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heartz4vee · 8 months

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His Imperial of Doom

It's 4am and I wrote this on a whim. It's small and quick and not that great, I just wanted to write something angsty with my wife (Simon)

Am I projecting onto him in this? Yes. Yes I am.

Words: 1,748

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Doom. Death. Destruction. Or some other terrible fate.

It was a word Simon was all too familiar with. The word and its very definition seemed like it was just constantly looming over his head, over the course of his entire life actually. From being cursed to be the Ice King for a thousand years, losing the love of his life, and now having to live in this new, futuristic Ooo. He didn’t fit in with any of these… New humans. Nobody ever knew what he was talking about, and nobody seemed very interested in whatever it was he was talking about. Despite being surrounded by all of these people, he felt so isolated.

As he walked through the Human City, he moved past all of the other people that lived within the city. They were all so much happier than he was. They were content with what they had. They were able to go about their everyday lives, not questioning a thing, or having to think about “what could have been”. He felt a twinge of jealousy watching all of them. Simon didn’t feel real surrounded by all of them. He just felt like an NPC going through the motions of it all, giving the occasional wave when approached.

But, as of lately, all of his interactions with… Anyone, just felt forced, and robotic. Whether it was forcing a laugh at whatever Finn was talking about so he didn’t suspect anything was wrong with him, or trying to hold a conversation with Marceline. No matter the interaction, he felt so disconnected from everyone, especially himself. He barely recognized his own reflection anymore. He didn’t know who he was supposed to be around anyone. He didn’t know how to act around Finn, he didn’t know how to act around Marceline, and he definitely didn’t know how to act around all of these other strange new humans.

Listening to the idle chatter of those around him, Simon couldn’t help but look around and think about all of the places around he would have visited with his fiancee, Betty. He was sure she would have loved living in such an odd world such as Ooo. She would have loved to drag him on different expeditions for various artifacts, and he happily would have gone along. He looked around at every weird little home, and every weird little shop, visions of his beloved popping up around him, her voice filling his head.

“Look at this, Simon!”

“We have to go in there next!”

“Didn’t you mention this in some of your studies? We should totally look for it!”

It drove him crazy.

—

Once back inside of his locked up little home with very little to no light, the man just sighed and leaned against his closed walls. Even being in the comfort of his own… “Home”, he felt completely out of place. His body felt strangely heavy, but it wasn’t a new feeling, not at all. His mind was empty but flooding with thoughts at the same time. He felt sad. He just wanted to drop to his knees, curl up on his floor, and sob to his heart's content for hours.

But, he felt too numb to cry. Too numb to be angry with anyone or himself. His mind and body just moved on autopilot every single day. And moving on autopilot, Simon went to change and get ready for bed.

He stared up at his ceiling, reminiscing on memories he knew he’d be better off without. Simon hated this part of his days. Trying to fall asleep, only for memories of the past to come rushing in. Memories of Betty, vague blurred memories of the Ice King, memories of him and Marceline’s past. Every old memory that suddenly resurfaced sent a strong wave of pain through his body. Sleep. He needed to sleep. That would get this to stop.

So, he closed his eyes, and tried to let his mind wander to anything or anyone that didn’t seem familiar to him. He just attempted to let his mind go completely blank, he didn’t want to think of anything, just for once.

For once, he wanted some peace.

For once…

—

The gentle feeling of having his face poked is what stirred him awake. That, and the sun beaming down onto him. But… His museum-like home didn’t have windows. So how was there sun…? The touch on his face made him give a small smile. The touch was warm. It was familiar. It was a feeling he had been aching for.

He slowly opened his eyes, squinting and bringing his arm up to his face to block the light from his face. Realizing he wasn’t in his own home, he quickly sat up with a startled gasp, looking around the grassy field he had been placed in. It was so bright. There was nothing for miles except for more of the field. Dandelions surrounded him. It was beautiful. It was tranquil. It gave him that peace he’d been looking for for so long.

“Finally! Rise and shine, Simon!”

Simon felt a sense of dread and relief hearing the voice beside him. He turned, only to see his fiancee sitting beside him, smiling at him like she used to. She wasn’t some eldritch god, she was just… Betty. She was the brilliant woman he fell in love with all those years ago. As much as it ached, he missed seeing her.

“Thought you’d never wake up. Forgot how heavy of a sleeper you can be.” She teased, gently nudging his arm. Simon just chuckled, “I’m sorry.” Immediately, Simon felt as if his whole world was closing in on him the second those words left his mouth. It was something he’d been wanting to say to her for so long, but had no way to reach her. Even if he could, would he be able to say it? It was something he meant, but he was positive he’d just… Freeze up at the opportunity. The man sighed, and looked down into his lap.

Betty tilted her head seeing his suddenly saddened demeanor. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder,

“Simon? What’s wrong?”

“…I’m sorry, Betty. I’m sorry you had to sacrifice yourself for… Me. Now you’re not even here anymore, because of me. And all I can do is sit around screwing up the second chance you’ve given me. But, what am I supposed to do? I feel so stuck without you. It’s like the minute I realized you were actually gone, my mind and body just stopped working. Now I don’t know what there is for me to do…”

Betty nodded, “Grief is a tricky thing. You’re not used to not having the person you lost, and it’s depressing, it’s isolating, it’s hard to forget about. But, where there’s grief, there’s eventually healing. Nobody can stay stuck in the grieving process forever.”

“We were doomed from the start, weren’t we..?”

Betty chuckled at his notion, “Maybe we were, or maybe we weren’t. Personally, I don’t think we were “doomed from the start” as you like to put it. I don’t think there’s always been some divine fate tearing us apart. I think somewhere down the line, we did that.” She heard Simon give a small groan in response. She just smiled and picked one of the dandelions from the field.

“Doomed or not, I don’t regret a moment I spent with you. No matter what we could have done differently, I’m satisfied with the ending we got. Of course I do wish it could have been something… Happier. But, you’re okay. You’re alive. So, I’m fine with this.”

Simon shook his head, his frustration and sadness quickly building, “But I’m not! How can you be fine with this? How can you be happy about this? How can you be so… Content..?” He sighed, before placing his head in his hands, “How can anyone be satisfied with anything they do? I don’t get it… I don’t know how to do that…”

“I know you don’t, Simon. I’m sorry. I know this isn’t something you want to hear right now, but; you’re someone who won’t ever let himself be happy.”

