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gay-jesus-probably · 11 months

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Okay so I have a lot of thoughts about the whole thing of the Gerudo being a race of entirely women, with the only exception being one man born every hundred years, and that man automatically being their king. Now this worldbuilding comes from Ocarina of Time, and there's obviously a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications there, because it was 1998. And it seems that Tears of the Kingdom is sticking with the lore of Gerudo men being extremely rare and becoming the King of their people, which once again has a metric fuckton of unfortunate implications because it's 2023 and Nintendo has somehow gotten even worse about this shit.

But let's set aside the whole... everything, and look at this from just the in-universe perspective. How does it work? I mean, it's pretty clear that there is no overlap between the kings; the old ones are normally long gone by the time a new one is born, but the Gerudo manage to take care of themselves during the hangtime. So they must have an established system of government and leadership that doesn't involve a king, and somehow that system is set up in a way that does a smooth transfer of power once a new king is born and old enough to take the throne. But why bother always declaring a random guy to be your King when you already have a perfectly functional system in place?

I mean again, the whole thing has a lot of sexist implications, but we're not looking at this from a real world context, we're examining it in-universe. And we could just go the lazy route and say that their king is in charge just because he's the only man, but I don't like that. I mean come on, the Gerudo are a race of entirely women, and most of their outside problems come from Hylian men being creepy about it. They are entirely a matriarchy; there is literally no reason for their culture to have an inherent respect for men, even if the man in question is one of them. And they're desert people; they live in an extremely harsh and dangerous landscape, if they don't have their shit together, they will die. By sheer necessity, their culture needs to put a lot of value in being practical, because if they're stupid about things, people die. They really can't afford to have a shitty leader take over, and just letting some guy take the wheel doesn't really fit with the way their culture must otherwise work.

So again, why the fuck do they bother having a King?

I think it's mainly just a ceremonial position. Yes, if the guy is a good leader he'll be in charge, but if he isn't good at being a King or isn't interested in the job... fuck it, they've already got a functional government system that's been leading their people the whole time, why fix what isn't broken? The title of Gerudo King isn't about leadership or power. I think it's more about belonging. Because the Gerudo are a culture where every single one of them can be defined in the same way... and there is exactly one exception once a century. Men are considered to be inherently outsiders at the best of times, and more often they're enemies. A man born into this culture is a natural outsider; he is completely unique, and that means he doesn't really fit into his community. And well... when someone is fundamentally different from the rest of their community, they tend to be ostracized.

So I think that's why the position of Gerudo King exists. It isn't about them needing or even wanting a man to lead them. The title of King doesn't need to involve any leadership at all. It's about giving the man born every century a place in their society. It's a way of saying yes, you are one of us, you are a Gerudo, you belong here, you are wanted and you are loved.

The Gerudo know that every hundred years, one of their children will be fundamentally different from all of his peers. And so their society is built to ensure that a child who is completely different from them will still be loved and accepted. He will always have a place in their society. He doesn't need to earn their love, he has it just for existing. These are his people.

The title of Gerudo King isn't an inherent position of authority. It's a promise of acceptance.

#legend of zelda #ganondorf #tears of the kingdom #gerudo #look i have so many thoughts about how their society works #and for the record i really hate the implied bioessentialist gender stuff #but this is my headcanon on the whole gerudo king thing #if their king wants authority he still needs to earn it like everyone else #but they make sure he always has a place among his people #look growing up Different from your peers is a fucking nightmare #as any neurodivergent/disabled/queer kid can attest #i like the idea of gerudo society being structured around ensuring all their children felt like they belonged there #and having a system ready to go for the one kid they KNOW will be the most different

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haridraws · 8 months

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came up with this promotional idea for my new book while I was very tired, may or may not live to regret it

(here is the book)

#into the tower #OUT NOW ACTUALLY #as a disabled author who cannot do conventions. i am simply trying to reach other nerds who might appreciate this book #this book is so on my bullshit and i love it but i DO fear publishers will never let me do another if it flops so reblogs always appreciate #solo ttrpg #cyoa

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leebrontide · 3 months

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Hi everyone!

I'm asking for a (free) favor from y'all.

I'm trying to get more people to sign up for my free monthly author newsletter, and I'd love for you to help me find people who might enjoy it.

Every month, I write an essay about a subject. I'm not just collecting contacts to send ads to!

Sometimes it's about writing process

A Unique Character Development Technique

The Golden Girls, D&D, and The Newest Way I’m Refusing to Make Writing Solitary

The Bananabook Method

Lies I Tell Myself, Security Blankets and Backstitch Drafting

And other times it's a deep dive into a research topic for my books

Why I’m Researching a 19th Century Cult This Month

Spider Goat is Real but is Not Marvel Affiliated

People Just Really Want to Say "Enhance"

That Most Intimate of Thrones

Whose Side is Your House On?

