#Luca Pane

[hardcore-gaming-101]

Shuujin e no Pert-em-Hru

Imagine being an 18 years old Japanese guy on a fun and relaxing group-vacationto Egypt with your friends. You studied and worked hard the whole year (ganbatte ne!) so your parents decided to award you with a flight ticket to the Pharaohs’ Land. But as you reach the Giza pyramid complex your exotic vacation very quickly turns into a nightmare when Professor Tsuchida, a leading Egyptologist, literally recruits you and your Japanese teammates as you were chilling on the steps of the notorious Great Pyramid, in order to go on an unauthorized expedition into the unknown lower levels of the complex, after discovering a secret passage together with his assistant Kouji Kuroe. That’s the premise of Shuujin e no Pert-em-Hru (“Peret em Heru: For the Prisoners”), a freeware RPG for the PC98 created using RPG Maker Dante 98 II, much like Corpse Party.

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[badmovieihave]

Bad movie I have I was a Teenage Zombie 1987

[fuctacles]

sports au!!!!!

Part 2

The booth was stuffy and smelled like it’s been forgotten for a decade. But the equipment was new and the glass pane was cleaned up, giving Eddie a clear view of the court.

“Is this a good moment to say I don’t know the rules?”

The coach, and his PE professor, looks one step away from murder.

“Just remember our team is wearing green.”

“Yes sir!”

The man squints at him with clear distrust so Eddie gives him his widest, purest smile.

“Good thing nobody’s listening to the campus radio.”

The joke’s on him; Eddie has garnered a lot of listeners over the past months. Listeners that he might lose after hosting a live sports event. 

“Don’t be too weird. I might send you someone to help with the rules so you don’t completely ruin it.” He pats Eddie on the shoulder, his palm so heavy it feels like he’s trying to pin him into the chair, before disappearing behind the door in the back. Seconds later he’s visible walking down the steps to his team.

Eddie looks at his watch. It’s going to be the longest four hours in his academic history. 

He turns to the concsole, frowns at the unfamiliar dials and switches and focuses on the ones he knows. Tunes everything to his best ability, takes a breath, and clears his throat before starting the broadcast.

“Hello, students of Indiana University! I know it’s a Friday night and you were hoping for some nice tunes to party to, but prepare your pillows for a nap instead because you’ll be listening to a football match. No, wait, basketball. I’m pretty sure. 

Anyway, dunno why you’d listen to a match instead of going to see it, but ya boy needs to pass PE this term so here we are. 

And here comes our team! The green ones. It’s greens against blues tonight, folks.”

“Tigers versus Roaches, actually.”

Eddie turns around and sees a tall boy enter his studio.

“First of all, who the fuck names their team Roaches. Second, we have an intruder in the studio.”

The boy extends his hand unfazed.

“I’m Lucas, your interpreter. Since I’m benching for the first half anyway.”

“Booo, I was just going to make up rules as I go. Now you’re gonna make it boring.”

But he shakes his hand anyway and lets Lucas sit on the chair next to him.

“Careful, I’m a dedicated listener. My friends too, you’d probably lose your whole audience.” He smirks. Eddie scoffs.

“I’ll let you know, tiger cub, that many people listen to Munson’s Midnight Metal Madness.”

“I meant the DnD show.”

Eddie looks at the boy, his neat haircut and team jersey.

“Really?”

“Yes, and I’d love to talk more about it later, but now let’s introduce my teammates.”

Eddie hands him the microphone to spit out names he’s never heard before and whatever their bearers' positions were. He hopes the coach doesn’t mind it. All Eddie could do was like, comment on their appearance. Which…

“Where did you get that one from? America’s poster boy catalog?”

He watches Lucas’s face twitch with the effort not to laugh.

“That’s Jason Carver. He’s vice-captain now and will take over the team once Steve graduates later this year.”

“Which one’s that?”

“He usually comes out last.”

Eddie asks about the important stuff - the team's average height and where Andy got his haircut. He looks over the group of young men appraisingly.

“You know what, if I knew y’all play in these funky white socks and guns out I might have gotten into sports commentary earlier.”

Lucas chuckles, but Eddie's on a roll. 

“Especially with such a great co-host, Lucas Sinclair! He’s not on the court yet but he’s being an invaluable source of lore in the studio. Don’t think I’d forget about you, man.” He nudges the younger student. “What’s your specialty on the team?”

“Well…” Lucas scratches his cheek sheepishly. “I’m probably the fastest and my throws are pretty good,” he admits. “Oh, that’s Steve!”

Eddie looks to the right, where a dude with Harrington on his jersey walks in, smiling wide to friends and families watching. 

“Damn, that’s some magnificent hair,” Eddie whistles.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what he’s known for. This hairdo lasts through the whole game, dunno how he does it.”

“He’s gotta give me some tips, because I look like a wet rat by the end of the day. And I don’t even do sports.”

“I’m pretty sure you look like a wet rat no matter the time of day.”

The jab was true but even if it wasn’t, Eddie had a more important thing to focus on right now. 

“Does your captain have a tattoo?” he asks, squinting through the window. He was pretty sure it was ink that was peeking from the bottom of Steve Harrington’s shorts, but it was so out of place on a college athlete, he needed a triple take and the ‘ask the audience’ lifeline to make sure.

“Yep. The coach says it makes him look like a criminal,” he snorts, showing what he thinks about it. “Steve said he regrets not getting it somewhere more visible so more people could see tattoos are not for criminals and rockstars only.”

“Your captain is a smart guy,” Eddie grins, almost sighing into it, to his utter horror. Just a glimpse of a hot guy from afar, a peek of a tattoo, and hearing of his liberal views was apparently enough to make his heart beat faster.

“The best I ever knew,” Lucas admits and it sounds like a Story, capital “s” and all. His next words confirm that. “Our friend group is planning matching tattoos and we are still talking him out of getting it above the neckline.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. 

“Sounds like a savage. I gotta meet your captain sometime soon.”

It’s at this point they notice the coach gesturing at them angrily and they get back to commenting on the game that’s about to start.

“Okay, so explain to me which laundry basket is ours…”

“Okay okay okay. So number four is a tank, yeah? He blocks the other players. Six is a rogue, who slips between the cracks. And number one, your captain, is a warrior who goes for the attack.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s like LARPing for normies,” Eddie realizes in awe and Lucas laughs so unexpectedly he starts to cough. 

“Sinclair! You’re in!”

They both jump at the sudden appearance of the coach. Lucas springs up from his seat.

“Yes sir!”

“It was a pleasure to host with you.” Eddie smiles at his new friend.

“You too. Catch you after the game?”

“Sure.” He smiles brightly, his head already swimming with ideas of how to fuck over Lucas’ future DnD character. Because playing together was inevitable, the dice were thrown, and the plot was in motion. 

Lucas passes by the coach who now turns his attention to Eddie.

“You’re doing good, don’t ruin it.” He looks in pain admitting that. “I might send someone else to help you out.”

“Thanks, coach.” Though Eddie doubts he’d be vibing so well with anyone else on the team.

Just five minutes later though, he’s proven wrong.

“Heard you’ve been curious about my tattoo?”

Eddie's so startled he knocks the microphone down and yanks out the cord in his haste to turn around. 

“Captain!” he yells like a dumbass, faced with the hair and boyishness of no one else but Steve Harrington. 

