#tw: thoughts of death

[marvel-ous-m]

Thinking about Steve after the fight.

(When am I not) (please be mindful of the tags)

Steve who goes home alone after making sure that everyone else is taken care of.

Steve who falls face-first onto the couch in his living room. Doesn’t have the energy to make it up the stairs, doesn’t have the energy to tend to his wounds, doesn’t even have the energy to fucking cry.

Steve who wakes up twenty hours later with a nasty headache and his stomach burning like there’s no tomorrow.

Steve who knows he should call someone to help, but doesn’t want to burden anyone with his problems.

Steve, who doesn’t even know who he could call.

He’s been fine before, right?

Steve who strips off his clothes and takes a shower to clean off the Upside Down, barely able to hold himself up on shaking legs.

Steve who almost vomits at the sight of his wounds, wounds that stare back at him angry and bright red and painful.

Steve who blacks out in the middle of disinfecting a particularly deep gash, who wakes up on the floor and lets the tears flow freely.

Steve who finds himself alone in the aftermath.

Steve who knows he shouldn’t be alone, but doesn’t want to seek the help he needs, doesn’t want to admit to his weaknesses when his weakness was the reason Eddie died, the reason Max was on life support he’s supposed to be the strong one.

Steve who eventually passes out on the tiled floor of his bathroom, his wounds gaining some relief pressed against the cool porcelain underneath him.

Steve, who doesn’t want to wake up alone.

Steve, who’s not sure if he wants to wake up at all.

#Steve Harrington #stranger things #hurt Steve Harrington #hurt no comfort #sad ending #unhappy ending #my writing #em writes #emetephobia tw #tw vomit mentioned #tw: depression #tw: thoughts of death

[eddieunbanished]

Eddie always wanted out of Hawkins.

Chicago is cold in the winter. It has the unpredictability of Indiana but the severity of the tundra. The Windy City winds whip his hair and cut his cheeks- just walking down the street to the coffee shop he frequents makes his nose go numb, no matter how far he pulls his scarf up or how tight he has his leather jacket zipped up with two flannels buttoned up under it for insulation.

(He didn’t have the money for a winter coat before moving and he sure as hell doesn’t have the money *now*)

The coffee shop is warm, a quiet hum of people who braved the December winds for a good cup of Joe and a comfy worn out leather chair to sink into. He stands in line and thinks that Gareth would like it here- he loves quiet places. That Robin would love the music they play and the quirky mismatched mugs they serve coffee in. That Steve would hate their coffee because he hates coffee but would love their hot cocoa.

They’re all about 200 miles away- some even more than that, now. He looks at the group of girls studying and giggling, the couple by the window, the other couple at the center tables.

He’s only ever been here alone.

Eddie sinks into his own chair in the back, letting his hot coffee cup bring the feeling back into his fingers- only then does he unwind his scarf and unzip his jacket.

He spends the day like he does every Saturday- scribbling in his little notebook of lyrics- trying to come up with words but mostly just doodling little dragons that look more like geckos. For the first half hour or so he can feel the little glow of mild accomplishment in his chest- he did *something.* Got out of bed, got dressed, went down the street. Now he’s really working on what he loves- his music.

He gives it two hours of nothing, nothing, nothing- not even stupid little gecko-dragons, each doodle ending up a scribble- before he throws it in and heads back down the street to his shoe box apartment, scarf and jacket back on.

He doesn’t leave the apartment the rest of the day. He makes cheap ham and cheese sandwiches and thinks about how Saturday used to be band practice day- how he’d drive to Jeff’s parents’ house and they’d play in the garage until the neighbors complained. Then they’d go to the Quarry and drink, playing rock, paper, scissors to see who’d be the designated driver. Gareth lost more often than not- dumbass had a penchant for choosing scissors and didn’t realize it.

He washes the sandwiches down with one- or two- too many beers.

Sunday is laying around, the TV on but nothing to watch. He could be going out and exploring the city, frequenting all the bars in all the scenes that didn’t exist in Hawkins.