The Care and Feeding of Dream Homes

What Arguing About Captain America Taught Me About Psychotherapy

Sometimes it's about mental health, especially through the lenses of fantasy and scifi

Of Flesh and Gundams

What Feeling Are You Most Afraid Of?

Sometimes it's even about legal systems and their interactions with the medical field and expanding medical technologies

Tractors, Cybernetics and the Radical at the Radioshack

Because Everybody Was Calling for YA Scifi About HIPAA, Right?

Or queer stuff

What Do We Celebrate?

What Stories Are You Made Of?

Or disability

Another Kind of Coziness

Tinkering With Cyberpunk

Things I Stole from Julian Bashir

Or it could be anything else that I'm willing to think deeper about that month. You can browse the full archive over here.

AND it almost always includes pictures of my very cute cats!

So could you please boost, if you feel your followers might be into that?

The subscription signup is right here.

Help an indie author out?

#psychology #indie authors #writing process #on writing #writing advice #cyberpunk #disability #queerness #queer author #indie author #authors of tumblr #shed letters

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hellishrebukesystem · 11 months

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Do you like obsessive relationships? Folk Horror and The Gothic? Are you interested in shows such as Supernatural, Yellowjackets, The Stand, and movies such as Midsommar, Carrie, and Saint Maud?

Boy do I have the collection of poetry for you!

SEWN, TOGETHER, ANEW is a collection of poetry about an obsessive and codependent relationship that has ended--it deals with themes of cannibalism, religious trauma and religious horror, and the apocalypse. It is a collection of art and poetry which brings together the feelings of yearning, isolation, and desperation that can really only be possible when it is the end of your world.

Find it now on amazon in print or attached to this post for free!

Be sure to check out my ko-fi shop at this location: https://ko-fi.com/hellishrebukesystem

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iinkymushroom · 1 year

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Viktor's health worsens, he tries to hide it from Jayce with mixed results, but eventually has to confront his decline head on. Preview Viktor was tired. There was nothing novel in that; he spent his waking hours working, and much of the time he ought to have conceded to sleep were given over to turning problems in his mind, picking them apart like a cat toying with its prey. What sleep he afforded himself was fraught and restless. His body fought with him silently at every turn. But this, this exhaustion went beyond the physical. Viktor felt truly spent. The weight of holding himself together without letting his Jayce know- his Jayce? The possessive caught him off guard - without letting the slow decline of his health be seen, had started to make him buckle and bend. It began with just a look, as ill-fated moments are wont to do. Viktor became distracted by the pain pulsating in his body, the edges of his vision spotting like a poor vignette, and his eyes unfocused, staring into the distance. Perhaps his hands shook a little too much, perhaps he dropped something- truly, Viktor did not know, but Jayce looked at him. Concern creased Jayce’s face and he called something out. Viktor’s heard him as through the floor above. The specifics of his words blurred into a pleasant baritone, and Viktor did not react. He might have, if he could, but his body was suspended in the sharp in-out of breathing through pain, of a heart and head on the verge of collapse. Footsteps rang across the hardwood floors of their lab, dulled through his fog. Somewhere, distantly, Viktor thought that Jayce must be coming to see him, and shook his head to try and pull himself back to the room. That pleasant humming sound started up again and through half-lidded eyes, the scientist let a little smile slip before a hiss of pain escaped. continue reading here

#jayvik #jayvik fic #arcane #arcane fic #fluff #jayvik fluff #author is disabled #ao3 #ao3 author

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trans-axolotl2 · 1 year

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Fuck the DSM. Seriously, fuck the DSM.

The DSM is and always has been used primarily as a method of rationalizing mistreatment of the people it labels as "deviant." When you look at the history of psychiatry, it becomes clear that things like drapetomania, protest psychosis, hysteria, and homosexuality as a disorder were not just thrown into there randomly. Rather, it showcases the power of the DSM: labeling and categorizing ways of being as mental illness opens up new paths of incarceration, social control, and curative violence. I need people to understand that the modern DSM still works like this: these classifications of madness/mental distress/neurodivergence into psychiatric labels encourage society to treat madness/mental distress/neurodivergence with the apparatuses used to eradicate "deviance." Diagnosis is not neutral.

As mad/mentally ill/neurodivergent people, we deserve access to more explanatory models of madness/mental illness/ neurodivergence than what the psychiatric language of normalcy and disorder offers us. Whether this looks like rejecting diagnosis, embracing varying cultural understandings of mental experience, or any million different ways of interpreting our bodymind, we deserve the option to move beyond clinical language that tries to convince us not to trust ourselves. We deserve to view ourselves wholly, leaving room for all our experiences of madness/mental illness/neurodivergence--the meaningful, the terrifying, the joyful, the exhausting. We deserve to have our own relationship with our madness, instead of being pushed to view ourselves as an inherent "danger to self or others" simply by existing as crazy.