Simon perked up at her words. He lifted his head and looked over at her, eyebrows knitted together “What..?”

“You’re someone who’ll wake up every morning, and go out of his way to avoid anything that might make you happy. You have an anxious thought that every situation will only end in doom, so you don’t go out of your way to try and be happy. Maybe you don’t recognize it, but it’s self sabotage at best. I don’t know the reason you do this, I never did, but I do know it’s something you need to seek help for. It’s not good for you. You… Have an identity outside of our relationship Simon, I want you to realize that. Maybe you’ll see that one day…” She reached over and placed a hand on his cheek, to which Simon immediately fell into, placing his own hand over hers.

Simon let out a shaky breath, tears quickly falling from his eyes, “It’s too much. Everything lately is just… Too much. I hate waking up, I hate having to move, I hate interacting with people, I hate that people have to see me everyday, I hate that I have to pretend everything is okay! When it’s not! Nothing is okay! I’m not okay! I… I don’t want to be here anymore. I’m so tired…”

Betty slightly frowned hearing this. Instead of saying anything else, she just gently laid him back down in the grass. He whined, but closed his eyes, slowly drifting off as she ran her fingers through his hair.

“You’ll be okay, Simon. You’re strong, you just don’t see it. But I do. I’ll see you next time…”

—

Abruptly, Simon woke up ten minutes before his alarm was supposed to go off. As usual. He hated that dream. It was never the same, they always just talked about different things. It was everything he knew he’d never have. He’d never be able to apologize to Betty. He’d never be able to see her again.

Most of all, he’d never be able to genuinely feel happy. He was never able to, for as long as he could remember. His chest panged with pain and an overwhelming sense of sadness and dread at the realization of that.

He would be doomed until the day he died.

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emberleesblog · 8 months

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People of the internet, I present to you a short story on the mess that is my mind. Please enjoy.

To Disappear

Some days she just wished to disappear.

Not in an ‘end your life, brutal, bloody way’ but to simply just stop existing for an undetermined amount of time.

Call in an intrusive thought if you will, but she classified the feeling as more instinctual than the fleeting desire to crash her car into something. It was like a whisper from the wild, urging her to escape into the forever looming mist and let the world wonder at its loss...if it even noticed at all.

Days like these found her itching to be lost in nature. The city was too loud, too pressing for her to focus, making her feel sluggish and irritated. Her feet longed to trek the sandy trails of a beach, or sink into the mud of a forest floor, and she’d look up when she had time or money to spare to indulge on that calling. That fact that an escape route still cost in more ways than one wasn’t lost on her.

What also never slipped her notice was that her escapes were always to a body of water. Though she loved getting lost in a forest, the underlying fear of being alone amongst the lush green foliage had her sweating, reaching for her pocket knife every time a twig cracked. It was unsettling, feeling the comfort of nature’s embrace while sitting in the crook of an old tree while also nervously peering into the depths of the quiet leaves, waiting for the attack she was sure to come. Maybe it was the warnings of fae folk her granny had whispered to her in leu of bedtime stories as a child, maybe it was the constant murmurs from society that a young woman should never travel by herself, but stepping past the overhanging trees and onto the leave strewn paths without a companion always made her shudder.

The beach though. Oh, the beach.

The symbolic feeling of letting the waves crash over you, clean you of your sins and spit you out brand new was how she felt every time her toes hit the sand. She could walk a stretch of the same beach for hours, listening to the waves crash and the seagulls screech. To pick up little shells and rocks that caught her eye and tuck them into her pocket so she could have a piece of calm with her when she eventually went home. To sit on a random log washed ashore by a passing storm and let the world continue around her as the sun sank lower on the horizon. To smell the brittle seaweed or grass, taste the salt of ocean foam on her tongue. The beach was her safe spot in all cliches of the world.

So, while she could usually plan for these escapades, or daydream about them as customers berated her, sometimes the urge overrode all sense of logic and reason.

Such as now, as drying tears marked her face as she scrolled through the internet, the light of her laptop the only illumination in her life. The fight had been bad, which was saying something as her and her parents rarely fought. They were concerned for her mental health, a worry she understood deep down, but her pride struggled to accept, self-hatred sneering that she didn’t deserve their love. The fact she had moved back in with them after the breakup was mortifying enough, and while they had been respectful of her boundaries and emotions, she still feel suffocated. She knew she wasn’t being fair to them, that she was lashing out from a place of pain, but she wished the pity in their gaze didn’t sting at her skin. She had retreated into the dark of her childhood room, tucking herself into bed wishing it was her old comfortable bunk, and that the cat curled around her ankles was hers instead of her mother’s.

The desire to leave and stop burdening them all was stronger than ever, and she sniffled as she brought up a map of the country. Her long-term plan was to visit every beach or waterway her nation held, which would probably outlive her with the amount of travelling that entailed. The coast around her old town had been thoroughly explored, as had most of where she was now from childhood. Zooming in she ignored the pinch of kneading claws against her skin as her eyes travelled along the grainy image, mouse tracing the paths taken until she found something new.

She hadn’t been expecting to find much, maybe a small lake she had overlooked, but just as the cat stretched its full weight against her calves, a beach appeared before her. Pausing, she frowned at the narrow stretch of coastline, wondering of its name. The road towards it was familiar, one she had travelled a few times before, but never had she known the existence of the beach tucked against the cliff side. Maybe it was more of an inlet than a beach, hence no title appearing when she zoomed in further. But no river mouth appeared alongside the winding, dead end road crushing that thought.

The wild called to her stronger than ever just as the rain began to fall outside. Alone in her dark room, with a cat that had given up trying to get her attention, she considered its call for a moment. This tiny little slice of sand was a siren song, poking at her aching heart and need to flee. Usually, logic would have her overthinking every step, making sure she had a packed bag, money, proper shoes on her feet, an understanding of the tide times for that area. But tonight, it had been pushed aside as flight screamed at her to go in nothing but her grubby sweats and battered sneakers. Tossing what was left of her hair into an unkept ponytail, she grabbed a poor excuse of a rain jacket and her keys, before sneaking out of the house. Her parents had retired to bed some time ago, but she could still see the dim light of their bedside lamps reaching for her under the door. Its gentle glow scratched a warning in her mind, but she ignored it in favour of slipping out of the house and towards her old car. She was an adult. She didn’t need her parents’ permission.

