#And I hope my past self is too

[timove]

If me from a year ago saw me now she wouldn't believe I'm actually her.

[hikaruchen]

You hem me in behind and before, and you lay your hand upon me. — Psalm 139:5

INPRNT

[iron-bullogna]

my durge Sanctus with Gale courtesy of @tadpole-apocalypse 💜

in my fic series Sanctus collects various books to try and rouse memories of his past life but struggles to read them due to his headaches so Gale selflessly volunteers to help

[flowercrowngods]

🤍🌷 @stevesbipanic and @the-winged-doe asked to see ugly unpolished unrefined words, soo—

cw & tags: past major character death, grief, attempted time-travel fix-it(s), eddie&robin besties || potential wip

Eddie takes a long drag of his cigarette, the biting hot smoke hitting the back of his throat and clawing its way into his lungs, going as deep as he allows and leaving a permanent mark that brings neither relief nor calmness tonight. His fingers shake where they’re pressed to his lips, but the rest of him is unmoving where he sits on the front porch of their new trailer. 

It’s quiet out here. It’s always quiet in Hawkins these days, the city a fucking ghosttown. 

And he knows it’s not because of the one they lost. He knows it’s not because of him. But still the emptiness is stark and the silence oppressivem more so than it ever has been. 

Everyone still looks for him, months later. Dustin still begins to speak, cutting himself off mid-sentence, and Robin still stands with enough space to either side, like she expects him to just show up and invade her space like the home he made for himself in there. 

And somewhere among all that is Eddie. With his very own history. Or, non-history, as it turns out. But history and non-history leave wounds alike, and the memories feel just as real. A small mercy, at the end of the day, for them to feel real when they’re all he has left anymore. 

He takes another drag, not quite exhaling before he obliterates the cigarette and fishes for a new one before the butt even hits the ground. 

Fumbling with the lighter in his pocket, he only gets as far as placing the butt between his lips before a hand snakes into his field of vision to snag it from his mouth. 

“Hey,” he complains halfheartedly but makes no attempt at getting it back, watching instead as Robin comes up to sit beside him, grimacing at the stink of tobacco that must be heavy around him. 

“You’re disgusting,” she says with no real heat behind her words.

Eddie shrugs, because yeah, sure. He’s been called worse things. Robin’s called him worse things. This is her being nice. Her complaininig about his incessant smoking is nothing new. What is new is what she does next, placing the cigarette between her own lips and reaching for the light he’s been holding in a loose grip since she arrived. 

She starts coughing immediately, pulling a face at the disgusting feeling of smoke in her lungs and tobacco on her tongue. But she keeps going. Eddie can only watch in surprise and mild horror. 

“These things’ll kill you,” he says then in an echo of her usual sentiment, aware that he sounds as bewildered as he feels. 

“Well,” Robin says, aiming for casual, but quickly interrupted by a wheeze and a cough that’s almost adorable. “Let them try.” 

Eddie huffs, a pale little smile lingering on his lips as he leans back against the stairs behind him, resting his weight on his forearm to watch her. There is something captivating about her. Eddie always wonders what it is, wants to study her forever. 

Maybe it’s only the lingering traces of Everything Steve Harrington that clings to her every breath, her every move, her every fucking cell, with how much he was a part of her and she of him. Maybe it’s their shared grief that has made Eddie fall a bit in love with her and with the way the moonlight catches in her hair and in the smoke wafting from her cigarette. 

But somehow he refuses to believe that all he loves about her is merely the memory of Steve. 

Robin, in turn, is kind enough to let him stare. Kind enough to let him find out what it is between them. If this friendship is more than a misguided projection of grief and mourning and trauma; more than co-dependence and the obsessive will to keep this one person in your life. This one person who understands. 

After a while of Robin just holding the cigarette between her fingers, becuase no matter how strong her will to self destruct, she never quite got it right with the smoking, Eddie snatches it back before it goes to waste completely. As if pulled in by a string attached to his hollowed out chest, Robin leans back and into him in one smooth motion. It’s too calculated, though, and Eddie can feel how much she sags once she doesn’t have to hold herself up anymore. 