Here's another truth: I hate the DSM, and I still call myself bipolar, a diagnosis that came to me through psych incarceration. While I wholeheartedly reject the DSM and the system intertwined with it, I simultaneously acknowledge and believe that many of the collections of symptoms that the DSM describes are very, very real ways of living in the world, and that the distress that they can cause are very very real. When I say fuck the DSM, I don't mean "Mental distress, disability, and neurodivergence aren't real." Rather, I mean that the DSM can never hold my experience of what it is like to be bipolar, the meaning I derive from experiencing life with cyclical moods. The DSM can't hold within its pages what it's like to see my mood cycle not as a tragedy or disaster, but instead as an opportunity, a gift, to grow and shift and go back to the same place over and over again, dying in winter and blooming again in spring. The DSM can't hold the fact that even though I experience very, very real distress due to those mood cycles--they're still mine and I claim that as something that matters to me. I call myself bipolar as a shorthand to tell people that I experience many things both extreme high and low, but I do not mean the same thing when I say "bipolar" as a psychiatrist does.

When we build community as mad/mentally ill/neurodivergent people, I want us to have room to share, relate, and care for each other in ways that isn't calling to the authority of a fucked up system with strictly defined categories. I don't want us to take those same ways of thinking and rebrand it into advocacy that claims to fight stigma, but really just ends up reinforcing these same ideas about deviance, cure, control, and danger. I dream of the day when psychiatry doesn't loom as a threat in all of our lives, and I think part of that work requires us as mad/mentally ill/neurodivergent people to really grapple with and untangle the ways we label and make meaning of our minds.

ok to reblog, if you want to learn more about antipsychiatry/mad studies check out this reading list.

#personal #antipsychiatry #antipsych #mad pride #mad studies #disability justice #disability #prompted by. idk. being tangential to certain spaces lately #seeing ppl who r forming communities focused on neurodivergency #in a way that really just. reinforces and legitimizes the dsm #and constantly refers to the authority of the dsm as a reason why they r right #not going to get into the specific discourse of the week except to say that something i feel strongly. is that we get to have different #explanatory models. but also that we r allowed to critique explanatory models as a community #like i hate the indigo child shit. i think its full of white supremascist dogwhistles #that's not an explanatory model i feel like the autistic community should ever support u know #anyway. getting offtrack

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cy-cyborg · 8 months

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Writing and drawing amputee characters: Not every amputee wears prosthetics (and that's ok)

Not every amputee wears prosthetics, and not doing so is not a sign that they've "given up".

It's a bit of a trope that I've noticed that when an amputee, leg amputees in particular, don't wear prosthetics in media its often used as a sign that they've given up hope/stopped trying/ are depressed etc. If/when they start feeling better, they'll start wearing their prosthetics again, usually accompanied by triumphant or inspiring music (if it's a movie). The most famous example of this is in Forest Gump, Where Dan spends most of the movie after loosing his legs wishing he'd died instead. He does eventually come around, and him finally moving from his wheelchair to prosthetics is meant to highlight this.

The thing is, it's not that it's unrealistic - in fact my last major mental health spiral was started because one of my prosthetics was being a shit and wouldn't go on properly, despite fitting perfectly at the prosthetist's the day before. I'm not going to use my legs when I'm not in a good headspace, but the problem is, this is the only time non-prosthetic using amputees ever get representation: to show how sad they are. Even if that's not what the creator/writer necessarily intended, audiences will often make that assumption on their own unless you're very careful and intentional about how you frame it, because it's what existing media has taught them to expect.

But there are lots of reasons why someone might not use prosthetics:

they might not need them: this is more common in arm amputees because of how difficult it can be to use arm prosthetic, especially above-elbow prosthetics. Most folks learn how to get on without them pretty well. In fact, most of the arm amputees I know don't have prosthetics, or only have them for specific tasks (e.g. I knew a girl who had a prosthetic hand made specifically for rowing, but that's all she used it for).

Other mobility aids just work better for them: for me, I'm faster, more manoeuvrable and can be out for longer when I'm in my wheelchair than I ever could on my prosthetics. Youtube/tik tok creator Josh Sundquist has said the same thing about his crutches, he just feels better using them than his prosthetic. This isn't the case for everyone of course, but it is for some of us. Especially people with above-knee prosthetics, in my experience.

Other disabilities make them harder to use: Some people are unable to use prosthetics due to other disabilities, or even other amputations. Yeah, as it turns out, a lot of prosthetics are only really designed for single-limb amputees. While they're usable for multi-limb amps, they're much harder to use or they might not be able to access every feature. For example, the prosthetic knee I have has the ability to monitor the walk cycle of the other leg and match it as close as possible - but that only works if you have a full leg on the other side. Likewise, my nan didn't like using her prosthetic, as she had limited movement in her shoulders that meant she physically couldn't move her arms in the right way to get her leg on without help.

