#jam angst

[viscerax]

How to never stop being sad

(Repeat to yourself that they're not really gone)

Tim opens the door to his home, practically throwing his jacket to the floor. He calls out, announcing his arrival. For just a moment he thinks he hears a response. A call from another room. Jay greeting him. Brian welcoming him home. He doesn't really hear it. He knows its not real. But it doesn't matter.

(Time has proven

That fooling yourself into believing a lie

Is the most effective way

To deal with things you have no control over)

__________________________________________

(Keep listening to the mixtapes they made you)

Tim pops the tape into the radio of his shitty car. A compilation of all the songs he and Jay listened to on their 'road trip'. Sometimes it made him sad to listen to them, to think about the bittersweet memories of the man sitting next to him and dumbly singing along, or when they would yell at eachother as the music filled the background.

__________________________________________

(Stay up every single night staring at your phone, Either attempting to gather up the courage, To turn these demons, these constant reminders, Of your loneliness into nothing more than a bad dream)

Tim clutches his phone with conviction. He plays the voice-mails over an over again, as if hearing their voices would bring them back. He listens to Jay's grainy voice asking for a call back, and he let's out a shuddering breath. He knew the man for such a short amount of time, most of which was spent at eachothers necks in an argument. And yet, he felt closer to him than he had with anybody since Brian.

__________________________________________

(Or praying just for one second you could feel

The warmth of equally returned love)

Tim remembers the feeling of Jay's hand slotting into his as he drove. He remembered that look that Jay had in his eyes whenever he was staring at Tim. That look that made Tim feel like he was the most beautiful thing in the whole world. It filled him with a bitter weight. How could he have ever punched this man, this man that looked at him like he was a precious jewel?

Tim remembers the feeling of Brian pressed against him as the two sat on his sofa, away from the publics watchful eye. He remembers Brian's arm around his waist, and his lips on his. He remembers how Brian looked at him the same way that Jay did. He remembers that sweet smile and that adorable tooth gap, and he remembers the feeling of Brian's mustache rubbing against his upper lip as they kissed.

Sometimes he can still feel it, for a fleeting moment he feels a hand in his, or an arm around his waist. And for a moment he thinks 'this is nice.' And then he remembers. And its not nice anymore.

__________________________________________

(Go out for coffee four times a week by yourself)

The baristas have got to think he's the weirdest guy ever. He sits there for hours on end on his days off. The shop is so far away from his home, but he pretends like it isn't. Tells himself he was going to come down here soon anyways, so he might as well. The coffee isn't even good. But he drinks it anyways. He thinks back to when him and Brian were filming that god-forsaken film. He remembers the shoddy dialogue they exchanged out on the wooden steps.

He stays there until closing sometimes. He doesn't even do much. Sits there, spaces out, tries to imagine he's there with Brian, or with Jay, or perhaps both. And the illusion lasts for a bit before its broken by the sound of the bell ringing over the door. He always looks back, always thinks for a moment that he's going to see them standing there. It never happens, but that doesn't stop him from hoping.

__________________________________________

(Talk down on yourself whenever possible

My life is shit because I deserve it, right?)

Your fault. He hears whispers in the night. He knows its his own brain. He knows its himself. He thinks its funny how the human mind betrays itself. He thinks, it must be true, though. To hear it so often.

Tim tried to distance himself from anything to do with the channel. But on particularly lonely nights, he would visit the Twitter page, see the tons of people who made comments, who were trying to solve the whole thing along with them like it was a game.

"I think Tim is responsible for Jay's death. If he hadn't left Jay, he still would've been alive." He read that comment and let out a laugh. At least he wasn't the only one who thought so.

"That was cold of Tim to let Brian fall like that." That one hit Tim. He knew it wasn't true. He knew there was no way to catch him, and he didn't even know it was Brian then. Still. It hurt.

(You must have done something real bad

Its nearly impossible for you to cry now)

__________________________________________

(Avoid your friends for weeks even though

They're the only sense of consistency you have)

He let's the phone ring a few times before finally picking up.

"Hello?" He answers, sounding not-so enthusiastic to be talking to whoever was on the other line.