Outside was colder than she expected, despite it being midsummer. The rain was still light against her hair and shoulders, but she knew it was leading towards a downpour. Her car rattled out its distinctive alarm deactivation as she approached, and she scurried in to start the engine before anyone could poke their head out of their bedroom windows and ask where she was going. She didn’t look back as she pulled out of the driveway, heater slowly to prove its existence as her wipers squeaked against the windshield. She didn’t want to look back in fear that she’d change her mind.

The drive to the beach was silent, with no GPS navigation telling her where to turn on the dark roads, or annoying popstar singing about lost love on her radio. Her mind for once was blank, as she dissociated on everything around her, letting instinct take the wheel. What could have been hours later but felt like mere minutes, her car turned off the main roads onto the gravel side trail leading to the beach, stones flicking up against the undercarriage as she crept along. The rain was falling thick and fast now, lashing against her windscreen as the headlights tried vainly to pierce the darkness. She knew she was close to the sea edge, with towering cliffs blocking the end of the road ahead of her. Pulling to a stop in a place she felt was comfortably safe from the crashing waves she couldn’t see but could hear, she turned off the car and sat, letting everything soak in.

Shit, she had really done this. Up and left without a plan or word of warning in the middle of the night, to an unknown destination who knows how far from home. And during a storm no less! If her parents or friends wanted to commit her to a mental vacay before, they surely would now. Leaning her forehead against the steering wheel she took in a deep breath, letting her actions wash over her for a minute before releasing it into the musty air around her. Despite the storm, the urge to dig her toes into the sand hadn’t left, and she fumbled with the zipper of her rain jacket until it closed to beneath her chin, bracing herself to be buffeted against the wind the moment she opened her door.

She hadn't realised just how loud the outside world was until she was wrenched outside with an ungraceful fall. The storm instantly hammered against her face and back, pushing her towards the cliffside and beach with icy rain. Deciding it’d be safer to leave her keys and phone inside the relative safety of her car, she chucked them onto the passenger seat before struggling to slam the door closed. Her jacket whipped around her unpleasantly as she hunched against the wind, making her way towards a tiny stretch of sand her google maps had told her would exist. Really, how she could see anything was beyond her, but the path around her was visible enough to ensure she wouldn’t get hurt as the seawall appeared at her feet.

Standing on the edge of the slippery boulders, she peered into the dark at the tall cliffs beside her, seeing no smooth handholds to assist her down to the small patch of sand not covered by water. They stretched far into the depths of the dark above and beyond her, and while she should feel more afraid than she ever did in the forest, a sense of comfort was starting to settle in her bones instead. Huffing she let the wind press her against the bleached rocks, using a nervous hand to steady herself as she picked her way down. High tide was at its peak, enhanced by the roaring waves crashing around her, but it barely licked at the sand just below her, dark as volcanic ash in the downpour. Her toes, already drenched from squelching through the rain, were instantly absorbed by the wet grains, infiltrating her shoes and socks uncomfortably. She could feel the salt of the sea being flung against her bare skin where the wind had ripped away her clothes, and the hood of her jacket bore no protection for her waterlogged hair.

But she felt safe.

She felt free.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and she flung her arms wide to the environment, letting everything barrel around and over her in delirious delight. Never had the urge been scratched so vigorously as now, and she closed her eyes to enjoy the cold of night roll down her face.

She must have stood there for hours, rooted in the shifting sands, letting the waves crash at her feet as the rain soaked her to the bone, just letting her mind feel blissfully empty as the wind snatched any of her stupid, once overwhelming concerns from her lungs, filling them instead with its sting. When she finally felt like she could breathe again, she slowly lowered her arms to her sides, titling her head out the storm’s caress to look down at her feet. As always, she wanted a sample of this feeling to take home, and while she didn’t expect to find anything other than mangled driftwood or specks of seaweed, maybe a shell or two had been trapped beneath them.

Squatting down she began to dig through the sand, ignoring the sting of open, bleeding wounds on her hands that she hadn’t noticed before. The grains of continuously crushed shell and debris rolled against her fingertips, before unearthing the start of a pretty white shell. Pleased she let out a small hum, prying the shell from its entrapment and rolling it in her palm for inspection. It was nothing particularly special, just a clam shell, but she pocketed it anyway before continuing her search. Now that she had found one, finding more became child’s play, and soon her jacket pockets weighed enough to keep the wind from sneaking blasts against her stomach.

Scouring the ground for more interesting pieces, she spied a pebble shifting against the waves before her and scooped it out of the freezing water. Bands of orange wrapped against its natural green, and she tilted it in the non-existent light for a better look before slipping it among the shells. As if sensing her satisfaction with the find, more pebbles began to appear in the shoreline, like the ocean was personally bringing them forth to her.

Small jagged rocks that looked like arrow heads, smooth perfectly round skipping stones, colourful when wet pebbles that’ll fade to grey if left to dry, all appeared against her searching hands, all earning a small smile and affectionate pat as they fell into her pocket.

Maybe she should be concerned that this was a dream, a delusion of sorts as the waves rose higher, pushing her further back against the cliff and seawall but continuing to share its riches with her. But she found herself unable to care, accepting every shining shell or stone with the grace of an eager child. It was just as she was wondering whether she run back up the car to empty her pockets did a wave finally crash over her, slamming her against the cliff with an annoyed grunt. The sand quickly disappeared beneath her feet, leaving her to stagger into the seawall in alarm, but the ocean didn’t seem ready to whisk her away just yet.

Murmuring a curse under her breath, she shifted against the slimy boulders until she found purchase, trying to decide whether to continue picking or climb to the surface when something caught her eye. Trapped in the crevices beneath her, something shone in the rain, and her ever curious fingers reached to dig it out. It took a bit of effort, but after some pulling and twisting, the item popped free, revealing itself to be a shiny green gem. She stared at it for a long time, taking in its smooth appearance and professionally cut edges. This was an item she’d usually find behind the glass of a display case or nestled in some noble’s necklace as a stunning centre piece, not out in the wild of a wind battered coast. Shocked she could only let her freezing fingers curl around it, before slowly sliding it into her pocket as another caught her eye.

