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afewproblems · 9 months

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In My Heart is a Memory (And There You'll Always Be) Part Two

Part One

Steve spends his week in the hospital on oxygen and fighting pneumonia from his bed. A harsh wheezing sound has developed whenever he pushes too hard but Doctor Sattler isn't nearly as concerned as Steve the first time he hears it.

"It shouldn't worsen over time, but if you feel that the wheezing is becoming more frequent or that feeling of an elephant sitting on your chest comes back, you will need to use your new inhaler, today's the perfect day to learn how it works," Doctor Sattler told him with an air of nonchalance that did not match the news.

Two and two made four, the sky was blue, and Steve Harrington would need medication for the rest of his life.

Most of the time Steve sleeps fitfully, dreaming of cold grey water and kind brown eyes, but on the days he has more energy Steve walks around the ward with Claudia in between practising blowing into something called a spirometer.

She tells him it's important to test his level of lung function and how he's improving, it should also help to reduce the wheezing sound when Steve is simply resting. He even gets one to take home with him.

Steve listens as Claudia talks about her own son, he's eight years old and so curious about the world. It's obvious she loves him dearly.

Steve wonders if his own mother ever talks about him like that.

His mother checks in with him twice during the week. His dad has already left for his most recent work trip and Diane is planning to leave as well, at least until Sunday when Steve is expected to be discharged.

“I’ll be gone for five days, but you’ll be here anyway, and they are taking good care of you aren’t they?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically soft for once as she takes his cheek in her cold hand.

Diane’s fingers brush the oxygen hosing around his cheek, Claudia had called it something weird --a canny-something-or-other.

Diane lets go abruptly as if burned; her nose wrinkling slightly as she rubs her fingers against the palm of her hand. In one fluid motion, she stands up from her seat at the side of his bed and smooths down the blankets as she does so.

Diane meets his gaze once, her pale blue eyes almost seem to look past him, before she hikes her handbag further up her arm.

“I’m leaving the number of the hotel with your Nurse Henry, and you’ll be home before you know it,” she nods with a forced smile and turns on her heel to slip out the door of his room before Steve can even correct her.

He hopes Claudia did get the number, that there isn’t some strange Nurse Henry with more access to his mother than even Steve is allowed.

A small part of himself hopes that Eddie will come visit him.

It’s not likely, Eddie had seemed excited initially about showing him his Dungeons and Dragons book but how would he have any idea Steve would still be here.

That doesn't stop Steve from picturing Eddie yelling to his uncle as he bounds down the hallway, ‘Come on old man, Steve’s room’s gotta be here somewhere!’

But Eddie never materialises down the hall, armed with his players book or tales of dragons and knights.

Steve takes it in stride as much as he can.

The days blend together the longer he stays, but it isn't as though Steve has no one to talk to.

He asks Claudia more about her son and listens to the jokes the orderlies tell him when they come by with meals. Even Doctor Sattler stops by to check the machines by his bed and to watch him blow into the Spirometer.

It’s fine.

Claudia gives him a long hug the day he's discharged. Steve isn't sure she's supposed to by the exasperated look Doctor Sattler gives her, but he says nothing and busies himself with writing something out on a small notepad.

"You be careful sweetheart, use your spirometer to practice and keep your inhaler on you at all times".

She sweeps his hair away from his face and squeezes his shoulder briefly before giving him the barest of pushes towards his mother who stands by the door.

Doctor Sattler hands Diane the two papers he's written out, "you'll have to fill these prescriptions, he'll need both of them before you head home".

Diane nods and breathes out a clipped thank you before ushering Steve to the doors, he tries to turn to wave only for his mother to grip his shoulder firmly and walk him out.

He catches what he thinks may be concern in Claudia's eyes before the automatic doors close behind them and the familiar jingle of his mothers keys to the maroon beemer fills the air.

"We'll stop at Mevalds, you can wait in the car," Diane says as she opens the driver's side door and gets in. Steve hurriedly opens his own door as the engine starts, a small part of him wonders if she would leave him if he took any longer.

He closes the passenger door behind him, it's heavier than he remembers and a harsh wheeze fills the car as Steve breathes in slowly to halt the stuttering of his chest.

He buckles in and looks up to find his mother watching him carefully.

"Perhaps we should wait another week for you to go back to school," she hums, it's a voice she uses when thinking aloud but every instance of it usually happens when that thinking is about Steve.

"Why?" He asks as they pull onto the main road.

"You're making that awful noise," Diane says simply, "we should wait for it to stop, it will be distracting to your classmates".

A deep ache that has nothing to do with his lungs builds in his chest. He hadn't thought the sound was that noticeable.

None of the other nurses or orderlies seemed to care about the new noise he made, or if they did they never said anything. Steve had been the one to ask about it, concerned that he was the only one hearing it.

"Doctor Sattler said it should get better, but it won't go away," Steve argues with narrowed eyes, he crosses his arms over his chest and looks away towards the passenger window.

He hears Diane sigh as she signals to pull into the parking lot of Mevalds.

She turns off the engine and reaches into the back seat for her purse, leaning her hand against Steve's seat for balance.

Diane stops with her hand on the door handle, pausing as she turns to face him fully.

"I'm just looking out for you," Diane says softly, "the other children will notice eventually and the world isn't kind to people who are different Steven".

She gets out of the car, letting the words hang in the air. He watches her go into the store, already knowing he's lost.

***

Steve's teachers welcome him back with little to no fanfare, Ms. Cuttler, the history teacher, even goes so far as to reprimand him for missing two whole weeks in front of the class.

Steve doesn't need detention for 'mouthing off' on his first day back, no matter how unfair she's being. He manages to take his seat without speaking; he can't quite hide the angry red flush staining his cheeks though.

Lunch is what Steve is looking forward to, he just has to make it to lunch, he can keep his head down until then.

Steve's last morning class is science.

It's not his favourite class, but Mr. Clarke at least tries to keep it interesting for them, and he's always nice. Giving extensions on homework, half marks on tests rather than zeros with little comments in blue ink saying, 'I see where you were going with this, you almost got it!'

As soon as the bell rings, Steve grabs his backpack and books, uncaring of the homework instructions Mr. Clarke tries to yell over the clamouring kids and the last few notes of the bell.

"Oh Steve, you gotta sec?"

It takes every fibre of Steve's being not to just bolt from the room with the rest of the class, pretend he didn't hear.

It's your lungs that are screwed up now, not your ears, he thinks bitterly as he turns towards the front of the room where Mr. Clarke stands with a stack of xeroxed paper.

"Here's the homework you missed, if you can have it done for next week I think that'll keep you on track," he says with a smile that quirks his moustache.

Steve gives him a brief smile as he takes the stack of papers, "thanks, yeah I'll have it done by then," he tries for a grin, wincing at the raised eyebrow Mr. Clark gives him.

They both know it will be late.

Steve turns to leave again, with a forced half smile, but stops as Mr. Clarke clears his throat.

"They don't give us a lot of information about absences," he gives Steve a long look, "so all I'm going to say is if you want to chat, about anything, even if it's just homework, my door is open".

Steve nods as Mr. Clarke gives him a kind half smile, patient like the ones Dr. Sattler or Claudia would give him after explaining how something worked.

It's not something most adults put a lot of effort into, especially for Steve, writing him off if he doesn't understand something the first time it's explained.