Prosthetics are expensive in some parts of the world: not everyone can afford a prosthetic. My left prosthetic costs around $5,000 Australian dollars, but my right one (the above knee) cost $125,000AUD. It's the most expensive thing I own that I only got because my country pays for medical equipment for disabled folks. Some places subsidise the cost, but paying 10% of $125,000 is still $12,500. Then in some places, if you don't have insurance, you have to pay for that all by yourself. Even with insurance you still have to pay some of it depending on your cover. Arm prosthetics are even more expensive. Sure, both arms and legs do have cheaper options available, but they're often extremely difficult to use. You get what you pay for.

they aren't suitable for every type of environment: Prosthetics can be finicky and modern ones can be kind of sensitive to the elements. My home town was in a coastal lowland - this means lots of beaches and lots of swamp filled with salty/brackish water. The metals used in prosthetics don't hold up well in those conditions, and so they would rust quicker, I needed to clean them more, I needed to empty sand out of my foot ALL THE TIME (there always seemed to be more. It was like a bag of holding but it was just sand). Some prosthetics can't get wet at all. There were a few amputees who moved to the area when I was older who just didn't bother lol. It wasn't worth the extra effort needed for the maintenance.

People have allergies to the prosthetic material: This is less of a problem in the modern day, but some people are allergic to the materials their prosthetics are made from. You can usually find an alternative but depending on the type of allergy, some people are allergic to the replacements too.

Some people just don't like them.

There's nothing wrong with choosing to go without a prosthetic. There's nothing wrong with deciding they aren't for you. It doesn't make you a failure or sad or anything else. Using or not using prosthetics is a completely morally neutral thing.

Please, if you're writing amputees, consider if a prosthetic really is the best mobility aid for your character and consider having your characters go without, or at least mix it up a bit.

For example, Xari, one of the main characters in my comic, uses prosthetics unsupported and with crutches, and uses a wheelchair. They alternate between them throughout the story.

#disability #disabled #id in alt text #writing #writing disability #disability representation #authors of tumblr #write #writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writer #creative writing #writing tips #writing resources #writing help #writing advice #writing disability with cy cyborg

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brandyschillace · 19 days

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RIGHT TO READ and UNITED AGAINST BOOK BANS

Censorship threatens our right to read—and that threatens us all. Books lift us, connect us, inspire us; they make us question, research, and make our own choices. We can’t let that be taken away. I’m a historian who writes about the Nazi book burning—about how censorship was used to take away the rights of #transgender #lgbtq and minorities, resulting in attacks on #immigrants, Jews, homosexuals, #women, trans, Romani, and #disabled people. It’s not many steps from banning books to burning them—so: Make you voice heard! Today, I’m participating in #RightToReadDay with other authors, readers, and community members across the country. Safeguarding our freedom to read requires all of us - learn how you can take action:

Learn more from Unite Against Book Bans and join the campaign!

#right to read #unite against book bans #support trans rights #transgender #disability rights #immigrants #women #book banning #author #writer #mystery #history

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thebibliosphere · 1 year

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One of the biggest banes of my existence is knowing that things like AI technology could be so beneficial for disabled folks, and companies just use it for fucking evil.

Like yeah, would cheap ai audio stuff be beneficial for for disabled people. Yes. As someone who relies on audio heavily for my disabilities, yes it would be helpful.

Is Apple using it for that? Fucking no.

It's being sent out to authors in marketing emails as a “cheap” and “innovative” way of making audiobooks without the “hassle” of paying audio narrators for their work.

Audio narrators who are having their voices stolen by these companies and who in some cases are suing places like Apple because they’re not being paid for the work they did agree to.

AI is helpful for disabled people, yes. But the cost shouldn’t be giving up the privacy in your home and the rights to your work.

Or, in the case of the current Findaway drama, the rights to someone else’s voice because they snuck the agreement into the Distribution agreement for authors, and the narrators have no say in it.

This isn’t authors and voice actors knee-jerk reacting because “ai bad” and we don’t understand what’s happening.

We’re freaking the fuck out because we’re already in an industry that doesn’t pay any of us fairly and we’re watching said industry turn to AI not as a means of increasing accessibility but of cutting costs. And those costs are us. The creators. The illustrators, voice actors and yeah, the writers too.

Like how do you not understand that this is bad? And how dare you hide it behind “this is just ableism.” Fuck you. We do not correct ableism by exploiting others.

Signed, the multiply disabled author and content creator who doesn’t want to profit from stolen or questionably acquired work.