He never changes out of his flannel PJs.

He stares at the junky rotary phone he got from a thrift shop- sitting on the floor of his living room because he didn’t have money for a side table. Couch, bed, little kitchen table and chair. That was about it.

He stares at that little phone from the couch, his face squished against the cushions as he lies stomach-down.

He bought it two months ago, with the rest of his furniture. He hasn’t used it once.

He keeps telling himself- when he’s settled. When he’s done something worth talking about. When, when, when. Thats’s when he’ll use it.

Or maybe never. He struggles to find a point. It’s been long enough to realize no one really needs him. He thinks about every face pulled his way, every awkward silence, every time he was too much and pretended nothing could touch him.

He buries his face back in the cushion. He can feel every single moment wash over him like a blanket- none totally clear but every one adding to the heavy fog weighing him down.

Sighs. Goes back to sleep at 3 PM.

He wakes up heavier, grimier, mouth tasting like dirt.

The clock on the floor next to his unused rotary phone reads 8:53PM in big angry red numbers.

He has work in eleven hours. Has to be awake in ten. Maybe nine if he wants to eat something before leaving.

He forces himself to go back to sleep because, really, he can’t think of anything else worth doing.

The clock reads 11:22 PM when he opens his eyes again.

He only tells himself the truth late at night.

That he made a mistake. That he’s been in his apartment for just over two months, in Chicago for three and he thought leaving Hawkins was the answer to everything but really Eddie still has almost all of his old problems- only this time he has them alone.

He called a few times from pay phones, in his early weeks. When he was sleeping in his van and just barely landed a job busting tables and had dug up enough spare quarters.

Gareth didn’t pick up. Eddie tried his house twice and slammed the phone down when he got nothing the second time.

Wayne was glad to hear from him, make sure he was alive. And Eddie missed him but Wayne wasn’t one for conversation. He was more of a daily comfort- it was hard to feel him from so far away, when Eddie couldn’t sit with him in silence watching Jeopardy or eating mac n cheese. They talked for about three minutes before Wayne went silent, nothing much to say.

Robin’s mom answered and said she finally left for study abroad- Eddie cursed because he totally forgot, had no number to leave her mom to pass on.

Jeff answered and Gareth was at his house with him- which was a weird pit-in-the stomach feeling for Eddie, but he wouldn’t admit it. They started their mom-and-dad style bickering, laughing about something he wasn’t in the room for when the pit got a little too heavy and Eddie made an excuse to hang up early.

Dustin picked up and then immediately had to hang up on him because Susie was calling.

He pocketed the rest of his quarters and didn’t try again.

He reads from 12AM to 1AM but he doesn’t really read- he skims and skips and goes back because he doesn’t understand what just happened about ten times before he admits that he isn’t paying attention.

The phone is bright red, which seemed better than the faded mint green or bright orange in the shop at the time but Eddie hates how he feels like he can always see that stupid bright red old-ass rotary phone on the floor. It’s always in the corner of his eye, in his peripheral vision, like a god damn ghost.

He doesn’t go back to sleep before he goes in to work.

The next weekend he goes out. He takes the van down to a bar that plays his kind of music and has his kind of people- he doesn’t wear the handkerchief he was so bold to wear in Hawkins, not where people could actually expect things from him. He only ever wore it in Hawkins because it was like playing chicken with the bigots, not because he really knew the ins and outs of its meaning. How close could he come before they clocked him? Would it be the handkerchief that got him done in or did he have to fully sequin his fucking battle vest?

He leaves it in the van and nurses a rum and coke while guys in leather and cropped Judas Priest shirts press up against each other.

At the Hideout he was loud- laughed big, noogied Jeff and played his guitar without any concern for the ear drums of the four drunk guys in the corner who only put up with their dumb band because the Hideout had the cheapest whiskey in town. Eddie then had dreamed of places like this.

Eddie now just has a headache.

(And a heart ache.)

No one approaches Eddie and when someone finally does- a young guy with a goatee and hair longer than his- Eddie smiles nervously and says “sorry, I’m on my way out.” The guy just nods as he goes.