One was cause for disbelief.

Two was suspicious.

Three was impossible.

Or so she thought until another five plunked into her pockets, all different sizes and shapes, colours ranging across the rainbow. Maybe she had been out here longer than she thought. Surely, she had slipped into a hypothermic coma, or her brain was conjuring one last adventure as she drowned at sea. To find this many gems scattered along the boulders was unimaginable, but their presence rested solidly against her thigh.

With shaking hands, she continued to search, ignoring most of her finds for a while, focusing on an unknown task. Maybe she had fallen for a fae trap after all, she mused as another boulder clatter down to the sea, revealing a few more sparkles, maybe they had finally lured her into their fantasies. Were they imagining her to be doomed to the confides of darkness, with digging for riches that spilled through her numb hands as dark water lapped at her feet and the cliffs pressed down on her? It sounded like their twisted idea of fun, just like her granny had warned her, but she found she didn’t mind that existence, still far too calm and comfortable where she was.

Her hand touched something more jagged beneath the compact soil, and she scrapped the mud away with a nail curiously. Dull red emerged from the dark, soon taking form of an uncut, ragged gem that was not like the rest. Her breath caught in her throat as she pulled the stone towards her, cradling it gently between her hands. Something about this one screamed at her that it was important, that everything else in her pockets was unnecessary and could be discarded. While she wanted to cling to her treasures she had unearthed, this was the crown jewel, and belonged close to her heart, safe and protected.

Sinking against the rocks, she felt weak kneed for the first time all night. A sob echoed from her lips as she pressed them to the cool stone, followed by a laugh that misted the air around them. The peace she had felt earlier had doubled by tenfold, and she never wanted to leave its comforting embrace. But something prodded her to keep searching, so with a fond smile she slipped the stone into her shirt, making sure it clung to her skin by her heart before continuing to shift the seawall. All the gemstones from earlier seemed like sea glass to her now, still beautiful and unique but unworthy of her attention. Her smile hadn’t left, and she felt that if she were in a movie, a rousing orchestra would be playing, winding up to the climatic symphony as she shifted one last rock and found her last treasures.

Really, she must be dreaming or dead now, as how do three of the most fragile, stunning pieces of blowen glass remain unbroken beneath heavy boulders? Letting the rock tumble down to join the rest, she stared at the figurines in shock, heart racing beneath the garnet. Untouched by the world around them, the deer, rose and hummingbird shone in the rain, begging for her to pick them up.

With shaky fingers she reached towards them, hesitating before she could. Something about them seemed final. A promise or deal that she’d unwittingly make if accepted them. Her brain was beginning to reboot now, logic screaming at her that none of this was real, that she needed to leave, that she had seen enough, but her body needed to bring these small, tiny items with her. They needed to be nestled beside the garnet weighing against her heart, needed just as much tender care as it demanded. Summoning up all her courage, she pulled them gently from the dirt, afraid they’d shatter if she squeezed too hard. They weighed more than she expected, shimmering against the contrast of her grimy, torn hands.

There was a probably a lesson in this madness, something profound that she needed to think over. The wild had called for her, urged her to disappear into its dark embrace like she had longed for, but now it was pushing her back. She needed to go home, go assure her surely worried family she was safe, and step back into the gloom of reality. The fae no longer had her entrapped, whispering for her to leave.

Cradling the figurines in dumbfound confusion, she climbed back up the remainder of the seawall, ignoring the fact there was no longer a beach behind her. Her car made a creaky groan when she opened the door, blue light of the immobiliser piercing her eyes as her soggy body fell into the driver's seat. She didn’t remember laying out the glass sculptures with careful hands on the passenger seat or starting ignition to drive home. She doesn’t remember looking back to see nothing but darkness behind her, or hearing the waves fade away as the wind of the dying storm pushed her towards home. The bump of the gravel turned into smooth tar seal, tyres whisking along the wet roads with an unregistered hum.

The storm had moved on by the time she returned home, dawn starting to light the horizon as she pulled into her spot. The doors to the house flung open before she could turn off the engine, her mother racing down the front steps to greet her with a terrified though relieved hug once she stepped out of the car. Her warmth was a shock to her frozen skin, and she shivered as she squeezed her back. Her father approached at a more restrained pace, though his eyes and chewed lip showed his worry strongly. Once his arms circled around them both, did she allow the tears to fall, whispering apologies they quickly hushed away with soothing hands and smothering kisses. The first rays of day broke over them, highlighting the mess she had become in the waterlogged world. Her parents ushered her inside, but not before she darted around to the passenger side to collect her three precious figurines, showing them with wonder to the stunned adults.

There was a lot to talk about, even more to share, and while it came across in words of anger or shouted sadness, she accepted their concern and feelings graciously for the first time. If that mental vacay she had feared was ultimately decided to be the best path for her, then she’d take it, settling comfortably in her new room a few days later. Her garnet now cleaned and smoothed just a little, so it didn’t stab her rested gently in her shirt pocket, always close on hand as she puttered around her small space, though it was the figurines she turned to the most. Lined up along her windowsill, they sparkled in the early light, accenting the faintest hints of colour along the edges. A reminder that sometimes the call of the wild could be too much, but she had something to lean on, something to strive for.

Something to live for.

It wasn’t her time to stop existing.

#personal writing #dreams are fucking weird #mental health #implied suicidal thoughts #depression #depressing shit

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paperstarwriters · 1 year

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People don't often interact with my #just thinking posts so Idk if people ever see it at all, but even then, I wanna throw this out there and just keep myself accountable.

Warning for Anxieties, implied suicidal ideation, academic stress

This is a post about some of my current struggles, I'm not talking about that in depth—the main point is more hopeful I think—but the topic is there.

there's been this song I've been listening on loop to recently; Look at the Sky by Porter Robinson. It's really sweet, and really nice and alongside, Something Comforting, Get Your Wish, and You are Enough (which, unlike the others is by Sleeping at last) it's a really uplifting and encouraging set of songs that has helped me out a lot in encouraging me through my studies.

As the semester comes to an end however, the stress continues to build and grow and with it, my panic and fear.