#author stuff #opening my inbox this morning required a fucking hazmat suit #some of the tales were so fucking toxic #and abled folks do not get to use us disabled folks as a way to get what they want #fuck off

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formosusiniquis · 8 months

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when you're fifteen

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise.

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson; Steve Harrington & Mike Wheeler WC: 4044 | Rated T | Tags/Themes: Good Babysitter Steve, Period Atypical Depictions of DnD, HoH!Steve, Disabled!Eddie Ao3

Eddie prided himself on his ability to manage a table. A forever DM, four years into a lifetime sentence, he can keep a story on track and, more importantly, keep tempers in check for hours at a time.

He kept track of a thousand little details across notebooks, binders, and just trapped in his own brain. He knew everything about his NPCs, the world, his player’s characters, and the things that drove his players nuts. He had plans, backup plans, and vague ideas of shit he could do if things went completely and totally off the rails despite all of those plans. That was one of the things he held fast on his tongue the first time he failed senior year. Of course he didn’t pass. He’d taken on the mantle of Dungeon Master. He had to put together a story that took into account: Jeff’s high stakes backstory with the missing mother and bounty on his head, Gareth’s need to flirt with anything age appropriate that had a pulse, and Joey’s tactical mind when it comes to battle. Wasn’t it enough that he was going to class, he had to do shit at home about it too?

He didn’t like saying it. He liked to bitch about it a lot, actually. Eddie wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he wasn’t The DM. It was like a core part of his identity.

It made the current situation he was in more world rocking than he really wanted to deal with.

He liked to think, if he couldn’t feel the remaining muscles in his side screaming in agony because he was sitting wrong -- or for too long or both -- and if his lower back wasn’t seizing and spasming for the same or maybe a brand new reason it had decided to come up with today, that he’d be able to manage this table just as well as he always had. Eight really wasn’t that different from three.

Except that combat is impossible to manage, each round took forever and that’s when everyone was paying attention. Except that there hasn’t been a satisfying story moment for Jeffrey the Jovial or Dustin’s Sir Rathington in the last four sessions. Except that Erica has been scribbling something in her notebook that probably wasn’t campaign notes since she hadn’t called him on the plot hole he caught session planning a month ago and hasn’t been able to fix -- and is more likely to have something to do with the way he noticed her looking at Uhura and Chapel when she was watching Star Trek reruns with Steve.

Except that Mike has been screaming at Dustin and Lucas for the better part of five minutes and Eddie really isn’t sure how to fix it.

“The plan is stupid. Did you even spend more than ten seconds thinking about it or did you decide that Will could just roll another character and we could save the resources.”

“Will could roll another character. It's not the first time he's rolled another character.” Lucas points out for what might be the third time, Eddie’s lost count.

“This whole thing is about resources, Mike.” Dustin snaps, “We’ll all be rolling new characters if we go into this stupid fucking fight while Gareth has no spell slots, Lucas is down to three arrows, Joey’s already used his second wind, and half the party is below half health.”

“It doesn’t matter, if we don’t go into the fight now Will is going to turn into some bloodsucking vampire spawn.”

Eddie knows this is the point that he should grab the reins again. He should prompt one of them to make a decision, or better yet, take the decision away from them entirely. But there’s a numbness in his thigh that has somehow spread to his mouth; it’s different from the pain the rest of his body is in, not really better or worse, and just as distracting.

The rest of the table is quiet, boredom and annoyance plain on their faces. But they’ve also stopped looking to him to fix the problem. That’s the worst thing the Upside Down took from him, he thinks, even as his body is radiating pain from places he used to be able to forget he had.

“Or maybe it’s a trap,” Lucas points out. And it should be, but Lucas is a far better tactician than Eddie who already knows he won’t want to deal with the work it would take to do that well. “Y’know since you made all your weak spots pretty clear to Lord Ellias.”

“Or,” Dustin drawls out with a Harrington’s level of bitch and ire, “we could trust Eddie to turn this into a fucking story moment.”

“You guys are both so full of shit, just-” Mike has his nose curled and lip snarled, Eddie can feel the breeze of the blade swinging down to deliver the death blow to this campaign and adventuring party.

“Alright time to take a break.” Steve claps his hands, an angel come from on high to save Eddie. “Get up, get a snack, move your feet. Give my dining room some time to air out before it smells like nerd forever.”

Mike turns the full weight of his aggression on to Steve, who hopefully has a damage immunity or advantage on saves at the very least otherwise this is looking like a short talk, “We can't just take a break. Do you not get what the stakes are here? We've got to save-”

“Save someone who will still be in danger in twenty minutes.” Steve steamrolls over Mike’s argument with an unaffected ease. Eddie can feel the mood of the table lift just a bit, now that they’re about to be rescued.

“You just don't get it.”