It's certainly not something his parents do for him.

"Sure Mr. Clarke," Steve mumbles as he tucks the papers into the textbook in his arms.

His teacher nods once and clears his throat awkwardly, gesturing towards the door, "Alright, you better get going," Mr Clarke says, "it's pizza day and I guarantee you the pepperoni is pretty much done at this point".

Steve snorts and takes a step back, "later Mr. Clarke," he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way past the empty desks and into the hallway, letting himself be guided by the stream of kids heading towards the cafeteria.

With the Hawkins Middle and High Schools being the only two secondary schools in the county, the buildings were naturally massive to accommodate all of the children and teens they housed on any given day during the school year.

The cafeteria was no exception.

Finding somewhere to sit was almost always impossible if you ran late to lunch, most students would give up trying to find a table and would end up settling by their lockers or sitting outside in the warmer months, but Steve was on a mission this time.

He looks around the busy room with his lunch tray, head on a swivel as he searches for a mop of curly brown hair. Eddie said he could sit at his table but he hadn't mentioned which one that was.

Steve walks along the wall, eyes scanning the tables, he begins to wonder if he had the wrong lunch period after all.

"I'm telling you, a beholder is the worst thing you could run into in a Dungeon, hands down--"

Steve perks up at the voice, fairly certain he knows who it belongs to.

The relief is palpable as he continues forward, following the voice. A small part of Steve had begun to wonder if Eddie even went to his school, or if his muddled water logged brain had dreamed that up entirely.

He finally spots Eddie at a table against the far back wall and has to stop himself from cheering as he makes a beeline for them, albeit more slowly than he would prefer. He's still getting winded easily and doesn't want to have to break out the inhaler the doctor gave him just yet.

There are two other boy's that Eddie is talking animatedly to, his hands gesturing wildly with a broad grin on his face.

Eddie spots him mid sentence and the effect is instant, his face lights up as he smiles and starts to wave before halting abruptly, a strange look passing over his face.

"Hey!" Steve smiles, slightly uncertain now that Eddie's face has fallen into something unreadable. The other two boys at the table have turned to face him, their eyes scanning Steve up and down.

The kid sitting closest to Steve, a black boy with braces and a t-shirt with something called Queen on the chest, Steve feels a spark of recognition at the name and makes a note to ask him about it later. He gives Steve a small polite smile which makes him feel slightly less nervous.

The other boy sitting closest to Eddie eyes Steve somewhat warily, he's wearing a Hawkins Middle school shirt, thick glasses with tape around the frame, and wavy brown hair that isn't as long as Eddie's but longer than Steve's mother would ever allow.

They all stare at Steve for what feels like an eternity before he clears his throat awkwardly.

"Um, my name is Steve--" he starts to say, reaching out a hand to the closest boy before Eddie stands up from the table.

"Where were you?" Eddie says, uncaring of the sudden climb in volume or the heads that turn their way.

Steve ignores the faces turned their way and takes another step forward towards the table, a small nervous laugh bubbles up as he moves, “I was sick, remember?"

Eddie frowns, his eyes dart from Steve to the other boy directly in front of him, closest to where Steve is standing.

"I wanted to show you my book two weeks ago," Eddie folds his arms over his chest now, frowning slightly, "Ms. Allen confiscated it," he mutters darkly.

Steve winces at the tone and brings his arms around himself, taking a step back. A small part of him curses his decision to stay home another week to let his breathing find some semblance of normal.

The teen closest to Steve rolls his eyes, "if it wasn't the handbook, it woulda been something else Ed, you know Allen's been looking for a reason to punish us since you told her that you got more out of Gary Gygax than anything Mark Twain ever wrote --plus there's a literal demon on the cover,” he says with a wry grin.

"I'm Jeff," he says with a wave before pointing to the other kid at the table, "that's Bobby, and it seems like you already know Eddie?"

Steve gives Jeff a small, thankful, smile and takes a step closer, "yeah, it's a bit of a long story--"

"A heroic tale of rescue more like!" Eddie cuts in, the familiar energy fills Steve with relief as he launches into the story.

Jeff rolls his eyes again and shoots Steve an exasperated look before patting the bench next to him, an official invitation.

Steve tries to play off the wide grin that threatens to take over his face and takes a seat next to Jeff, setting down his lunch tray with a clatter.

"So,” Eddie sits up slightly, bringing his leg up onto the table bench to curl up underneath himself, “Uncle Wayne and I were fishing, right?"

"Fishing?" Bobby cuts in with a laugh, wrinkling his nose as he looks Eddie up and down, "you?"

"Yeah fishing, not all of us can just go to the grocery store whenever we want," Eddie huffs impatiently as his ears begin to redden, he waves his hands, "anyway".

"Instead of a trout we managed to catch something a little stranger,” he grins at Steve, “he was all caught up in some old fishing line or something and--hey, you never told us why you were out on the lake by yourself?”

Three sets of eyes turn to stare for a beat though Bobby loses interest fairly quickly, averting his eyes back to the open milk carton on his own orange lunch tray.

Steve clears his throat, unsure just how to explain his thought process that morning.

He just had to get out of the house, he couldn’t sit there any longer waiting for his dad to finally leave--

“Well?” Eddie prompts again, the smallest of frowns pulls at his expression before Jeff snorts.

"This is not very heroic so far man, where are the X-Men, the laser battles, come on dude," Jeff grins as Eddie sputters and launches into a rant about comic books that Bobby seems to perk up at, his attention switching from the lunch tray to Eddie.

Steve breathes out a sigh of relief as the attention moves away from him.

"You don't need lasers or special powers for hero stories, Tolkien didn't need idiots in spandex, he just needed a Hobbit and a ring and made a fucking masterpiece," Eddie

"Are you seriously comparing yourself to Tolkien right now?" Jeff asks with a knowing smirk, it grows wider as Bobby laughs.

"Who's Tolkien?" Steve says, it's not a name he's ever heard before, though they must be some kind of storyteller. Was there a new book assigned while Steve was away recovering?

Eddie blanches for a second in surprise before his face lights up, he waves his hands at the chorus of groans from both Jeff and Bobby and cackles, "Stevie, Stevie, Stevie, we have so much to teach you!"

***

As the school year comes to a close, Steve finds himself looking forward to the summer for the first time in his life.

Summer for Steve is normally lonely.

He spends his time looking for ways to avoid his house, counting down the days when he can go back to school. Even sitting through class or trying out for the intramural leagues is better than the monotony of summer.

At least during school he had people to talk to.

But this summer is different.

Steve, Jeff, Eddie, and Bobby get on like a house of fire, where one of the boys is, the other three are never far behind.

They teach Steve about Dungeons and Dragons, Tolkien and the one ring --the book certainly reads like some of the books they had assigned in class, but Eddie and Jeff looked so excited the day Steve brought it home from the library, he couldn’t disappoint them.

In turn, Steve introduces the other boys to the pool, inviting the three of them to the Harrington house on a scorching June day.

“No way,” Bobby whispers as they reach the driveway, Jeff’s mouth drops into a little ‘O’ shape while Eddie’s eyes widen in surprise before his expression shutters.

“You’re kidding right?” Jeff asks with a laugh in his voice, “seriously, where’s your moat man?”