He’ll hold her. It’s fine. She gets to rest if she wants to. God knows she needs it. 

The night is warm for mid-September, but still Robin shakes against him. Eddie holds her closer. 

Silence settles over them, and it’s not an easy one. Silence is never easy anymore, especially with them. He feels so deeply hollow that even the silence echoes in there, creating an ever-present, uncomfortable thrumming of apprehension and anxiety within him. A certain sense of doom, one that can’t quite decide if it’s only an echo itself. 

“I wanna stop time,” Robin says at last, the cigarette long dead between Eddie’s fingers, but he somehow can’t bring himself to flick it away. “I don’t want tomorrow.” 

I don’t ever want a new day. I don’t ever want another tomorrow. I just want Steve. 

They ring in his head still, another echo that only hollows him out further every time it reaches him — Robin, overcome with hysterical grief, screaming and crying, curled up on that hospital floor, her cries quieting down and making Eddie wish she would be loud again, because the quiet was what killed him. The quiet, the whispered words, the declarations that tomorrow could go fuck itself if it came without Steve made him wish, irrationally, desperately, that their roles were reversed. That he could have died and Steve could have lived, and Robin would never have to wish tomorrow never came. 

He’s not entirely sure if she remembers the words, too. If she even said them in this world. 

So he takes a deep breath, breathes away memories and non-histories, feels the heavy weight of his guitar pick hanging around his neck, resting on the scarred flesh of his chest, and tries not to think of the one string left on his acoustic guitar. Tries not to think of his one last attempt. One last try. 

“I know,” he tells her. “Me neither.” 

He peers over her head, lifting his left wrist to check his watch. Ten minutes until midnight. Ten minutes until Steve’s birthday. 

“It’s not tomorrow yet,” he tries lamely, and Robin huffs — the sound wet and bitter and hopeless, making Eddie’s eyes sting. 

“It’s always fucking tomorrow,” she rasps, her voice flat and wavering, and Eddie knows her well enough to know she’s about to cry. And she knows him well enough to do it. 

“I know,” he says again, and reaches for his necklace through his shirt. One more attempt. One more try. One more chance. His eyes burn. 

She turns to him after taking a moment to compose herself, peering up at him through her lashes. 

“Tell me again?” 

His heart falls, the tense apprehension vanishing from the air, bur quickly replaced by something a lot more heavy. Something that looks and smells and feels like grief. 

They both know he’ll do anything she asks. He can’t really bear saying not to her. And not about this, anyway — she’s the only one who knows. 

She’s the one who should have had the chance. 

“Which part?” he asks, holding a new cigarette out for her to light it. She does, and the both follow the flame of the lighter Robin always keeps in her pocket these days. 

She leans forward and takes a drag. Eddie lets her. 

“All of them.“

Eddie sighs, pain welling up inside him, and he closes his eyes against the night sky. “Robbie,” he pleads, but he doesn’t finish his plea. He’ll do it. He’ll do anything she asks. 

But before he starts recounting the tales of how he almost saved Steve Harrington, he finds himself saying something he never thought he’d tell her. 

“There’s one more.” The words hang in the air, and Robin doesn’t react. Has no idea what’s coming; what he’s about to tell her. The guitar pick is heavy on the necklace around his throat. “There’s one more try. One more chance. I’m… I have one more—“ 

He can’t even finish the sentence. Can’t bring himself to say it, lest it all be jinxed forever. He doesn’t want to hope. Wants to carry this weight for all eternity and never think about all those times he failed to save someone he was never meant to save at all. People like Eddie, they’re not made to save anyone. Hell, they can’t even save themselves. 

Steve was supposed to be the one doing the saving. 

And he did. God, he fucking did. But he was never supposed to— 

Cold fingers wrap around his own as Robin fits their hands together. 

“I hate you a little bit for telling me.” 

Eddie nods, trying to focus on the cold hand and the nicotine in his lungs, trying not to let panic and grief and guilt and the heavy weight of one more chance win. “I know.” 