“I get that it's pretend.” In a pre-Vencapocalypse world that would have been enough to get Eddie fighting on Little Wheeler’s side, but much as DnD is still his life. Fuck, it is all just pretend. “Go take a lap.”

“Ugh why do we even come over here. We could do this at my house without washed up jocks interrupting us.” Mike says but he gets up. Storming off to god knows where in the monstrosity of Steve’s house. Will, quiet as he always seems to get when he’s the center of one of these drag outs, trails off after Mike with an eye roll at the other two sophomores and an apologetic shrug for Steve.

And Eddie has his table again. Quiet and still, waiting for him to say something. Like there’s even anything to say when his very own Deus Ex Machina is leaving the room without so much as a backward glance at the poor schmucks he’s saved. “Well,” he says with a clap of his hands, “My blood sugar is dropping, so I’m going to shove as many of those cookies I smelled earlier into my mouth as I can in twenty minutes.” Because as much as they weren’t looking to him before, they need the DM to break the spell of the table. That’s how the whole thing goes.

And they scatter once it breaks. Eddie’s original Hellfire boys stay at the table, their ease at the Harrington house has been hardwon and the argument has rekindled something nerdy and skittish in them. Erica has headed off to the corner of the house Steve has let her claim as her own, nose still buried in her notebook. He doesn’t know where Lucas and Dustin are, but wherever they’ve gone they aren’t around to watch him struggle to pull himself out of his throne with his cane. He should just give in and let Steve raise the seat, half the problem is that it sits too low -- but knowing that and being willing to admit it at any point other than when he’s in PT levels of misery from pulling himself up are very different things.

Steve has his back to the door again, by the time Eddie makes his way to the kitchen. He has a bizarre semi-awareness of his surroundings that can be hard to predict. Sometimes it’s freaky how Steve can call out Dustin or Erica from a different room with an almost parental ‘eyes in the back of his head’ sixth sense. Other times his own soulmate can get the drop on him, managing to get her arms wrapped around his middle before he even realizes they’re in the same room.

It’s better to slam his cane against the floor a couple times. To let Steve feel the vibrations through the floorboards with his sock feet, that way nobody has to get hurt or feel guilty for doing the hurting.

Getting to see Steve’s grin bloom across his face as he flips that famous hair and catches sight of Eddie isn’t so bad either.

Next to Steve, it’s safe to prop his cane against the counter. He can rest his hips against the sure, solid surface and relax in the presence of his boyfriend while the blood returns to his limbs and a new kind of discomfort settles in. A hand, warm and sudsy finds the back of his neck. A strong thumb digging into a knot that had been there since at least last week with an erotic precision.

“You’ve got to stop letting them keep you in that chair for so long.”

"If we take breaks we'll just be here longer."

He shrugs, pulling his other hand from the dish water to pull Eddie into a gentle hold. "So be here longer."

"You'd get sick of the fighting. I'd get sick of the fighting." Actually it was probably better not to remind Steve of that. "You know I really did want one of those famous Stevie Henderson cookies."

Even as he hands over the platter of chocolate chip miracles he makes, Steve sighs. It's a full bodied affair that makes Eddie nervous on instinct. "We need to talk about Mike."

It is and isn't a surprise. "I know the yelling is a lot, Sweetheart, I'm sorry. You don't have a migraine, do you? I can talk to him and make him chill out a bit." That last part is absolutely a lie; he doesn't think he could get Mike under control right now if he had a stun gun and half a pound of Argyle’s primo Cali weed.

Not that it matters Steve has on his scrunchy faced 'you're wrong about something,' look, Eddie just needs to give him the minute it'll take to get his thoughts together. "You know I love you right?"

“In this dimension and any others,” Eddie supplies.

Steve smiles, feather soft, and runs a soothing hand through Eddie's hair the way he always does right before he says something atrociously bitchy. "I turn my hearing aids off the second you all start playing. If I had to listen to your game three different times, three different ways I'd drive my car into a portal."

He keeps going the way he does when he's afraid he's been too mean and wants to try to soften his edges for general consumption, like Eddie hadn't fallen in love with him the first time he called Dusin a butthead. "This way you and Dust can still use me as a sounding board for your plots and theories and I don't have to listen to my favorite nerds try to remember if 5+7 is 11 or 12."

“So what’s?”

“I’m worried about him!” Steve insists. Eddie might pride himself on his ability to handle a table, but he knows Steve is proud of his way with the kids. His relationship with each of them is rich and distinct, the way he handles each of them unique.

But it’s Mike.

Something must cross his face. He can only call it something, because he’s honestly not sure what emotion he’s feeling other than headache and how many cookies can I eat before they start tasting like nausea. But something else must have been there that causes Steve to cross his arms and glare.

“Yeah, of course, you’re worried about him. We are worried about him. Why are we worried about him, other than worried about what an asshole he’s been lately?”