"Hey, Tim!" Oh great. One of Tim's work friends, Eric's, voice came out of the phone. "You still down to watch the game tonight?" Tim was invited to some football watch party. Tim didn't like football, but the concept of being invited to hang out was nice enough. He said yes at the time, but here he was, sitting on his floor, tears still remnant in his eyes.

"Oh, uhm, no thanks. Got caught up with something. Maybe next time?" There won't be a next time. He knows he can only cancel on so many plans before they get tired of him. But he hears Eric hum in agreement and the two part ways.

__________________________________________

(Allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love)

Tim sets the ukulele down with a discontented sigh. The instrument no longer rested neatly in his hands. He could no longer play the chords so fluidly like he used to. Now, whenever he picks it up, it feels more like a chore. He plucks the strings a bit, but nothing more. He thinks about Jay, and how when he found out that Tim could play the ukulele, he told him that it was "basically a guitar but gayer".

__________________________________________

(Watch as you begin to take a backseat

To the world around you, don't fight it

Become a secondary character in your own motion picture)

His days go by in a blur. Every single moment passing by him like he's watching a film. Every day at work feeling like nothing but a mundane task that he's forced to watch someone else do. At this point, he's not sure he even wants to fix things. He stops seeing his counselor after a few months. She wasn't any help, bless her soul. It's not like it was her fault. You can't fix someone who keeps breaking themselves down.

__________________________________________

(But most importantly

Drown every single one of your feelings

In old stolen rum)

If Tim were at a bar, he surely would have been cut off by now. He was almost done with the bottle. He could barely see straight, and he knew he was going to have one hell of a hangover tommorow.

(Learn to love the taste of it dripping down your throat)

It burns. And it tastes gross. Tim is reminded why he never drinks everytime he takes a shot. But it doesn't matter. The burn is good, right? It makes him feel good, his brain fuzzy. It clouds his mind and yet makes him feel so much at the same time.

(Find comfort in the warmth coming from your stomach

You're drinking bottled love now)

__________________________________________

(You don't need other people to drive away your loneliness

You just needed to find a way to talk to it)

[nidbaesenpai]

Dare you say this love could just save you

[kurtkooky]

saw someone do one similar and I had to post mine cus it’s so silly

[factual-fantasy]

could we mayhaps.,,, have some more angst of your Cookie run OCs? Please.?

Now I don't take requests, but wanting to see more of my OCs?? And you want it to be ANGST?? What can I say your argument was very persuasive XD

Now with this prompt I actually had to get creative. Because up to this point in my cookie lore development,, the only real angsty thing that happens in present day is the whole situation with Octo. But I didn't wanna dish up the same angst twice.. so I really had to think. Who else can I make suffer be the subject of angst? That's when I remembered the bond that Red and Coco have.. 😈

Now, Coco isn't really a stranger to nightmares. She had a few when Octo first got hurt and the whole crew feared they would lose him.. but it was ok. She was usually able to calm herself down and stay in bed..

But the occasional dreams she has about Red?.. She just cant handle them. She absolutely has to get up and go to him to make sure that he's ok. Most of the time she ends up just taking him with her back to her bed. Or just- anywhere that she feels is safe.

On her worst nights I can imagine that Seafoam wakes up to see that Red is missing.. only to find him and Coco curled up in a blanket nest under the stairs-

[beautyinsteadofashes]

i know there's friends to lovers and enemies to lovers but dang it if i don't love exes to lovers.

[forbebeandjam]

Hey!

So how about some kind of fluff maybe also some angst with Bada who has a girlfriend who’s like really weak (maybe some chronic illness) and also has back problems that affect her daily life, but still decides to dance.

maybe that reader is practicing some dance and kind of like overworks her self and passes out in front of bada.

you can also add maybe Bada being a bit mad at reader for not listening to her body and stuff.

Thank you!

(you can ignore this if you don’t write this kind of stuff :p)

Secret Pain | Bada Lee x Reader | fluff, angst

Summary: You bite your suffering from your girlfriend to make things easier for her.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: I’m back!! I’m so happy to write again. Work has been killing me but I’m surviving. I’ll try to write more but for now I hope this isn’t too bad. Love you all🤍

~🤍~

"Five. Six. Seven. Eight!" you followed the dance count.  