“Hey, Eddie?” Robin says after a while, the silence stretching on, and it’s almost midnight now. “Can you— Would you do something for me?” 

He turns his head, flicking the butt of his cigarette out into the darkness beyond them. “What’s that?” 

“Don’t— Don’t try to, to save him. Don’t— Just… Just maybe, could you celebrate his birthday with him? Make sure he knows he’s… God, make sure he knows he’s loved? Last year, no one really made time on his birthday and we just moved it backwards but God, could you— It’s almost midnight, and—“ 

“Robbie,” Eddie interrupts her, his voice hoarse and wavering, his eyes burning with tears as he tugs her close and holds her to his chest. “You should go. Don’t you wanna…” 

But she’s shaking her head against him with a vehemence that can hardly be misunderstood. 

“No,” she cries, and it’s more of a sob than anything. “I think if I ever saw him again, I’d… I don’t know what I’d do. Burn the whole fucking world to the ground for him or some shit, I can’t— I’d probably just cry all the time and that wouldn’t be helpful, really.” There’s a weak, wet laugh that bubbles out of both of them, and Eddie’s wiping at Robin’s face, drying the tears and making way for new ones to fall. 

“I’d light a fire for you,” Eddie says, the same weak smile on his lips that Robin meets him with now. “Nineteen fucking fires, you hear me?” 

She laughs again, then buries her face in his neck in a way that never quite fit. In a way that Eddie always knew was supposed to be someone else’s neck. 

But he’s not here anymore. And Eddie can’t get him back. No matter how much he aches for it, no matter how much he learned over and over and over again how easy it is to love Steve Harrington and how hard, how fucking impossible it is to lose him. Over and over and over again. 

And to live without him. This one fucking time they all get. It’s not fair. 

And now Robin is asking him to go back one more time and make sure that Steve knows— That he knows. 

Somehow the thought of that feels nobler than any attempt to save him, to bring him back; to rewrite history from a lonely boy’s perspective and hope that no one else is reading along. 

It feels right, too. Fundamentally and suddenly, and with such an intensity that Eddie knows the decision has been made the second he started telling her. 

Still he hesitates. Robin’s sobs have calmed down, and Eddie’s hand finds its way into her hair. 

“Do you really mean it?” 

She nods.

He nods, too, but slower. Like he’s trying to sway himself. Which way, he doesn’t know. 

“Make him happy.” 

“Okay,” he decides after a while, feeling hollow and desperate, but feeling purpose burning underneath his skin again. “One last time.” 

He unwinds his arms from around her and heads inside to grab his acoustic guitar. The last remaining string, badly untuned because he never dared to touch it, stares back at him in both mockery and invitation. A dare. A chance. A promise. 

Outside, Robin is waiting for him, looking anxious. Eddie wants to hug her. He doesn’t, only tightens his grip around the guitar’s neck. 

“Listen, Eddie, if this is goodbye or something—“ 

“It’s a birthday party, Robsie,” he interrupts her, aiming for light, aiming for brave. “I’m coming back right here.” 

“I know,” she rushes to say, taking a step toward him and wringing her hands. It’s endearing. It’s genuine. Eddie really is a little in love with her. “But, y’know, you don’t mess with time, and I don’t know what all you already changed before and I don’t wanna know but… If this is goodbye, if something happens, I just wanna tell you that I’m gonna miss you. And that I think you’re really cool. And that Steve’s— he’s really missing out, okay. Okay?” 

Eddie breathes, taking in her words and letting them soak into his body, his every last fibre. 

“Okay,” he smiles. “Thank you. You’re… I’m kind of in love with you, Robin Buckley. So there had better be no change in the universe, ‘cause that would really suck.” 

They smile at each other, Eddie with his guitar and Robin with her lighter, and somehow this feels like a deja-vu. The antithesis to a moment forever burned into his memory.

Make him pay. 

Make him happy. 

Eddie tugs on his necklace and plays the string before he can think about it too hard; before he can decide otherwise. 

Distantly, he hears the church bells announcing midnight as the world around him fades. 