That was not the right thing to say either, Eddie’s really rolling straight ones today. Steve’s glare shutters even further closed, and seriously it’s Mike. The same kid who called Steve a washed up jock not ten minutes ago. Who takes every single offered opportunity, and even some that he makes himself, to bitch and glare at Hawkins own #1 babysitter and monster hunter.

“He’s a teenager with more trauma than a ‘Nam vet. But even if he weren’t he’s not an asshole for being barely fifteen and not knowing when to shut the hell up. Do you remember the kind of shit you were saying back then?”

Big brother Steve has successfully landed a critical hit. Eddie does remember the kind of shit he used to say. Just like he knows Steve remembers the kind of shit he used to say. And they both remember the shit that they used to say to one another. How Eddie called Steve a braindead future Reganite who wouldn’t know good taste if it spit in his mouth. How Steve had called Eddie a tryhard that was so desperate to be different because that was the only way he could hide having nothing to offer.

“So we’re worried?”

“I just don’t want him to say something he can’t walk back because he forgot the thing he’s getting upset over is pretend.” He runs a finger down Eddie’s splayed hands. A tickling sensation he can feel down the path it traces from the back of his palm and down his middle finger and, in a phantom mirror, down his spine. “I know you get into your characters, or whatever, I’m sure this is bringing up a lot of memories but he’s going to regret lashing out if it means he pushes away Dustin or Lucas or one of the other guys.”

“I notice you left out Will.”

“Yeah well, Will is more likely to get hurt by something he says when lashing out while they aren’t playing exposure therapy the game. I mean seriously, you had to kidnap him? That’s where your, ‘Stevie, baby, what should I do with them this week? They decided to do something stupid,’ bitching and moaning landed you?”

Eddie doesn’t even really have time to let himself feel the fluttery, squishy feeling he wants to feel -- cause Steve does actually listen when they’ve got their feet tangled on the sofa together, each working on their own things -- before it’s getting smacked by down by the paladin of his heart. “No, no, that isn’t where I landed. I had a perfectly acceptable diplomacy mission prepared, with a back up fight that they were supposed to run away from. What do you want me to do, Sunshine? I gotta give the game some stakes. It’s not exactly fun for Will if he knows he’s indestructible.”

Maybe, he thinks, he should just stop talking today. Just cancel the rest of the session entirely. Will gets carried off by the vampire spawn, half dead and unsaveable, the party on its last legs, unable to agree on a course of action; and actually that’s where we’re gonna end things come back next week and hope Steve even lets us in the house after the screaming we’ve all done. Why? Because he can feel every joint in his body and every one of them is in pain. Because there’s been the dull throb of a low grade headache beating an even pulse in his temples since he woke up this morning. But mostly because every time he opens his stupid fucking mouth to talk Steve stops touching him, and that sucks absolute balls.

“I maybe had an idea,” Steve says. His voice dips and slides while he keeps his hands small, quiet, and close to his chest. Something Robin told him, and he’s now noticing, means Steve has thought about this idea a lot, long enough that he’s convinced himself it’s bad. Eddie’s noticed that even when these ideas aren’t phrased well, they’re never bad.

“I know it’s like rule number one: don’t split the party,” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes when he says it, an instinctive bit of brotherly mockery of Dustin, he would guess. “But what if you split the group a bit. Mike can go after Will, I’m sure Erica would be down to kill some vampires. She loves a chance to test drive her new feats and shit. Then Jeff and Dustin and whoever else can finish up that thing? With the missing girlfriend or whatever? And once that’s done they reunite to do whatever’s next on the list, save the kingdom.”

Eddie sits with that for a bit.

Impulsive is still his middle name, but sometime between being eaten alive by other dimensional hell creatures and getting a thousand and six tiny, itchy stitches removed he’s started giving things second and even third thoughts. Though in this case the second thoughts are less ‘is this a good idea’ and more ‘will Steve bend me over that solid oak dining table and critique my DM notes while he rails me.’

As his stomach swoops, his lower body twinges in a much less enjoyable way. Letting him know that now he’d been standing too long, or leaning against the counter the wrong way, or maybe something else entirely that made his legs tired of doing one of the few things they were made to do.

Figures he finally lands a hot boyfriend and he's got chronic pain keeping him from getting his dick wet.

“If you’ve already got another idea-”

“No,” he rushes to assure Steve, who needs to stay confident in his own ideas for all kinds of reasons but right now mostly so he’ll be willing to play into this new fantasy of Eddie’s once his body is willing to cooperate with the standing and the bending it’s going to require. “No, it’s a fantastic idea. I’m plotting as we speak.”