It had been three years since you first started dating the wonderful dancer teaching the class. She was the definition of perfection to you. Tall, beautiful, kind, and funny. You loved taking her classes. 

The way the passion shined in her eyes was like medicine for you. A medicine no doctor could ever give you. You have been keeping this a secret from her as well. 

You were sick. You had a chronic bone illness that limited you to certain harsh activities like... dancing. Yeah, you hated it but then you met Bada. She made you want to dance. The fiery passion in her eyes would drive you crazy. 

At first, she was just a good friend, but you two started to notice that the feelings were more than just a friendship. Bada would always call you and ask you to go with her to the dance studio. 

You were there when she became a big choreographer, when she struggled with her confidence, and even when she bought her first studio. Every day she would remind you of how special you were to her.  And she was special to you as well but you decided that there was no reason to tell her about your illness. 

"You did really good, baby! You're getting better each day," she said as she wrapped her arms around you and kissed your cheek. 

"Thank you," you said as you tried to catch your breath. 

"Are you okay? You are way more out of breath than normal," she asked as she took a look at you face. You tried to look away. 

"yeah, I think I'm catching a cold. My body hurts," You said. And it wasn't a lie. Your bones were aching. You wanted to go home to your secret medicine stash and make the pain go away. 

"Oh, we should go home then. Girls, I'm leaving early today. See you tomorrow, okay?" she said to her teammates. They all waved goodbye and you both headed to your shared home. 

"Babe, I'm gonna make some soup and tea for you," she said as soon as you walked through the door. 

"Sounds good. I'm gonna go take some medicine for the cold," you announced and headed to the room. You took your indicated medicine and sighed. You were sprawled on the bed waiting for the medicine to kick in but the pain was almost unbearable. 

At that moment, you realized you might have to tell Bada sooner or later about this. You didn't want to scare her or leave her at any student moment without her knowing. You closed your eyes and tried to calm your body. That's when a plan came into your head.

You stood up and walked towards the kitchen. The aura was cozy. The house smelled like fresh eucalyptus and peppermint. The lights in the living room were slightly dimmed and there was candles lit in the center of the coffee table. 

She was dipping the tea bag into the mug with steaming water as you walked to her. She flashed you a soft smile but it faded when she saw your face. 

"Baby, your face is pale. Are you sure you're feeling okay?" she asked and you nodded with a sigh. 

"I am simply tired. I'm sure if I eat and rest I will be fine," you said and she agreed. 

You sipped on your tea while she placed a bowl of warm soup in front of you and sat down. 

"You're not eating?" you asked and she shook her head. 

"I already had a bite when you were in the room and I want you to eat. I like watching you," she said. You giggled and started to cool down the soup on the soop before directing it to your mouth. 

"I wanted to suggest something," you said and she gave you that warm smile as she widened her eyes in excitement. 

You loved talking to her. To Bada, your voice was like the most satisfying thing. She could hear you talk for hours without saying a word. She would just look at you with those enchanting eyes and a dumish smile. 

"So, I know you've been crazy busy with work and everything else. We barely have time for a real date so I was thinking that you and I could go on a date tomorrow. We spend the morning going to our favorite places and just having fun. Then we can go to dance classes and and the day with a romantic dinner," you said as you pushed the soup to the side. You'd tell her about your illness during the dinner.

Her eyes lit up in excitement and you could feel yourself fall her all over again. She was more comforting than the smell of freshly brewed coffee in the morning. More loving than the sweet harmony of a love song. 

"That is a great idea, love. I'll make a reservation in our favorite restaurant. Why don't you go to rest?" She said and you nodded. You were urged to take a warm shower and get under the covers so you did. 

As you lay in bed, millions of thoughts circle your mind. You didn't even notice Bada enter the room, shower, and dry her hair. That was until she wrapped her arms around your torso pulling you into her warm embrace. 

"Sleep well, baby," she whispered into your ear. You smiled and let her warmth wrap you as you drifted off to sleep. 