Steve reaches out to push Jeff’s shoulder as Bobby laughs, “shut up, it's not that bad--”

“No? Are you going to bring out a unicorn next? What else are you hiding in there?” Bobby scoffs as he takes a hesitant steps towards the edge of the driveway, as though worried the ground would fall out from underneath him at any moment.

“Oh just wait,” Steve says, biting his lip to keep his grin in check, it falters slightly at the pinched expression on Eddie’s face, the way his eyes flick from the house to Steve, before eventually landing on their feet.

Steve opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong but he’s forced to whirl around to keep his footing as Bobby drags him up the drive, “Steve, if you do actually have a horse in there, I will still be very impressed”.

While it may not be a unicorn, Steve knows he has one other ace up his sleeve as he presents them with the crown jewel of the Harrington house, the Atari.

“Oh my god!” Bobby crows as he jumps off the last step of the basement and races towards the television.

“You have one of these!” he hisses incredulously, snatching the attached joystick from its resting place on the top, Steve winces as the cord pulls slightly from Bobby’s exuberance.

“I mean, it’s my dads, not mine,” Steve shrugs, he puts his hands in his jeans pockets and turns back to Jeff and Eddie, “but we can play it, he’s not home”.

Diane argues the day his father brings the machine home.

It must stay in the basement, out of sight, determining that something so hideous has no place in their well decorated living room.

Ignoring the fact that the only television in the house was in the basement, Diane insists on keeping the rest of the house as pristine as Good Housekeeping has taught her.

Richard simply rolls his eyes at his wife, ‘It’s not like it matters Diane, one of the investors thinks he’s being cute, like any son of mine would waste his time with one of these, right Steven?’

Steve nods, content to keep his head down, focused on his homework, not to make waves.

‘Course dad, computer games are for losers,’ the words come easily, he’s heard them before. He flinches as a heavy hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes lightly.

‘God damn right’.

‘Why are we even keeping it then?’ Diane asks sharply, her tone cool as she follows him down the stairs.

Steve trails after them to the landing; he can still hear from the wary distance he keeps while his parents continue to talk.

"Allan and the rest of the partners are coming in two weeks for drinks, and I’m not letting that prick get one over on me”.

Diane is quiet for a beat.

Steve tilts his ear to listen intently. He knows that silence. It's something his mother usually employs while calculating all options before speaking carefully.

‘Fine, I suppose the dust will collect best down here,” Steve can almost hear the sneer that pulls at his mothers mouth as she speaks.

‘Atta girl,’ Richard says quietly, almost fondly.

Jeff raises an eyebrow as he comes to stand beside Steve, “you can’t play it if your dad’s home?”

Steve falters for a second, scrambling for something to say.

Bobby scoffs by the television, still inspecting the machine, "you know how much one of these things costs? If we had one, my dad would flip if I so much as looked at it”.

Steve settles for shrugging with a mild smile, infinitely grateful for Bobby's ability to blurt out the first thing he thinks in any given situation.

If Jeff questions it, he doesn't say anything, and instead moves to join Bobby where he crouched on the floor.

Steve turns back to find where Eddie went only to find him frozen on the last stair still.

His eyes seem to trace over the room, an unreadable expression on his face, it contorts into something sour before smoothing as his gaze eventually lands on Steve.

"Didn't know we pulled a rich kid outta the lake," Eddie says after a beat, finally walking further into the room, his arms crossed tightly over his stomach.

"I guess," Steve says weakly as Eddie nods and moves towards where Jeff is kneeling beside Bobby with one of the game cartridges in his hands.

A spark of annoyance crackles through Steve, licking the inside of his ribcage. If Eddie isn’t interested in playing, he just has to say so, they can do something else - work on their character sheets, go outside. The other day Eddie showed them all the best spot by the quarry for throwing rocks so that the sound seemed to echo for miles as it hit the water. They could easily go, right now.

They aren’t supposed to be touching this anyway, it’s not like it’s a big deal. It’s not.

Steve knows the others don’t know how much trouble he could get into for this, the risk he’s taking for even showing it to them, for having kids over unsupervised, uninvited.

"Well, does that thing play Asteroids or what?" Eddie asks abruptly, interrupting Steve’s train of thought.

He nods, quietly tamping down the last fleeting sense of irritation and walks over to the shelf where the rest of the games were dumped, wincing at the impressed chorus of whoops that Jeff and Bobby let out.

It only serves to accentuate the brooding silence that has followed Eddie all morning, since they walked over the threshold of Steve’s front door.

Jeff and Bobby take turns playing the rest of the afternoon. Steve defers to them, content to simply watch his friends try out the games. They bicker back and forth, making noises at key moments to try and break each other's concentration, Steve laughs brightly as Bobby manages to make Jeff crash for the fourth time in a row by simply imitating Rod Stewart.

“If you want my body and you think I'm sexy, come on, sugar, tell me so!” Bobby croons, making his voice older and raspy as he leans close enough for Jeff to twist his head away.

“Get outta here Bobby-- oh you sonovabitch!”

Bobby cheers, lifting his clasped hands above his head, “and the crowd goes wild, what do ya say, Jeff, best two out of three?”

Jeff flops backwards onto the carpet, pretending to catch an invisible dagger to the chest, “mark my words, if you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine!”

He rolls his head to the side and reaches out, pointing towards Steve with a cry, “Avenge me!”

Steve laughs long and loud as Jeff croaks and groans and finally sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth with a low hissing sigh as he finally pretends to die on the carpet of Steve’s basement.

“So, what say you, Steve?” Bobby croaks as he lifts one hand to cover his mouth, and the other to hold out the abandoned joystick as he breathes out heavily, “do you dare take up the saber?”

Steve has no clue what they’re doing, a joke from something he’s sure, but he schools his face into something serious, and takes the joystick with a grave nod.

“For Jeff!” Steve cries as the digital melody fills the air.

Finally, Steve lets himself bask in the warmth and friendship that has surrounded him for the last few months, the normal chill of the Harrington home finally absent as Bobby begins to cheer while also doing his damndest to distract Steve.

Jeff finally sits up with another hiss, “I LIVE, to see Steve beat your sorry ass Bobby!”

He claps his hand on Steve's shoulder with a grin, “you got this!”

It isn’t until a throat clears behind them that the three boys notice Eddie hasn’t said a word for the last ten minutes.

He’s standing now, backpack slung over his shoulder --when did he go upstairs?

“It’s late,” Eddie mumbles quietly, “Wayne will want me home for supper soon”.

The words seem to break the spell that has fallen over the other two boys and they both stand as if summoned from their seats on the floor.

Steve can only sit and watch as Jeff and Bobby move towards Eddie, albeit reluctantly.

Jeff stretches out, raising his arms above his head, “yeah, I should probably go too,” he groans out as he drops his arms back at his sides.

“Thanks for the game dude,” Bobby says with a shrug, though he looks decidedly more annoyed at the interruption than Jeff, “beats trying to escape the heat in the creek anyway”.

Jeff rolls his eyes, “It also beats shelling out quarters at the arcade on 4th Bobby, this was seriously really cool man”.

Steve grins at the pair of them before turning towards Eddie who glares at the floor in silence until Jeff elbows him.

Eddie breathes out loudly through his nose, “yeah it was cool, but next time we should go over your characters a bit more, especially if you guys are going to survive the next encounter I designed”.

