imagination and enjoyment or supporting the notion that everything was wonderful and dandy.

It wasn't.

It never was.

And it never will be.

Jeremy was a heaving, sweating mess by the time he was done.

He stooped over, his pounding palms on his knees, and stared over the wreckage in front of him. His rage-filled mind abruptly came to a halt, and all thoughts of tension and venting his rage on the one thing that may kill him vanished.

He inhaled deeply before exhaling with a stuttering gasp, his eyes widening.

He witnessed the wreckage of the items he used to beat The Marionette, the astonished expressions on the other animatronics' fake yet permanent faces, and the devastation he inflicted in what seemed like a matter of minutes. He then glanced down at his hands, bleeding and scarred hands, and eventually let the shock wear off to allow his nerves to come to fruition.

The night guard collapsed to his knees, the nauseating and stinky oil bathing his knees overwhelming his senses.

The Marionette in front of him lay still and entirely broken, unlikely to be repaired unless the company withheld his money for a whole month.

Jeremy closed his eyes and cursed.

Oh, he is so fired-

#tw g0re #tw blo0d #Puppet sorry I wrote this it's for Goretober I swear- #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #five nights at freddys #fnaf 2 #fnaf guards #jeremy fitzgerald #the marionette #the puppet #fnaf marionette #fnaf puppet #ryan afton #fnaf cc #fnaf crying child #fnaf au #fnaf alternate universe #alternate universe #A Family Affair Au #goretober 2023 #goretober #my writing

[sig-got-a-gun]

now I'm just imagining hearing this glitchy distorted eerie hum before moon kills someone. LIKE. DAMN. Thats terrifying . IMAGINE JUST. BEING PEBBLES AND HEARING THAT SLOWLY APPROACH YOU LIKE ANJDKFNSFL

(Sorry this took so long to answer I was gonna comic it but I got caught in other projects)

Yes!!! Exactly!!

Fun fact, when she approaches Pebbles, she hums sundown. After that, she steals his music pearl and hums along to it as she approaches most of the following iterators! Most of the time though, when just out and about, she will be humming old hymns, lullabys, or even personal melodies!

#rw waterlogged au #rw waterlogged #rain world

[unefemmedamnee]

hymns go way too hard from a music standpoint. like they suck but DAMN

[tranquilpetrichor]

perfectly imperfect

synopsis: in which yunho helps you let go of your fears, one 8-count at a time.

cast: dancer!yunho (ateez) x dancer!reader, mentions of other ateez members.

genre: comfort, some fluff, friendship with implication of a mutual crush

wc: 1.7k

warnings: some negative self-talk, descriptions of physical exhaustion, cursing, some parts not proofread

a/n: sometimes we do indeed get lost in our own heads. there's so much to think about when you dance for a class/career lol but honestly at its purest form (for me) dance should make you feel good. also. there's such a fun feeling fooling around with people after dance practice. anyways enough from me! this one is a little rough, sorry y'all. school is annoying.

taglist: @restlessmaknae

remember what yunho told you. try not to rely on the mirror.

your arm glided above your head, creating an invisible semi-circle as you went through a choreography your friend, yunho had taught you. after finishing the routine, you collapsed on the floor near your phone, and with a bit of effort, stopped the video that was recording.

time to review the footage. having exerted yourself to your last breath, you were more than happy to have a reason to sit down.

"oh? what the hell," you frowned at your screen and made a disgusted face—anyone looking at you probably would have thought you ate something rotten. you might as well have.

your angles weren't clean enough. that part should have been smoother. right arm, not left! yeah, you spent a good few minutes rewinding that damn video. just to make sure you weren’t missing anything, you watched it again while you were rolling out the arches of your feet with a tennis ball.

you hoped that you'd execute yunho's choreography well enough to use for an audition, but right now things weren't looking great.

the door opened, and yunho walked in, noticing how tired you were. he still appeared upbeat, even though you knew he was probably exhausted too. "y/n! thought we were, uh, taking a break."

a sigh escaped your lips. "well, i was. but after you left, i just wanted to run the dance one more time. for myself."

he began to stretch some more, and you couldn't help but always be quietly amazed by how graceful he was. "i expected that," he said with a shrug. "you've always been a perfectionist. one more minute to rest, and then we'll run the choreography again."

you went over it in your head, methodically addressing your mistakes and praying there would be no stupid gaps in your memory when it was actually time to dance.

yunho walked over to the laptop and pressed play, with "hymn for the weekend" by coldplay blasting out the speakers, and then he went to go sit in the corner.

okay, what do i have to remember?

for one, the dance started on an odd count—leave it to yunho to make things unpredictable for you. and he choreographed it mostly to beats in the instrumental, so that's what you were going to focus on this time.