I have no official diagnoses, but I know well enough that there's something askew in there. A little tender part that's vulnerable to failure and stress and so many other things.

And this is why I just keep coming back to Look at the Sky.

It's the chorus.

Look at the sky, I’m still here I’ll be alive next year I can make something good, oh Something good

It reads like a promise to me. Mainly because of the second line.

I'll be alive next year.

I'll keep myself here, today so I can make it to next year.

Idk. Porter Robinson mentions how it's about the creative cycle of taking in other people's work to create a new tapestry of creativity, but I always linger on this song for my studies rather than any of my creative writing.

I'm not very good at what I'm studying at, and I can't help but associate my talent in the field with how much I should like it. The study is interesting, and when I'm not constantly worrying about failing projects or failing quizzes or failing exams, the content is fascinating and fun to learn.

But I don't do well on the assignments.

I'm not failing. I'm not so horribly behind on all my assignments that I know that I'll fail or something, but I can't help but feel the need to get at least 90% on everything. It's fear driven I think. My parents wanted that of me when I was a child. the sentiment continues to linger on in me.

I didn't do so great on a single assignment this time. It's for a project—one I need to complete in order to pass the class at all. But I messed up on the formatting and I left a few tails undone at the end. It was incredibly rushed and a miracle that I had it finished at all, but I still can't help the sickening feeling that I should have done better. Even if I was staying up way past what was healthy for me, something that would cause me general dizziness and heavy sickness later on in the day, I still felt like I should have exerted myself more to check up on it and get it nice and pretty and polished.

I haven't gotten my grade back for that assignment yet. and I can't help but feel sick thinking about it.

I know that logically, the portion of my grade that would be affected might be pretty small, and I've done pretty well in the rest of my assignments. I'll probably be able to pass the class.

Still I can't help the feeling that If I don't do perfect on every single assignment, I will fail.

I have to hand in a physical copy of the assignment tomorrow, I felt so sick going back over my digital copy— forced to look at all of my sloppy and messy mistakes. I felt fear looking at it.

I felt a lot of things, really. Nasty, dark and irrational things.

But...

I'm still here.

I'll continue to try and be here tomorrow too. And the day after that. I'll make it to next year.

And even if I don't do great in that class, I can still make it to the degree I want. It'll take a little stress and struggle, but I'll get there eventually.

And until then, I can still make good things—I can write the little stories, and one shots and fanfics that make me happy.

Look at the sky, I’m still here I’ll be alive next year I can make something good, oh Something good

I promise.

#PLEASE READ TAGS #implied suicidal thoughts #tw anxiety #I don't think people are going to see this much if at all #so I'm not gonna ban reblogs quite yet #I probably will at the first signs of containment escape but yeah.#If you're my mutual/follower who has interacted with a lot of my stuff before and you think this speaks to you #I don't mind you reblogging it #I can't tell if I want people to see this or if I want it to remain hidden...#Idk #anyways #just thinking #❤️‍🩹#tw stress #tw academic stress

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triskelion-soda · 2 years

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My Place

trying to fit a piece in a complete puzzle.

my place in the world has been taken now, by somebody else,

who does what i do, better than i.

i do not fit anymore.

my place has been taken.

i have no place in this world anymore.

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reesespiecesofart · 16 days

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Are you awake?

In answer, Varo’s eyes fly open when Mase’s thought filters through. He’s met with dark eyes staring at him, an uncomfortable expression on Mase’s face.

What’s the matter? Varo thinks, keeping his face neutral. Mase sighs, eyebrows furrowing slightly in a typical worried expression. Varo’s been receiving those a lot lately.

Mase closes his eyes before responding. You’re giving off a… vibe.

Varo’s expression remains the same, though he has to resist the urge to blink more than once. A vibe? What does that mean?

In lieu of an answer, Mase opens his eyes and shifts his body to be laying on his back. The blanket has draped itself down past the hard planes of his chest, settling there and resting against Mase’s lower half. Varo, currently laying on his side with the blanket pulled up to his ears, resists the urge to copy Mase.

Don't resist.

Varo sighs, trying to release the frustration that bubbles up out his nose. Refrain from reading my personal thoughts. He dislikes having to say the same thing more than once and this is the third time since he’s met Mase that he’s used this line.

Sure, it feels like he’s known Mase his entire life, but that doesn’t lessen his irritation.

Mase huffs through his nose, resting his hands on his stomach and staring at the ceiling. It’s hard not to when you’re quite literally projecting every little thing that pops into your head, Mase thinks, turning only his head to pin Varo with that knowing gaze.

He sees the moment Mase’s gaze softens, as it’s a direct reaction to Varo’s mask cracking. He had no idea he wasn’t keeping his thoughts in his own head up until this point.

When did this start? How long has Mase been able to hear every little thing Varo thinks about? Is it a side effect of the treatments he went through? What about all those years of strengthening his mental shields? Did he really just lose all of that?

“Varo.”

Varo’s eyes are squeezed shut, but he pries them open to meet Mase’s own worried eyes.

“Breathe, please.”

Varo closes his eyes again in embarrassment and breathes deeply through his nose, not having realized how little oxygen he was running on. That’s what he gets for holding his breath on accident. More oxygen means better brain activity. Better brain activity means that Mase isn’t worried about him.

After a second of breathing enough to satisfy his lungs, Varo takes in Mase’s face.

“Yes, I’m worried about you,” Mase says. “Which you’ve already figured out. Great job.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

Mase sighs, reaching his arm out and placing his hand down beside Varo’s on the bed, palm up. “I’m not.”

Varo’s body betrays him as he grips Mase’s hand without a second of hesitation. A lifeline, connecting him to reality. “It sounded like it.”

“Stop taking everything so personally. I’m just talking to you.”

“And that’s the problem, isn’t it?” Varo says, sitting up and hunching over himself so he doesn’t have to bear Mase’s worried glances, covers falling to his legs. He crosses his legs. “I don’t understand anymore.”

Mase, somehow, knows what he means. “Did you ever?”

“Ever what?”

“Understand?”

Varo is silent. He squeezes Mase’s hand, asking for reassurance. Mase returns the squeeze.

“I’m here. I’m right here, V.” Mase sits up with Varo and scoots himself over and copies his position, knees an inch apart with their connected hands set on the bed between them.