🤍 permanent tag list gang: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @cryptic-cryptid @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @puppy-steve @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 @madigoround @pukner @i-amthepizzaman @swimmingbirdrunningrock @hammity-hammer @stevesbipanic @bitchysunflower @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @awkwardgravity1 @devondespresso @bookworm0690 (lmk if you want on or off, for this story or permanently)

[d0d0-b0i]

eepy

[bacchuschucklefuck]

the never stop blowing up vhs is where cute twinks go to get harmed

[pain-is-too-tired]

One thing I don't think is talked enough about when it comes to a lot of the antagonist in the series, it's how a lot of them tend to dehumanize/see the demigods as much lesser than.

Not to say the gods don't, but not in the same way the antagonist do I feel like.

Khione(and her brothers) I think is one the most obvious examples to this, freezing and keeping the demigods as living statues is literally discussed hdgdg

Even with Midas, he literally keeps living golden statutes including his own daughter.

At least one of the Giants brings up keeping one of the demigods after they win iirc.

Being seen more like a possession or piece on a board is very common throughout the series. It's definitely obvious with Jason, who's seen as Juno's and Rome's. In a way both Jason and Leo are treated like attack dogs to both Hera and Gaea, it's just Jason's the one Hera could get to heel.

Yet Hera still let's them make connections and walk freely. And she cares enough to grieve when Jason dies. I mean the bar is in Tarturus at this point but hsgdg

Idk. Something is just a lot more unsettling with how the antagonist(like the giants and Khione) talk about the demigods. I think it because they pretty much are claiming demigods like war prises. Which goes back around to something I'm pretty sure I've mentioned before, but the comparison between old versus new. Because, yeah, the gods still stuck in many places, but there's certain aspects most of them had changed in.

For all the demigods that exist, most of them came from genuine connection between the god and mortal parent. There's multiple examples of gods even returning to have another kid with said mortal parent. Many gods seem to think fondly of the mortals they've been with(Aphrodite is outright concerned for Piper's father mental health if he found out about her. )

Not to say that didn't happen in the classics, but there seems to be more of that. Though could be because Rick didn't want to have anything too close to the other subjects in the books. But then he also has antagonist talk about keeping demigods in collections and literally human trafficking so gdgdg

But yeah, there seems to be less kids sired from less then healthy situations. And that also could be because Rick just didn't want to make modern versions of stuff like Achilles' orgins where Zeus had a guy wrestle Thetis down and marry her so her son wouldn't be too powerful. Or any of Zeus' children's origins really.

But the gods tend to have closer connections to mortals and demigods, both hades and Poseidon offer solace in their home to mortal lovers, and don't force it when they decline. Their interactions with mortals/ demigods are down to earth, they only appear to them in full form on Olympus with the other gods or in their realms.

The exception is probably Zeus, who hardly ever comes down from Olympus to talk to anyone.

But he's Zeus, so.

The antagonist however very much address the demigods in a way less down to earth. Making it much more known how powerful they are. Anytime they meet Khione outside her father's place? She's showing off her powers.

The Titans are always large, towering over the demigods. Kronos cares so little about demigods he doesn't even bat an eye when he knocks over his own off the bridge in tlo.

And as I mentioned, many times is idea of keeping demigods as war prises brought up. And that's not new in relation to Greek classics.

The Trojan War was a whole mess of taking women as war prises. Not just Helen being kidnapped but Chryseis,Briseis,Andromache-(honestly, any woman Agamemnon interacted with oh my gods-)

Even men were taken as slaves. It was a normality in war(at least Trojan War wise). If you weren't killed you were taken. Change is important point in each book, how much modern times views being a hero and finding yourself differ from before. How they can mend broken ties and be better then those before them. How they fight for others rather then themselves and pride.

Why the worst antagonist often fight for power, they manipulate and take. They want to be at the top of the world, to be noticed/worshipped. And they do anything to get there.

They see the war as gloryful and a way to reach the top. The demigods see it as trying to live another day. To protect those around them, even desperately trying to save others on the other side.