"1, 2, and 3!"

flick, flick, 6 and 7, 8. through, down, 3, 4. fuck, is this even supposed to be the hand detail? whatever.

and before you knew it, you were finished. everything felt practiced, and you thought the dance went slightly better than last time.

perhaps you could chalk it up to muscle memory—thank god that existed! still, there was always something you could fix, but for the moment, you took a sip of water from your bottle, grateful for its cool temperature.

yunho went over to stop the music. "alright, so that was better. definitely! maybe a few details that still need a bit of work, but you definitely know the dance. the major comment i have is relax, y/n. please. i can see you’re not dancing in the moment.”

that was still one of your major flaws—that your brain refused to be at peace. your thoughts felt like a constant whir, hyper-focused on the nitty-gritty of whatever you were doing. that was nice and all when you were reviewing someone else’s dancing, but it seemed to hinder your own.

“i guess habits really are hard to break,” you said, laying on the floor with a groan.

he sat beside you, and you instinctively steadied yourself using his shoulder, almost all of your adrenaline gone. you began to think of all the things you forgot to do during the dance, and remembered yunho's comment about not dancing in the moment.

what am i, a deer lost in headlights?

your thoughts were interrupted by him, probably for the better. “don’t beat yourself up about it. i know you, and you’re trying. you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t. and you’re improving—anyone with eyes can see it.”

instinctively, you looked away from him, down at some speck of dust on the floor. “maybe? i think? i’m not as good as you though, great yunho-ssaem."

humor always diffuses a situation, right?

yunho gently turned you to face him and laughed, but it wasn't out of malice. “don't discredit yourself like that! none of us are perfect—i’m still learning, myself.”

for his youthful energy, he was actually quite wise in his mindset, which is why you trusted him a lot, along with the fact that him being almost a year older wasn't so significant for you.

“i mean, i know you’re right, but clearly i still can't fix my problem.”

he gave a mock gasp. “but of course, i’m right, y/n. no, but seriously. knowing you have a problem is half the battle. some of us never get to that. give yourself time to grow."

you gave yunho a fist bump, and a quick hug. "god, you're the best. what the hell would i do without you?"

it was his turn to look slightly embarrassed, cheeks slightly flushed from the compliment.

"haha, thanks y/n, i try my best. anyways, forget that shit about me being perfect. did i ever tell you about the time i did a duet with mingi but started my section a few counts too early?”

you shuddered and gave him a sympathetic look. "i would rather start late than early, honestly. everyone can see an early start.”

“hey, i did just fine after! and at least it was just a practice. mingi sent the video to me. i'll show you," he said, taking out his phone.

you never missed a chance to learn from other people’s work when it came to dance, and watching videos was a great way to learn.

he stood up and lifted his hand way above your head with a teasing grin. screw tall people.

you jumped, but it didn't get you that far off of the ground. “yun-hoe! oh my god, stop being tall.”

“you’re not even that short,” he said, laughing at you. “but i’ll still always be taller than you.”

“i hate you."

after you gave one more playful attempt to swipe the phone, he finally sat down, scrolling through his camera roll. “look, now you can see how unorganized and chaotic everything is. there's wooyoung twerking, you and san trying to flip—ah, found it."

"haha, you can send me that video of wooyoung later."

yunho laughed. "maybe."

he clicked the duet and the video began to play, starting off with shakiness as a pair of hands attempted to adjust the camera’s position.

you could hear yunho’s laugh. “mingi, stop touching it. i think it’s good now. let’s go!”

“i guess you're right, fighting!”

the two stood side by side, with shared smiles. you knew that feeling well. dance friends were the best.

and then there was the part yunho had mentioned: his early start. it was sorta cute, as he realized he was off the counts and jumped back to his starting position. it would easily be embarrassing for you, but he laughed it off easily.

mingi slapped him on the back in the video. “damn, dude. you got on my ass for missing the timing and here you are.”

after, yunho went to restart the music, grinning. "just remember that i’m older than you, mingi. shut it!”

“it's only by a couple of months!”

the two returned to dancing, this time, starting perfectly in sync. you could feel joy radiating off of the two, and it was clear they loved every second of what they did. you clapped eagerly for them, amazed by how in command of themselves they were.

yunho turned to you after the video ended.

"look, that was only the tip of the iceberg of my embarrassing mistakes. and that wasn't even that bad so far." he laughed sheepishly before continuing.