“It’s been difficult,” Varo begins, choosing his words carefully. He’s put up his mental shield, but has no way of knowing if it’s actually keeping Mase out or not. He wants his thoughts to be his own and shared at his own discretion. Like before. “I know that this is real, but there’s a part of me that gets confused and… scared-” Varo cringes internally at the honesty, “- and then I lock down because if I take it all literally then I won’t risk taking something sarcastically when it’s meant to be literal. I won’t mistake words and verbage for the time being when it counts for something, all because I- for some reason- can’t read people anymore. I can’t do it. I’ve lost a part of myself that I spent years curating and fixing, but now it’s just gone. My mental shields are broken. My body is broken. What do I do now? Now that I’m a shell of the person I created?” He looks at Mase, mask cracked down the middle as tears well up in his eyes. “This is the most I’ve spoken since… before. I’ve never been afraid to speak before.” But I’m afraid now.

Mase looks at him for a second before holding his other arm up in invitation. Varo’s never been a big hugger, but right now, it’s all he’s ever wanted.

Tears roll down his face as he clutches onto Mase, arms wrapped around his shoulders. Mase’s hands rest around his lower back, rubbing slow circles there as Varo shakes with silent tears. He buries his mouth and nose in Mase’s shoulder, trying not to dry his eyes with Mase’s skin, no to avail.

It’s okay, V, Mase thinks to him, squeezing his midsection softly. A few tears never hurt anyone’s skin condition.

Varo turns his head inwards, resting in the crook of Mase’s neck. I’m sorry.

Mase responds with an annoyed huff, gripping Varo with one hand and ripping the blankets off them with the other to be able to pull Varo into his lap. Varo complies, relishing in the feeling of Mase’s chest against his own as he wraps his legs behind Mase’s back. His whole body is wracked with silent sobs, taking in quick and quiet breaths to fuel the fire.

He hates crying. It doesn’t do anything. The only other time Varo’s ever cried was that day. Not the day it happened; no. The day he found her.

The memory of her mangled body etched with the marks and signature of his twin brother rip more cries out of him. He tries his best to stay quiet out of habit, but the flashing images of his own face ripping his little sister apart draw anguished cries out of him like no other.

He wasn’t there. But it feels like he was with the way his mind supplies the images. They feel like memories.

Varo struggles against the weight of it all. He’s drowning in tears, not able to come up for air with every ounce of pressure on him. He wants to scream and throw something. He wants to keep hugging Mase. He wants to train. He wants to get stronger. Varo needs an outlet right now. He can’t face this.

All these powers. The speed, senses, strength. His new abilities. And he’s still pathetically weak.

“Stop.”

Varo freezes, choking back his next sob. He went too far, forced Mase to hold a whimpering mess of a man while he cried. Mase is upset with him.

“I’m not upset you’re crying, V. Please, never think that,” Mase says, turning his head to press his lips against Varo’s turned-inwards cheek. Not a kiss. Not a kiss. “I��m upset because of these thoughts you’re having. You know none of that is true, right?”

“It is.”

“You’re not pathetic.”

“I am.”

Mase sighs, pulling back and relatching his lips to Varo’s skin. “You’re not, V. Everytime you think or say it, that thought gets cemented in your mind.”

“Good.”

He’s done crying. He needs to get up and train. Gain back what he lost in the lab. Varo tries to pull away from Mase with the intention to do exactly that, but is met with resistance.

Varo narrows his eyes at Mase’s neck. He’s strong. Way stronger than Mase. Mase knows this.

“Let go.”

Mase doesn’t react, just holds onto Varo. Varo pulls slightly again, to no avail.

This is part of Mase’s plan, isn’t it? To utilize Varo’s refusal to hurt Mase and keep him here? To make Varo rot in this bed and wither away into nothing?

“You’re not training in your condition.”

“I’m perfectly healed.”

Mase scoffs into Varo’s cheek. Varo feels the puff of breath against his face and shivers. “Physically, maybe. Eighty percent at best, in that category. Mentally, you’re a wreck.” Mase pulls back to look Varo in the eyes, still holding on. “I’ve never heard your thoughts so scattered. You’re the most organized and compartmentalized person I know, V; there’s no way I’m letting you train right now. You’ll end up killing yourself for all I know.”

Varo’s eyes well up with tears. He doesn’t know what burst the duct-taped dam, but something in Mase’s monologue squeezed his heart enough that it leaked more tears out his eyes.

Emotions come from the brain. The heart is not involved whatsoever. And yet, his chest burns aflame.

“Varo…”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“I know.”

“Then why’d you say it?”

“I’m sorry.”

Varo closes his eyes, trying to stamp the flame out. He really wouldn’t train to that point. They still need to end Russia’s reign. He can’t die now.

“... What?” Varo opens his eyes to see Mase staring at him with what looks like a horrified expression. “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You thought something.”

“Stop reading my thoughts.” He’s starting to get really irritaTed about that.

“I can’t ignore it when you practically shout your self-deprecating thoughts at me, V!” Mase exclaims, eyebrows pulling together even more. Quieter, he speaks again. “Why would you think something like that?”

He almost sounds… hurt.

“Before you spiral down that train of thought,” Mase says, stopping Varo’s train in its tracks, “let me inform you of something: You are not hurting me.” He says it slowly, as if trying to make it stick in Varo’s mind. He cups Varo’s cheek and wipes a stray tear slowly. “You aren’t broken. You aren’t weak. You’re Alvaro. You are strong and fast and super smart. You know?”

Varo blinks at Mase, trying to keep his breathing even. “I know.”

“Don’t lie. It’s okay to not believe what I’m saying yet.” Mase cups both of Varo’s cheeks now. “But I won’t let anyone insult you ever again, especially not yourself. Understand?”

Varo thinks for a second. He is weak. He is tired. Varo knows he’ll never go back to thinking he’s invincible, but Mase wholeheartedly believes it and wants an answer out of Varo.

“Yes.” It’s not convincing at best; weak at worst.

“Even if you think you’re weak, you’re still everything to me,” Mase whispers. It’s louder than anything Varo’s heard before. “You’re everything.”

Varo doesn’t know why he does it. But he does it nonetheless.

Mase's lips are soft.