“Radio-man!” Steve yells back with a wide and teasing smile. “I’ve heard so much about you, man, you have no idea.” He steps closer. “My kids love your show.”

“Your kids?”

“My, uh, younger friends. I used to babysit them and it kinda stuck,” he admits with an awkward smile. Steve is nothing like the typical jock he’s come to expect and he’s everything Lucas advertised.

“That’s adorable, man.”

“Don’t laugh at me,” he pouts. He honest to god pouts.

“Not laughing!” Eddie raises his hands placatingly. “There’s nothing bad with a family-tight friend group.”

“Damn straight.” Steve smiles and sits on the chair vacated by Lucas. He eyes the microphone lying prone on the desk. “Technical difficulties?”

Eddie rushes to fix his equipment.

“You could say so,” he murmurs, trying to busy himself with the tangled cord. But a hand stops him before he can plug it in.

“We’re off the air now, right?”

Eddie looks over the control lights on the console.

“Yeah. Why?”

“You have beautiful eyes.”

“What?”

When Eddie woke up today, he knew his day would be weird. No day spent in a sports facility could be normal or pleasant. It was confirmed when he made a new friend with a member of the team, who was a listener of his DnD podcast. But the team captain hitting on him? That’s not your regular weird, that’s a bad strain of weed kind of weird.

“Lucas sent me over claiming a guy my type might be hiding here.”

It takes everything from Eddie not to take a look around. Logically, he knows there’s no one else in the booth. But his brain refuses to connect the dots. He licks his lips and cringes at the wet noise his mouth makes.

“What’s your type?”

Steve tilts his head and hums like he’s in thought.

“Weird, smartass nerd, as it turns out. With big brown eyes and great hair.”

“Uh, thank you?”

Steve only smiles at him, soft before it turns teasing.

“Wanna see my tattoo up close?” he offers. 

“Gosh, yes,” he admits with zero shame, eyes flitting down to the man’s legs. Was he curious about what type of tattoo a gorgeous sport-type guy would get? Yes. Did he want to ogle some hairy thighs? Also yes. It’s a two-in-one kind of deal.

The coach waves at them angrily to get back on the air, but Steve promises to tell him everything about S.S. Robin after the game. And no, Robin is just his best friend, Eddie doesn’t need to worry about her.

“In fact, wanna be my date to the after-party later? The kids will freak out when they meet you.”

How could Eddie say no to his fans' worship?

And to Steve’s hopeful eyes and the slight squeeze he gave his hand.

“Mingling with jocks in my free time?” Eddie turns his palm up to squeeze back. “Sure, let’s make this day even weirder.”

[courtingchaos]

Pacific Chorus Frog Eddie who has to live as a frog for a while for whatever reason and ribbits outside your window at night.

Lil warm up prompt that I’ve been hanging on to because it was adorable. Thank you stranger!

Eddie Munson x Reader

The warm candlelight flickering behind the warped window pane was almost foreign to him through these eyes, bulbous and spaced. He had a hard time finding your form through the glass and it made him all the more upset.

Not sad no. Frustrated? Angry?

Murderous, yes that was the feeling.

It coursed through his small body and made the sticky ends of his toes tingle and for a moment he feared he might fall. The rage burned and when he wanted to yell for you it came out in a croak. If this was anyone else in this situation he’d be laughing.

Near the fireplace he can see you cradling a cup, dark fingers wrapped around the worn wooden handle. The fire under your skin dances with the fire in the hearth and Eddie croaks again, incessant ribbits that echo off the trees behind. His call seems to wake up the local fauna and if he wasn’t polymorphed he might be able to understand their return call. Instead he keeps yelling with his new voice, climbing in circles around the thick glass, hoping you’ll finally take notice over the din of the tavern and come over to see.

He knows this won’t last long, this accidental shape, but the shame will. He can already hear the rest of the party laughing when he finally returns whole later tonight. A spell gone slightly awry and of course it would ricochet and hit him. The croak he lets out sounds almost human in its contempt but it has its intended effect. Your head swivels to the window and Eddie can see the glow of your eyes squinting in his direction.

A head tilt and a smile that tells him you have taken notice now, the curiosity always painted so clearly on your face. Your shape takes form now as you get up, side stepping a bench and avoiding stepping on someone’s rucksack. Excited ribbits trill fast when you lean down to look at him, his little webbed feet splaying wide as if you’ll understand it’s his best imitation of falling on his knees and begging for help.

“Well aren’t you a noisy little thing.” Your nail clinks on the glass and he can feel the vibration along his underbelly. Another loud croak and you smile, sharp fangs glinting in the dim light inside. “Are you lost or just lonely?”

Oh he can’t wait for this damned spell to be over. He has the sinking feeling finally that this could last longer than just tonight, especially with the misfire and the confusion and him running off. His sigh comes out in a tiny ribbit that seems to make you frown. He knows if Lucas or Dustin were here they’d be falling backwards into their laughter as they tried to translate to you, to tell you he’d done something stupid and to try not to judge him too harshly.

Just the thought of the younger party members sets his anger alight again and before he can begin his leaping across the pane something shifts. Like a snap in the connection between his brain and his body suddenly it feels like his consciousness is surrounded by something larger than him. Warmer and less sticky and definitely full of more anger. Ground catches up to him suddenly and his sense of self seems to slide back into place.

The window is full of faces now but your fire streaked one in the middle stands out to him, full of surprise. A muffled “Eddie?!” and he can feel his fingers again. Arms and chest and legs and feet and he runs his palms down the front of himself before he grabs his head to make sure it’s all back in place.

“Oh thank the Gods.” He’s breathless and thankful for a single second before that anger is back in place, his face set in stone as you come barreling out of the tavern.

“What the hell was that?!” You point at the window behind you where the pane of glass he’d been residing on is cracked. “What happened to you?”

He can hear the laugh on the back of your surprised concern. There’s your hand on the way to your mouth, ready to cover it as your grin starts to split your black lips. He kind of wants to laugh to, especially laid out on the wet grass with your mirth cast down on him, but he has a bone to pick first before he can.

“There’s a Wizard I need to viciously mock.”

[angelap3]

🌺🍃🍀🌹

“Lui è chi ha cantato Cristo in croce e ha dato i dieci comandamenti al commento di Tito, uno dei ladroni appesi.

Lui ha messo in musica un prigioniero che non voleva respirare la stessa aria dei secondini.

Lui cantava con voce di pozzo l'amore dei giorni perduti a rincorrere il vento.

Lui è chi ha tradotto Leonard Cohen, Georges Brassens, Bob Dylan in quell'impossibile, perfetta versione di "Avventura a Durango", capolavoro di trasferimento da una lingua a un'altra.

Lui è chi ha scritto che a morire di maggio ci vuole troppo coraggio, ha dato musica alla cattiva strada, ha squagliato la cioccolata dei dialetti, il genovese, il sardo, il napoletano dentro le ballate.

Lui è chi è stato legato a un palo dell'Hotel Supramonte dove ha visto la neve sopra un corpo di donna amato, addolcito di fame e ha ascoltato i racconti dei banditi e ha conosciuto una loro cura che nessun detenuto di questo Paese ha provato.

Lui è chi ha perdonato con gratitudine.

Lui è chi ha visto al collo di Teresa una lametta vecchia di cent'anni, lui sa che il dolore di Franziska taglia più di un coltello di Spagna. E sa il bosco dove Sally arrivò con il tamburello e sa il bisturi che corregge il sesso di Princesa, e la ragazza che si versa un cucchiaio di mimosa nell'imbuto di un polsino slacciato.