"but at least, there isn't a person in the world who's perfect. why worry so much about that when you could enjoy yourself? it naturally makes your dancing that much better, too."

he went to grab his laptop, typed some stuff in and handed it to you. "remember our playlist? let's shuffle it and have a freestyle battle! and we could get bbq after. my treat.."

you perked up, especially at the thought of food. he was definitely trying to distract you from your endless thoughts, but you didn't mind, not today.

"you're on. rock-paper-scissors, loser goes first!"

"one, two, three, shoot!" you both yelled, and you shrugged, as you'd lost to him.

"see, rock always wins! do your worst," yunho said.

“i will.”

to your delight, the first song that came on shuffle was a childhood favorite of yours—umbrella by rihanna. it had gone on your shared playlist as soon as you rediscovered the catchy tune.

you started to dance, and although your moves were somewhat slow, they still had a fervent energy to them. everything moved of its own accord. really; the only way to describe it was that there was an amazing sensation you felt every once in a while, when the music could guide you to become a different person entirely.

that was stupidly cheesy, you knew. but it was good to feel so free. it was possible for you.

"okay, then!" yunho yelled after your two 8-counts were over, hyping you up. "that's what i'm talking about! but i'll still kick your ass."

you laughed, glad that you could tease someone, but all in good fun. "we'll see about that."

it was his turn to show off, and he didn't even need to do anything fancy. whether the audience was ten, a hundred, or there wasn't one at all, he performed. the energy he had electrified the room, every kick and flick of the hand holding meaning.

no one's perfect. give it time. you'll get there, you reminded yourself. normally, you'd try to compare yourself to dancers like yunho, the ones who seemed like they had it all. their skills wouldn't stop you from becoming the best dancer you could be, enjoying yourself along the way. there were always going to be things you wished were better, but worrying ate away at your mental health.

in the background, the music continued, its beat making you sway with ease, and suddenly, all that mattered was this moment of two imperfect dancers sharing their craft.

#ficscafe #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez yunho #ateez #ateez x atiny #ateez reactions #ateez angst #jeong yunho #tranquilpetrichorfic

[deadqueenz]

Eddie Gluskin x Female Reader: My Everything

Part Two: Lady Killer

Warning mentioning of SA

Happiness is hard to find, let alone to keep. Memories you wish you could erase and wash yourself clean of those who harmed you. Mentally, physically, emotionally, and lastly verbally. If there was truly a way to turn back time, or to wash oneself clean and pure like the winter snow, imagine how far people would go to get it.

Even if it was free, there are some who would be greedy to keep it to their-selves. There would even be some who would use it for bad reasons, instead of for good.

Fascinating. Isn't it? How one can go from being good to bad? All it takes is one push in that direction, and you've created a monster. But most times, it's never the victim's/survivor's fault for things that happen to them.

It's the monster and their sick mind.

Eddie Gluskin, what type of man would he be if those monsters never got to him? How many times did his mother turn her back on him when he was only a mere child begging for her help? The sorrow in her eyes, overshadowed by disgust. She feared her husband, but at the same time, how could she sit back and let what happened to her son happen?

Unfortunately for Eddie and his mother, the fear won every time. She would bite her nails or lower lip until it bled, trying her damned best to focus on her wifely duties and block out the noises until the ordeal was over. And even then, she couldn't bring herself to look her son in the eye afterwards.

The guilt ate at her like a hungry wolf tearing into its prey. Alcohol became her best friend, a lover that made her feel warm and fuzzy on the inside, bringing a beautiful blush to her cheeks. She drunk in secret, not even the bastard she was forced to call a husband knew about her addiction.

Even if he did, what would he do? He drunk like a fish out of water himself! And it was best to keep quiet about his bastard of a brother, at first, he didn't live under the same roof as them, but as he once put it; "his living conditions become unstable as of late." Leaving the bastard to live with them and able to do as he wished like his brother.

Mrs. Gluskin can't even begin to remember the countless times she felt and seen him watching and hovering over her. When she was in the shower, or simply taking a bath, she knows she's closed the door behind her, but it didn't help when she would feel eyes on her, seen the door open a crack through the bathroom mirror, or seen him just standing there, smiling creepily at her; 'I needed to use the bathroom, but unfortunately, you were in here.' That accursed damned lie.

Locking the door was futile, considering the house they were forced to share both the Master bedroom bathroom and the other one. Her husband would get furious and may even take the lock off again, let alone beat her until he was satisfied or couldn't wait any longer to shove a bottle of beer down his gullet.