#not rottmnt #textpost #text #oc #my oc #ocs #my ocs #dldr #assassins #implied suicidal thoughts #snippet of the book i'm writing #mase is a telepath basically #and varo has autism cranked to the max #they are super soldiers #thats all you need to know to read this #theyve never kissed before hehehehhe

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amashelle · 2 months

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Despite the horrors and problems and suffering caused by globalization and all the **** that comes with it….

I would not have survived this week without the cross-continent combo of kimchi and avacado. The doctor took away my antidepressants and this unique flavour combination is literally the only thing keeping me going atm.

#implied swearing #personal stuff #depression #implied suicidal thoughts #(guess those are less implied now…)#Trying to do trigger tags and probably failing at that #too

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pencil-to-paper · 8 months

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leaving

You’ve never been good with endings

Your eyes well up before you even press play on the episode titled ‘finale’

Your heart plummets when bold letters at the top of the page spell out ‘epilogue’

And every event comes in a 2-for-1 package deal with a countdown to the end, the ticking drowning out good experiences before they get the chance to become good memories

Just the word ‘last’ is enough to rattle you, it’s a good thing you’ve almost never know the difference between ‘goodbye’ and ‘see you later’ until it was too late for tears to blur your final look at the people and places you used to know

Letting go has never been your specialty, and there’s no solace in it, so you ignore the endings and the pain, turning to what comes next in an attempt to find some semblance of comfort

You try to appreciate the latch unlocking in front of you, but it’s hard to be grateful when you heart is still jammed in the hinges behind you

And as for what the latch will reveal, that’s unfortunately up to you

You want to figure things out, but you’re indecisive and collect regrets like grandmas with plastic bags, so you make padlets and pinterest boards and imagine your dream life every night in bed

Because if you start hoping now, if you want something for long enough, you know you really want it, even if the house and pets and stress-free living you fantasize about might be just that, a fantasy.

You’re still in denial about it, because without that fantasy, there’s not much left

The internet tells you that your brain finishes developing at 25, but the 25 year olds tell you that they don’t have a clue, everyone’s just making it up as they go, and the 30 and 40 and 80 year olds tell you, “it’s true, we don’t know either”

But you want to know, want to feel it in your soul that you’re doing things right and you have goals you’re achieving

You’re young, 25 is years away and you don’t want to put your life on hold while you wait for your brain to finish figuring itself out

You don’t even know what you’d do all those years, you just know you weren’t supposed to make it past 13, so of course you didn’t plan for 14 or 15 or 18 or 25, and every day throbs with the question of what now?

You read those articles about people who graduated in their 50s or started a business in their 60s, they say “here’s proof you don’t need to rush!” and “I only found myself after I retired”, but all you hear is “there is a chance you will spend the rest of your life feeling lost”

When the past and the future are equally hostile, you turn to the one thing left, the present

Stretch this moment out as long as possible, if you claim that you’re being “mindful”, you can ignore the fact that the clock doesn’t stop

By chance or by choice, you don’t notice everything ending around you.

By chance because when you’re busy writing, there doesn’t have to be a world beyond your earbuds

By choice because right now, even as your hand cramps and letters blur together, you can’t bring yourself to to write the last word.

As stupid as it sounds, your worst fear might just be the period at the end of the sentence

Or maybe it’s whatever word comes after

#this was the last thing i wrote in a writing class i was in #coincidentally also the last thing i wrote in the writing journal i had at the time #and some other things were ending all around the same time so there was A Lot #still in my fuck around era and very far from my find out era #just have to choose to believe people when they say it gets better #lowkey inspired by inkskinned #go check them out they're on tumblr and everything they write is SO GOOD #mini rant #writers on tumblr #writing #poetry #poets on tumblr #original content #original poem #writeblr #implied suicidal thoughts #creative writing

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dylawas-reblogs · 10 months

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I am ready to give up

ready to quit my job

ready to dump all of my savings into a gaming computer/vr and a trip to another country/a long distance friend

ready to hurry and outline the remainder of HLAL for my readers so they have SOME closure if not the full completed series

and then I'm ready to peace out of this existence by christmas (not before I make sure friends are in my legal will, there are things I don't want my family to have)

btw if you're gonna report this post this isn't a concrete 'plan' (no intent to put it to action yet)

but i don't know why the fuck I try anymore

i'm tired

i'm burned out

i'm depressed

people reach out to me and offer to help but idk how they can with the things i need help with

and maybe it's cruel of me but it's starting to feel like the equivalent of 'thoughts and prayers'

they'll feel powerless when there's nothing they can do; I'll feel powerless that there's nothing they can do. Everyone will just feel even more like shit if I try

emotional support's not enough anymore & I can't ask for money

I have enough

just don't have a guaranteed stable/sufficient income to confidently move out (I refuse to be a financial weight)

not to mention why the hell would I reach out when everyone else is floundering too

i can't find a job in my degree not even an unpaid internship

and i'm continuously being denied my graduation present of a high end gaming desktop because of it

(and because to my guardian it's not the 'right' kind of graduation present so he's spiteful)

i'm too anxious to network (and i don't even know what the point is when all these people i'm reaching out to aren't in positions to help suggest a position)

I open linkedin and burst into tears every time

In her defense she probably didn't know, but a recruiting person told me my skills were "better suited for an internship" when I have my BACHELORS

and most internships EXCLUSIVELY want college students which i'm not anymore

I can't find an alternative full time job that wouldn't make me want to puke or tear myself apart

I'm always told to go outside but go where? There are no Third Spaces within walking distance, and going places costs money

i'm paying half of my part time income in rent in my OWN GUARDIAN'S HOUSE while he fucks off to a new vacation/concert every third week

I was passed over for a promotion I was half counting on as an alternative to a new job

the job I'm currently working just stripped away extra hours because people were picking up too many so I can't work extra to offset rent

again I want to reiterate I HAVE MONEY but this greatly diminishes saving ability

and this whole vent was originally all gonna be in tags but this is the part where my tags didn't save because I had too many when I drafted this post

so oh boy I get to retype more than half of my grief from memory

so just know i'm probably forgetting something

My laptop wifi driver card was failing every hour for a while and no software troubleshooting resolved it

so it's probably a hardware issue (it's stopped for now but I know it will come back to bite me later)