Lui è chi ha dato cantico ai drogati perché chiedessero: "e chi, chi sarà mai / il buttafuori del sole / chi lo spinge ogni giorno / sulla scena alla prime ore".

Lui è chi ha suonato i pensieri dei suicidi, il nasone di Carlo Martello, le fregole di un vecchio professore e la più concreta offerta di un paradiso, in vendita a via del Campo.

Lui è chi ha messo un giudice nelle mani esageratamente affettuose di un gorilla e ha lasciato che un pescatore sfamasse un assassino, e tacesse ai carabinieri.

Lui è chi cantò le lapidi di Spoon River dove Jones il suonatore mai rivolse pensiero al denaro, all'amore, al cielo.

Lui è chi ha voluto bene ai cuccioli del maggio che poi avrebbero azzannato i garretti dei potenti e avrebbero stabilito il record di carcere di una generazione italiana. Invano avvertiva gli altri: "per quanto voi vi crediate assolti / siete lo stesso coinvolti". Invano, perché gli altri si sono sempre assolti, da soli e definitivamente. Coinvolti restano solo lui, i caduti e i prigionieri senza fine. Sì, è stato il più grande, non solo per iscritto e in canto, ma per carattere, per dirittura d'urto contro la macchina luccicante di successo e carriera.

Lui solfeggiava con gli sconfitti, sbriciolava il loro pane ai passeri.

Dopo di lui la specie dei selvatici si è estinta. C'è il gran bazar degli ammansiti.

Non l'ho nominato, solo enumerato. Chi ha bisogno di guardare il suo nome, ha perso tempo a leggere fin qua.

Erri De Luca. ❤

[vintagebiker43]

Lui è chi ha cantato Cristo in croce e ha dato i dieci comandamenti al commento di Tito, uno dei ladroni appesi. Lui ha messo in musica un prigioniero che non voleva respirare la stessa aria dei secondini. Lui cantava con voce di pozzo l'amore dei giorni perduti a rincorrere il vento. Lui è chi ha tradotto Leonard Cohen, Georges Brassens, Bob Dylan in quell'impossibile, perfetta versione di "Avventura a Durango", capolavoro di trasferimento da una lingua a un'altra. Lui è chi ha scritto che a morire di maggio ci vuole troppo coraggio, ha dato musica alla cattiva strada, ha squagliato la cioccolata dei dialetti, il genovese, il sardo, il napoletano dentro le ballate. Lui è chi è stato legato a un palo dell'Hotel Supramonte dove ha visto la neve sopra un corpo di donna amato, addolcito di fame e ha ascoltato i racconti dei banditi e ha conosciuto una loro cura che nessun detenuto di questo Paese ha provato. Lui è chi ha perdonato con gratitudine. Lui è chi ha visto al collo di Teresa una lametta vecchia di cent'anni, lui sa che il dolore di Franziska taglia più di un coltello di Spagna. E sa il bosco dove Sally arrivò con il tamburello e sa il bisturi che corregge il sesso di Princesa, e la ragazza che si versa un cucchiaio di mimosa nell'imbuto di un polsino slacciato. Lui è chi ha dato cantico ai drogati perché chiedessero: "e chi, chi sarà mai / il buttafuori del sole / chi lo spinge ogni giorno / sulla scena alla prime ore". Lui è chi ha suonato i pensieri dei suicidi, il nasone di Carlo Martello, le fregole di un vecchio professore e la più concreta offerta di un paradiso, in vendita a via del Campo. Lui è chi ha messo un giudice nelle mani esageratamente affettuose di un gorilla e ha lasciato che un pescatore sfamasse un assassino, e tacesse ai carabinieri. Lui è chi cantò le lapidi di Spoon River dove Jones il suonatore mai rivolse pensiero al denaro, all'amore, al cielo. Lui è chi ha voluto bene ai cuccioli del maggio che poi avrebbero azzannato i garretti dei potenti e avrebbero stabilito il record di carcere di una generazione italiana. Invano avvertiva gli altri: "per quanto voi vi crediate assolti / siete lo stesso coinvolti". Invano, perché gli altri si sono sempre assolti, da soli e definitivamente. Coinvolti restano solo lui, i caduti e i prigionieri senza fine. Sì, è stato il più grande, non solo per iscritto e in canto, ma per carattere, per dirittura d'urto contro la macchina luccicante di successo e carriera. Lui solfeggiava con gli sconfitti, sbriciolava il loro pane ai passeri. Dopo di lui la specie dei selvatici si è estinta. C'è il gran bazar degli ammansiti. Non l'ho nominato, solo enumerato. Chi ha bisogno di guardare il suo nome, ha perso tempo a leggere fin qua.

Erri De Luca 

[twothpaste]

fic snippet featuring lucas & porky & the profound disillusionment of realizing you're never gonna get through to a motherfucker 😔

It laid, back then, a hundred n' fifty some-odd feet from the shoreline. No walkways of wood nor metal carved the path. If an audience with the king was what you sought, you'd have to rough it to his throne. Through the soggy stench of rotting cardboard. Drenched facades melting, squelching, and pooling at your heels. Traverse his skyscraper's serpentine spine. Either atop its precarious columns, or beneath its ribcage archways. Today, the big stupid spikes with which he'd adorned the sides've since been weathered away to moundish stumps. In 2 ADD, though? They'd formed a sharklike jaw line in the treacherous muck. Dentition to rival the Dragon's own.

She soared high. Black streak on a gray blanket. Wouldda blotted out the sun with her wings, if it'd been up there to begin with. Even back then, New Pork's desolation had a notorious propensity for overcast weather. Lucas had to wonder whether that was her doing, too.

Lord of the Rings wouldn't make it into his repertoire for a long while. Leder's library had yet to scavenge any copies. The Hobbit, however, was a White Ship stowaway. The old judge kept it in a secret stash, with the rest of the survivors' forsaken tomes. Lucas'd been the first to read it, once the locks were finally broken. He couldn't help but think of it. Here of all places. Stony imagery of a lost mountain kingdom. A darker dragon, hoarding ill-gotten gains. How small he felt. How bitterly humble. To traverse these halls.

The Absolutely Safe Capsule didn't sit atop a gilded pile. Just purple-gray rubble. N' acid rain puddles. N' concrete.

A broad, hungry, window-bound smile greeted him. Upon his arrival.

Lucas didn't humor it with any of his usual salutations. Not even a glance. Just trudged right past the pane, and seated himself upon a closely-nestled boulder. He remembers his chewed nails clawing against the harsh, clammy surface.

"Y'know, Lucas," Porky purred. With no particular forward. Whether the king thought his visitor's silence haughty, amusing - or perhaps even infuriating - he didn't bother to say so. "I've been thinking," he simply announced. Craning his miserable neck, right up to the glass, as if tryin' to catch whatever delightful pout or scowl might grace the hero's dumb, pimply face.

"I bet," said Lucas. Flat as a burnt flapjack. That made Porky grin, too.

"It's sort of funny. Hilarious, even. That your so-called new society's here, to salvage my city."

This came about as outta left field to Lucas as it probably does to you. Which is to say, hardly. Weren't never really conversations, to be had with Porky. Whatever happened to be on his mind, he'd barf it right onto your sneakers. Then glance at you, expectantly, almost innocently. Like he was awfully eager to watch you clean it up.