To forget her pain and sorrows, she would wait until the bastards leave for their usual bar, grab her preferred liquor or wine for the night, play some music and soak in a long well-deserved bath. By that time, Eddie would've been dreaming of sheep but unfortunately, he was wide awake.

His small body grown immune to the sleeping medicine.

He made his way to the bathroom, finding the door ajar and his mother slurred voice singing loudly to her favorite song, fully submerged in the bath water up to her chin. her eyes glossed over as she stares up at the ceiling, taking a swig from the large suds covered bottle before letting it slip back into the tub.

Out the corner of her eye, she spots a tiny black-haired figure peering around the doorway, she smiles; laughs even, before telling Eddie he could come in. Hesitantly, he slowly made his way over to his mother, stopping a few inches away from the tub. She hums- a hymn he was quite familiar with- as she brushed a wet hand over his head.

"Mother loves you, you know that? She always has, and she always will." She spoke softly, staring into his blue eyes as she caresses his head. Moments passed before Eddie begins to feel drowsy again, a small yawn leaving his lips, making his mother chuckle softly.

"Let mama have a few more minutes, and she'll be in to tuck you into bed again, okay?"

He nods, turning around and making his way back to his small cold little room. On the way back, his eyes glance over to their room. It was quiet; no obnoxious snoring, loud laughing, or the sounds of breaking bottles being shattered. They must be out 'doing man things' as his mother once put it.

He makes his way to his room, not wanting to be caught wandering about the house after curfew hours, again. Quiet as a mouse, he slips back under his blankets and waits for his mother to arrive...

He awakes sometime later, music off and his mother no longer singing. He realizes, regrettably so, that he's fallen asleep. The house was eerily quiet, making him feel uneasy. Seconds later, he hears footsteps and his door creaks open, his mother.

She hums quietly, carrying a steaming mug of warm milk in her left hand as she quietly closes the door behind her. Unsteadily, she makes her way over to the bed and smiles peacefully at Eddie, he could smell the alcohol wafting off of her. Long dark hair damp from her bath, eyes red rimmed and puffy, she was wearing a white night gown that stopped at her ankles, and her hands shook slightly as she passes the mug to Eddie.

This time, the milk wasn't laced with anything. He could sleep normally tonight. He cautiously sips the warm milk, not wanting to burn himself as a childish grin makes its way onto his face. The mother and son duo sat quietly in peaceful silence, the moon shining through Eddie's window giving the room a soft white glow.

"Mommy's sorry Eddie." His mother whispers, he doesn't say anything, just continue to quietly sip from the mug until it was empty. Once he was finished, he holds the mug out for her to take and she smiles genially, taking the mug, and leaves his room as quietly as she came...

Nine. Years. Old.

Eddie Redacted Gluskin, was only nine years old when another monster came and took his mother away. Or maybe it was his fault, or maybe.... He didn't know anymore. He only remembers bits and pieces now. He wanted to forget, he wanted to forget it all. The blood, the monsters, the pictures,-leave it to beaver leave it to beaver leave it to beaver- the screaming, the crying, the body....

Oh, the body? Don't you mean Your Mother's Dead Body....Eddie Gluskin? His nineth birthday was excruciating, the monsters wearing the skins of his uncle and Father, gave him.... Gifts. Pictures of their.... loving memories together. And for his ninth birthday, they wanted to create new photographic memories. His mother gnashed her teeth together, drinking more than she usually do, the day passed in a blur; sounds were muffled like she was under water.

She passed out on the sofa, arm thrown over her eyes to block out the setting sun, her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She felt a hand touch hers, the bottle slips through her fingers and spills onto the rug. She slaps the hand away roughly, "Dirty filthy bastard *hic*, get away from me."

Silence. Followed by a sniffle, before footsteps hurried away. She didn't hear a thing considering she fell asleep again. Nighttime rolls around, it was around 10p.m. when Mrs. Gluskin wakes up again, somehow she managed to make it to her bedroom in her drunken state and proceeded to strip to take a bath.

She continued to curse her bastard of a husband and that god-awful brother of his. A child, let alone her own son. She sneers, picking up one of many empty wine bottles from atop her dresser and throws it in her drunken rage. She loudly curses them both.

"Damn you, you make me sick! I can't bear to look at you any longer." And the fact he gave her a son, that resembled his father by his looks? Even more horrifying. After everything he's done, he then turns around and tries to bed her right after?!

She couldn't bear the sight of that man, neither showed any signs of remorse when she found the pictures. She vomited over and over, that day. Feeling disgusted and hated herself for not noticing sooner. But she hated her husband more, and her brother-in-law he tried to seduce her behind his own brother's back, and she rejected every attempt.

