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bookshelf-full-of-bruises · 3 months

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A Flame Extinguished

FebuWhump Day 1: Helpless

Robbie faces one of his greatest failures. Trigger Warnings for minor whump, up to and including death of said minor by burning at the stake. This one’s heavy, so proceed with caution

As flames spire towards the smoke stained heavens and screams pierce the air, Robert Gardner can only assume that he has finally found for himself that ashen plane which mortals call Hell. No matter how he struggles, a wall of arms holds him steady to watch his worst nightmares spring to life before his eyes. His own voice is drowned out in the cries for vengeance. For justice.

Atop a pyre, the young Paragon of Prophecy pleads for mercy from an unyielding mob as fire climbs its ladder of straw and wood. He is seventeen. Still just a boy, with baby fat softening his terrified features. Piercing blue eyes scan over so many angry faces, hoping to find his sister or mother amongst the scores.

Finding himself disappointed, Daniel turns that terror towards his mentor. He begs. He pleads for help from a man who is helpless to do anything but observe. He sobs and cries and screams as the bleeding sunset meets its end, and the shadows of night descend upon his execution.

In the end, Robbie find himself doing the very thing he was meant to do in the first place. He watches. He watches as the flames of hatred consume the child he had taken under his wing so many moons ago. As his failure comes to bear in such a brutal way that he finds himself choking on it, he still claws and strains against fate with every breath. Smoke and desolation cloud his lungs as screams climb higher, and the ashes begin to smell of flesh.

It is not until silence descends that he is released.

The very second he is able to, he is sprinting into the tower of flames, scorching his palms as he pulls the now motionless body from its boiling tomb. He drags the boy he had come to think of as his son from the ashes, and cradles him close. His tears clump the ashes of his ragged clothes, now reduced to dust.

“Cowards!” He screams, voice raw with pain and horror as he picks his head up to level the gathered people with a distraught glare. “He was but a boy! And all he did was to warn you!”

Just as before, his cries are met with the indifference of those too willfully ignorant to see the truth in anything other than that which resembles their own. Father Bailin, disdain written clearly across his face, steps forward to speak.

For a moment, beyond the roar of the fire still consuming the wood of the pire, there is utter silence.

“Leave this place, Robert. We know you cannot be killed. But let this be a warning to you. If you return, you will burn as well. And as with this,” his voice dips with contempt as he nods towards the burnt corpse of Daniel Caughlin, “sorcerous filth, we will not cut you down until you have stopped screaming.”

It takes everything in Robbie’s being not to rip the priest apart with his bare hands now that he is not being held back by half the village. But they both know he won’t. They both know he has something more important to do.

Without another word, he stands, cradling his boy close, and walks into the night. It is a long trek to the lake where the willow keeps watch, but he will make it. And as the morning sun rises over a freshly mounded grave, he will take a moment to look into her placid waters and wonder how to carry himself into tomorrow

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raigash · 6 months

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It’s You, It’s You… (Must Go, and I Must Bide)

Whumptober 2023 Days 25 (Storm) and 31 (Emptiness)

Trigger Warnings for disordered substance abuse, parental grief of a mentor figure over the death of a child (age 17), and general awful mental health

The lights are bright and glaring above the bar, casting down their judgments in shades of brilliant amber. They shine harshly down upon the man seated at the very last barstool. His head remains tipped down, warding himself against their unblinking stare. The shadows beneath his bloodshot eyes seem to weigh the whole of his body down.

There is a storm in the air, tonight. Good for the ground that’s been without rain for so long. The dull drone of the TV- one still set to the news channel and not some inane sports game- declares it so.

With trembling hands, Robbie takes his sixth shot of the evening. The glass, small and delicate in his hands, has floral designs etched onto its surface. Curling vines wrap around the circumference, splitting off into flowering branches at random intervals, and a lacework design rings the top and bottom rims. It is a special glass, specifically for the absinthe he’s drinking like water tonight. He doesn’t stop to appreciate it as he returns it to the bar.

He grows nauseous if he allows the chill of the glass to linger against the phantom burn in his palms for too long.

The din of the crowd prickles like needles over his skin, an unwelcome agitation in the face of this bloodstained anniversary. He shouldn’t have come here tonight. He thought submerging himself in the World’s teeming pool of life would help, but it just makes him remember more.

Just makes him angrier.

What right do they have to be dancing to this shitty music? Drinking these shitty drinks? What right does he have to be among them?

The heat coursing through his veins feels too sickeningly familiar. He can practically taste the smoke in the air, can feel flames reaching for his skin as if to drag him down to the depths of hell itself. He deserves it all. The fire. The ash. He deserves to burn on the pyre he built with his own stupidity.

Five hundred and sixty seven years to the day, and still, the screams echo so clearly through his head that he could lose himself in them, if he’s not careful. Shrill and pained, they plead for mercy from a sleeping god, and from a man who could not save him.

Just a man, in spite of everything he’s ever tried to be. A foolish, selfish man, ever on the run from his own mistakes.

He picks up the glass once more, instinctually bringing it to his lips for the burning relief. Instead of spirit, however, he finds only air, and the lingering dregs of his last sip gone sour. Something sharp and jagged inside him rears its onyx head. Everything is too clear, once more, and he needs that to change. He needs that to change now.