Bobby scoffs as he grabs his own messenger bag from the bottom of the stairs, “well I’m not going back to the library, Mrs. Depencier gives me the creeps”.

“The library is the only place with enough space,” Eddie argues as he turns and makes his way up the stairs.

Steve feels the words lift him up, this is his chance, he takes a step towards the other teens, “I could host?”

Jeff and Bobby stop, turning back towards Steve with excitement in their gazes. Jeff seems to hesitate though, turning back to back to Eddie whose face is hidden by the edge of the staircase, Steve can only make out the bottom on his legs from where he’s standing.

He walks forward to the bottom of the staircase and stops short of taking the first step, “my parents aren’t home for the next four weeks so I can have you guys over, no problem”.

Bobby punches his fists into the air, "Yes! Oh my god, huge house, no parents?" Bobby jumps down the last two stairs again and nearly tackles Steve, "this is perfect!"

Perfect, is…certainly a word for it, not necessarily the one Steve would use, but Bobby wasn't here at night.

Not when the glow of the pool would cast eerie shadows along the treeline that surrounded the Harrington backyard. Steve never felt comfortable sitting outside by himself once the sun went down, even now in middle school.

All it took was one snapped branch in the dark or one flicker of shining eyes for him to race back into the kitchen, slamming the sliding door shut behind him.

The locked door never really feeling like enough by himself.

"Four weeks?" Eddie says quietly as he takes a step down, his expression seems pained though Steve can't imagine why.

"I know it's not that long," Steve shrugs, "but we could do it in an afternoon right?"

Jeff's eyebrows rise, cutting shallow creases across his forehead, he and Eddie look at one another, seemingly having some kind of silent conversation before they both turn back to Steve at the same time.

"I need three days to finish it up, but that means we can meet in between to finish your characters," Eddie offers, the words slowly break the strange sudden quiet that has fallen over the basement.

"Tomorrow?" Steve asks tentatively,

"I'll be here, and hey if they don't come," Bobby says with a wry grin as he elbows Steve, "then I'll kick your ass at Asteroids!"

"We'll be here jackass," Jeff scoffs as Eddie nods silently.

He has a strange look on his face that Steve can't quite place, but at least he doesn't look annoyed anymore.

"Tomorrow then," Eddie confirms, grinning as Bobby blurts out a loud, 'hell yeah' as Jeff rolls his eyes once more.

The boys do eventually make their way upstairs, though at a snail's pace as the strange tension from earlier fades away.

Steve walks them all to the door and watches as they make their way down the long drive, taking turns waving as their voices fade into the distance.

Steve swallows hard as he closes the front door, trying not to think too hard about how many hours until he'll hear his friends voices again.

Permanent Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

#in my heart is a memory and here you'll always be #childhood friends au #afewproblems writes #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #jeff #baby hellfire #we have a cameo from mr clarke #I just want to give them all a hug #instead #I'll put them through the ringer #maybe next post we will do the full prompt reveal #sorry this took so long #eddie is a task master when it comes to dnd but his friends love him for it #cross posted on ao3 as well

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skeletonzimms · 11 months

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morphing my personal holster knee injury headcanon to have it be later. like hoslster actually gets drafted like 3rd roundish and gets injured like 3/4 of the way into his first ahl season. takes the time off and by the time he gets well enough to play again it’s like a year and a half and the roster’s been filled and maybe he can hack it in the echl or another minor league but really his best bet is to go to college and get a degree and play hockey there.

i like this better i think both because there’s more angst and also i think holster would have the cheesiest fucking draft photos you’ve ever seen

#yeah i just fucking love putting holster through the ringer #also tell me holster would not have the lamest photo of him with a stick pointed at the camera that ransom makes his lockscreen for a month #adam birkholtz

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unlikely-gravestones · 2 years

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Not me thinking about Izzy standing on the upper deck, leaning against the railing as the ship gently moves in the night, quietly asking Ed "How can we be this fucking close...and still so far apart from one another" as he looks out at sea.

Because they are close, nearly shoulder to shoulder- the closest Eds been since Stede's return. Since Izzy lost him again. And he doesn't fucking understand how even though they're standing right next to eachother, the same wooden planks beneath their feet, the same moon looking back at them...he doesn't understand how they can be this close, and yet still feel like there's miles between them. If he reached out (if he could look anywhere other than the ocean, if he could even move himself an inch, if he could ever get over the pain of looking at Ed and actually face the man-) he would feel the velvet robe Ed still wears under his hand. If he reached higher he would probably feel his heartbeat, and even higher than that, the short scratchy beard Ed's cultivated.

But he doesnt. Because he also feels like if he reaches out, his hand would catch the air. Or maybe Ed would move away from him, refusing his touch, and that's infinitely worse than if he had never been there to begin with.

Where would that leave him, if even his captain couldn't stand to let Izzy touch him. Maybe Ed was right to stay away, to put this distance between them.

(Maybe if Izzy did look at Ed, he would see how his fingers twitched on the railings, inches apart from where Izzy's own hands rested, as if itching to close that insurmountable distance between them. Maybe he would see happiness in Eds eyes again, a sense of contentment Izzy strives to maintain- something Stede accomplishes in a matter of minutes. Maybe he would see that he's not as stranded as he believes, that Eds not lost to the other side of the planet- and maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to work their way up from there.)

#Me back on my bullshit #I just want to put Izzy through the emotional ringer until he cracks #And then i want him to be cuddled and fed food and take naps #Bc my man has to realise Stede ain't going nowhere #And he makes Ed happy #And you can too!!#Sorry to tell ya izz but ur headed down the Stede/Ed/Izzy lane and there's no slowing down #our flag means death #ofmd #edward teach #stede bonnet #izzy hands #blackbonnet #steddy hands

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writing-good-vibes · 2 years

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all in the name of love

guess who's back !! i invite y'all to watch your favourite fanfic author project her own insecurity regarding intimacy/relationships onto this random hot topic employee. i put vincent through the ringer in this one, apologies in advance. bold is asl, as always. divider images by @/suckgirl. check out sol's art that heavily inspired vincent's smoking habit 🚬😈. domestic sinclair content for the most part but WARNING for some mild spicy implications because i am giving bo too much credit for his hoeing around.

When they are 9 years-old, Bo comes home from school one day and tells Vincent all about his day.

His class has been reading Charlotte's Web, and Bo doesn't like Zuckerman because he was going to eat the pig. He had meatloaf for lunch, and sat next to Scotty Jones, which was good because Scotty is the coolest kid in their grade. In geography they're still going over the State Capitals, which is really boring because Bo already knows all of the State Capitals. At recess he got married to Missy Landry.

At recess, Bo got married to Missy Landry.

Vincent nods and listens when Bo tells him how pretty Missy is. She has brown hair and brown eyes and is the best at jump rope and sits two seats in front of Bo in class. She's friends with Tanya Freeman who is the prettiest girl in their grade and who got married to Scotty at recess last Tuesday.

Vincent doesn't go to school with Bo, he stays at home and Mama teaches him all of his lessons. Reading, Writing, Arithmetic. Lester doesn't do any lessons yet because he's barely more than a baby. Or at least that's how Vince still sees him.

Vincent has read Charlotte's Web and has PB&Js for lunch and knows all of the State Capitals by heart.

Vincent doesn't have anyone to marry out on the schoolyard.