"My city," he repeated. With a cough. "Which, as you know, I modeled oh-so-painstakingly after our old world."

Lucas turned those slatey eyes of his toward the Capsule. But held his tongue. Again - you can call it patience.

"It's almost as if nothing starts from the ground up. You're always recycling something rotten. Always on the shoulders of man-eating giants. Even if you try to pretend otherwise."

"Yep," Lucas contended. Gray as the rock he perched on. "That's the idea. We're learnin' from the past. Y'couldda stood to do the same."

Porky's prison emitted a raucous cackle. If Lucas were still looking, he'd've seen a curled lip. A snarling smirk.

"Oh. I learned plenty, my friend."

To sigh would be to appease him. Spoiling a bad dog.

"I don't really get why you won't apologize," Lucas mused, instead. "Why y'won't even fake it. There's folks who'd fall for it."

(He prob'ly would've. He thought. Up until three days prior. He'd decline to add that, though. Let Porky guess it for himself.)

"Heh. What can I say? I'm an honest guy. Much more honest than you cheating, stealing, hypocritical hicks give me credit for. Besides -- Agh..! Haahhck…!"

Porky's bone-popping shrug was cut short by a trademark wheezing fit. Lucas waited. Nails grating.

"Ah.. Hagh… Besides.. Little ol' Porky Minch's got nothing to apologize for, anyways. All I've done is reveal the cold, hard truth. Taught you sorry lot a thing'r two 'bout human nature." His royal highness dipped into a mockery of the peasants' lowly drawl. Before extending one hand, to count his points on his wretched fingers. "Uncertainty, control, anger. Frailty. Self-destruction. That's always been the long n' short of it. N' always will be."

"Agree to disagree," Lucas maintained. His low, crackly, teenaged timbre shifting an inch closer to a growling grumble. Porky ate it up. When you've been stuck in an oversized baseball for two years, you tend to develop a ravenous craving for the smallest of crumbs.

"Fine by me. Your descendants'll realize I was right all along. Even if you're too proud to accept it."

"My mom always used to say somethin' 'bout pots n' kettles."

"Ha. So, you admit you're the kettle."

"I'm more of a skillet, I reckon."

"Well, ain't that goddamn charmin'? My mom bashed me over the head with one of those, once. I ever tell ya that story?"

"Y'didn't. M'sorry to hear that."

A snort.

"No you're not."

In lieu of an answer, Lucas could only stare. Impasse was a recent addition to his vocabulary. He'd read it in one of Leder's books. He traced its edges, in his mind's eye. Chewed it, silently, between his tongue and teeth.

[morganski-19]

I Think Your House is Haunted

@bylerween2023, prompt: Haunted House, rating: T

Mike remembers the first time he went over to Will’s house. They were seven and Nancy was having friends over, so he couldn’t invite over Will. Instead, he went over to Will’s. His house felt weird, but that was probably just because he wasn’t there a lot. It wasn’t until later that night he figured out why. 

Late at night is when the secrets of the house are whispered through the walls. It’s when parents have whisper arguments that turn into screaming matches. It’s when your best friend in the whole world covers his ears, squeezing his eyes shut hoping to escape it to the noise. It’s when big brothers turn on the music so loud you forget what’s going on around you, even if it’s just for a little bit. 

Ever since that night, Mike didn’t stay over at Will’s that much. Instead, he begged his mom to have a sleepover with Will in the basement. Promising to clean it up the day before and after. Do a few extra chores and take out the garbage every week. Anything to get Will out of that house, just for one night. 

They were seven, but that didn’t mean Mike couldn’t understand that houses could be haunted by something other than ghosts. He saw it in the way Will acted when his dad left their family behind. Words that cut deeper than they should, actions that made him jump. Will was perfectly safe except for the ghosts that were left behind. 

Mike was seven when he promised to protect Will from haunted houses and the ghosts that followed. He might have failed a few times down the line but that didn’t stop him from trying. Not even now. 

Now things were different. They were older, over double the age when Mike made that promise. He still kept it as best he could, but he couldn’t stop himself from slipping every once in a while. Sometimes he forgets that Will has to be protected from himself and not just other people. The things he says and the way he acts can hurt Will too. But he’s better at it now, especially since Will means so much more to him than he did back then. 

“Mike, you can not already be scared, we haven’t even walked into the house yet,” Dustin teases next to him. 

Mike blinks out of the stare at the house in front of them, the haunting view still looking back at him. “What, no. Why would I be scared?”

“Cause you’ve been standing there looking at it for like five minutes now,” Max points out. 

“You know you don’t have to go in there if you don’t want to, man,” Lucas says. 

Mike swallows, still looking at the house. Dark windows with spiderwebs hanging from the panes, fake spiders, and skeletons decorating the walls and the yard. Flashing lights of various colors emit from cracks in the doors and walls. A haunting laugh that vibrates the house with each guest that enters. 

He knows it’s fake, it’s the same thing every year. A house that is constructed to scare, filled to the brim with fake monsters and fears. It’s far less scary than anything that he’s seen that was real, but that didn’t make him not want to do this any less. 

“No, you guys want to do it, so I’ll do it,” he says, finally breaking his gaze with the house. 

“Great, then let’s get going,” Dustin says, already walking toward the house. “Can’t keep waiting for whimps to get the nerve to do it.”

Lucas smacks his arm. “Dude.” Max and El snicker beside them.

“What, it’s true.”

The group walks away to the line in front of the house, leaving Mike where he stood. He takes a deep breath, clenching his fists. Preparing himself for the fear that is about to rush through his body with every turn, every jump. Every horror that was carefully crafted to scare people or give them a good laugh, but will inadvertently haunt him more than they realize. 

“You know you really don’t have to go in,” Will says softly next to him. “We could just go do something else.”

Mike looks at Will, seeing the person he’s tried so hard to protect. “That’s not fair, you want to go in, so I’ll go in.”

“Mike, you’re scared. You don’t have to go in.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not scared. I’m fine really, let’s just go catch up with them.”

Truth is, he’s terrified. But he can’t let Will know that, can’t let his fear show. He’s not supposed to be scared. He’s supposed to be the first one on the frontlines, shielding everyone behind him from harm. Especially Will. Always Will. It was the promise he made when they were just little kids and a promise that he still keeps to this day. It’s always him in front of Will, even if the scares are fake. 

Will has already been through so much that was out of Mike’s control. Being kidnapped, possessed, and moving across the country. There was nothing that Mike could do, but he still blames himself. If he had just had his mom drive him back that night, nothing would have happened. Or even just convince her to let him stay over, it’s not like it never worked before. But he didn’t, he let the guise of safety lapse his judgment, and now Will has seen terrors beyond either of their imaginations. 

The worst day of Mike’s life was the day that he saw the fake Will body get pulled out of the quarry, because that was the day he realized he failed. Broke the promise so secret that he never told it to anyone else. His best friend was dead, and he couldn’t help but blame himself. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t matter. His entire purpose for five years was to protect the boy he cared so much about, and now that boy was dead. 

Even though he really wasn’t. Will was brought back, healed. He was alive. He never was really the same though. There was always something gone that could never be returned. A part of his friend died that day, and both Will and Mike had to learn to move on from that. 

Sometimes Mike thinks he never really did.