He waves a hand at the young bartender milling aimlessly at the far end of the counter, growing agitated as the whelp clearly notices his presence, but hesitates to approach. Robbie allows another five seconds of being ignored before he snaps twice, the sound ringing out through the low noise filling the room. The kid- Brandon, according to the beat up name tag dangling from their chest pocket- winces at the sound before finally turning his way. If it were any other night, he would have taken pause at the dread he was causing. As it stands, he just quirks a frustrated eyebrow as the other draws near.

“How can I help you?” Their voice is pitched high, a blatantly obvious customer service voice that he wants to scoff at, but he doesn’t. But he wants to.

But he doesn’t.

“Th’same way you’ve been helping me all night,” Robbie grumbles instead, pushing the small glass their way. He doesn’t make direct eye contact as he speaks, instead focusing on the fidgeting of their hands. Anxious. They’re anxious. Why are they anxious? He just wants another drink.

“I….don’t think I’m allowed to do that, sir.”

Ahhhh. That’s why. Good reason to be anxious, he supposes.

He does look up just a little more, now, a warning stillness falling across his countenance as his eyes rake over the child standing before him. Late twenties, probably, and a college student, if the cheap rubber bracelet on their wrist is any indicator. Just a child, in this wide world, trying to carve their way. He tries to remain civil, at first. He truly does.

“And why, pray tell, is that?” They have a scar above their right eyebrow, and freckles dust their tan cheeks. His lungs give a tortured squeeze in his chest when he realizes just how similar they look. And the eyes…. Dreamer above, he’s not drunk enough for this.

Their eyes are a soft cornflower blue, practically glowing beneath the fluorescent lights of the bar.

“The law dictates that we cannot sell alcohol to individuals that are overly intoxicated,” Brandon tries to explain, worry scrunching their otherwise smooth brow as they reach to take the shot glass from the table. No movement is made to refill it, he notices testily. “And you are….well…,” the kid flounders, clearly not knowing what to say next. It’s a scripted line, he knows, but still, Robbie seizes the chance to try and argue his point until he wins.

“‘I am’ still entirely too sober. I’m holding a coherent conversation with you, and you can understand me, can’t you?” He argues, eyebrows drawing together in a rare show of open annoyance. The kid is just doing their job. But right now, the pale gleam of concern in their too-blue eyes grates like barbed wire, and all he wants is to numb himself to the agony he can’t escape. “Isn’t that usually the baseline for determining intoxication levels at a glance?”

As if one more drink will do what the first six hadn’t.

“I can, but Sir, this is…people get alcohol poisoning from far less than what you’ve already had, and in good conscience, I just don’t think-”

The creature of shadow and pain that writhes beneath Robbie’s skin thrashes against the continued denial, and civility gives way to its animalistic braying. Who are they to deny him this barest kernel of relief? To act as if they know what he needs, what he can take? What do they know of what he can withstand? Nothing. They know nothing.

“Do I sound like I’m in danger of succumbing to alcohol poisoning right now? I could do your damn calculus homework for Dream’s sake! Do you need me to spout the fucking- the quadratic formula, to prove that I’m of sound enough mind to order another goddamn drink?” His left hand finds the table in a decently loud thud as he finishes, punctuating his fury in the best way he knows how right now.

The kid’s face falls from stunned to panicked throughout his rant, and Robbie can feel the claws of guilt digging into his flesh like knives when their shoulders jump in response to his outburst. Those eyes pierce him, even when anxiously averted. The spirits already coursing through his veins burn like gasoline set ablaze.

Monster

He’s a monster

Shutting his eyes tightly against the shame, he rubs the bridge of his nose, willing his looming migraine to disappear by sheer force of will alone. He should have known better than to come out in public tonight. The silence of his apartment had been too heavy to bear, but he’s only taken that burden and given it to someone else. Someone else just trying to survive in a world dead set on making that impossible.

On and on the wheel turns, crushing those just trying to survive beneath its cruel spokes. Beneath his cruel spokes. He never learns.

“Just…go get me your manager, please, Brandon.” He doesn’t look at the kid as they go. The speed with which they move away from him tells him all he needs to know about the damage he’s wrought. He won't be able to return here in this lifetime.

When they return with the night manager, Robbie is long gone, and so is the absinthe bottle that had been sitting behind the counter. In its place sit two crisp $100 bills, as well as a hastily scrawled note on a bar napkin. Don’t blame the kid. This should cover the tab.

-—-

Having exiled himself from the company of others, he maunders down the darkened streets like a ghost. Pavement melts into sidewalk, which melts into more gritty pavement. Whole blocks go by in what feels like only a handful of blurry seconds. What reason does he have to stop himself? No one waits for him, at home. He has all the time in the world.

He walks without turning until the distant bark of a dog turns him down another avenue. Lila never stopped barking, no matter how many times he came around. No matter how much the family tried to ease her dislike, she was always at the fence when he arrived, teeth bared and snarling. She would never take food from him, and even refused to leave the room if he was working with Daniel, despite obviously being unhappy with his presence. He never understood, then, why she hated him so completely.

Now, he just wishes she had been successful in chasing him off, like she’d wanted so badly to do. Just wishes he had listened to the advice she had been trying to deliver in the only way she could. She had been right, all along. And her charge paid the price for Robbie’s obtuseness.

That tends to be the pattern, when he is involved. Everyone suffers the consequences of his worst mistakes, save the fool who fucked up in the first place.

He gets to live on. He gets to remember.