When they are 12 years old, Bo comes home from school with a handful of Valentines.

The two of them sit on Bo's bed and, as Vincent looks over each card, covered in glitter and pink gel pen love hearts, Bo tells him about the girls that sent them. The girls who giggled as they dropped their tokens of affection onto his desk as they passed by, and the ones that blushed.

Lisa and Tara and Christine and Becky.

Vincent traces each heart, each xoxo, with care. He puts the cards aside and tries to brush the glitter from his hands. It sticks in the creases of his palms and glints from the fabric of his baggy blue jeans.

He thinks, absently, about Joshua Mayer who lives down the hill from them. He has red hair that is almost as red as the hearts on Bo's Valentines.

Bo is still talking. He says he didn't send any Valentine's, because he doesn't care about soppy, girly things like that.

When they are 14, Bo gets himself a date to their first high school dance.

This is the first year that the twins have gone to school together. Mama said it would be better for Vincent to be around kids his own age for a while, and that she just didn't have the time to teach him what he needed at home anymore.

The lucky girl is Missy Landry. Vincent remembers her. Bo married her at recess when they were 9. It seems like their marriage is going well, and to think Vincent had expected they'd be divorced by now.

Vincent had though Bo didn't care about the dance. But he watches anyway as Bo walks up to Missy after Algebra and says, "Wanna go to the dance with me?"

That's it. Seven words that make up a question that Bo already knows the answer to. That everyone already knows the answer to.

Missy says yes and Bo grins. They briefly discuss their plans, before Missy's friend is tugging her elbow because the bell is about to go for next period.

The twins turn to make their way to their own classes.

"Who are you gonna ask?" Bo asks.

Vincent turns with a start. "What?"

"To the dance," Bo reiterates, though he knows Vince knows exactly what he meant. "You're going to ask someone, right?

Vincent shrugs, watches as Christine Deville passes them in the opposite direction. In the first week of their English class, Christine had forgotten her copy of Catcher in the Rye and had to share Vincent's copy, under teacher's orders. Vincent felt the sweat prickle on the back of his neck as Christine asked, "Should I move over to you?" He shook his head, shuffled his desk closer to hers and held the book as steady as he could, dutifully turning the page when necessary and certainly not making eye contact with the pretty girl next to him.

He doesn't make eye contact with her now, either. She passes them by without a second glance.

When they are 17 years-old, Bo is late driving him and Vincent home from school one Friday.

Vincent waits around the truck, swinging his legs from where he is sat on the dented hood. He and Bo aren't in the same 8th period, so they always meet at Bo's truck after the final bell and drive home. Across the lot, he sees Joshua Mayer. Now he's almost as tall as Vince and plays the tuba in marching band. He's with his band friends, all packing their instruments into someone's SUV. Joshua has a loud laugh, he always has, and it makes Vincent smile behind the mask. He dutifully ducks his head down anyway.

Bo ends up being almost 20 minutes late, and the parking lot is emptying out by the time he saunters up to his twin, looking far too pleased with himself.

"I have a date with Stacy Leblanc tonight," he says, hopping into the drivers seat and switching the ignition.

Vincent follows, climbing in the passenger side door and throwing his school bag into the back seat. "Is that why you were late?"

"Time is it?" Bo asks. He doesn't wear a watch, so Vincent does.

Vince shuffles the sleeve of his hoodie up and checks the time. "3:18."

"I'm not that late," he chides, putting the truck into gear and driving out of the lot. "Had plans to make, didn't I? M'pickin' her up at 6."

They drive in silence for a while, until they get to the long stretch of road that leads back to Ambrose. It's secluded, with tall, windswept trees on either side and a dwindling trickle of traffic.

Bo glances over at Vincent, feeling a heaviness in the air that always comes when it isn't a good time for Vince to speak but he has something to say anyway. Humming lowly with interest, Bo sits back in his seat.

Vince leans forward, twisting in his seat to better face his brother. "I thought you said Stacy Leblanc was a slut?"

He did say that, last week actually. "Yeah well, she should know what she's doing then, shouldn't she?" He grins, raising his brows almost comically.

Vincent shrugs noncommittedly. "If you say so."

Bo smirks, pushing playfully at Vincent's chest. He leans back against the passenger door to get out of Bo's reach. "What, you jealous? I could put in a good word for you, if you want? Then maybe you'll finally get some."

When they are 21, Vincent drops out of college and Bo has to come and pick him up.

They don't talk for a long while. They pack Vince's things up into boxes and stack them in the back of Bo's truck. Each box is labelled. Clothes. Bedding. Books. Supplies: Paints. Supplies: Tools. Supplies: Sketching.

He stops by at a few of his friends dorms to say goodbye. He doesn't tell them he's not coming back in the fall. Just as he's leaving the dorm block, he runs into another friend. A girl from his Art History class. They'd been to parties together, sipping wine in the corner, sometimes his free hand would brush hers, but they never talked about that. He says one more goodbye and then turns to leave

He finds the truck parked across the street. Bo is sat on the dented hood, smoking.

"Who's the lil' blonde?" Bo gestures discreetly over Vincent's shoulder with the cigarette packet.

Vince takes a smoke and slowly turns to look in the direction Bo is pointing. Of course he knows who Bo's talking about, but what harm is there in one last look?

She's continuing down the side walk, the same way she was going when Vincent crossed her path that final time. As she rounds the corner of the block, she casts a glance over her shoulder, gives a half-wave in Vincent's direction, and then disappears out of his life. Or he is about to disappear out of hers? Same difference.

When he turns back to his twin, Bo is holding a lighter out, the flame flickering in the faint breeze. Vincent shifts his mask off, dangling it gently from his fingers for a second, before he deposits it safely next to Bo. As Vincent leans forward to light his cigarette, he lets his hair fall just enough to cover his face.

Pulling away and taking the first testing drags, Vincent replies, "Loretta."

"She's cute," Bo nods, like he's appraising a piece of antique furniture. "She put out?"

Vincent shakes his head.

When they are 22, the guy that Bo had sworn he wasn't dating moves out of Ambrose, so he convinces Vincent to come with him to the closest bar for some of that brotherly bonding they hadn't had a lot of time for in the past few months. He most definitely is not drowning his sorrows.

Vincent doesn't go out much anymore, but he usually accompanies Bo without much fuss. At least he can drive them home, so Bo doesn't total the truck. And to think, once upon a time, Vince was worried that it'd always be him that totalled the Chevy.

They sit at the bar and Bo drinks and Vincent smokes.

A girl with brown hair and brown eyes appears beside Bo and he buys her a drink, because Bo has never been immune to a pretty girl. She bats her lashes and Bo excuses them to "get some air".

Vincent waits, watching the clock above the bar. Sometimes, he wonders if Bo brings him along to be a comparative wingman. Because, Vincent knows, any girl in their right mind would rather hook up with Bo, especially when they see that he is the ugly alternative. He ashes his cigarette into the green glass ash tray.

There's a man, with cropped black hair and broad shoulders, at at the other end of the bar. Vincent can't help but stare. Well-timed glances which make his own heart flutter. He's practiced a smile in the mirror before; no teeth, nonchalantly suggestive. Instead, he watches for the flex of muscle that suggests movement in the other man, suggests he might get caught, and dutifully averts his gaze. When the man downs the last of his beer and leaves, Vince sighs, chin resting on his hand. That could have been an almost, he thinks.