Idk why, just the whole thing interest me. I think it's also fun idea to explore in a sense.i mean I'm sure there's plenty of Kronos/Giants wins aus, but something about delving into the way that'll effect the survivors intriguing to me.

I think it kinda can be used as a metaphor? At least being looked down on. Feeling like you're being told to dance and entertain sometimes comes with being Neurodivergent. I mean heck, Jason is a walking example of learning to mask so hard you forget who you were underneath. Being dehumanized by those around you.

So something about the heroes fighting help others belong why the villains fight to possess and control everything to their liking feels about right for a series focused on those with disabilities

[the-oracle-of-the-lost]

i'm actually pretty far into my Picard-era Voyager reunion fic (about 6k out of.... probably 9k or so) but i'm a bit insecure about it because every other longer fic i've written has been a little more insightful & deeper whereas this feels too surface level for my tastes. like i enjoy writing it. and i'd enjoy it if i was just a reader rather than a writer. it's fun to catch up with these characters and figure out how their relationships have changed and write some banter but idk it's just not clicking the way my other recent published fics have.

[faaun]

procrastination is starting to have its consequences finally

[lieutenantselnia]

Imagine crawling under the Horned King's robe to cuddle with him ... It doesn't necessarily have to be a sexual situation (though it could possibly lead to that if you're both up to it - I mean does he even wear anything else underneath there?👀), but could also simply be a tender moment of both physical and emotional closeness.

Author's note: This was originally supposed to be an imagine at best or simply just me yelling out my thoughts about the Horned King, but somehow it kind of accidentally turned into a short story. Things you do at 5am I guess. This man probably has to much control over my mind at this point (not that I'm complaining).

The Horned King x Reader - Cuddling under his robe

It's cold this evening, though this is not something particularly unusual. The wind is howling around the walls of the castle, and you're snuggling a little closer to the Horned King as you're resting in your shared bed together. You feel his grip around your waist tighten ever so slightly, when suddenly an idea sparks up in your mind. Maybe there is an even better way to escape the cold than just pressing yourself up against him ...

He tilts his head, but doesn't say anything yet when you wriggle yourself out of his embrace and crawl towards the foot of the bed. You hesitate for a moment, but eventually decide to lift the hem of his robe.

"What are you doing, my dear?"

You can hear mild confusion in his voice, and stop in your motion for a moment, one of your hands pulling up the fabric a little while the other is resting on his calf.

"Just trying to escape the cold ..."

With that, you lean forwards and start crawling under the king's robe. The thick fabric holds off any light, so you let your hands follow the contours of his body as you move upwards, careful not to put your weight onto him in an uncomfortable way. You can feel a smile forming on your face as you finally stick your head through the collar - which luckily is wide enough to fit both of you.

"I thought it might be warmer underneath here, and I have to say that I'm not disappointed. But I also just wanted to be close to you ..."

The Horned King's gaze turns soft - over time you've learned to read his more subtle facial expressions - , and when you lean forwards a little to press a kiss onto his lipless mouth, you can feel him eagerly reciprocate the motion, to the best of his abilities at least. He lets out a content sigh as you rub your nose against his cheek and wraps his arms around you, resting his hands on your back. You allow your body to relax completely as you lay down on top of his own, and although he's not giving off any body warmth, you relish the feeling of being pressed up against his bare skin.

"This is perfect ..."

You mumble as you're nuzzling your face into his neck. Your eyelids are starting to get heavier as he gently rubs your back, and a yawn escapes you.

"Rest now, my dear."

Your king's soothing voice still reaches you as your consciousness starts to drift off into the shadows.

"Rest well. I will not be going anywhere right now ..."

[buttercup-art]

hey

[trekkiehood]

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[megumi-fm]

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[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

Just had my first psychiatrist appointment in like two years! Not to brag, but I improved on mental illness so much that I was upgraded from Bipolar 2 to Bipolar 1! 😎

[cuteniaarts]

Small drawing collection of my latest creation Emran as a teenager/freshly minted Air Acolyte, for my dear partner in unhinged OC shenanigans @katkastrofa, as promised <3

[rawliverandgoronspice]

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