It isn’t until he feels the squish of sand beneath his feet that he realizes just exactly how far he’s allowed himself to stray. His legs and lungs seem to stop working at the same time, and shakily, he brings the bottle back up to his lips to take another steadying swig.

Why did he come here? Why did he do this to himself?

There is no willow tree overlooking this body of water. No charred remains beneath the soft ground of the clay banks. Still, he can feel the haunting presence watching him from beneath the surface of the raging sea.

Daniel always wanted to make the trip to the seaside. Robbie had always promised to take him, someday.

A poorly placed step makes the world lurch beneath his feet, and the world spins around him. His limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated, his movements slow. It seems to him that ghostly hands emerge and grab him by the ankles to drag him down into the dunes, and he only barely keeps his footing against their assault.

When he looks back down, shaken, there are nothing but lifeless grains to be found. Nothing but shifting sands, spilled from a broken hourglass. A chill wracks his frame as he feels the clouds finally collapse beneath their own weight, and the first droplets meet his skin. The storm begins overhead, and Robbie takes a deep breath as nature’s sorrowful sighs flood his lungs.

Looking back up over the sea, he can see roaring flames reflected in the wind-tossed waters, embers rising up like spectres as the rain falls in sheets. His clothes are soaked through in minutes, but he can barely feel the cold through the yawning emptiness inside. What does the temperature matter to him?

What does anything matter to him?

He walks the shoreline as he ponders that very question, keeping his eyes cast out over the water. How often they would pace at the lake’s edge, leaning on its serenity to help clear their minds. How often they had laughed beneath the boughs of that sturdy willow, shielding them from the midsummer sun.

How often he remembers those sun soaked days, now that he finds himself alone in the dark again.

Alone is better than at fault, he reminds himself listlessly as his heart cries out its misery to deafened ears. Alone is better than burying a body.

It is maybe five more minutes- and two more heavy sips of absinthe- before Robbie stumbles once again. This time, however, he cannot save himself from making the tumble. And once he finds himself having fallen, he can’t muster the strength to get back up. He has lost the chase, this time, fair and square.

He has lost.

He lets the memories consume him, tearing into his flesh like a pack of rabid animals. Ruthless teeth rip apart the stitches he’s been trying to sew for generations, splattering the ground with his blood. In the bleak light of the morning, he will have to disinfect the wound, and begin again. Cradled by darkness as he is now, though, he gives into their hunger. Allows his agony to nourish them.

Alone, again and always, he sits face to tearstained face with his demons. And in their cold, dead eyes, he finds eternity staring back at him. Only they will walk with him until his final days. Only they will never leave him.

He does not make it home, this night. Graceful unconsciousness finally finds him curled up in the damp sand, empty bottle clutched close to his chest. His lips are chapped, and his skin is chilled. Eerily reminiscent of a corpse, if only as another example of life’s cruel ironies. The rain continues well into the morning, but Robbie has finally succeeded in deafening himself to its melancholy song.

Sometime in the early afternoon, he will awaken, and brush the cadaverous sleep from his eyes. He will shake the sand from his hair, and carry his aching body back to its empty home.

Tonight, Robbie finds dreamless sleep in the cloying arms of the green fairy.

Robbie Tag List: @lektricwhump @tormentum-ab-intra @salamancialilypad @wildfaewhump @whumptober

#whumptober2023 #no.25 #storms #no.31 #emptiness #original characters #oc content #raigash writing #fic #grief #death of a minor #disordered substance use #alcohol #absinthe #immortal mentor figure #mourning #Robbie reflects on one of his greatest failures #an annual event #a reminder of mistakes he can never make again

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vivispec · 2 years

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hanging by a threat

prompt: breaking point

fandom: dragon age inquisition

pairing: solavellan

tags: rogue!inquisitor, adolescent death, whump, time travel, solavellan fankid, viera pov, solas pov

“‘Tell me honestly, Solas, that there is truly no better way.’”

The Veil is torn asunder, ripped to shreds by Talasyl'nir's sacrifice and Solas' oversight, and as Viera'vun loses her daughter she loses herself. With nothing left within this world to save, the former Inquisitor travels back in time—consequences be damned—to stop this reality from ever having the chance to exist.

find all of my finished prompts here!

@whumptober-archive

#whumptober2022 #no.17 #hanging by a threat #breaking point #dragon age #dai #fic #solavellan #death of a minor #adolescent death #time travel #convulsions #death threats #solas #viera'vun #talasyl'nir #iloniyn #viera pov #solas pov

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reconstructwriter · 9 months

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#my writing #Reconstructwriter writes #writing #Yet Each Man Kills the Thing He Loves #sith oc #Star Wars #Star Wars version of Dracula #Death of a minor #child abuse #Ableist oc #The Sith are assholes its a cult requirement #Injury

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bonefall · 3 months

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Anyway. Bi and Mspec Lesbians aren't a hotly "debated" topic or even new to queer culture, it's just the newest thing that bullies who REALLY want to be homophobic and even racist use to justify harassing gay people they don't like.

It's the thinnest possible veneer of progressive language wrapped around TERF and reactionary rhetoric so that they can feel righteous for forming an angry mob against vulnerable targets. If you're gullible enough to fall for the newest wave of bigotry within the queer community, and turn on your allies because they're "confusing" or "invading your spaces," the SAME way they turned on bi/pan labels, trans people, xenogenders, neopronouns, and aroace people before this, then get lost.