When they get to the front of the line, Mike feels Will hook a finger around his, subtle enough that no one will notice, but just enough to comfort him. “You know you really don’t have to do this,” he whispers. 

“It’s fine really,” he says with a squeeze to Will’s finger. 

“Ok, if you say so.”

With that, Mike steps foot into the house. It’s almost immediately terrible. Loud noises and bright flashing lights. Blinking slow enough that you still feel trapped in the dark but fast enough that you don’t walk into a wall. Creatures, which he knows are just people dressed up but that doesn’t matter, jumping out behind corners and chasing you down the hallway. Laughter and screams melding into one big nightmare. 

Except this nightmare he actually chose to be a part of. He had every chance to walk out. Turned around before he entered and just dealt with the stares and jeers that he was a wimp who wasn’t man enough to go through with it. He’s faced monsters the average person would never dream of seeing, so why can’t he just suck this up this one time to make Will happy.

As they turn the corner, a guy in a bloody mask and chainsaw scares them, faking sawing off another person’s arm while maniacally laughing. Will starts to laugh, pointing out how unreal it all is, reveling in the fake scare. Mike, however, grabs onto Will’s hand, squeezing it tighter than he would ever admit. But he doesn’t say anything when they pass one of the emergency exits, because Will’s enjoying it and he has to be there too. 

All Mike has ever wanted was for Will to be happy. While his judgment may have been skewed a bit more than he realized, it’s true. When he messed up, he had the gnawing feeling in his chest that would only go away until he fixed it, until he made Will smile again. It drew him in, like a moth to the flame. For the longest time he didn’t know why, but that never mattered. Until it did. 

That’s what led them here, to this. To dating his best friend and still feeling the overwhelming pressure to make sure that nothing ever happened to him. Now Will means more than he did before, but it really doesn’t at the same time. But now Mike would lose a boyfriend and a best friend all at the same time. He barely makes it past losing his best friend, he can’t lose the person he loves again. Never again. 

So he insisted on going into the house because Will wanted to. Because even though he knows that all the scares are fake and that Will would be fine going in with the rest of their friends without him, he couldn’t let that happen. Will would be in a place, out of his sight, that is so eerily close to the real horrors they went through. Bad things happened when Mike let Will out of his sight, and that wasn’t going to happen this time. Even if the rooms feel smaller than they should and the noise is buzzing around his skull. Will is here and alive, having fun. Mike can’t ruin that by being scared. 

It’s the last hallway, he only knows that because Will tells him. Tells him he just has one more hallway to get through before they leave. Both of his hands grip Will’s arm, and he can’t get them to stop. All he can think is wrong. This is wrong. He’s not supposed to act like this. He’s in the wrong spot, they’re both not supposed to be scared. That way if Will got scared, he could comfort him. If they were both scared, how was Mike supposed to comfort Will?

But there was only one last hallway to get through, so he could do it. Until that hallway starts to flicker the lights like crazy. Will and Mike’s eyes meet in fear, both all too knowing what those lights mean. Behind them, something roars. Turning, they see a man dressed in a very poorly made skin-tight outfit and a mask with only a mouth as its face. It’s nowhere near as similar, but just similar enough for shivers to be sent down Mike’s spine. 

Will reaches up to the back of his neck, almost trying to determine if what they’re seeing is real or not. Though the fear never leaves his eyes, he turns and says it’s all fake. To hell with fake. As far as Mike’s concerned, this is his worst nightmare, and he lets Will relive it. 

The creature, because it’s morphed far from just being a man in a costume in Mike’s mind, starts running after the group, leading them to the outside door. Mike grabs Will’s hand, tugging him in front of the group to the sweet relief and safety of the outdoors. Will runs alongside him, panting and turning his head back every so often to look and see if it’s still following them. It’s instinct, habit at this point. 

Even after passing through the door and back into the night illuminated by the streetlights and booth attractions, Mike doesn’t stop running. To him, the lights are all flashing and the monster is real. He’s come back for Will and he can’t let go. Can’t stop running. He keeps pulling Will with him, their fingers interlocked. Will’s calling to him, but he can’t hear it. Can’t hear anything other than the screams of his friends and the disgusting screech of the demogorgon. 

He’s back in the classroom where El disappeared. Back in the tunnels and the mall. Everywhere those creatures were chasing him, chasing Will, and he couldn’t leave. Won’t leave until he knows that he and Will are safe. Not until Will is safe. 

It isn’t until they’re deep into the woods that the clouds covering his vision start to fade. Where his legs start to slow down and the ringing in his ears stops. He can hear Will calling for him to stop, telling him to calm down, that it was all fake. Letting go of Will’s hand, he falls to the ground and leans against a tree, breath stuttering as his heart frantically keeps beating. 

“Mike, Mike,” Will comes into frame, crouching down in front of Mike and cupping his face. “Mike, are you ok?”

In an instant, Mike is back on again. “Am I ok? Are you ok?” Mike grabs Will’s face, frantically jolting it around looking for injuries. Grabbing his arms next and doing the same. “I-. I didn’t know it was going to be there. You look fine, it didn’t get you. I’m sorry, we should have never gone into that stupid house-.” 

“Mike, look at me.”

He does, swallowing as his heart thumps in his ears. Before realizing it, tears start to stream out of his eyes, blurring his vision again. “I’m sorry,” is all he says before he crumbles. 

“The hell are you sorry for, Mike? There was no way you could have known they thought of a creature like that. Probably because of the whole Hellfire thing that happened in the spring. But we’re ok, it was all fake.”

“But what if it wasn’t.” Mike looks up at him with pleading eyes. “What if it wasn’t and I lead you straight into a trap. You’d be hurt again and it’d all be my fault. It’s always my-.”

A mix between his sobs and Will pulling him into a hug cut him off. “Nothing about this was your fault. Nothing about anything was your fault.”

“But it was. I failed.”

“Failed what?” Will says, impossibly soft. 

“To protect you. I broke my promise.”

Will shushes him while running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you didn’t break anything. Just calm down, ok? Just calm down and you can tell me what you mean.”

Mike pulls Will closer, gripping him tight enough that he can hear his heartbeat. His steady, healthy, unaffected heartbeat. A heartbeat meant life, Will was ok. Mike’ll be ok. Ba-dum. He breathes in. Ba-dum. He breathes out. With each beat, his breathing calms, and his mind slows down. The tears don’t stop, but slow from a steady stream to a drizzle. 

When he emerges from the hug, Will wipes the tears from his cheeks, pressing a kiss to Mike’s forehead. Mike closes his eyes, relishing in the moment he almost didn’t have. If things had gone differently, if he had taken a misstep, Will wouldn’t be here in front of him. That constant fear, constant regret weighs on Mike’s soul, only evident by this moment. 

“Can you tell me what happened now?” Will asks softly, tucking a piece of hair behind Mike’s ear. “Or do you need more time?”

“How are you not terrified?”

“Who says I’m not? Definitely not as scared as you. But after the initial shock, I could tell it was fake.”

The absurdity of that statement shook Mike. “But that was a recreation of one of the most terrifying moments of your life. And it literally chased you down a hallway. How can you not be terrified by that?”

“I was until we left the building. But while we were running, I did what Jonathan would walk me through when I would wake up from a nightmare or have a panic attack. I named five things around me that were different from the upside down and it calmed me down. And you kept running, so I guess my concern of that took over more than the fear.”