Bo comes back, without the girl, after about 20 minutes. The flush on his face is cooling down, but he's still tucking his t-shirt back into his jeans by the time he arrives back at the stool next to Vince's.

"Where's your 'friend'?"

"She has places to be."

Vincent grunts, turning away to get a new smoke from the packet between them on the bar.

Bo nudges his twin, making him look back at him. "Don't be jealous. You're too good for a girl like that, anyway."

Vincent knows that isn't exactly true. He thinks, at this point, he'd take just about anyone who would have him.

#vincent sinclair #bo sinclair #house of wax 2005 #slashers #slasher fandom #ahhh i'm back on my usual bullshit #is this me going through some personal stuff and projecting it onto the twins as usual? definitely #i put vince through the ringer i'm so sorry #i want to clarify that i do in fact think vincent could have had v good game when he was at art school #but also the impact of never having a playground wedding is real af and i needed someone to feel that with me #vince is the lamb at the sacrificial alter of unwantedness #even though i promise y'all i want him very badly #and where i give vince no game; i give bo too much game #no way is bo 'bongwater' sinclair getting that many dates #but also. the contrast is important #when you have a direct comparision and you're doing 'worse' idk cant be great #idk this is all very complex and just one side of my opinions/reading of this whole situation for the twins #and don't forget friends !! this is totally me projecting so if you have a problem with vincent not getting any #take it up with god because he's the one that made *me* like this #ngl i'm really. really proud of this fic tbh 😊#i really hope yall enjoy #it feels more.. idk more like what i was trying to get back too #also if you saw the version i posted on ao3 before re-editing.. no you didnt #ahhh also also !!#the smpking inspiration for vince absolutely comes from solivagant-muse !!#sol's college twins sketches were so gorgeous and havent left mu mind since #this city's cold and empty

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demon-of-the-ancient-world · 11 months

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There is Thunder in our Hearts Part 3

@grantairescurls @fuck-the-reaper @procrastinatingsoicanreadfanfics

---

There is still blood on his hands long after the trial ends.

It's a long one. Long and chaotic and full of shouting voices on both sides, ones it's hard for even him to temper. But it ends, as all things do, and in the end two men lose their heads.

The rest might disperse after that. Or maybe they will revolt. He doesn't much care.

What comes next will come - this is what can be done now. It's something. It's one thing taken care of. It's control.

All the while his wife stands in the crowd, watching him silently with a hawk-like gaze, long arms folded. One of the boys is with her, their faces identical. Ragnar turns away from them. There isn't any point wondering whether there's disappointment in those gazes or not.

And what does it matter, when hours later there's still blood under his fingernails? That he did it, whatever they might think, because he had to? Isn't that all that matters?

I had no choice, he thinks. Not now, not then.

He tries to wash his hands. Flecks of black-red remain under his fingernails. For you, he thinks, imagining his wife's unreadable face. For all of you. For your safety. Look at these hands, Aslaug, and tell me I do not act for you.

He wonders then, if it's really one of the prisoners', at all or if it's Athelstan's blood from three days ago, if it's been here this whole time.

What does it matter?

****

Athelstan has so far been able to hold himself back from biting his tongue, instead clenching his teeth so hard they could crack.

The healer - Athelstan isn't sure what else to call him, physician might be the appropriate word in England, but it means nothing here - scrubs away at the wound again, making him dig his nails sharply into the palm of his hand. It burns and it's been burning for hours now, carrying him on a long, steady wave of pain.

Only a while ago the slash on his side grew uncomfortable under the bandages - more so than it's been. He's tried to ignore it, but its grown too strong to let him sleep, even with the herbs the healer gives him. Even turning away from it is difficult, with his opposite arm slung across his chest and shoulder bandaged just as heavily. There's no escape.

A sudden pain lances through his side as the wound is prodded, making him cry out through his teeth. He's shaking and damp with cold sweat, the endless ache of the wound bringing with it waves of chills followed by nauseating heat. All he can do is lie still with his gaze on the solid wall, breathing as deep as he can without stretching the ragged skin around the gash.

The bed under him seems to sway if he so much as turns his head, the covers hot and damp, the air freezing where it touches his skin. All the room looks oddly dark, the time of day or night not seeming to matter. He has the sense that something is greatly wrong with him, with the healer, with every voice he's heard and every beam of wood in the ceiling. It seems he's wandered into a twilit world where everything is a shade off from what he is used to.

The healer is talking in a low voice now, to Lagertha who has once again come to watch over him. This time Athelstan has a hard time keeping up with what they're saying; the clipped, guttural sounds of their northern speech swimming into his head and straight back out again.

He shuts his eyes, suddenly lightheaded. Things have grown foggy...he can't seem to remember when Lagertha got there, or when the healer got there, or how long he has been in this much pain. The wound feels achingly hot, the healer's fingers like coals where they touched it, so hot he cannot sleep and his mind instead wanders back to the raid, to his own countrymen nailing him to a cross on a hill, to a burning church...

He knows these are bad signs. The hours in which this godforsaken wound has been plaguing him have been tinged not only with pain but with mounting, spiraling dread.

Fighting dizziness, he opens his eyes enough to see Lagertha's hazy form coming back into the room, stern-looking as always.

She is always stern, he thinks. If she smiles, it's then you know you're in danger. The half smile with her brow still furrowed. You know the one.

She comes towards him, eyes on the wound. Her fingers brush the new dressing, peeling it back to look at the wound. Athelstan watches her face carefully, but it's blank.

"As I thought," she says quietly, covering it once again. When she looks up she gives him a small smile, though her eyes retain their troubled look. And Athelstan's heart sinks.

"What did he say to you?" he asks, as she sinks down to sit on the edge of his bed. He notes this - she was in a chair before.

Her hand cups his cheek, brushing his forehead lightly. It's so cool, not like the healer's burning fingers. All of a sudden he's very glad she is there, that someone he trusts is there. He feels all wrong, all twisted around.

"Drink this first," she says, and helps him lift his head to sip some bitter tincture.

She settles him down again. "The wound looks bad. He is going to treat it with honey, and keep warmth on it."

Honey for infection, he thinks. Yarrow and white willow tincture to stem it from within.

"If it doesn't improve..."

She pushes a stray strand of hair off his forehead with her thumb, pausing. "He may need to lance the wound, to bring out the infection. It would be painful, Athelstan. But it would work."

Athelstan nods calmly, though he's sure he's gone visibly pale at her words. "Is...is that likely?"

The tremour in his voice gives him away. Her face softens, her hand resting on his cheek. "Maybe. I don't know."

He knows that, knows he has faced pain and will likely face plenty more until his time on this earth is done. But something about knowing it ahead, paired with the heightened anxiety and eeriness that's coloured his past few hours...

"Will you stay with me?" he asks, before he can stop himself.

Something in Lagertha's face shifts, that he cannot read. He gets the unusual feeling that she feels sorry for him. "Of course. I wouldn't leave you alone for that."

He nods again, swallowing the tightness in his throat.

"You have some fever. He is bringing you medicine, you take it and rest. Now more than ever you need to sleep. Don't try to do anything that hurts - we will take care of you."

We. Embarrassment steals over him, a great rush of it. "Lagertha, you shouldn't be here. Surely you have other duties - "

She shushes him. It's fruitless. "If I was going to leave you at any time, it certainly would not be now. I am worried for you, priest."