And that isn’t a total lie. Forever DM, he can think about all the fun ways the love of his life and reason he’s still living could degrade his current campaign -- An oath of vengeance paladin questing to save a lost love, isn’t that a little played out. Oh wow, rat swarms in a dungeon, they’re never gonna see that coming -- and figure out how to trick the group into thinking splitting the party was their own idea.

“How long,” he asks his resident child expert, “do you think it would take Will to roll up a new character?”

The smile that tips the corners of Steve’s face is the best part of his day. “Will always has an extra character rolled up with the rest of his stuff in his folder."

Things are slotting together in his head now, and as Steve's hands come around to do something magical in a spot on his back that probably has a name but mostly makes his legs feel like they should really belong to a baby deer.

“So Will…”

“Can convince Mike, and get a chance to try out the new thingy he built. He’s been waiting to talk to you about it.”

Eddie’s getting excited now, hands shaking in the good way. He doesn’t even care that his knee locks as he tries to bounce on his toes, just lets his hands get out the excited energy. “And the band can go do the story side plot shit I’ve been putting off…”

“With Dustin,” Steve reminds, “cause he’ll want to go wherever there’s the best chance to stir up shit. You already know Erica is going to go where there’s a chance to prove she’s the best at fighting, Lucas too. Not the fighting thing. He’ll go to round out the group, and so his mom doesn’t have to worry about keeping track of one more thing on the family calendar.”

“You’re a genius, Sweetheart.” He snags Steve by the collar, ignoring his bitching that the two fingered pinch he’s got it in is going to stretch it out, and pulls him close. Pressing a kiss on the corner of his perfect boyfriend’s pleased little smile. “I gotta go talk to Will about this character.”

“Send Mike down when you do?”

He’s surprised when he gets no argument, barely gets acknowledgement, when he finds Will and Mike in the guest bathroom and separates them. Mike slips from the room with nothing but a backward glance at Will, who smiles supportively. Once he clears the room, it takes next to zero prompting to get Will to talk about his backup character. The ‘thingy’ he'd been working on a tricked out ranger build that's going to annihilate.

There's something fresh, brightening, about Will's enthusiasm for the character that infects Eddie too. It gets him excited, for the first time since everyone arrived, to sit down around their over crowded table and play the hour of set up it's going to take to get the party ready to be split.

And Will doesn't duck his head anymore when Eddie pushes at him and his DnD expertise, he just pushes back. Together they work out a couple tweaks that will make the build fit better in the party, flesh out a backstory that they can integrate even if it doesn't end up going anywhere, and it doesn't really feel like time passes at all. Until Sinclair is sticking his head through the door, surprise artfully hidden at who he finds, as he asks if they're ready to go.

Mike is conspicuously absent from the table when Eddie makes his way to it, and that won't do at all. He's not an asshole, he's just 15. Something like shame crawls up the back of his throat as Steve's reminder sounds in his head. He remembers 15 and the things he said but more than that, as he looks around the table, he remembers being the last to arrive at a hangout of people you're already worried hate you only to find them having a good time without you.

Eddie has always prided himself on his ability to run a good session. "Stevie, gimme back our paladin, do I need to bring in a hostage negotiator."

A cookie held in one hand while the other smooths down the ruffled fringe of his bangs, Mike re-enters the dining room. The back of his Hellfire shirt is bunched and, if that weren't sign enough he'd been on the receiving end of a perfect Harrington hug, he looks settled. A smile tugging at his face that Eddie hadn't realized how much he missed, he looks boyish and happy and if Eddie didn't before he understands Steve's mission to keep these kids kids by whatever means necessary.

"Alright, now where were we?” He says once Mike is back in his seat beside Will, “Ah yes, you all watch in horror as the vampire spawn, hastened, dash away from you all with the unconscious, but still alive, body of Sir William the Wizened." Before anyone can restart the shouting, and he knows there will be shouting now that they’ve all had a chance to look over their notes and their character sheets, he barrels on. “From the hill behind you comes a shot. An arrow flies, thwip thwip. It slices between you all, before sinking into the back of one of the spawn at the back of the pack. He stumbles to the ground and the rest of the pack leave him to die.”

“We can interrogate him!”

“Worry about who’s behind us, dude.”

He doesn’t let Mike or Dustin derail him, Eddie continues, “As you turn the hill behind you is nothing but mist. You all know the range of an elven bow, but whoever fired it is nowhere to be seen. You wait, breath held, as a figure all in black slowly approaches. You get the feeling you see him now only because he wants to be seen.

“Will, describe your new character for us!”

#steddie #steve and mike #mike wheeler #good babysitter steve harrington #hard of hearing steve harrington #disabled eddie munson #its the mikes not an asshole he's just a traumatized teenager fic #yknow the one no one was waiting for #for my tag readers will homebrewed a prototype gloomstalker #and the author borrowed the hardwon vampire arc from naddpod #my fic

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