#No patience. Wither and rot.#These motherfuckers dogpiled the legend who leaked the no fly list because it identified as the wrong type of lesbian.#They will attack the people doing DIRECT ACTION over dumbfuck label discourse. Deeply unserious people.#Embarrassing to think that there are rubes out there who keep falling for this #For ALL our sakes I hope this is literally their first rodeos and they really haven't fallen for this bullshit twice.#But unfortunately I'm too old to be that hopeful.#I didn't get to see the big ''public block list'' made for us dirty queers who support or are bi/mspec lesbians but I hope I was on it #If a man is best judged by his enemies then exclusionists who echo terf rhetoric are the ones I WANT to have.#And ''public lesbian block list'' is in quotes because if you REALLY thought that such a thing wasn't a ''GO HARASS THESE PEOPLE'' charter-#--then you have a black mold where your brain used to be and it's rapidly eating into the bathroom tile you call a skull #Unironically you should not have a platform if you are THAT stupid or malicious to think it was anything BUT a harassment charter #I hope they're ashamed.#Context for those unaware: a flesh-eating amoeba created a public blocklist for people who supported bi lesbians #Minors and extremely small creators without big platforms were on that list #People got harassed but the most namely was Lockandkeyhyena who had people raiding his server with racial slurs and death threats.#I hope everyone involved sees who their ''allies'' are when they spread that sentiment.#A bunch of people ACTUALLY 'invading someone's space' to post the n-word and suicidebait.#THAT is who you appeal to. Sit with that.

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philosophy-of-spring · 4 months

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pov: you walk into them in a dark alley -

- what do you do?

Please, do not reupload my work without permission 🖤

and happy new year everyone!

characters belong to @gatobob

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strangersteddierthings · 11 months

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What's Eight Plus Seven?

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Part Three🦇Part Four🦇Part Five

Prompt from @devious-kitten

Steve had a mild interest in DnD as a freshmen because of a cousin or something. The interest was killed by Eddie being mean since Steve is a jock. Post vecna Eddie finds dust covered DnD handbook Steve explains and Eddie faces a still hurt Steve as a results of his biases

((Half written fic, half rambling about how it would go down. Apologies for the formatting. Also I added more angst than the prompt called for hehe))

Steve has always loved sports. This is a well-known fact. He's played on some sort of sports team from the time he was old enough for his parents to be able to sign him up.

A lesser-known fact is that Steve loves fantasy. Or, at least, he used to. On the playground in elementary school, Steve could often be found playing knights and dragons, and it was anyone's guess if he would be a knight or a dragon on any particular day.

The summer between middle and high school, Steve spent with his grandparents from his mother's side, on the farm they'd retired on in Michigan. A month long stay that he'd shared with his cousins, Amber, Robert, and Christopher. Amber and Robert are twins, four years younger than Steve, and Christopher was two years older and infinitely cooler than anyone else Steve knew.

Christopher was on the varsity basketball team at his high school when he was just a sophomore, captain of the JV football team, president of the chess club, and in a games club.

Christopher was everything Steve wanted to be now that he was going to be in high school. Minus the chess club because

It was during that summer, Steve got to indulge in playing make believe for another summer with his younger cousins, without the judgement of people (his father and peers) who thought he was too old for such things. He also got to learn about make believe for older kids, because Christopher played a game called Dungeons and Dragons with his game club the last month of school before summer break and spent many evenings going over what had happened with Steve as a captive audience.

"I wish I'd brought the books," Christopher had whispered to him one night from the bed, peaking over to look down at Steve in his sleeping bag on the floor, "we could have played."

Steve wishes he'd brought the books, too.

At the end of July, Christopher, Amber, and Robert's parents show up to pick them up, five days before Steve's scheduled flight to Indianapolis. It's a sad goodbye because one summer a year isn't enough with his cousins but they live in Washington. Steve's always jealous their parents drive all the way to pick them up, but a little proud he gets to brag about how he's flown alone since he was seven. No one else in his class can brag about that.

His mom picks him up in Indianapolis and they go back to school shopping while there.

A week later, Steve receives a package from Christopher. Inside Steve finds Advanced Dungeons and Dragons books, three of them, and even though Christopher said nothing about advanced, he's sure he can manage. On the inside cover of the players handbook, Christopher has written:

Hey Steve, I think you'd rock playing a dwarf paladin. Let's play next summer? Christopher 1981

He spends the last three weeks of summer vacation reading the player handbook cover to cover and making a character. It's slow going, because letters don't stay where they're supposed to be on the page (that's a problem he's had his whole life, so he's not surprised but he is determined), and he's never been good at math, so getting the stats down on paper isn't easy. He can't decide what he wants to play, so he makes two characters; an elf magic-user and, of course, a dwarf paladin.

(He's a little disappointed you can't be a dragon.)

Steve's never been one to dread the first day of school, but he's never actually looked forward to it, either. It's just been another day.

Until today.

Today is his first day as a high schooler. And the only people who go to the first day are Freshman, except the upper classman that have volunteered to man the booths for school activities for the last hour of the day. It's supposed to help the Freshman get the lay of the land without being overwhelming and Steve's excited for it. He needs to see if Hawkins High has a games club like Christopher's school does.

Here Steve is, that last hour of school. He's already been to the basketball booth, promising to sign up as soon as the season started, and the swim booth because he's got a pool at his house and has been swimming for as long as he can remember and knows he enjoys it. He also stops by the football booth even though he's never played, or cared much, for it. (Maybe he's trying to emulate Christopher, sue him.). So, the final thing is to see if Hawkins High offers a chess club and a game club.