The returned use of their nickname for him settles him a little. Still he has the feeling that there are things crawling all about his skin, on the walls and on the bedclothes. Something is wrong.

"I'm tired," he says involuntarily. He can't seem to keep his thoughts to himself.

"Then sleep," says Lagertha. "I won't be far."

He dreams he's still tucked away behind Lindisfarne's walls, and it's so vivid he can taste the sea-washed air.

He dreams he's lying in the Wessex infirmary, being frowned down at through a haze by men who would rather see him dead than healed.

He dreams he's standing at a gate that might lead to Heaven or to Hell or Valhalla, all he knows is it's locked firmly shut.

A long sound of pain is already on his lips when he wakes next, into a burning, too-bright world. His skin is being torn from his body, his bones set on fire...

"Athelstan," says a quiet voice near him. "You have to lie still. Breathe."

But he can't breathe, not without a new flash of fire rippling through his flesh.

"I can't - " he manages to choke out through fumbling lips. "It - it hurts."

A cool touch on his face. A voice low and soothing. "I know it does. I know."

Heat erupts along his side at another touch and a pained cry escapes him, he struggles but is held still by stronger hands than he has the strength to fight.

A hand grips his, and he grips it back. The body it comes from is like a pale and shivering shadow. "Please," he says to the blurring face, "please help me."

The hand tightens. "I am trying to. Lie still, little one. The pain will end. It will."

But just then something hot and splintering splits his side and it's all he can do not to scream. It doesn't end. It's hot, so hot, a bed of coals wanting to burst out of his skin.

The voice shushes him. "The heat will help," it says. "It will draw out everything bad in the wound."

He doesn't care if it will make the wound disappear entirely as if it had never been, he wants more than anything for someone to just make it stop.

For time immeasurable he lies there trembling, every muscle painfully taut, one of Lagertha's hands resting on his uninjured shoulder as her voice weaves in and out of his consciousness. He can barely think for the pain in his side, can do no more than pray for an end to it.

The heat comes again, strong and bright and terrible, and then it dulls, fading to a throb in the darkness. The cycle goes on and on, broken only by the occasional hand resting against his forehead or gripping his own. Shadows and demons and smoke and things with vicious teeth swirl around him, and he's too weak to fight them away...

He tries to focus only on the hand thumbing the sweat-drenched hair from his forehead, or the distant words from faces he could not see. It did not dull the pain in the slightest, instead overwhelming his already fragile senses.

Hours must go by with that horrible heat burning him from the inside out, never truly leaving. He can't sleep, there's too much heat and too much noise, voices all around him...

The voices grow louder, like there's a thousand instead of two. Someone is saying his name louder than normal, he has to wake up but he can't...

He blinks hard, and the unfamiliar face of an old man comes into focus above him. It swirls, fire-red and melting...

"This will be quick," he says, "but it will be painful. And the pain may linger when it's done."

"No - " he croaks out, just barely, but the rest of his words fall out of his mouth and get lost. Where is he? What are they doing to him? It's so dark, where did Lagertha go? Where did Ragnar go?

A hand puts something soft between his teeth. No no no - he has to get away this is wrong this is wrong --

The scream that leaves him is as much from surprise as from the searing pain that follows, so sudden and bright it turns his world red.

He's on fire. Whatever they're doing is worse it's worse it's worse.

Nails in his hands. They're driving nails into his flesh. He's being branded, he's being eaten alive by something with too many teeth...

He struggles but is held down, his arm is tied tight to him and there's a whole different pain in his leg and if he's screaming he can't hear over the pounding in his head and he can't breathe...

And it ends. Something lifts, and it's over.

Someone speaks. His eyelids flicker, and from the end of a dark tunnel he can see figures near him, prodding and stabbing and poking him and making him hurt...

The old man was right, and a shadow of the agony lingers. A weak moan escapes him. The wetness on his cheeks might not be sweat. He wants to pass out, but doesn't.

He feels flashes of half-things instead. Somebody prods his side again and he doesn't have the strength even to cry out. Another hand pulls the cloth from his mouth. His teeth ache from clenching them, his throat is raw. Someone's running a wet cloth over his face, his neck, his chest. Water comes to his lips and he's barely able to choke it down. He's cradled in a dark red bundle of flames.

Things go dark. Then he's awake and shivering uncontrollably and someone covers him. He's still shivering.

He opens his eyes and sees somebody sitting hunched by his bed, prodding. He fades away into smoke.

Something else is at his lips, sweet and herb-like this time. Voices swirl around him - he thinks the king of Wessex is there, but that doesn't make any sense. It goes dark again.

Then there's another voice, very close to him, and it frightens him how desperate it is. How scared. The words blend together and he knows he knows the voice, but cannot name it.

I'm sorry, it says. I know you can hear that. I hurt you. You will hate me for it

Athelstan's eyes are too heavy to open. The voice dwindles...

When he finally manages to pry up his eyelids, the room is empty. Dark. He still hurts, all over.

Don't leave me, he thinks. Someone was in his dreams, talking to him. A hand rested on his. Don't leave me. I'm still here.

But no one comes, and he is alone.

#vikings #athelstan #ragnar lothbrok #athelnar #vikings fanfiction #why am i so obsessed with putting this poor little guy through the ringer oh my GOD #I'm still harming him #just letting you know what you're getting into #the priest is still very much Being Harmed

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cha1cedony · 6 months

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Remembering why I rarely write ship stuff. Writing shitty teen romance/crushes gives me secondhand embarrassment HAHAH

#unfortunately that is like.. one of Grant’s main Things #it just feels very foreign to me #because I have never had a crush in my life lol #but I DO love to put him through the ringer!! 🫶#chalcy stuff

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lesbianpegbar · 4 months

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anyway. ^ kid who i felt completely normal about when i was twelve and feel completely normal about now

#the fact that they evaporate his mother figure in front of him burn half his body and tear off two of his limbs #is fucking insane #like they really just put him through the fucking ringer in the last like eight ish episodes and for what #mine #fma

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chxna-cheeseycake · 1 year

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MCD Post-apocalyptic AU Idea

Hi I'm actually posting on here lol but anyways I'm bored rn and feel like ranting about an MCD AU idea I have cuz I don't have anybody to talk about MCD stuff with 💔 Be prepared for this post to be a bit lengthy as when I have an idea I wanna talk about, I'll just keep going on and on and nothing will stop me! So feel free to skip this if you don't like reading long stuff lol. Anywho, you can read my silly little thoughts about my silly little AU under the cut!

Anyways, my AU idea I had basically takes place in a modern day MCD (no not like Mystreet just strictly having the MCD characters in a modern day era). And this world is normal at first but one day an apocalypse pretty much happened as somehow several different types of portals opened, releasing all sorts of deadly creatures that reeked havoc on the population. This apocalypse was also pretty much started by both Shad and Irene but that can be a separate post for later as I put far too much detail into that lmao. However, Irene and Shad lie to their respective followers/supporters that they had nothing to do with this tragedy and put the blame on the other for it happening.