In the van he slumps against the wheel. Thinks about how he could have a warm body pressed against his right now- about how that guy wasn’t what he wanted but maybe he’d do for now and then feels desperate and pathetic and kind of like a prick for thinking it.

He thinks about a battle vest stained with blood on someone who had never worn one before.

He thinks about the girl that someone wanted.

He drives home.

The stupid god damn fucking red phone is there, loud as ever from its silent place on the floor.

Eddie always wanted to leave Hawkins. He always, only ever wanted to leave Hawkins and now Hawkins was following him everywhere, taunting him with the fact that there wouldn’t be anyone on the other end of the phone to pick the fuck up.

Who would want to?

That’s not true, the littlest bit of his brain argues. Wayne is probably worried sick.

Yeah, some fucking nephew (son) he is. Disappearing and calling, like, once. Wayne probably thought he was dead. Wayne probably was worried sick. Wayne probably was the last person to care and every day he didn’t call made it more difficult to try because what a fucking failure. Maybe it would have been better if he’d died in that hospital, or in the upside down, or in his trailer with his eyes being crushed and his limbs snapped instead of Chrissy fucking Cunningham who deserved to be the one alive.

The phone rings.

It rings and Eddie jumps out of his skin because how the fuck is that possible?

He stares it down, watching the plastic vibrate with the force of it.

Ring, riiiing.

He’s never heard the ring before. It’s loud, harsh.

Ring, riiiing. Ring, riiiiing.

It goes on forever, and then stops.

Probably a crank call-

Ring, riiiiing.

Fuck. Eddie sniffles once, ignoring that he was on the verge of more than sniffling, more than red eyes.

(He hates crying. Does it too much.)

Ring , riiiiiiiing.

“Alright, aright, Jesus H. Christ,” he mumbles and for the first time Eddie picks up the phone.

“…hello?”

“Eddie? Eddie is that you?”

Eddie’s chest collapses. His heart gives out. Or maybe his lungs stop. All of it at once.

“S-“ he chokes on air. “Steve?”

“I- yeah. Oh my god I can’t believe this worked! I was visiting Wayne and asked about you and he mentioned that restaurant you’re working at so I called them and they gave me your number! Well, I had to call a couple times cause it’s not technically legal to give out employee info- but that one manager really doesn’t seem to care, so.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a long time. And when Steve calls his name again, wonders aloud if the connection is okay, he croaks out, “I’m. I’m here.”

“Oh good-“ Steve laughs, a little nervously. It’s short, clipped, but good natured. He talks- asks Eddie about his job and his apartment and when Eddie is too tired to pretend he’s anything other than exhausted, at his ropes’ end, not there enough to be *Eddie*- Steve doesn’t question it. He gives an easy “hey, thats’s cool man” and fills the silence.

He tells Eddie all about Robin- practically forces him to take down her new number. Updates him on an new mug Wayne bought, he saw him opening it when he got the info on Eddie last. How Dustin’s building some thing for a teen genius competition and Will’s running a game for Hellfire that Steve has caught the end of a few times when he goes to pick the kids up (he mixes up technical phrases and Eddie laughs when he calls Dungeon Masters “Story Telling Guys”).

“I was thinking,” Steve says. “And I mean you can say no-“ as if Eddie would ever say no to him. “I was wondering if it’s okay to visit? I’m going to be up your way next month for a thing, so.. I could stop by. See the new pad.”

The new *pad.* Dork.

“You know, I’m really glad I called. We’ve all been going crazy without you here to drive us crazy,” Steve laughs at his own non-joke. Eddie knows Steve can’t see him repressing a goofy smile but he does it all the same. Stupid joke. Not funny.

(But he gives up and smiles anyway.)

“I’m glad, too,” Eddie says.

It’s just past eleven when Eddie picks up the phone and just past three when he puts it back on the receiver.

With a plan for Steve to come visit for New Years- with some of the kids if the parents give their nod and Steve doesn’t kill then on the ride up- and a promise to call the very next day.