-

The following morning you work up earlier than Bada. You took your meds and got ready for the day. She woke up right after you and changed into her clothes. Her outfit consisted of a pair of flowy pants and a cropped tank top. 

She wrapped her air into a bun and added a cap. She tied her sweater around her waist and added jewelry to finish her look. 

You put on your acid-washed jeans, a tank top, and a large pink zip-up hoodie. As you were both walking out of the house, she gave you a peck on the lips, knowing that she couldn't show that kind of affection in the streets of Seoul. 

You smiled and hugged her tightly. You two started going to her car and drove to a breakfast place. She ordered breakfast and then drove to the park from your first date. You two ate breakfast, took a walk, and played around on the slides and swings. 

Then, you went to the movies and watched your favorite rom-com. The day was filled with your laughs and giggles. Bada adored your smile. She said if she could fame it on every frame of the house she would. 

Lastly, you went to grab a bite before dance classes. You felt a bit tired and had a small headache. You saw Bada placing the order and she turned to you to flash you a small eyesmile. Your heart felt warm but the sudden action but then you remembered. 

Bada would have to live without you one day. One day not too far since you couldn't seem to care for your body. You started to tear up and bit your lip. A sad mood took over you and you started to forget how to breathe. You looked around and saw Bada rushing to you. 

"Y/N, what's wrong?" she said as she cupped your face. 

"Oh, no... it's nothing. I'm sorry. I was thinking about something sad," you said as you wiped your tears and smiled. 

"Are you sure?" she asked and you nodded. She walked back to the cashier and paid for the food. 

She didn't ask any further questions when you became the same bubbly person you always were. 

So you went to dance classes. By this time you felt completely exhausted but you brushed it off, knowing that you would get to go to a romantic dinner with your favorite person after all. you removed your hoodie and tried to warm up but your bones could not resist the pain. 

You sighed and stepped at the back. Bada's eyes seemed to be glued on you and you just flashed her a smile. She started teaching the routine and you followed it to the best of your ability. The class was almost over and by this time, your breathing was more hitched. 

You rested your hands on your knees and tried to breathe. The pain was killing you but you didn't want to cut your evening short. You thought you could resist but when you got back up, your vision became blurry and your body abruptly hit the floor. 

-

As your vision adjusted to the light in the room, you could hear a steady beep. 

'Not the hospital again,' you thought. 

You opened your eyes to find Bada holding your hand with a worried expression. Your eyes watered when you saw her and she shook her head. 

"It's okay. Please don't cry. It will all be alright," you said as you sat up. and kissed her hand. 

She nodded. The doctor came into the room. 

"I gave you stronger medicine but... you need to take better care, okay? You know this will get worse over time if you aren't doing what you're supposed to and taking your medicine at the right hours. I gave you some exercises you can do and your limitations," he handed you the sheet and you nodded. 

"Now, as for restrictions. Only one thirty minutes to an hour of dancing and no harsh workouts. You can go out for walks, not runs. Try to eat lots of green and bone broth. It's all in there. We want you to get better. You can get better but you need to follow my instructions. You can go now," The doctor said. You nodded and he left the room. 

Bada was sitting in the chair looking away. You could see a mixture of sadness and anger in her face. You felt bad for hiding this from her so you took her hand in yours and she turned to look at you. 

"What's going on, Y/N?" she asked with a broken voice. 

Your heart almost broke when you realized how much pain she was currently in. The amount of pain you caused her. Your eyes teared up to see her watery eyes. You had made her worry countless times before and you regretted everything. 

"I am sick. My bones are weak and I take medication. I have restrictions and such but I never follow them. Many doctors told me that there was no cure and that I should just enjoy my life to the fullest so I tried to but it was hard," you paused feeling your throat close up. 

"That was until I met you.  You looked as beautiful as ever. You were sweet and passionate about everything you did and, how could I not love you? I tried to push you away many times for fear that I might end up hurting you. All I wanted to do was spend my last days with you since I have no one else to live for. I love you. I am so sorry," you said as she wiped her tears away. 

"Please promise me that you will never hide things away from me. I want to be part of every single thing in your life. I want to care for you and cheer you up when you need it," she said. 