When he stopped flirting and watching her, she should have known he was doing the same thing as her husband. The verbal and physical abuse continued throughout the years, Eddie's nightmares happened more frequently, the sleeping pills lost their effectiveness. So she used different pills and syrups to help him sleep throughout the night.

She didn't want her son to hear that man call her out her name; 'Whore', 'Slut', and oh gods the beating. Alcohol truly helped with the pain. Little did she know, Eddie heard and saw the whole thing. When his father would beat his mother, she would cry and give in to his demands, doing whatever he told her too.

When the beating was too much, he treated his wife with respect, in hopes -yet knowing- she wouldn't go to the police to report him for his crimes. In the small town they lived in, the other housewives were jealous of the Gluskin's married life. Outside the house, they were showcased as the little perfect family. A loving couple who loved their one and only son, with the charming and funny shockingly single uncle to boot.

Inside the house, hell reigned behind those four walls. Gloves were off, one-sided punches were thrown, mouths were unfiltered, and the son was trapped in the middle of it all. Mrs. Gluskin picks up another bottle, hearing the liquid slosh around inside it, she helps herself to it.

Forget. Forget.

That's right, that's all she wanted to do right now, forget everything for a moment and deal with it at a later time. She loved her son, truly she would die for him before she let anything happen to him. Yet....She feels like she failed- no- she knows she failed him when he needed her most.

That was the reason she started drinking, she couldn't face the guilt while being sober, it gutted her ruthlessly. A sob breaks the quiet, her lips trembled, before she could break down completely, she takes a large gulp from the bottle. Hard Liquor. It was typically a man's drink, but at this moment, she didn't care.

She stumbles to the bathroom, turning on the water and sits on the side of the tub to wait for it to fill up. Once it did, she turned the water off, polishing off the bottle before placing it on the floor near her feet. She lowers herself into the tub, slipping down until her chin touched the water. But then, she spots something out the corner of her eye, she quickly turns her head to see, scoffing when realization hits.

Eddie was standing there, peering into the bathroom. His blue eyes pierced the dim lighting of her room. His hair more unkempt than she remembered. Another nightmare, just her luck. She sighs, lifting a hand out of the water to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Go back to bed, I'll be in there in a bit. Okay?"

Expecting her son to walk away, Mrs. Gluskin slips further down into the bath and closes her eyes....It's been estimated that Mrs. Redacted Gluskin, died sometime around 11pm due to blunt force trauma. No one knew how or why, but considering the husband and his brother were both missing and the front door was found wide open the next morning by the neighbors, what else were they to think?

Either the husband or brother had something to do with the murder, or they both worked together. The small town was shaken to the core when they saw a body being brought out on a stretcher. Eddie was found by a neighbor standing nearby his mother's dead body, the sight wasn't gruesome, but somber.

The neighbor's report goes like this;

'I was leaving for work around 7am like usual, when I made my way to my car, I noticed across the street, their door was wide open. It was unusual; Redacted nor the missus were the type to just leave their front door open. I felt like something was off, considering their car was gone, and the lights in the house were off; well from what I could tell...

I made my way across the street, taking my pocket knife with me and called out to them from inside the house. No answer. The fear something was wrong grew more and more with each passing minute. Not knowing what I was going into, I went to get a buddy of mine and we ran back to the house with his shotgun in hand.

We checked through the entire house, nothing, at least....Until we found the master bedroom. The door was pulled close, but we could hear running water, I called out; asking if anyone was in there, to answer me.

Still nothing, I pushed open the door, the carpet was damp; my work shoes squelched with each step as I made my way over, I could hear the water more clearly, I pushed the door open and there way the son; his back towards me and he was looking at something in the tub.....Judging by the legs hanging out the tub; I knew then it was Redacted.

The kid, their son, he asked me was his momma dead. I didn't know I was standing beside him until he asked me that. She was laying there, motionless; eyes wide open yet staring at nothing. I turned the water off, I felt sick to my stomach, my buddy was on the phone with police. He looked like how I felt, I took the kid with me and we all exited the house.

It wasn't long after that when the police and paramedics showed up...'

Mrs. Gluskin was pronounced dead at the scene, the son was placed with a family within the town and a search was put out for the husband and brother, it wouldn't be until nine years later that the both of them were found along with.....disturbing photographs.

During the trial, Eddie Gluskin, who was eighteen years old, had a breakdown on the stand, just like nine years prior when asked about his father and uncle. Unfortunately, he escaped police capture when they tried to calm him down and was later pronounced missing.