Steve is delighted to see that, though there is no games club, there is a Dungeons and Dragons club! That delight wavers because of the kid manning the booth. His hair is curly and falls just below his ears, with big brown eyes. Steve hates to think it, but he'd be cute if he didn't look like he wanted to stab Steve.

"Yeah, no, keep walking," says the boy, pulling the flier with meeting information on it out from under Steve's hand, where he'd been attempting to read it.

Steve looks up, brows furrowed in confusion. "I was reading that."

"And I said no. Jocks don't play Dungeons and Dragons."

"I could," Steve says, offended. He squints at the name tag sticker slapped diagonally across the way too big jean vest this guy's wearing. E-d-d-i-e. Eddie.

"Have you ever played?"

"Well... no, but-"

"No buts. Mitch let a jock join last year and that was a nightmare. He could barely read the rule book. And with how you were squinting down at the flier, and then my name tag, you're not going to be much better."

Jokes on Eddie, Steve's already read the rule book. Even if it was slowly. "I can read just fine."

"Can you math, then? What's eight plus seven?"

"What?"

"Simple addition. Eight plus seven. What is it?"

Steve knows simple addition. This is fine. It doesn't matter than he's been put on the spot, and that math is hard for the same reason as reading. He can do this. His hand twitches with wanting to pull it up and use it to keep track. He's faster at math when he can do that, but this jerk is mean mugging him and he just knows if he moves his hand, this guy will mock him the rest of the school year.

Eight plus seven. Ok. Make it easier, get to ten. It takes adding two to the eight to get ten. Ok. Take that two away from the seven now. That makes... five! Ok. Ten plus five is-

"Dude, it's fifteen," Eddie snaps.

"I knew that!"

Scoff. "Right. How about seventeen plus six."

Steve can feel his face turning red with embarrassment but he's not going to let this jackass be right. Round up. It takes three to get seventeen to twenty, so take three away from the six-

"23. Point proven. Go. Away. Go play your jock games and leave me- us alone."

Steve opens his mouth to argue, or maybe plead, that he can do this, and that, more importantly, he wants to do this, but laughter cuts through the air and for the first time, Steve notices the audience that has gathered. Three people are laughing at him, and his inability to do mental math, and it makes Steve snap his jaw shut and swallow.

"Mental math isn't that hard, Steve," one of them, Brant, says, as he elbows the guy next to him.

"Thank you!" Eddie says, "that's what I'm saying."

"Whatever, man, like I'd want to play make believe at this age anyway," Steve mutters and rushes away.

If, two weeks later, Steve watches Kyle trip who he now knows is Eddie 'The Freak' Munson in the bathroom, and drag him into a stall for a swirly, well, no he didn't. He briefly thinks of saying something to stop Kyle, but shoves the words down and instead turns on heel and leaves that bathroom just as the sound of flushing and Eddie yelling start. The thick bathroom door does a good job of muffling the noise and if Steve feels any guilt about that, he shoves that down, too.

Besides, Kyle's the captain of the basketball team and if Steve wants a chance to be on that team, he can't stay anything. It's a well-known fact that Steve likes sports, after all. He's going to stick to that. Screw Eddie Munson and his Dungeons and Dragons club.

Steve will get to play Dungeons and Dragons with Christopher next summer.

Except, halfway through the school year, Steve and his parents quickly board a plane bound for Washington. Turns out being as perfect as Christopher was is hard. Overwhelming.

They arrive the day before the funeral, and fly out right after it. Steve barely has time to mourn before they're shuffling him back to school that Monday.

Christopher died, and with him, so does Steve's desire to be just like him. He quits the football team. He keeps basketball because he does like it, even without Christopher's influence. He can't bring himself to get rid of the Dungeons and Dragons books, but he can't look at them, either. They end up in the downstairs hall closet, forgotten on the shelf.

So, years later, after rising to the top of the food chain (no one was ever going to embarrass him like Eddie Munson had again) and then falling to the bottom (who cares about high school popularity when interdimensional monsters exist) and of course, the years of fighting against said interdimensional monsters before ending it all in spring of '86, Steve finds himself, unwillingly, agreeing to host Hellfire since the school banned the club following the events of spring break.

Damn Dustin Henderson. Steve usually has the backbone to say no but Dustin had to play up 'getting a chance to finally just be kids' and fuck, how was Steve going to say no to that? Despite how quickly his own desire to be a freshman playing Dungeons and Dragon had been squashed, he can't be the one to ruin this for them.

"Thanks for hosting, man," Eddie says when Steve lets him in. He's an hour early but had asked if that was okay. Apparently the dungeon master has a lot of prep to do? Not that Steve would know.

"Sure," Steve says, dismissively, because while Eddie and he went through hell together, and Steve carried his sorry ass out of the Upside Down, Steve can't quite let his guard down around him.

It's funny. In the Upside Down, Eddie had made a point to tell him he's changed, is a 'good dude' now. So, what's funny is how much Eddie is exactly the same person he was five years ago. He was an ass to Steve five years ago, and as far as Steve is concerned, was also an ass to Lucas for wanting to play basketball just this year.

He swears to God, if he hears one negative thing about Lucas tonight, he's punching Eddie unconscious, no matter what the rest of Hellfire will do or say about it.

Eddie's been in his dining room for maybe five minutes before he finds Steve in the living room. Steve's got a movie playing but he couldn't tell you which one. He's not really watching it.