"But..." You were about to protest when she kissed your lips. 

"Promise me, please?" she said. You were so confused and your head was in the clouds due to that kiss that all you could do was nod with a shy smile. 

From that day on, Bada made sure to always take care of you. She limited your dance time but still made sure you had an amazing time while you were at the studio. She helped you with your workouts, made your favorite foods, and always ensured you had a shoulder to cry on. She made sure you were never, ever alone.

Thank you for reading🩵

[frownyalfred]

imagine marrying your best friend, the light of your life, and then you find out one day your soulmate — the person who truly gets you at a visceral level, whose voice is always in your ear, who seems to drag you toward them without saying anything at all — is someone else.

[number1jaymerrickhater]

If Tim died Jay would pick up smoking bc it reminded him of him send tweet

[cyberdragoninfinity]

Yugioh Rare Pair Week 2k24 (Belated) Day Four: Post Canon

a bit late with this one because i was getting bonkers with it 👍 chewing my leg off thinking too hard about postcanon denyuri, ESPECIALLY when yuri's still stuck in yuya's body

Youve changed so much and I havent at all and how dare you not despise me about it. How dare you still need me about it. How dare you miss me.

[jimjamgem]

Mobius is all of us.

[coqvttes]

congrats on 600!! <3

꒰ 🍓 ꒱ — 𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐌 : send me a song & character and i'll write a drabble !

motion sickness by phoebe bridgers with old man leon pretty please i love angst

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐓 hey pookie! thank u for the request! i love this song sm and leon angst is soooso good. although i feel like he’d treat u good fr. sorry if this is bad and sorry it took a while <3

nsfw : fem!reader, alcoholic!leon, angst, alcohol, older!leon, p in v.

"i hate you for what you did"

you could never forget his promise to you, his promise to care for you, to love you, to treat you good like you truly deserve. but instead, you endure countless nights of him shutting you out, only to seek comfort in a bottle of old whiskey. you hated him when he was like this, drunk with no control over his emotions or most importantly, his words.

the things he would say to you, it hurt you, it cut you and it made you cry when none of it was your fault. all you wanted was to make things better. but you can't help someone who doesn't want to be helped.

"and i miss you like a little kid"

you miss the feeling of being held in his strong arms that once vowed to protect you forever, but you were young then and you were naïve. you miss how he’d always be there to help when you needed him, when you felt down. you miss how he held you gently, when he’d kiss your neck to tease you, to draw out your pleasure—when he actually cared for your pleasure. you miss when the feeling of his lips against yours was passionate, when he touched you gently, when you made love. you miss how he’d crack dad jokes to make you laugh when you felt like crying, leon made you feel safe.

"i faked it every time"

you don’t even remember the last time leon made love to you. you don’t remember the last time he told you how much he loved you. instead he was busy, away on important business that he never cared to tell you about because he’d say you didn’t understand, because you were young? countless nights of him coming back to you, your bed, to apologize, to make it up to you, but it didn’t feel the same anymore, the love, the pleasure. he wasn’t the same man you fell in love with.

"but that's alright i can hardly feel anything,"

so that’s why you don’t say anything when he tells you he loves you as he bullies into your cunt. the feeling all too familiar. his breath hot against your cheek slightly as he whispers those words to you. that’s why you don’t kiss him back when he smashes his lips against yours fervently. that’s why you don’t look into those ocean eyes that once held so much love for you, instead, you stare up into the blankness of the ceiling, just like the blankness in your heart. that’s why you don’t stay when he asks you to.

"hardly feel anything at all…"

tears in your eyes and he halts his movements, plopping down beside you to doze off. you turn to your side and pull the duvet over you, now the only thing that makes you feel protected. tears spill down you cheeks as you snuggle into the pillow, now damp. that’s why you realize now, that you don’t miss him anymore, that you don’t feel anything anymore. those feelings you once had for him, blown away in the wind that holds all of his broken promises.

[hitlikehammers]

if you can’t write your own necronomicon, store-bought is fine 📔

(not ideal but: fine) — 1/3

for @klausinamarink, who prompted 'NECROMANCY' at the @steddiesummerexchange

Steve wants this clear, on-the-record, absolutely fucking crystal, okay?