“Ugh, this sucks.”

“I mean, yeah. Really didn’t need that flashback-”

“No I mean, I was supposed to be you.”

Will blinks at him blankly. “What?”

“I’m supposed to be the one that the concern takes over and that’s all I can think about. I protect you, always. And tonight,” he plays with the grass, avoiding Will’s eye contact, “I failed.”

“You didn’t fail. It’s not up to you to protect me.”

“But it is. I made a promise to protect you and I’ve already broken it too many times and I promised myself I wouldn’t break it again, but here we are.”

“Hey, you didn’t fail. I’m stronger now, I can take care of myself. We can look after each other now.”

Mike huffs. “But that’s not the point. The whole point is I look after you. You’ve gone through so much and you didn’t deserve a single bit of it. I couldn’t protect you a lot then, but I can now. So I promised-”

“Yeah, you keep saying that but I don’t remember doing much promising.”

“I sort of made it, to myself. The first time I stayed over at your house when your dad was still there.”

Will’s eyes soften with understanding. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Ever since then, I promised myself that I would do anything to protect you. And then the upside down happened and I’ve been failing ever since. But, but then you became much more than a friend. A lot more. You became something I never even knew was possible and I started caring for you in a whole different way. I just wanted to keep being the one to protect you, and I couldn’t.”

“Well, you did kinda. You brought us away from the danger, even if it was fake. But still, we’re pretty far from the house now, and we’re ok. We’re safe.”

Mike laughs. “I guess we are.”

“Is this why you went into the house? I know you didn’t want to”

“Yeah, I had to protect you.”

Will exaggeratedly rolls his eyes. “It was all sweet and stuff before but you do know that I can take care of myself right. Hell, I could probably protect you more than you could protect me.”

“How dare you,” Mike gasps. “Bring my past trauma up all over again will you.”

“What, it’s true,” Will smiles. 

Mike smiles back, the pounding of his heart now subsides as he looks at his boyfriend. Alive and fine. He looks around, making sure no one is there even though they’re in the middle of the woods probably a mile from the fair, before cupping Will’s face and bringing him into a kiss. 

“How about we make a new promise, an actual one this time,” Will whispers when they break apart. 

“And what would that one be?”

“That we protect each other. Not one more than the other. Both of us looking out for each other, equally.”

Mike rolls his eyes. “I think I can deal with that.”

“Good, Because now that I know you’ve been harboring this one-sided promise, I’m going to make sure that you are looked after. You know, during every horror movie, haunted house, weird floorboard creek.”

“Yeah, go ahead. I’m a wimp, I get it.”

Will gapes. “You are not a wimp. You are very strong. And brave. Just not all the time.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go ahead make fun-”

“I was not making fun.”

“There you guys are,” Lucas’s voice calls out from where they came from. “We were looking for you.”

Dustin pops into view after fighting with a tree branch. “Some house that was. It was so lousy until that freak demogorgon came at us.”

“How did they know what it looked like,” El asks.

“Probably a DnD book,” Max adds. 

Their voices fade into the background as Mike and Will look at each other again. Will stands, extending a hand out to Mike. Taking it, he stands wiping off any stray dirt on his pants. The group walks back to the fair, arguing about which scare, other than the obvious, was the best in the house and how it wasn’t that great overall. But Mike could care less right now. Because his hand was in Will’s and that’s all that matters. They would look out for each other, which he guesses they were probably doing all along. He was just too distracted to notice it. 

[ambrenoir]

IL DOPO

QUANDO PIU' NON SARO'

SARO' PIOGGIA CHE SCENDE DAL CIELO

SARO' ERBA CHE CRESCE NEL PRATO.

QUANDO PIU' NON SARO'

SARO' NOCCIOLO DELLA CILIEGIA

SARO' LEGNA CHE BRUCIA NEL FUOCO.

QUANDO PIU' NON SARO'

SARO' PANE APPENA SFORNATO

SARO' NUVOLA NEL CIELO STELLATO.

SE QUALCUNO SI RICORDERA' DI ME

QUANDO PIU' NON SARO'

VORRA' DIRE..... CHE SARO' STATO.

Luca Lotti

[magicalmysteries777]

The Bloody-Handed and The Anguish of Loving Them - Chapter 3.

Summary: Almost a year has passed since Eddie Munson died and it feels like the only person that isn't moving on is Steve.

After spending the night studying a Dungeons and Dragons handbook, Steve is convinced he's figured out how to bring Eddie back. Not only that, but defeat Vecna once and for all too. Now he just has to prove it.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Vampire Eddie Munson

Masterlist: Here.

Chapter: 3 of 10.

Chapter WC: 3605.

CW: PTSD, panic attack.

This story can also be found on AO3 here.

Taglist: @ohmeg 🖤

March 24th, 1987.

“Steve,” Dustin whispered, prodding at Steve’s cheek. “Steve, wake up.”

The sound of quiet footsteps and hushed whispers faded in as Steve began to stir. “Is it time already?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah, Jonathan’s just set off to the garage and Nancy’s upstairs sorting out food. I think we’ve got about 20 minutes.”

Everyone had stayed over at the Wheelers’. After a large helping of Karen’s casserole, the group returned to the basement and continued to study until, one by one, they drifted off wherever they’d been seated. Not surprisingly, Steve had been the last to fall asleep.

The kids had fallen asleep first. Mike and El were bundled together on one side of the sofa. Dustin, Lucas, Erica, and Will had fallen asleep at the table, their arms crossed under their heads as makeshift pillows. Robin was on the other side of the sofa, letting out quiet snores from under a blanket, and Nancy and Jonathan had opted to sleep upstairs in an actual bed. That left Ted Wheelers’ tatty old armchair, tucked in the corner of the basement, open for Steve to sink into whilst he’d once again pored over a Dungeons and Dragons handbook until he passed out.

Steve blinked rapidly, his eyes adjusting to the lamps lighting up the room.

“Oh, God, I feel sick,” Robin announced, propping herself on the side of the armchair.

“Me too,” Steve groaned.

“I’m not ready to go back in there.”

“I don’t think any of us have ever been ready for this,” Steve admitted.

Nancy placed a large plate of toast on the table, accompanied by various spreads and jams. It turned out that nobody had much of an appetite; the lingering sense of dread filled everyone enough that they just sat in silence, nibbling at the corners of their toast until Jonathan got back with the last of the supplies.

-

The drive was eerie. Eerier than last time, almost. This time there was no Winnebago. No Eddie with a pair of pliers in his mouth, haphazardly ripping wires from the console with a devilish grin on his face. No reminiscent tales about how Al Munson had taught Eddie how to hot wire. No “Don’t ya, big boy?”

Steve had been so distracted he’d completely missed the turning by seventy-five yards and had to do a U-turn after Dustin and Erica had pointed out his mistake by calling him an idiot, to put it politely. He muttered his apologies as he hurried the kids out of the car shortly after.

“We don’t have long, it’ll be getting light soon. We’re already risking someone seeing us as is,” Nancy told them worriedly, peering around the trailer park. “Grab as much as you can, one trip would be ideal.”

If anyone had seen them it must have been quite the sight.