"Do you got a table cloth for that big table? Jeff's got a set of metal dice and I'd feel like a real ass if we scratched it on accident."

Steve takes a deep breath before answering. He hates that Eddie is considerate like this, has been since spring break if Steve's being honest, but he doesn't want to see Eddie's good qualities. So, he waves in the direction of the closet. "Yeah. There should be some in the hall closet there. Help yourself."

"Thanks."

He twists on the couch to watch Eddie cross the room to the closet door, listens as the door creaks opens, hears the quiet, pleased noise Eddie lets out when his eyes land on the stack of table clothes. Steve continues to watch as Eddie just grabs the whole stack and yanks them off the top shelf.

Which means his watching as the stack of non-fabric objects, which must have been half atop the table clothes, also tumble out of the closet, bouncing off various parts of Eddie. It's a bunch of miscellaneous items. However, Steve realizes with horror, the book that bounces off Eddie's head is his copy of the Monster Manual. Eddie has stepped back in surprise (and possibly pain), so the Dungeon Master Guide and the Players Handbook bounce off his torso and leg before landing on the ground.

"Fuck," Eddie curses, before he stares down at what just assaulted him. Steve just stares at Eddie, watching as he slowly comes to comprehend what he's seeing. He watches as Eddie bends down and grabs the Player Handbook, the last thing to fall, from a top the pile. "What the-"

Steve stands, suddenly defensive, but doesn't actually say anything or move closer. He just watches as Eddie examines the book, flipping it from front to back in his hand like the title will change if he does that enough times.

Then, Eddie turns to him, bewildered. "Present for one of the kids? Thought they all had their own copies."

"No."

Eddie flips the book open. Reads the words written in there so many years ago. "Who's Christopher? Wait. 1981? You were playing D&D in 1981?"

"None of your business, and no," Steve says, now kicking into action, stomping up to Eddie and snatching the book from his hands.

Eddie hold his hands up in defense before his eyes turn mischievous. The same glint in them now that was there when Eddie'd leaned into this space in the RV and called him big boy. "Are you lying to me, Stevie? You've played before, haven't you?"

It makes Steve's blood boil. "No. I haven't played!"

"Alright. You could now, you know," Eddie says. And it's the way he says it, all nonchalant and like he's trying to be coy about it- it tips something over inside Steve. A bottle that held his humiliation and hurt from all those years ago.

"Oh, now I'm good enough for D&D? Now I can join? Aren't I too much of a jock for you!?"

"Whoa, what's with the hostility-"

"What's eight plus seven, Eddie!?" Steve snaps. His memory might be shit these days, with all the concussions, but the unfortunate part about Steve is that he always seems to remember the bad. And he remembers Freshman First Day like yesterday. "No? How about seventeen plus six? Come on, mental math isn't hard. Or don't you remember? I'm just a stupid jock too slow on the uptake, or no, what was it you said? It'll be a nightmare to play with me, 'cause I might be barely able to read the rules?"

He watches as Eddie's face morphs from confusion, to understanding and horror. "Holy shit, Steve. That was you- you wanted to join Hellfire-"

"Yeah, and you made it pretty fuckin' clear I didn't belong in it."

"I'm sorry man. I shouldn't have- if I'd known you, I never would have-"

"That's the problem, Eddie!" Steve shouts, waving the book in front of him. "You didn't know me. You looked at me and decided for me that I was going to be a jock and nothing else and then humiliated me in front of other people! You didn't even bother to try to know me. I spent three weeks reading this stupid book cover to cover because I knew I was shit at reading and I still wanted to try anyway."

He sees Eddie puffing up in anger. "Well, I wasn't exactly wrong, was I? You were a jock, a bully even!"

"Yeah, because I was a dumb, hurt kid who decided that it was better to hurt than be hurt. As if you weren't exactly the same that day, lashing out at me first, at my reading ability, and mocking me for not being quick at math. Fuck you, Munson!" Steve walks away, not hearing anything Eddie shouts after him as he sprints up the stairs and shuts himself in his room.

Steve knows he was a dick in high school, and it's not Eddie's fault he was a dick. Steve made choices he's not proud of and no one forced those choice on him. But Eddie doesn't get to throw that back in his face. Not when Eddie made him feel humiliated and stupid on the first goddamn day of high school, long before Steve became mean himself.

#pre-steddie #my fic #prompt #sophomore eddie is a jerk #but only because he thinks steves gonna be a jerk first so hes gotta beat him to it #also steves very mean to eddie in his thoughts but its only his thoughts #tw: minor character death #its an oc tho #tw: suicide implied but not stated

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isjasz · 3 days

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// In stars and time spoilers (of the game mechanic that is in the trailer and in the game description LOL)

[Day 288]

More isat au but guess what quote i can use >:33333333333 LETSGOOOOOOOOOOO (Also yeah introducing what the game is about for those who dont know HEHEHHEHEHEHE)

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aspiringwarriorlibrarian · 7 months

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I love how Izzy's arc last season was "What is this romcom bullshit I want to get back to gritty pirate stories" and his arc this season seems to be "I changed my mind, the gritty pirate story sucks."