It was not his intention to snoop through Eddie’s shit.

It’s not even a ‘respect for the dead’ thing. It’s just a ‘be a decent dude and don’t go through another dude’s personal stuff’ thing.

So like. Just to be clear.

It does not start out the way it…ends up.

——————

How it does start out is this notion that gets stuck in Steve’s head about the fucking gravestone they’re putting up. He hates the idea of it being installed over nothing, just plopped atop grass and dirt and just, just…nothing.

Almost like they’re saying Eddie was somehow nothing, and when the overall notion hits on that thought specifically Steve has this simultaneous urge to break a window and vomit, and it’s just, it’s not—

He needs to find a way to curb that feeling.

He hates it enough to mention it to the others, who don’t get it. At all. Maybe because it’s Steve, and they don’t think he knew Eddie enough to be this…this. Maybe because it’s Steve and that’s not Steve’s role, is it? Having the feelings. And if Steve was in a clearer frame of mind, maybe he’d be able to wonder if the people he’s asking just can’t handle what he’s asking, can’t process more of…any of it, not right now.

But he’s not. In a clearer frame of mind. He can’t process, either, beyond the kind of fucking all-consuming need to not bury nothing under Eddie Munson’s name.

So he buys a casket. Anonymously, uses his dad’s business card. Ships it to the place he knows is doing the stone, there’s really only one option in town and maybe they’ll be confused, or maybe they’ll be pissed, but Steve makes sure when it arrives that it sits on their doorstep, moves it in the night when it gets dropped after hours: unavoidable. Unignorable. Black on the outside and red on the inside, but Steve moves it all by himself and it’s still too light. It’s still empty. It’s not quite nothing.

But fuck if it’s enough.

The only two people he’s tried to broach the subject with—or who’ve heard him in the process—and who haven’t brushed him off are Robin, and that’s because she’s his soulmate, and they haven’t slept without one another in arm’s-reach at the absolute most since they lost—

Well. Since.

The second person is Eleven, and she’d just overheard Mike scoffing and Dustin blinking silently, and Steve had known when to leave a battle that couldn’t be won because it wasn’t even gonna be fought, but he had caught her with a crease between her eyes. Her face scrunched all thoughtful. Listening.

And if nothing else: not dismissing.

So when the idea strikes—not manic, it’s not a manic sort of idea, maybe it’s close, like in the ballpark of manic but hotdogs and millionaires are also in the same ballpark at the same time, y’know, and they’re nothing alike so fuck you—but when the not-manic idea strikes to put something, something that means something, that carries literal and figurative weight, inside that casket?

He tells Robin, who looks at him with sadness but not with pity, and who asks how they’ll manage it, rather than trying to talk him out of it. He’ll never get over how lucky he is to have her; never learn words that live up to how much she means to him.

But also: it’s good that all she does is ask how. Because Steve actually has that figured out.

He heads to Hop’s cabin when he knows both he and Joyce are gone. He explains in simple but plain terms, the kind he’s learning El appreciates best and processes easiest, especially when feelings are involved. And these feelings she grasps without hesitation, and fills in Steve’s vague ideas with concrete plans, and it takes less than twelve hours to see them at Forest Hills, where the government still hasn’t moved that goddamn trailer to give anyone any semblance of closure but definitely finds the time and manpower to put up new tape around the scene whenever it’s tampered with, fuck those motherfuckers all over again and—

Right. Well.

It takes less than twelve hours for El to distract the guards with a very minor fire on the other end of the park and some suspicious-sounding chittering she bets right on piquing their attention, giving Steve and Robin the in to sneak around the barriers and find their quarry: the version of the Warlock that never saw the Upside Down, knocked to the floor but in one piece. Weighty.

Something that means something, to mourn in the ground.

Robin’s peeking out the window, checking if the coast is clear for them to jet, for Eleven to ease off and meet them back at Steve’s car to go back to their evenings like nothing ever happened, save for the guitar in Steve’s trunk and at her signal Steve makes to follow with said guitar slung awkward across his back but then something…something pulls in him. It’s not even a catch from the corner of his eye or some shit, no, he feels it in the center of his chest:

What if it’s not enough?