Eddie pulls the phone away from the wall and as close to the couch as the chord will stretch. He thinks about tomorrow and the call and New Years. He falls asleep and dreams of kind boys in battle vests and Hawkins coming right back to him.

#it’s 3:30 am and I was depressed alllllll day so this is what you GET lol #I don’t know how to feel about this one I have thoughts and kinda don’t like it but I don’t wanna like.. edit it LOL #but I just think if Eddie did leave he’d be lonely without his friends but too stupid to tell anyone he’s lonely #and the spiral is realllll #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson fic #st fic #mine #stranger things fic #tw: thoughts of death

[sylviareviar]

Stolen Into Hell - @silver-strings-of-fate

Dammit... Sylvia wanted to groan as she clutched her hot thermos close to her chest. If she could've afforded to miss school, she would've. But people were relying on her today. She still had to finish helping to renovate the old music room into another study room, and she'd promised the teachers she would. Plus, there were like, three tests she had to take, none of which she studied for on account of Teddie all but forcing her to sleep. She'd thought he was kidding when he was threatening not to leave until she fell asleep, but he really had stayed up until 2am with her. Who does that?!

A sweetheart who cares, that's who.

And now because of her difficulty falling asleep thanks to the pain in her throat, she had to attend school on less than four hours of sleep. Worse, being as sleepy as she was, noises that were just "loud" for her before suddenly started grating on her nerves in a way that became thrice as bothersome as it used to, meaning even with her headphones, the sounds of the city had her ears buzzing and she was already dizzy and on the verge of collapse the moment she entered Aoyama-Itchome station.

Though she knew she wasn't sick, she'd seen folks walking around the station while they were, and how they had face masks on to cover themselves in case they coughed. Her weird itchy, sandpaper-y, superdry throat disease was definitely not a cold-- she'd checked her temperature and listed off her symptoms, of which there was only one-- so she knew it wasn't contagious, but in the interest of not upsetting anyone and having to explain her situation, she wore a face mask anyway. It was just courtesy, after all.

She'd been about to walk up the steps, her movements sluggish, when a stranger bumped her from behind and knocked her into a wall. When she tried to mumble an apology, she barely caught herself before another coughing fit and slumped on the wall. She just... gave up. She needed a moment to rest. Just one moment of rest, and she'd be at school soon, where she could sit and doodle and answer the necessary questions.

...Teddie was going to freak when he found her dorm empty, wasn't he. Sylvia felt bad for that. But she couldn't bring herself to text him or let him know or anything, because in hindsight she should have done that, but she could barely think with all the world's noises swimming and folding around her, encroaching in her space and suffocating the life out of her.

Maybe I should just sit here and wait to die...

#🌸 ~ in character ~ 🌸 #🌸 ~ persona 5 verse ~ 🌸 #🌸 ~ Ren Amamiya (silver-strings-of-fate) ~ 🌸 #🌸 ~ Stolen Into Hell verse ~ 🌸 #tw: thoughts of death #tw: depression #tw: sickness #tw: pain #tw: sensory overload

[sems-diarie]

death is insane. wdym i’ll never see my grandmother again

#she’s in her chair in the den cant nobody tell me nothing ok #death tw #grief #what’s this house without my grandmother in it? (all the people she left behind) #i cried this morning while eating grits she taught my mother how to make. love is so big when i think of it like that #i thought i heard her walker clack in the hallway last night. #she wears glasses & we have to decide where to keep them #grief is so strange #i can’t keep crying by myself (i’ll be crying for the rest of my life) #love is carrying on. i think.

[livingonthenet]

Why don't other people find life as hard as I do? I think about death everyday. I'm so overwhelmed. Everything is sooo hard. I don't know if I really want to die or if I just can't live. I want someone or something to strip me of all my responsibilities, all the pressure. If that is death then so be it.