They hadn’t parked outside of Eddie’s trailer, instead, they opted to leave the cars near the small park. Ten people with bags of weapons, breaking into a trailer in the early hours of the morning was risky enough without leaving evidence that could identify them right outside. It hadn’t taken them long to get in; the trailer had been drunkenly vandalised by the basketball team numerous times over the last year, all of them still believing Eddie was responsible for the deaths of Chrissy, Jason, and Patrick. Jonathan quickly climbed through the empty window pane leading to the bathroom and unlocked the front door for the rest of them.

-

The sense of deja vu consuming the entire group was rather overwhelming.

Lucas and Erica were tucked away in a corner on the sofa assembling spears. Mike was helping El mentally prepare to reopen the gate. Dustin and Will were sitting opposite them, hammering nails through dustbin lids to use as shields. Nancy, with the help of Jonathan, was using a hand saw to remove the ends from a couple of shotguns. Robin insisted on making the molotov cocktails alone, not wanting Steve to get tempted by the alcohol while tensions were high. Instead, Steve waited alone in Eddie’s bedroom, his spiked bat made by Jonathan some years prior propped up by the door so he could go at a moment’s notice.

The room itself was oddly intact compared to the outside of the trailer. If it wasn’t for the layer of dust settling on the hard surfaces, Steve would’ve bet money that it had been in use a day prior. Not a single thing had moved since the last time they were here - no doubt Wayne’s doing, he concluded.

The echo of Eddie’s life lingered in every part of the room - his once-organised cassette collection was still scattered amongst the bedsheets and his guitar collection, minus the one residing in a different dimension, was hung with pride on the walls. There were stacks and stacks of unfinished assignments and textbooks on top of the dresser because goddammit Eddie was determined to graduate in eighty-six. The overflowing basket of washing that he’d never got round to doing and Wayne couldn’t bear to wash sat by the door. Everything was a painful reminder of what Eddie didn’t get to do before his whole life crumbled beneath him.

Steve reached out for the first t-shirt from the pile and held it close to his face. It had been a long time since he’d smelt the familiar scent of cigarettes and cologne that Eddie used to wear, the denim vest in his possession had begun to lose its scent the moment he put it on last year and got it covered in sweat and blood.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there inhaling the scent from the old t-shirt, his mind racing with thoughts of Eddie and how determined he was to see this through, but a quiet knock and some murmuring from the other side of the bedroom door indicated that it was time to go.

“You ready?” Mike asked tentatively.

“Ready,” replied El with a quick nod.

Steve had seen El use her powers countless times now but it still never failed to amaze him whenever she did. Everyone hung back whilst El stepped forward and raised her arm at the faint crack still etched into the ceiling of the Munson trailer, despite the scientist’s best efforts to remove it completely. Everyone waited with their breath held until the lights began to flicker and the trailer began to rumble, the sound of cracking slowly getting louder and louder until the gate reopened right in front of their eyes. Vines erupted from the gaping hole in the ceiling, spreading viciously along the walls and any surfaces they could cling to.

“Has the Upside Down always smelt that bad?” Erica asked, her hand covering her nose.

“Yeah, just as pungent as I remember it,” answered Steve, a look of disgust creeping onto his face as he stared up at the ceiling.

Dustin stepped forward, a familiar rope made from bedsheets and towels tied together in his hands, before hesitating. He glanced back at Steve, the look in his eyes asking a million questions that his mouth could not. Steve nodded quietly and Dustin threw the rope through the hole made by El, once again granting them passage to the Upside Down.

-

It was exactly how Steve had remembered it. Cold. Dark. Eerie. A putrid, desolate version of the Hawkins they’d all grown up in. Thick fog and particles wafted through the air and vines belonging to the hive mind stretched along the floor and buildings, weaving and wrapping around each other as they marked their territory.

Steve honestly thought that he would have been okay going back into the Upside Down. Sure, maybe he’d be a little bit on edge at first but who wouldn’t be given the circumstances? Tensions were running high and so were emotions; it’s expected to have some kind of reaction, the Upside Down just has that effect on you.

It engulfed him in an instant, the dread that lingers in the air and consumes anything good left in you.

“You okay?” somebody asked a visibly sweating Steve.

“Can’t breathe,” he spluttered, pulling at the neckline of his sweater.

“What?”

“I can’t fucking breathe,” he repeated.

Steve dropped to his knees, clawing at his throat desperately while he coughed and choked. Robin and Dustin rushed towards him, struck with panic. It was like it was happening all over again. The bat with its tail wrapped around Steve’s neck, constricting like a snake and depriving him of oxygen while the others gnawed at his flesh. His eyes filled with tears as he tried and tried to take a breath. The sweat and tears dripping down his face mixed with the phantom taste of copper in his mouth. He was surrounded now, countless pairs of wide eyes staring at him with concern.

“What do we do?”

“Does he need the Heimlich?”

“I don’t think it would do anything, there’s nothing there to come up.”

“We’ve got to do something!”

“Steve, you need to breathe.”

“What does it look like he’s trying to do?!”

The voices sounded echoey and distorted but Steve could still hear them, scared and helpless. The wooziness was creeping up too, his extremities going numb while his eyelids began to feel too heavy to keep open, the sense of calm washing over him too peaceful to resist. Snippets of memories began to flash through his mind as though he was watching a compilation of his life for the last four years.

Tommy and Carol. Parties. King Steve. Nancy. That night by the pool. Barb. The fight with Jonathan and having to call his parents to get him off the hook with Hopper. The lights. The Demogorgons. Nancy and Jonathan. Bullshit, bullshit, bullshit. Dustin and Dart. The tunnels. Demodogs. Bob. The Mind Flayer. Scoops. Robin. The Russian code. Erica in the air vent. The elevator. The capture. The torture. The drugging. The beating. The massacre at the mall. The screaming. Billy. Hopper. The night terrors. The panic attacks. Robin crying with him. Family Video. Dustin trying to get him to join Hellfire. Failed date after failed date. Belittling parents. Lucas’s basketball games. Dustin and Max bursting into Family Video the morning after Chrissy died. The broken bottle against his throat in the boat shack. Chocolate milk and honeycomb cereal. Big, brown eyes looking up at him. Breaking into the school. Max in the cemetery. Skull Rock. Water Gate. The bats. “It was pretty metal, what you did.” Morse code. Nancy’s vision. The Michael Myers mask. “Don’t ya, big boy?” Warzone.. The plan. “Make him pay.” The vines. Flambé. Dustin’s screams. Eddie’s lifeless body. The burial. The drinking. Getting fired. The crying. The breakdowns. Realisations that came far too late. Pining. Wayne outside of the trailer at 2 am. The intervention. Dungeons and Dragons. The handbook. Eleven reopening the gate. Bats screeching. The cave. Screaming. Blood. The grave. Cold, red eyes looking down at him. A sword. A red buffalo horn. The memorial. Hawkins burning.

Steve’s eyes popped open as he let out a large gasp, his hands reaching for his neck subconsciously as he became aware of his surroundings. He let out a quiet groan as he pushed himself up to his knees, his stomach churning more with each movement.

“What the fuck just happened?!” asked Dustin, his eyes flicking between each person in search of an answer.

“I… I saw-” Steve began before lunging forward to empty his stomach contents, narrowly avoiding Nancy. The ground beneath them began to shake violently and the distant sound of screeching caused all heads to turn in the direction of what they knew this time around to be Vecna's lair.

“He knows we’re here,” Will whispered ominously, his hand reaching for the back of his neck.

“We’ve got to go, now.”