#izzy hands #our flag means death #ofmd s2 #ofmd spoilers #like he hasn't completely decided he wants to be a minor romcom villain again yet #but he's definitely realized the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain part

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wyrmswears · 1 month

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more of this fuckass idea (jay-centric doodles this time)

a couple people said they were thinking about making fanwork based off of the purgatory administration idea.. if anyone does please please please tag me 👁👁

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marronbunnie · 3 months

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( \ (> ,.., <) / )

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #kerfuffle does an art #sorry i didn’t post for a month baldur’s gate took over my life #To a minor degree #lots of brainrot to come. sorry #cw animal death

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andyrosdal · 2 months

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×× VENUS FLYCATCHER and Lawrence !!!

they're bro ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

#btd lawrence #lawrence oleander #boyfriend to death 2 #btd #btd2 #btd2 lawrence #idk what else to tag #fanart #sketch #art #boyfriend to death #minors dni #mdni

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tedlebred · 4 months

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happy story about a couple of silly besties

#l lawliet #light yagami #lawlight #kinda?????#it's a screenshot redraw but every scene with them is gay #l death note #yagami light #death note #death note fanart #l lawliet fanart #light yagami fanart #lawlight fanart #ough I like how L's face turned out. I overdid light I think #clip studio paint #csp #Asher art #dn fanart #Also lmfao I’m a minor guys I’m a kid a child #Seeing people w stuff like “minors dni/ill block you if you’re a minor” in their bios is so funny to me/lh

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summerlinenss · 4 months

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here’s the thing.

if you’re one of the people celebrating our flag means death’s cancellation for whatever reason right now, i need you to realize that this is just a sign that whatever you love is next.

and i’m not saying that out of spite. having your favourite show cancelled is awful, i wouldn’t wish it on anyone. but if our little-gay-pirate-show-that-could can’t get its third and final season, the future of queer media is extremely grim.

ofmd was the definition of a sleeper hit. hbo max had no faith in it when the first season came out. it gained popularity purely through word-of-mouth. but it became one of max’s biggest shows, and it’s since been marketed as their flagship series.

it was the #1 most in-demand series in the world for 8 weeks (7 of those weeks consecutively). it’s currently in the 99.7th percentile of the comedy genre, meaning it’s in higher demand than 99.7% of all comedy series in the u.s. it has a 94% audience and critics score on rotten tomatoes. it’s the most in-demand hbo original series even above euphoria, succession, and the last of us.

it was nominated for 16 awards for the first season alone, including a GLAAD award and a peabody award. the second season was just nominated for an art directors guild award, which it was previously nominated for and won in the same category for season one.

besides awards, ofmd is critically-acclaimed and praised for its representation (including a cast of majority queer, bipoc, and disabled characters) and themes of anti-colonialism, challenging gender norms/toxic masculinity, and self-discovery/acceptance. it also has a diverse team of directors and writers consisting of several bipoc, women, and queer/trans/non-binary people.

on top of all of this, the plan for the show all along was only ever for three seasons. david jenkins only wanted three seasons for the full romcom structure to tell ed and stede’s story. that’s it. nothing more.

this isn’t an attempt to make you care about the show. but ofmd’s cancellation isn’t just a loss for the fanbase and the cast/crew. it’s a sign that it does not matter how successful or profitable shows highlighting lgbtq+ (or otherwise inclusive) narratives are or how many big names are involved. ofmd would not have been cancelled if it were a straight romcom. they would’ve magically found the budget. but corporate greed doesn’t care about us. they have no respect for queer people or queer media. and in the age of streaming, it’s only a matter of time until we lose all of it.

#also if you’re happy that ‘taika waititi’s pirate show got cancelled’ because of baseless accusations against him #1) it’s not taika’s show. it’s david jenkins’ show.#taika is just an actor/director/EP #2) even if you don’t like him celebrating the cancellation of a show because someone was falsely accused of zionism #especially when that person (like it or not) is a huge voice for minorities and is the reason so many of them get to tell their stories #is gross and makes you a gross person!#ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd season 3 #save ofmd #renew as a crew #fuck david zaslav #queer media

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strawberryspence · 1 year

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They both have different stories when asked, "When did you first meet?"

Steve says it was in school, along the hallways with freshman Steve Harrington and sophomore Eddie Munson locking eyes for the first time. Eddie says it was in a party, drinking beer and selling drugs, a transaction.

Annalyn Harrington knows the truth. The truth that way before monsters, way before creatures from games came true, way before the end of the world, way before everything, that Eddie and Steve have already met.

Annalyn remembers it, so vividly at the back of her mind. She babysits her nephew— her younger sister, Amanda's son— so often. Steve is an angel, so innocent and kind. Annalyn often questions as to how Richard Harrington could've ever had a son so pure and good.

She remembers that day. It was a bright spring day, with fresh daisies growing on the fields and birds chirping in excitement.

Annalyn takes Steve out of his school a few hours early, takes him to eat at his favorite diner. When Steve begs for her to take him to the park, telling her he really wants to play and how could she say no to those brown eyes?

It's relatively empty when they arrive at the park. It's only after lunch and the kids are still in class. But there's one kid playing in the swings, his hair is curly at the ends, wearing a tattered jacket as he kicks the sands. His guardian— a man sitting on the only bench— is watching him closely. He's frowning, deep in thought.

"Go play. Be nice." Annalyn reminds Steve, more as a habit rather than a reminder. She knows Steve will be kind, it's engraved in his soul.

Annalyn sits beside the man, quietly watching as they hear Steve introduce himself to the kid.

"Hello! I am Steve!" She hears him say, waving slightly at the kid.