#tw depressing thoughts #depressing shit #su1cide #suic1de #tw sui ideation #self h@rm #tw self h4rm #tw self destruction #self mutalition #tw death #sorry for being depressing #tw depressing stuff #depressiv #su1c1d3 #su1c1dal #su1c1d4l

[cordycepspog]

There’s something horrifyingly beautiful about Tess’s final moments. In the midst of the most dire chaos, as she waits for her death to come rushing past so she can blow it sky high and give cordyceps a big fuck you one last time, one of the infected stops. It looks at her, really looks. Her own mortality is personified in this infected. It’s death that’s looking at her, and it sees her. She looks her own death in the eye, and the suspense is so high as it approaches. But then, it doesn’t bite her throat out like we all expect it to.

It kisses her. What’s more, it kisses her gently. And I think it was a brilliant choice on the writers part, because it reminded me that the infected aren’t supposed to be evil. Sure, they’re scary as hell, but really, they’re just trying to survive. They’re connected to one another, they can feel each other from miles away. They seek out and want to be close to their own kind, just like the human survivors do. And when they do find each other, they kiss hello.

And after so long apart from a loved one, someone you know and trust with every instinct in your body, wouldn’t you want to kiss them too?

#okay that’s enough posting for the night but I’m sure I’ll have more dumb little thought’s tomorrow #I still wanted to talk about how Tess let’s it kiss her in her final moments. Like it’s one last intimate moment she lets herself have #before she dies. but that’s a post for another time #something something recognizing yourself in the other something something transitioning from one family to the next through death something #something. #anyway rip tess #anna torv i love you you slayed #tlou #tlou hbo #tess tlou #joel miller #ellie tlou #tlou spoilers #the last of us #tw body horror #just in case #I’d also like to bring up that this is an interpretation. obviously the kiss was for shock factor. i’m just having fun analyzing it

[lakrimasx]

Being miserable is so familiar, this is who I am

#i can’t do this anymore #tw depressing stuff #tw self destruction #depressing life #tw depressing thoughts #depressing quotes #tw depression #tw death #su!cidal #su!c!de #sorry for being depressing #tw self loathing #depressing shit #tw selfhate #self h@rm #self destruction #i’m so sad #stop my misery #tw self h4rm #tw self destructive behavior #self h@te #kinda depressing #i’m so tired #tw self destructive thoughts #tw self sabotage #tw sui vent #tw sui ideation #depression relapse

[strangersteddierthings]

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

[even-disco-baby]

THOUGHT GAINED: INFERNAL ENGINES

PROBLEM

The world is ending. You know it, your neighbor knows it, the dealer knows it, the jailer knows it, the king and all his men know it. All one has to do is look around to see it— the future is curdling into something pale and incorporeal. The infernal machine that is this stupid world is going to blow, sooner rather than later. So what are you doing? Why are you still here? Why is anyone still here?

SOLUTION

You are doing the only thing worth doing. You are living. *Why,* you ask? Try and remember now. Remember your mother’s hand on your shoulder. Remember the taste of a fresh catch. Remember the times when you were kind to the dogs in the valley and they did not bare their teeth. Remember the weight of a child on your shoulders. Remember the stars throwing their light against the wall of sodium and smog. Remember singing until your throat was raw. Remember crying just as loudly and publicly, and the gentleness with which someone opened your curled fist and pressed a handkerchief into your palm. Crying, laughing, running, eating, screaming, haunting, loving, fighting, fighting, fighting. The fight fuels you, and you fuel the fight. You run yourself ragged just for a chance to keep running. You never stop. You cannot stop. The world depends on it. *You* are the infernal engine. You are the world. And, simply put: you want to live.

#disco elysium #thought cabinet #suicide tw #smth a little different #this is actually smth i would like to include in a full length one shot #but i think it’s gonna get edited p heavily for the fic this is just a first pass at it #but. i like this draft of it and i want to archive it #feels like me and all my loved ones have death on their minds most of the time lately… #reminding myself that keeping myself and all the ppl i care about on this earth is what everything is about #always and forever

[koszmarnybudyn]

So this song fits them so very well right?