The father and uncle both were sent to prison for murder, information redacted, you are not authorized to view any further. Days later after being arrested, they were found dead in their prison cells. The other inmates, nor the officers present at the time, knew anything. Those that live in the small town, at the time, had all moved away.

The horrifying secrets of the small town remains only in the memories of those that lived there and would remain with them even after death. Unfortunately, Eddie Gluskin was never found, and even then, nobody searched for it. Feeling that the young man suffered enough already.

All they ever hoped for, was that he was safe, alive, and living well....

WE INTERRUPT THIS PROGRAM TO BRING YOU AN IMPORTANT MESSAGE! Earlier today, another woman was found brutally murdered in her apartment, police have yet to release more information but advises people to stay and remain indoors at night. Please check that your doors and windows are locked, and if you see anything suspicious, please contact the number listed below...

"Oh my, how unfortunate."

#eddie gluskin #outlast #outlast eddie #whistle blower #the groom

[originemesis]

@kugel-bitch cont. from xxx

The increasingly harmonic symphony of sounds does not escape her notice. So many years studying and bending the nature of music to her will has attuned her senses to even the most unassuming of rhythms in her environment. Anything. Anything at all can be the substructure of a song. Even ugly things. And how often had they verified this truth, when they'd crooned their derisive requiems over the anguished howling of the wicked and damned. They, with their canorous chemistry, could make any cacophony of dissonant noise into a beautiful hymn. Not that they would have to exert themselves here to achieve such ends; by the nature of earth's first safe haven, everything in this place seems to be in perfect harmony with itself. It might be blasphemous to consider, but she'd argue that even certain corners of heaven itself paled in comparison.

But what is this really about? That is what she's still trying decipher. Though certain clues in his increasingly solicitous demeanor are starting to paint a heart-fluttering first draft of an idea, but it almost seems too grand of a concept to chalk up as factual. After all these years, for him to suddenly decide he wants to become interlaced into something so eternally binding with her? It's...not impossible to believe. Not necessarily. But if those are the facts of the matter, does he comprehend the intricacies of such an arrangement? Does he understand the implications? Yes, he has taken to her people's customs like a shark to water, so much so that it is very easy to forget that he had ever been human at all, but he's also exceptionally impulsive. Has he considered that dropping anchor with somebody of her unremarkable social standing—a direct subordinate no less, might rub some people the wrong way?

I mean, all of that would be entirely irrelevant if it turns out he's actually just yanking her chain, which he has long since gotten into a pretty consistent habit of doing. Something like this, though? This would be a new low for him for certain. Something she's not entirely sure she could so readily forgive. It is no secret, after all, that her devotion stretches well beyond the bounds of an ordinary boss and attendant affiliation. For him to use something like that against her—

She feels his fingers curl snugly about the circumference of her hand which rouses a mirrored reaction from hers and she quickly decides that, no, she knows him better than that. For all the mischief and trouble he's prone to stirring up he has never been that cruel to her. So where does that leave them?

Teetering on the brink of a new chapter in this co-authored, political tragicomedy, she supposes.

When he decides to unearth the topic of V-day (if only in a passing remark), which she had made the executive decision of burying six feet deep In her psyche with every other regrettable affair her vicious temper has inadvertently landed her in, she all but shrivels like a popped balloon poodle, aptly adjoined by a truly miserable whimper of a chirp.

"...that was...I was just in a mood...it didn't mean anything...i—"

But he's not angling for apologies—she understands that when he captures the cherubic curves of her face in the tapered tines of gloved claws. Gentle. So gentle for something capable of the sort of horrifying destruction that could drive even the rat-gobbling, feather-clad bureaucrats of hell into hiding. Sometimes she wishes she had that sort of power, if only for the sole purpose of evicerating anything and everything that has, does and hopes to bring him any measure of harm. Every light in every eye that looks at him with anything but pure, unadulterated adulation; she would snuff them all out. She can't help the way she angles her face to catch the pad of his thumb under her lips. She feels vulnerable. Autopsied. Scalpeled open and splayed out with all her soft parts on naked display. Somehow she doesn't mind. Let him reach beneath the bird-cage of her ribs and feel how her heart flutters for him if he so pleases. This close, he might even hear how it rattles at the bars, like it's trying to break out and crawl up under his. Close isn't close enough.

She hates that fucking helmet.

But she reckons it serves a purpose here, so she won't kick up a fuss, settling for preening at the edges of the display instead, cooing her ardor so that it condenses against the sleek obsidian.

"I'm listening."