I chose Dante to be the main character of this AU because goddammit my boy deserves more love and if no one else will do it then I sure will. Anyways, Dante was 2 years old when the apocalypse happened so the poor kid just grew up in such a harsh environment. He never knew what it was like to not have to hide from vicious creatures and constantly scavenge for food. He also never knew his dad as his father, Donny (not canon name btw just something I personally use) died early on in the apocalypse in an attempt to save his family. Meaning that Maria was left to take care of 14 year old Gene and 2 year old Dante by herself during a disastrous apocalypse. But luckily... there was someone out there that was willing to take the poor woman in and help her out.

And this where I'll get into Shad and Irene's whole deal because I mean they're pretty important here. The Divine Warriors still exist in this world and are also still kind of treated like religious figures. However, I should make it clear that all of them are actually immortal gods instead of just technically being humans that hold a relic or whatever canon stated cuz I lowkey kinda forget some of the details of that. I should also make it clear that Irene and Aphmau are NOT the same person here. I decided to make Aphmau the demigod daughter of Irene cuz I thought that would work better with the AU. Aaron is also the demigod son of Shad because of their familial relationship in canon MCD. The Ro'Meaves are still descendants of Esmund but just like in canon their familial relation is more distant compared to Aaron and Aphmau's. And as for Travis and Enki... well they're related too but I can get more into that later.

Regardless, Shad and Irene seem to be the only Divine Warriors that are still around as the others have miraculously vanished for some reason. So most people nowadays only really acknowledge and worship Shad and Irene. Because of that when the apocalypse broke out, Shad and Irene formed their own respective factions that were compromised of their devoted followers. But these two would also go out of their way to save people that hadn't joined either faction and basically encourage said people to join them. The people would do this too as they felt as though they should be grateful that one of the Divine Warriors saved their life. Shad had pretty much done this with Maria so her and her boys became part of his faction and also started to worship him.

So Dante grew up in an environment where he was taught that Shad was a great man and would be the one to save everyone from this apocalypse. He was also taught that Irene and her faction were the enemy, that Irene was the sole cause of their world being destroyed. And Dante also viewed Shad as a father figure due to the fact that his bio dad died when he was too young to even remember him. Shad even comforted Dante after Maria unfortunately died when Dante was 9. Dante had always admired Shad and that admiration only grew after Shad made Gene his right hand man and one of the generals of Shad's army. Dante truly looked up to both his big brother and his father figure. He wanted to be just as great as them.

But then the main story begins and Dante's life does a complete turnaround. In the main story, Dante is now 12 while Gene is 24 and their life is just how it was before. Nothing strange. Nothing unusual. Gene would go about his duties as general, you know like go over battle strategies with the other generals such as Aaron. And when he had the time, he would check up on his little bro who was hanging out with the other child faction members. Dante would just stay in the designated area for the children until Gene was off duty and then the two brothers would eat dinner together, possibly do something fun too before they had to go to bed. This was their normal life.

However, Shad's lair gets attacked suddenly by Irene's army and everything starts going to shit. The civilians of the faction are panicking and screaming as they thoroughly believe that Irene has come to kill them all (she isn't but they don't know that due to Shad's influence). Gene goes into a panic too as he worries about Dante's safety. So he goes to find his little brother, completely ignoring Aaron's calls for him to come back. Gene makes it to the child area and thankfully finds Dante safe and sound. He then takes Dante and tries to rush and find a way out of the lair. For awhile they aren't seen by any of Irene's soldiers but it doesn't stay that way forever. As they round a corner, they hear the voices of two unknown men which definitely puts them on edge.

Gene tells Dante to stay where he is while Gene goes to investigate what's up ahead. Dante listens to his big bro, albeit hesitantly and watches as Gene slowly makes his way toward the voices. The voices belong to none other than Garroth and Laurance who quickly notice Gene's presence. The three get into a shouting match until weapons are pulled out and a scuffle occurs. This goes on for a bit until Laurance ends up landing a lethal attack on Gene, getting him right in the heart. Gene falls to the ground and Dante, who was watching the entire time, rushes to his brother's side not even caring that he would be caught by Irene's men. Garroth and Laurance are in shock as they weren't expecting this to happen.

With tears pouring down his face, Dante tries to save his big bro by pressing down on Gene's wound. He's desperate to do anything, something as he can't lose Gene too. Gene is the only family he has left after all. But Gene knows there's nothing to be done, he knows he's going to die soon. So with shaking hands, Gene takes off the skull necklace he always wore and hands it to Dante, telling his little bro that he loves him and to be strong for him. Gene takes his last breath, Dante sobs and Laurance feels nausea because he just killed a young boy's older brother right in front of him. Unsure of what to do next, Garroth and Laurance follow Irene's orders of taking any civilians with them so they could be "much safer" at Irene's lair. So they grab Dante who kicks and screams as he doesn't want to be separated from his brother. He especially doesn't want to go with the men that killed his brother.

But being only 12 years old, Dante couldn't really fight back against Garroth and Laurance so he was ultimately taken back to Irene's lair. At the lair, Dante was incredibly stubborn and refused to talk to anyone, didn't want to eat any food that was given to him, didn't want anything to do with the people that he was taught were the enemy. Aphmau would try to get through to him but Dante just ended up yelling at Aphmau that she and her people were monsters that took everything from him. Aphmau silently walks away with Dante's words echoing in her mind. Dante didn't want to be there anymore, he just wanted to be with his brother again. He wanted his old life back. So one day he does something no one expects, he runs away from Irene's lair. The kid has no idea where he's supposed to go now but he just keeps running until he knows that he's far away from Irene's domain.

He's in an alleyway when he hears a strange noise. He turns around and sees some type of creature. A deadly one with a raging hunger in its eyes, eyes that are looking right at Dante. The boy tries slowly walking backwards but ends up tripping and falling on the ground. The creature takes this as its opportunity to strike or it would have but its head gets instantly chopped off in what feels like a split second. Once the adrenaline wore off, Dante realized that there was a man that stood in front of him, holding a large ax and breathing heavily. The man turns around, looking at Dante before walking closer to the boy and outstretching a hand for him to take. Dante did so a little hesitantly, thanked the man and asked him who he was.

The man introduces himself as Zane and begins to scold/ask Dante why the hell he was out there by himself without any sort of adult by his side. Dante hesitates for a second, tears up a little and explains that his older brother had just been killed so he was now left without any family and had no idea where to go or what to do now. Zane softens a little after hearing that and proceeds to offer Dante to come with him to his hideout with his other friends so he can at least have a proper bed to sleep on for the night. Dante at first questions if he's part of Shad or Irene's faction but Zane scoffs at that and says that he and his group aren't part of either faction. They are their own group that gets referred to as The Outcasts by Shad and Irene. Dante finds it odd as he's never heard of The Outcasts before but ultimately decides to go with Zane as he does have no idea where to go now.

When Dante gets to the hideout of The Outcasts, he meets these other friends that Zane was talking about. These people being Janus, Ivy, Lillian, Michi, Travis and Vylad. Dante isn't sure what to think of them at first, he kind of finds some of them to be scary. But soon enough, Dante would learn through them that you can't always judge someone's personality by how they look. He also learns that what he was taught may not be as true as he originally thought. Because then he finally learns how exactly the world became what it is and has to accept the fact that he was possibly lied to his entire life.

Anyways, I think I will end it there for now because I have so much I could keep going on and on about but I don't want to make this too long, you know? But because I care this AU very much I'll most definitely talk about this in the future.

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