#malevolent #john doe #john doe malevolent #john malevolent #arthur lester #tw blood #cw blood #implied child death #cw bones #tw bones #my art #if i need to add more tags just ket me know #idk the original author or the name of the actual song im sorry :(( #but this was stuck in my brain and i just had to draw it #theyve been in my brain rent free :[ #this was kinda a pain in the ass to color tbh and to actually draw #also i need to practice lettering :/// #but its done and im very happy about that i out a lot of thought into it #the stuff in the middle represents the people they hurt/killed (sorry no parker and like some creatures) #also are you guys going insane they are indeed holding hands!!!!?!?! crazyyyyy

[dalliancekay]

Aziraphale does NOT need to suffer MORE

Can't believe I have to say this. TW: grief, mourning, death (sorry) I have, since falling into the fandom 6 months ago to escape real life, seen many takes on how Aziraphale needs to suffer in S3 to match Crowley's suffering. Mainly as the counterpart to the moment Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale as he's looking for him desperately in the burning bookshop.

Then drinks, we suppose, to dull his pain, waiting for the Armageddon. Also, the way Crowley suffers at the bandstand argument, the 'I Forgive You' moments, which many people find utterly devastating and incredibly heartless from Aziraphale. Not to mention when he doesn't react in the 'right way' to Crowley's confession in the Final 15. And then on top of that, 'abandons' Crowley. Oh and also for, and I quote: "The smug and entitled way Aziraphale went around in S2 assuming Crowley would love and follow him everywhere." And for all this pain that Crowley endured for him, Aziraphale should suffer in S3, to I assume, even out the scores. Some people want to see him lose it, show his emotions, to cry or beg or otherwise show how much he misses Crowley and how very sorry he is for what he's done.

Now for the TW grief content I motioned above. You can skip to the next sentence in bold.

WE ALL SUFFER DIFFERENTLY I was on holiday late September last year, visiting my mum, stepfather and my two younger brothers. We went to a cousin's wedding. It was great. The day after, as I was hanging out reading a book my mum got a call. The kind of call every mother fears. My youngest brother (he was 27) died in an accident. We needed to speak to police and the coroner. She cried and cried. She's still crying. She asks questions. She gets no answers. I did not cry. I talked to the police. I googled a funeral home. I bought my brother his last set of clothes. He lived in a hoodie and torn black jeans. Mum wanted a suit. But he died in the one he bought for the wedding. I texted a lot of people. I bought snacks for the many friends who came to the funeral and wanted to speak to us after. My grief feels like a vice. I am not sad. I do not appear sad. Contrary to what people expect. But I am ANGRY. I am furious. But nobody can see this. I am not fine and I wish no one would ever* ask how I was again. TW/Personal content over. Since I was small (because I am weird like that) I genuinely wondered if, finding myself in danger, I could scream like people in films do. I don't think I could. I cope with hard situations, fear and stress and anxiety by shutting down, sometimes by retreating too, by furiously trying to find a way out. And I think Aziraphale does the same. And that's why I love him so much. And why I feel get him and understand that people sometimes can't tell how much he's actually feeling. I also express love the way Aziraphale does - by organising things for people I love, inviting them places, making plans. When Crowley said you call me for three things (and it's basically any old reason) I felt SO SEEN. This is what I would do with a friend who I know is feeling unmoored, sad, stuck. I'd text them with any old thing. I'd never actually say I love you, how can I help though, I would try to get them to talk, meet me, go somewhere. Aziraphale does not express emotions the same way as Crowley.

But his emotions are valid nonetheless. He is worried for Crowley from around 3 minutes into their acquaintanceship. And he NEVER stops worrying.

And are we quite sure he has never lost Crowley?

How many times did Aziraphale's heart freeze in horror when he realised Hell has taken Crowley and he had no idea if he'll ever come back and what is happening to him?

Why else would he be so worried about working on the Arrangement? Was he worried just for himself? Do we really think that?

Crowley thinks he lost Aziraphale, yes, we saw that, but do they ever talk about what happened to the angel then? Do we?