So he grabs as many of the books scattered on the floor around a cracked and quaked-apart shelf in the corner as he can fit between both arms, all sorts and shapes and sizes, and then he’s ignoring Robin’s raised brow and crawling as quiet as he can back out of the trailer, out of the half crime scene, half quarantine zone, and running for the trees to get back to where they parked.

El’s waiting for them, and as he drives, honestly?

Steve thought he’d feel better about things, now. He thought this would start to calm that nauseous rage in him.

Maybe once it’s in the casket. Maybe once he feels the heft of it as a real thing.

Maybe.

——————

It would probably be logical to think that it’s the weight of the guitar that makes the shift, that turns the tides.

But that’d actually be a goddamn stupid thought because nothing about any of this—this town, what lies beneath it, the war they’re fighting the battle they lost, Steves fucking life now at large—none of it is logical, Jesus Christ. The guitar. What a fucking dumb idea.

Because it’s the books, of course.

It’s the goddamn books.

Because the guitar helps but it’s not enough. Steve tried his fucking hardest to lift Eddie’s body, had him in his arms but the gates were closing, the rope half-assed at too short after he’d cut Dustin off and with all of their wounds even Robin and Nancy—both with more upper body strength then you’d think—were basically fish in a fucking barrel and Steve was in worse shape but fuck if he didn’t get them out, get everyone out but—

He’d been the last, with Eddie. He’d felt the heft of that body, too cool against his chest but not cold, not yet—not dead weight, not dead weight, he was a person, he was this incredible person Steve was only just getting to know and he was, now he was—

No one had been unscathed to the point of being able to help Steve up. Steve had had the kind of shocking sort of clarity for being ready to stay with Eddie as the gate sizzled and narrowed, no man fucking left behind, right, but for the screaming growing ever more shrill for each failed attempt Steve made at holding Eddie different, at trying to get up and over the threshold together to no avail: he made the call the rest of them were screaming of him to make, despite the messiest fucking tears:

Leave him. He’s already gone. You’re not.

He knew how much Eddie weighed to carry, is the point. And the man was a lanky fucker with a little more build to him than first glance gave away but still: the guitar does barely half the work of filling the void.

Though the exact void Steve’s trying to fill might be…it might be more complicated than just the fucking casket not being empty.

But the casket does need more than just the instrument.

He sorts through the books he grabbed blindly; they all must at least be ones Eddie liked but…The Lord of the Rings. There are three of those, right? I feel like there are at least the three, and there are three right here that look so well loved they can’t not have meaning; Steve wanted to read them. He won’t be quick enough to read these copies, though, and that does feel like such a fucking loss, and that’s the point, isn’t it?

The grave can’t be empty. It can’t be meaningless. The marker’s meant to bear the loss.

They’re big, like, thick fucking books—one of about a hundred reasons why Steve hadn’t picked them up before. And no, he’s not…he’s not going to dwell on the why behind the way he lets his fingers flip the pages slow, stop here and there and drag the nail-tip across a line, a paragraph, wondering what some of the words mean, what Eddie would have thought of them, if he were here to ask—

There needs to be more weight. He shoves the trilogy to the side and grabs for…oh.

Oh, these are the…manual. Thingies.

For the dragon dungeons.

He lifts one, tests it: not as heavy. But there…there are a lot, and—

And Steve’s opening them too, flipping slow just the same: wondering. Wishing he could have a running commentary alongside that boundless energy even in the face of the end of the world, maybe because of the impending doom of the end of the goddamn world and Steve, walking shoulder to shoulder with him in those fucking death woods, he, it was, they—

“He was right,” Steve remarks, and realizes belatedly that it’s the first words he’s said to Robin where she’s flicking through a stack of books much quicker than him, clinical: all about the weight for the casket but Steve’s stuck on a page that takes him back to a conversation he heard only half of, the kids trying to catch Eddie up, trying to describe what they all call demogorgons and Eddie muttering under his breath about how that sounded absolutely fucking not like a demogorgon, and there a drawing right here, black and white and:

“They look nothing like they do in the game.”