She's all too happy to spend the prelude to his performance tangled up in his wings, because she knows that once he takes off it could be days, if not weeks before she's granted another opportunity to hold him. People who don't know Adam might call him lazy and unmotivated but she knows exactly how hot the fire within him burns when he gets himself good and worked up. He isn't going to make this short and sweet. There isn't a doubt in her mind that he's going to give it everything that he's got. And so, she spends every last second of that first day priming him for the arduous endeavor he is about to undertake; preening feathers, kneading the intricate system of muscles responsible for maneuvering him through the air, chirping sweet nothings against the shell of his headgear.

Suddenly, when he breathes that first word, the garden of Eden might as well be any ordinary community park in the golden city. Enraptured is the only verb that comes anywhere close to being an apt descriptor for the flurry of emotions which overtake the "picture perfect porcelain" beneath Adam's knuckles. She chases the touch like a street mongrel who's only recently learned of the warmth and kindliness stored inside a human hand, swallowing thickly when he inevitably begins his ascent. Letting go of him is the hardest thing she's had to do in a hot minute—but she does all the same, granting him the space he needs to carry on with his performance.

Day bleeds into night bleeds into day. Every time she thinks he's left her thoroughly dazzled with the range of his croons or the intricacies of his tonal structure he outdoes himself. Again and again, until she's so helplessly enveloped inside the emotional turbulence rattling inside her mind that she can do little more than dazedly meander about the meadow, trying to keep track of him wherever he flutters.

And when his axe materializes in a brilliant flash of holy light, like she knew it eventually would, the resonant waves of sound which rattle through every atom in a radius which undoubtedly stretches far beyond the parameters of the garden shake loose the beady tears which had been performing a strenuous balancing act on her waterlines for a good long while now. Rolling, falling and landing on the verdant foliage below like shimmering morning dew.

[follows up from 3:12-5:24 ~]

The guitar's thundering addition to the intricacies of the little world he was building up with all manner of the garden's sounds would prove her right about his impulsiveness. It was not something so easily shaken from humanity quite like fruit from the tree of knowledge- even after the sort of transformation that heaven expected would fix. In truth, it was simply a Band-Aid that could get wet and peel off at the oddest times like the feathers he molted. If he had any second thoughts, there was simply no stopping him now that he had something to prove. And how he wanted to prove his worth to someone...amongst the shadows of the sanctimonious that looked more on him like a beloved family pet too novel to impound once his temperament took a turn for the worse.

He wouldn't wait for sunrise- he let there be light with every sparking shred of the double-edged weapon until the night around them bled gold. The divine energy that erupted from each fall of his arm sent bursts of thunder booming all around the clearing, rattling the boughs of trees and knocking their leaves loose into the swirling tornado forming around the launch pad of garden he'd picked- causing the firmly rooted flowers to bend over themselves as if they bowed to the source that would shred them just easily as it did sinners in the exterminations. Through the night, he devoted the collection of the mounting pressure born of his own special sound that even his own helmet couldn't fully replicate if it should ever fall into the possession of an imposter. She ought to know him by the sound alone, and he took enough time to allow her to feel every pulse of his being and all its twanging fibers.

"I could be your per~fect disaster-" He finally flung down a sentiment to reach her on the ground unshredded by the waves he wrought. There was a simultaneous desire to keep building their own little world, and to see her. No- he had to see her. Seriously, what if she'd already wandered off and he'd been doing all this for nothing (again-)? When he spotted her below, his crooning commenced.

"You could be...my-...!?"

Voice skipping a beat when he spotted the golden wet hue streaked down her cheek and welling, he drifted upside down into the tornado's swirl, allowing it to pull him to her as he continued strumming and feeding the sky with the axe pointed above them. With his face close to hers, he'd quietly arch a wing over to gently dust off gathered tears and flick them away as he murmured a "got you, babe" before starting the verse back up again with a light flap of his wings to help carry him back into the pull of the gathering storm's edges. "-I got you ~ a perfect disaster. You could bring my ever after! Yeah. You could... be my ever after- after all." After all they'd been through, if there were any lingering doubts, he let the storm shred them while it whipped and worked at splicing their soul sounds into the perfect mashup.

"We could be a perfect disaster....we could have an ever after!"

And on the fourth day, he would make the climb. He'd take their storm to heaven the way humans had tried many a time before- a mission doomed to fail, he knew. Symbolic and needed for the ritual of her kind. As he quieted the guitar to the demand of heaven's violins that he press on and not look back again if they were not to succeed, he used each elegant demand as stepping stones up the side of his summoned disaster until he reached the top of the tempest. Perched there there, he fed the beastly force a blast of drums collected in his sound files from all the exorcists - the beating of their weapons on the ground when they sought to synchronize their flight to hell before take off.