That he got blown into atoms which I bet wasn't pleasant and when he arrives in Heaven he limps? Why is he hurt? Why is he quickly pretending he isn't? Why is he always hiding how he feels? Also, he immediately deserts, wants no part in the Holy War and quickly finds an extremely unconventional way to get back. It's not a grand gesture, there's no pomp around it, he thinks this and then does it. No hesitation.

Is this coming from an angel who just can't leave Heaven behind and longs to be a part of it? Who loves to follow rules? And let's not forget in those moments Aziraphale thought Crowley was gone. That he very likely left for Alpha Centauri. Last he heard from him he was told he was talking to an old friend and had no time for him. Why we NEVER talk about how that might have felt for Aziraphale?

Things are not as simple as Aziraphale has been supressing his emotions and lying to himself about how he feels and he should get over it and become free. That's not how this works. His trauma and his personality are deeply intertwined and he'd never be the kind of person who is open in showing their grief or stress. He will learn to be more open, with his love especially, we see him reaching for and touching his demon in S2. Openly being with him, looking at him without guarding himself. That's HUGE. He's trying. So. Just because Aziraphale is not crying and screaming and I dunno, tearing his hair out or whatever some people would have him do, does not mean he isn't overflowing with pain, fear, uncertainty, doubts, worries, and so much anxiety that if he let it all out, half of the solar system would turn to ashes.

Aziraphale does not need to suffer in S3 to level out Crowley's suffering. They are, unfortunately, equal in their pain as they are in love. If there is one thing Crowley would never abide, it'd be this take from the fandom. * A note on grief (obviously from my personal experience) As initiated by @anthony-crowleys-left-nut in a comment

It's not that I mind to know people care and worry etc, but asking how I am can only end in me lying (fine, thank you) and both of us knowing it's not really true and feeling awkward or not lying (I feel like shit, mostly cos I can't sleep and think the world is a stupid unfair place) and both of us feeling awkward anyway. Does that make sense? I wish I could tell friends/colleagues to ask what I've been up to or something similar instead. What I've been reading (um, AO3, but I'll make something up), watching, do I want to go see some spring flowers bloom (I do).

#aziraphale #good omens #crowley #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #neil gaiman #ineffable divorce #aziraphale my beloved #good omens thoughts #aziraphale defense squad #suffering in silence #grief #tw grief #dealing with grief #loss #tw death #kaypost

[domibomz]

My only context for this is Harrow kissing Alecto bc she hallucinated it was Gideon okay

#tlt #the locked tomb #my art #griddlehark #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #alecto the first #tw blood #tw death #tw harrow kissing corpses #i thought the parallels were nice okay dont @ me #tlt spoilers #the locked tomb spoilers #SPOILERS!!!!!!!!

[lostmf]

“Parents aren’t supposed to bury their kids “

I tell myself

But then parents aren’t supposed to do a lot of things to their children

So I guess it won’t matter if they did this one more thing

#sadnees #tw depressing thoughts #i'm sad #depressing shit #childhood trauma #childhood #depressing life #quotes #tw depressing stuff #poetic #self h@rm #tw self destruction #sucicide #sucidal tendencies #tw sucidal ideation #tw: sucidal thoughts #death mention tw #mentally drained #tw truama #tw death #complex ptsd #tw ptsd #living with cptsd #cptsd vent #generational truama #sad but true #childhood truama #truama mention #truamacore #i want to be weightless

[belovedgamers]

His siblings will be able to go to college.

If they want to, of course. But that’s the thing that’s stuck with me the most. He wanted us to know that. In his last words to us, he made sure we knew that. He apologized for selling out, not that he needed to, and told us there was a reason and a result: “thanks to everyone that bought hoodies, plushies and channel memberships, my siblings are going to college”.

Technoblade changed so many lives, both of fans and creators alike. Hell, he changed my life too, he brought joy, he brought light, he brought laughter.

His legacy lives on, through us, through his friends, through the Sarcoma Research Foundation, through his colleagues.