Robin meets his gaze and still—somehow—her eyes are sad but they don’t pity him. Not yet, at least.

He’ll take it.

“Nothing in these is even really, like, connected,” Steve mumbles as he flips, flinches at the marked up pages on Vecna, Jesus fuck; “or workable,” he looks at the Mind Flayer and cringes, feels the urge to hide those pages from Robin even if she isn’t close, then decides to play it safe for probably irrational reasons and tosses the book to the side and grabs blindly for another one, oh cool, this looks like…spells and shit: “like, none of this looks apple,” Steve bites his lower lip, the word he’s looking for a little fuzzy when he’s scanning over the words on the page, because they’re, they’re not; “not even applicable, y’know, in reality,” but that’s vague, they’ve set foot in more than one reality, so does that even count as a caveat anymore but then, but then—and what they fuck is his heart pounding all of a sudden, he’s just sitting down, that’s not; but then;

“Or else, not for the Upside…”

His voice gives, peters out. His pulse is thick in his throat. He’s staring so hard at nonsense, at fantasy, at, at useless pretend things that won’t change anything, won’t fucking help, and why does it all hurt in his chest so fucking much and—

“Right?”

He looks up and Rob’s already got eyes on him. He can’t imagine how he looks. His vision’s a little…blurry, and it doesn’t even feel like it’s from tears, which…it does feel like it should be—but she might have crossed over to watching him with pity, now. He wouldn’t be able to tell.

But either way: Robin knows him, down to the cells. She knows the question he speaks out loud isn’t the question he’s asking. He’s not asking for reassurance, or confirmation. He’s not even asking her an opinion. He’s sure as shit not asking for permission.

Because he’s dizzy. His heart’s pounding, and he’s fucking dizzy, and it’s nonsense, it’s not real, it’s all a stupid game and the names don’t even match—

But. All of it was real. In some way, it was real.

It’s not an exact science, not a perfect match: it never was. But that wasn’t the point. It was a roadmap. It was a way to process the unfathomable enough to get from point A to point B.

And looking at the words on the page where his fingertip is drawing a long below: he can’t…not wonder. And if he’s already set on wondering, then fuck, fuck—the rage in his chest is easy, his heart doesn’t feel so squished and his might not sick up his lunch for the first time after trying to eat more than a peanut butter sandwich from the community hub. There’s something in this. It’s what he’s been searching for. He reads the words again, again, and again and yeah, they’re absurd, they’re absolutely insane:

RAISE DEAD

But maybe…maybe they’re a roadmap. Inexact but…but up to the task. What if.

They can’t not…try.

Steve will not live with himself if they don’t try.

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[ladyofthelake]

Okay court sorceror this should have had a happy ending that blah blah but what we were TRULY robbed of was seeing Arthur with his dog. Arthur Pendragon, puppy, playing with a puppy JUST IMAGINE

[static-brained]

" i am willing to die for you a million times if it means this ending would change . "

[viscerax]

Tim clutched his phone in shaky hands. It was hard to see the numbers he dialed through his tears. By some miraculous feat, he managed to dial the correct phone number, and the line rang as he pressed it to his ear. He wiped his tears and sniffed, trying to keep his composure. 

The line clicks, and his breath hitches for a moment, even though he knows what's going to happen. 

"The number you dialed is no longer in service. Goodbye." 

The dialogue Tim prepared himself for never came. Instead it was that automated voice. The one he knew would be coming soon. But it still hurt like a bullet wound to the stomach all the same. Tim pulled the phone away from his ear after the line went dead. The caller ID flashed at him, teasing him. He took a deep breath, before shutting his phone. He tried to keep calm, keep his cool like he would've wanted. 

That didn't last very long. He threw his phone in a short burst of anger, hitting and probably denting the wall. He wants to scream, but no words claw at his throat. Instead, it comes out as a hoarse, high pitched whining. Tim hides his face in his hands, and for probably the 5th time that day, cried until tears wouldn't come. 

[hermanunworthy]

and i tried to do the best that i could...

but try as i might, i couldn't bring myself to hold you.