"Nobody told ya-" Mask flipped back to offer one challenging squint at the sky as the force behind him cupped him from beneath like the palm of a great hand lowering him back towards the ground. "-this was gonna fold ya?" With the axe at the ready just in case he needed a strum two or more up on high, he grinned as the pressure reached its limit against him holding it back beneath his angelic weight. "We'll go marching in-" with all the power preened from his and Lute's melodies, and the fluttering sounds of their flock stitched in for additional support. "Like toy SOLDIERS-!"

And with that, the storm of the godly fist flung him into the air with his wings tucked tight at his side to aid him in the first most perilous period of the ascent. And though his music was temporarily muted while he grit his teeth and relied on the storm's enduring power to push further into the atmosphere and past it, heaven's violins would follow his progress as he crooned to himself. She would hear it down below- irreparably bound if only for this moment should she not be there when he returned. "... to have and hold ya. Over sold ya..." He'd taken her for granted so many times, and he still did. But she convinced him cradled against his chest in the dark after a miserable night not knowing if she was really serious about returning that time or not. She would always be there bound as much to his soul as his axe was- why he hadn't realized that sooner when he even playfully held and used her as a makeshift guitar for his impromptu air solos, he didn't want to think about the farther he stretched the length of their bond tethering him down to her on Earth as if he worried such a thought might cause it to snap and leave him stranded amongst the stars. Stars... he could see them now - just nearly there when he felt the dwindled force beginning to pull back on him. Teeth grit, he willed a heavy step up and climbed the last few rungs of the divine violins' challenge before he hit the pocket of space that put the stop to his ascent once and for all.

And on the fifth day, he drifted amongst the vast emptiness of space, his way lit by stars, the moon and Earth at his back swirled blue and streaked white like a favorite marble in a collection amongst the rest. In the slowness of it all, he searched with softened reprieve. "Somehow don't ...you dare fail. Fail me now?" His talons grazed bits of space rock along his path as he approached the blinding brilliance of the moon. Pieces of it were left floating far out from every meteor that grazed it passing through, and he shifted his fingers through them like sand, searching for shards. "Ever After - somehow." Once he found two appropriately sized pieces, he pressed them against his chest which opened up a golden portal inside himself, sealing them away for safe keeping shortly before he drifted back to the drop off point.

"Don't - you dare fail. Fail me now, Ever After. Somehow...?"

He held the note in an uneasy warble caught in his throat with the apple, floating back upside down as he had to her earlier until he was lined back up with the Earth and Eden below him. Could she see him all the way up there - his golden light refusing yet to extinguish until he'd made it back to her? At the impatience of the violins that sang to him 'face the music when it's dire', he huffed. It would take the sixth day to fall. Though the first half of the descent was powered by more thundering slams of his guitar to help launch him back out of orbit and cut through the forces of the atmosphere seeking to catch him like a kite. He forced his way through it with each strum guiding a swirling nose dive down. As the ground eventually made its way into his perioherals- and the unmistakable glint of the gold in her eyes his eagle ones caught even up so high, he smiled. "Somehow don't- you dare fail. Fail me now, Ever After...?" And with a forceful strum to knock his dive speed back a notch, he grimaced hard as his wings helped to catch the brunt force of the original descent. He wouldn't be flapping any time soon now...throbbing and struggling at the currents as he used the last bit of his song's strength to float head first over Eden and crooned.

"Once upon a time...this place was beautiful and mine. But now it's just...a bottom line." The sentiment stung. He'd referred to the place in bitter contempt in the past as if convincing himself it wasn't as precious as memory could paint it. "Barely comes to mind..." But when he saw her amongst it...waiting for him- he knew that he was right. The beauty of Eden need not exist in his head because it was no longer there, but found in the stalwart gaze held below.

"Ever After, what is mine?" The First Man wondered to the sky, a hand outstretched as if an arm might reach down to save him from himself.

At the peak of the seventh day, he dropped- his energy spent and his wings too weak to beat, but outstretched in a hope of catching a current as the wind's edges beat the bruises into every feather and flung him to his fate.

#//and then he died- F in the chat for my boi #//angelic proposals b hardcore af and he's still human w something to prove #//ya know- just one elaborate musical trust fall #//last novel im posting btw mybad #long post #kugel-bitch #//the only vulnerable moment he will have on this blog and ofc vox is gonna use it against him later c: dammit