Through his family.

His siblings can go to college.

We changed his life too. And he wanted us to know.

#i finally got my thoughts in order #that’s the last thing i’ll say on this i think #thank you to everyone who rb’d the hug post from me. i see you. #and sorry for the spam but i just. wanted to rb from everyone i caught #if i missed you. i am also hugging you right now #tw death #tw cancer #technoblade

[gearbroth]

“Were we ever really here at all?”

#fallout 4 #nick valentine #death shroud #fallout #fo4 #myart #tw: eyestrain #tw: eye contact #tw: trypophobia #just when i thought i couldnt love him more they made him a selfaware spacetime wizard hsdfkjSFDJKSFD #the HORRORS he expieranced oml #anyway yes. i am obsessed with this thing. #expect more nick arts bc holy shit

[celluloidbroomcloset]

There's an exchange in the bedroom scene in "Man on Fire" that I think gets a little lost and is actually very important:

"You saved my life." "Well, I'm glad I could help. I'm sure you'll return the favor next time we're in a near-death situation." "How about we just avoid all near-death situations?" "Yeah, nice idea. Not bloody likely in our line of work.

The exchange gets kind of lost in the mermaid discussion and Izzy busting in, which happens before Ed can say anything more, but it's not an incidental moment. Ed’s greatest fear is always losing Stede - either because Stede is whim prone and wants to be a big famous pirate, or because piracy is dangerous and they are constantly in near-death situations. The moment comes at a time when Ed has discarded his leathers; he no longer wants to be Blackbeard, and it's increasingly clear he doesn't want to be a pirate. But the fear is still there.

Stede has nearly died multiple times since Ed met him. They meet when he’s been stabbed and is bleeding out. Izzy runs him through. Ed himself almost goes through with killing him. The English try to execute him. Every time Ed has been more or less powerless to stop it.

Blackbeard has nearly been the cause of Stede's death. The persona is what Izzy kept appealing to when he tried to get Ed to kill Stede. The night before, Ned Low almost killed them as a result of choices Ed made as Blackbeard. Ed can’t stop Stede from being hurt, even when he tries to keep the attention focused on him. It’s Stede who winds up being able to act, using the awesome power of empathetic listening and worker unionization. Ed can’t protect him and can’t save him, and Blackbeard put him in danger.

This feeds into Ed’s other fears. He spiraled when he lost Stede once, and every time he sees Stede hurt, he starts to panic. He’s been reminded, as they’re lying in bed in the safest place they could be, that their jobs mean that they’ll be in danger - that Stede will be in danger, either because of simply being a pirate, or because of Ed himself. Ed is scared of who he becomes when he has to put on Blackbeard, and he doesn't want to do it anymore. He's also now had it confirmed that Blackbeard is what puts Stede in danger in the first place.

It seems safer for him to run. If he runs, he never has to see Stede hurt, he never has to be Blackbeard, he never has to be worried about his own heart breaking, he never has to be left alone because he's the one that ran first.

But of course he does, because he goes back to the Republic of Pirates and sees the destruction and the first thing he thinks is that Stede is hurt. He hears Stede screaming for help, and he’s not there.

What Ed has forgotten is that Blackbeard has also saved Stede's life. The one time he was able to save Stede from death was by being Blackbeard—the English listen to his call for an Act of Grace because of the persona; they want the accolades for turning Blackbeard from piracy. The persona itself is what saves Stede.

In the end, Ed finds something worth killing for. He puts on Blackbeard again—he kills, willingly, for perhaps the first time since his father, in order to find and protect the man he loves. Much like Stede searching the Caribbean for Ed, there's no guarantee that he'll find what he hopes for, but he'll still hope. He's no longer watching the world burn; he's going to save Stede, or die trying.

#ofmd #our flag means death #edward teach #stede bonnet #blackbonnet #gentlebeard #ofmd meta #taika waititi #rhys darby #ofmd season 2 #tw: violence #my wee thoughts #always happy to hear others!