Apparently my car's brakes need to be replaced and I was basically blamed for not knowing

but I didn't know that they needed replacing because I was never taught what to look out for and nothing seemed wrong to me

And these kinds of surprise expenses are EXACTLY why i basically have a phobia of spending money

anytime I think "I'm in a comfortable position I can treat myself!" almost immediately after something fucking breaks

it's a curse

speaking of shit fucking breaking, my whole body is in agony

went to a deceased relative's house to clean out everything yesterday and hated every second of it

(house was disgusting/family member was a smoker, which I have ZERO tolerance for)

but I went anyway, because it was the right thing to do and the immediate descendants would have been short handed otherwise

and my older brother ratted me out to The Overlord when I pointed out how shitty it was he wasn't going to be there when he was the favorite relative

And my brother did this KNOWING how this man will threaten to take away transportation/living arrangements/make you LITERALLY PAY if you don't kiss his fucking boots and grovel

the equivalent of telling on a shoplifter who was taking food because they're starving to the cops

so now I'm determined to not have a relationship with my older brother alongside the Overlord when I can finally escape

in the meantime i can't fucking write/draw/game/etc without feeling overwhelming guilt because I "should be working on a portfolio/job hunting"

so even when I try to relax, I can't, either through not enjoying the activity or not being able to start it at all

"You can't have fun" "okay let's do the hard stuff then" "no."

can't even do the portfolio part because of the burnout and general exhaustion from work anyways

And where the hell would I even "advertise" or gain a following when every social media is imploding either due to poor management or hostile AI takeover that will take your art/writing without a second thought to add to its Frankenstein algorithm

And the (in comparison) "moral" social media options are all niche to the point where you wouldn't be able to build a sufficient following anyways

this kind of self marketing shit is in and of itself a full time job, but oops! I'm already working!

Don't get me wrong I knew social media was a rat race before I graduated college, but nothing and no one could have prepared me for the way it is now. There was no AI competition until a year before I graduated, and that's going to change the entire field/process.

feels like my career coach and every job hunting site is wildly out of touch with how the market is now not just in my career but EVERYWHERE

And I want to try to start dating again, but there's no way in hell I can do that in confidence when I'm still living with a conservative fuckface

So there's another point for "can't move on in life if I don't get the fuck out of here"

Every single thing I do these days is "fucked if I do, fucked if I don't, and there's no reward for either option"

No social media is no exposure/followers, but social media is basically by default art theft now

working extra hours takes away more of your free time for recharging/portfolio, but not working means you're barely scraping by, and only if there's no emergency

Not saying anything to the people who are wronging you lets them think they can get away with it/think they're doing no wrong, but calling them out results in punishment and victim blaming

Nothing I do feels right, no matter if I kick it in reverse or drive, my wheels spin in every direction and everyone who IS in a position to help push the damn car just stands from afar and suggests, "Try turning the steering to the right for the fourteenth time!"

SOMETHING needs to change. But that kind of change can't happen unless the environment changes, and that can't happen because I have to make sure my income doesn't become a net negative, meaning nothing can change because I'm not in a position where asking for a rent decrease is an option.

And I KNOW most of this isn't my fault. I KNOW most of it is a side effect of a sick and decaying capitalistic society compounding on my own mental illnesses. It still feels like this has to be my fault anyways, because I'm being actively punished by it by the people closest to me (physically, not emotionally).

What is the fucking point.

Edit 8/14/23: Overlord, stop pressuring me to go to a "roast" for my deceased relative. I didn't hate him, but I disliked him, and me and my mother KNOW the "roast" is just a funeral service coated in clown paint-- which he didn't want.

#dylawa rambles #dylawa rants #dylawa vents #hopelessness #tw implied suicidal thoughts #implied suicidal thoughts #cw implied suicidal thoughts #i have been staring at and editing this post for two hours I have to let it go #but don't be surprised if there are future edits

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cripplestein · 1 year

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I just got a bunch of blankets out of the dryer before bed. I dont want to die anymore this is amazing

#tommy infodumps #implied suicidal thoughts #but its /j

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kleptoballs · 1 year

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this is too cringe for anywhere else but here’s some mentally ill art i did in 30mins instead of relapsing!! yippee for that!

i feel a bit better but still not great, just trying to find better ways to cope cuz im spiraling rn and dont feel in control of myself and its not fun :(

#sorry about this #but its whats happening #im sorry #im sorry.#i think the kleptoballs with the :3 face juxtaposes all of it and its kinda funny #the quality’s poo but it adds a certain charm to the overal thing #anyways this probly has some trigger warnings so #tw #implied suicidal thoughts #implied sh tw #vent #vent art #also when spotifys nots playing dental care by owl city will just randomly start playing #and i find that to be more funny than annoying so ima say thats a grams worth of keeping me afloat rn #god these tags are a mess i just want to feel like im inside my own mind again. jesus christ

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isaiahs-vents · 1 year

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Growing up. Its realizing that the people who promised you they'd be yours forever don't actually know if its forever.

When i was in first grade i became friends with two people who i considered my best friends. We loved eachother and nothing could get between us.

Fifth grade that group expanded into a group of five. I loved them so much. Words couldn't articulate the amount of love that i feel for them even if i tried. They were my family and even when i was at my lowest point, when i wanted to end it all, when i wanted to die. The thought of me having to miss them in their big moments in life. It stopped me because i wanted to be there when they turn 17 one day, and i want to be there when they get their first lover so i can listen to them ramble aimlessly for hours when we hang out. It hurts how much i love them and i'm lucky to be alive at the same times as them. They made my life so much better than it would've been. And it frustrates me that we're falling apart.

Seventh grade present time.

I wish i could say "oh we stayed in touch even after we moved schools!" But i know damn well thats not true. I love them so much man. Why did we have to stop being friends man? Why why why why why why?? I knew the friendship was fading but i never thought it'd end so soon. It hurts the most when you've seen somebody at their most vunerable,at their most hurt, with a person who's seen you laugh and cry and who you can consider family just go back to strangers like that. Its like we don't even know eachothers names anymore. I want to cry every time i think about them because i don't know if they knew how much i truly loved them.

#vent #personal vent #implied suicidal thoughts #rubber band sh #god i wanna die #i want to die #i'm not kidding #falling apart #fading friends

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strangersteddierthings · 1 year

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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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