The kid looks at him, blinks for a few seconds before he says his name. They chatter for a few more minutes, Steve asks if he wants to be pushed and the boy says yes.

Annalyn turns to the man, "Is that your son?"

The man turns to her, "I— Yes— No— It's complicated." He sighs, gritting his teeth so hard Annalyn can see his jaw clenching, "He's my nephew. I just got custody of him today."

"Oh." Annalyn breathes out, looking back at the kid who's now pushing Steve instead. Both laughing and giggling.

"I don't know what I am doing. I can barely take care of myself, let alone a child." The man continues, clearly frustrated and scared, "But he's never got a good home and I want to give that to him."

Annalyn smiles, "Just the fact that you want to give him a good home is telling me that you'll be just fine. Don't overthink it, life's too short for that."

The man blinks at her, and it's almost the same as the look the small boy gave to Steve, "Thank you." He says, finally smiling and looking back at the kids, running around and playing tag with each other.

"Steve's your boy?" He asks.

Annalyn smiles, "Yeah, he's my boy. Not my son, just my nephew. But I love him like he's mine."

The man softens, nodding along like he completely understands— which he does.

They spend half of the afternoon there. Just playing, rolling around the grass, swinging each other in the swings. Just before the sun sets, Annalyn asks Steve to say goodbye to the boy.

There's daisies tucked in his hair like flower crowns, and she sees the other boy, with a flower tucked behind his ear. They're whispering, too intimate for a simple goodbye.

Steve waves at the boy, head sticking out of the car, waving until they can barely see the other boy anymore and until they turn the block.

When Steve sits, he turns to her and with his big brown eyes blown wide, with his whole heart in his hands and says, "I am going to marry that boy."

And Annalyn steps on the break, turns to the side of the road and has to turn to her nephew and look at him— really, look at him. Steve smiles at her, toothy and all gummy, determination bleeding in his eyes. The flowers the boy Steve just said he's going to marry still hanging from his hair.

She can't help but smile, moving closer to kiss his temple.

"Alright, Mr. Lover." Steve giggles, and she wants to hear it for the rest of her life, want to shield him from all the horrors of this world.

"Listen to me, okay?" Steve nods, "There's nothing wrong with wanting to marry a boy. But you have to promise me something, Steve? Okay?"

He nods, earnest, "It needs to be our little secret for now, okay? You have to promise me."

Steve's face droop into sadness, "Why?"

Annalyn's heart breaks into pieces, "Because people don't like it when a boy wants to marry another boy. There's nothing wrong with it, but they will hurt you and they will hurt that boy."

"They can't hurt him!" Steve protests.

"I know, honey. That's why we have to keep it a secret for now."

"Okay," Steve nods, stoic and strong, "I'll protect him. I won't tell anyone. Promise."

Annalyn smiles, "Good job, Steve. I am proud of you."

They drive back home, have dinner and build forts in the spacious Harrington living room.

She remembers that day. The day Steve wanted to marry that boy. The daisies tucked in his hair. The other little boy beaming so brightly, like it's always been meant to be. The results of the tests. The cancer coming back. The chemo is not working. The time she has left. But most of all, she remembers Steve.

Annalyn dies six months after that exact day.

It's years and years later when the story is brought back up. On one random morning when Steve visits her grave, with a bunch of tulips in his hands. Steve tells the story of the boy with the daisies to his best friend, Robin, as they sit side by side by her grave. Steve tells her, that he never saw the boy again.

Annalyn laughs as she listens.

She laughs, as another boy comes out of no where, picnic basket in hands, and daisies in the other.

"Eddie! You're late!" Steve exclaims, making the other boy roll his eyes. The boy looks different now, with longer hair, a look in his eyes that is way beyond his age. But he's happier, older.

"I am sorry, Stevie. But I picked you this."

They lay the blanket, and eat with her, just like old times, just with new friends. Annalyn wishes she could say hello, and formally meet his friends. The friends that sticked with Steve even in life or death situations.

Steve cleans her grave, "Auntie, we're here for a reason. I have some news."

Annalyn raises her eyebrows, "Eddie and I— We're engaged."

"I hope to God you don't haunt me. I just want your approval." Eddie says, making Steve laugh. It's the same sound as when he was a kid, and only Eddie (and his found family) can elicit it from him nowadays.

"Anyway, it's not legal or anything. But we're doing it with family, you know?" Steve plays with the ring in his hand, just a simple golden band, "I wish you were here."

Annalyn wants to tell him that she is, that she's always here, "I wanted you to walk me down the aisle. I want you to meet Eddie."

They stay for a few more minutes, before they finally start packing up and cleaning.

Just before they leave, Steve whispers to her grave, "Come to my wedding, okay? Move a few glasses. Maybe say hi to El or something. Just be there, please?"

Annalyn laughs, and nods, and promises that she'll be there. She watches as Steve and Eddie, hands intertwined, walk together as Robin starts the car.

Steve turns one last time, waves at her grave, his engagement ring catching sunlight and beaming. There's daisies tucked in his back pocket, like a reminder, that everything has been set from the moment we were born.

If there's one thing about Steve, he's a stubborn, determined kid.

Annalyn smirks, "Son of a bitch, Steve really is marrying the daisy boy."

→ Wayne's POV

#what is my obsession with flowers #damn #steddie rants #dae writes #daeheadcanons #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie headcanons #steddie ficlet #steddie fics #steddie headcanon #steddie fanfic #tw illness #tw cancer #tw minor character death

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