-

Deep in the woods at the back of the trailer park, the group found themselves sheltering under a large, fallen tree trunk whilst they stopped to catch their breath and gather their thoughts.

“What happened back there?” Jonathan panted.

“I don’t know,” Steve admitted, hunched over in an attempt to ease his stitch. “It started as a panic attack, I think.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Erica added with a sarcastic tone. “Listen to me, Harrington, if you get our asses killed by bats because you can’t keep it together for more than five seconds, I swear to God I will-”

Lucas cut her off with a swift “Erica!”

“What?! Just the facts.”

“Steve, what did you see?” El asked, changing the subject back to the previous matter.

“What?” Steve asked in response along with Mike, Lucas, and Nancy.

“When you woke up, you said you saw something before you threw up and we started running. What was it?”

All eyes turned to Steve, expectantly.

Steve let out a deep breath and began telling them what he’d seen while he was unconscious, except for a few details he’d still like to omit, adding extra emphasis to what he’d seen after they crawled through the gate.

“So that was-”

“Another one of Vecna's warnings,” Nancy finished. “Just like the one I got last year.”

“So, something to do with a red horn and the memorial?” Mike repeated.

“Yep.”

“That’s not a lot to go on.”

“Oh, well I’m sorry that I didn’t stay unconscious for longer to get you more details,” Steve answered back.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, I know what you-”

“Shut up!” Nancy snapped at the pair of them, earning a chuckle from Robin. “We can figure this out, without arguing like five year olds, while we find this cave. We might have lost them for now but we can’t just hang around and wait for them. Where are we going?”

“Somewhere up near Roane Hill according to the game notes.”

-

They’d spent twenty minutes walking through the bleak woods discussing their different theories as to what the things Steve had seen actually meant. Dustin, Lucas, and Mike theorised that the sword must have some kind of magical enchantment on it and that was the key to defeating Vecna. El, Erica, and Will all came to the same conclusion upon hearing their theory - they were talking out of their asses. Robin, Nancy, and Jonathan were talking amongst themselves a few feet ahead. Steve kept quiet, trying to hide away at the back of the group.

The last time he’d walked through the very same woods he found himself in now, he’d been brushed up shoulder to shoulder with Eddie. Eddie had compared him to Ozzy Osbourne and told him how shocked he was that Steve was “a good dude” just like Dustin had insisted. Steve hadn’t appreciated either of those compliments enough at the time. Then Eddie had told Steve about how he watched Nancy dive into the water after him in what was an “unambiguous sign of true love” which Steve thought was ironic, really.��If only Eddie could see him now.

“You know you can still talk to me, right?” Robin asked.

“What?” Steve replied, jumping slightly at her sudden, quiet appearance.

“I just mean, you know, if you had something going on or if you maybe had any questions about certain topics that you feel like, maybe, you can’t talk to anybody about because they wouldn’t understand,” Robin rambled, earning a raised eyebrow from Steve. “I don’t want to, you know, assume or anything because that would be-”

“Robin-”

“-a little rude of me, but I can’t help but notice that-”

“Robin, would you spit it out already.”

“Why do you want to bring Eddie back so badly? I expected it from Dustin, but-”

“I think you already know the answer to that one, Rob. Has your radar ever been wrong before?” Steve asked with a smirk on his face and a small piece of the weight he’d been carrying around on his back lifted.

“I knew it!”

“How long have you known?”

“I’ve had my doubts ever since I saw your reaction to him flirting with you in the Winnebago. Oh, and I saw you cuddling his vest in your sleep.”

“Yup, that’ll give it away.”

“It’s okay, Steve.”

“I know, but I’m not ready to be answering any of their questions yet,” he admitted, gesturing at the group ahead of them. “So if we could keep this between us, I’d really appreciate that.”

“Obviously, Dingus,” Robin grinned, placing a supportive arm around his shoulder.

Steve joined in with the swapping of theories regarding Vecna's warning as they drew nearer to Roane Hill. Lucas and Mike stood firm in their decision that the ‘magical sword’ was the answer to all their problems. El and Erica were still calling bullshit. Dustin had been swayed towards the idea of the horn being the key by Will. If Nancy and Jonathan had come up with any theories, they had not yet shared them with the rest of the group.

“I’m just saying, the horn seems equally, if not more important than the sword,” Will argued.

“How are we going to kill him with a horn, Will? Hit him over the head with it? Jab his eyes out?” Mike argued back.

“He would be easier to kill if he was blind,” Erica chimed in.

“Guys-”

“If he was blind he’d be easier to stab with the sword,” Lucas agreed.

“Guys, stop, we’re here,” Dustin announced, compass in hand.

The group quieted instantly, all peering around at their surroundings.

“If we’re here, where’s the cave?” asked Jonathan.

“It’s not going to be stuck out like a sore thumb, is it?” Mike asked.

“He doesn’t play, man, cut him some slack,” Lucas defended.

“It’s either going to be concealed or closed off. Somewhere you wouldn’t just stumble across it. It might be guarded.”

“It’s definitely guarded,” Erica retorted. “Will said he knows we’re back. If he knows we’re back then he knows we’re back to finish him off. It’s not going to be a walk in the park, is it?”

“Erica-”

“Just the facts.”

“There!” Steve yelped, running away from the rest of the group.

Steve found himself in front of a collection of large rocks tucked in between the trees. Vines wrapped around the stones haphazardly, making a point of entry not only difficult to locate but nearly impossible to pass through without triggering the hive mind. “El, can you open it?” Steve asked, gesturing to the stones.

El closed her eyes and breathed deeply, her arm stretched out in front of her. Everyone waited for something, anything, to happen.

“El?” Mike asked, always airing on the side of caution when it came to El’s powers.

“They’re not moving,” El muttered through gritted teeth, her focus not faltering.

“Don’t strain yourself.”

“Are we sure this is the right place? There’s not a single bat or Demogorgon in sight,” Jonathan questioned.

“Mike, pass me your backpack,” Steve requested. He rifled through the notebooks with a torch wedged between his teeth until he found the page he was looking for. He held the page out for the others to see and pointed the torch to it. “The door can only be opened by someone carrying the… Spirit Stone of Azuth? Mike, your handwriting is awful.”

“Who and what is that?” Robin asked, confusion plastered across her face.

"Azuth, also known as The Lord of Spells, servant of Mystra. The Spirit Stone is a blue sapphire that sits on the top of his staff,” Mike answered. “Looks a lot like the one Will is wearing around his neck.”

Every pair of eyes turned to Will, who sunk into himself at the sudden attention.

“Still think you’re not a wizard here?” Steve asked, cockily. “Touch the stone.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Will scoffed.

“Will, touch the damn stone,” Dustin urged.

Will rolled his eyes, turning to face the rocks once again. He looked at it for a couple of seconds before poking at a gap between the vines. “See, nothing happened-”

The ground around them began to shake again slightly and the vines began to squelch as they retracted from the stone, leaving it uncovered. The largest of the stones lifted into the air, hovering above them. Mouths agape, everyone stared at Will.

“Is this where I get to say ‘I told you so’?” Steve asked, smugly.

“I- But- What-” Will stuttered.

“Who’s going first?” Dustin asked, peering into the now uncovered cave entrance.

Steve and Jonathan went in first, approaching cautiously with their weapons at the ready to check that the coast was clear before signalling for the rest of them. The sloping passageway was long and winding, taking them deep below the surface of the Upside Down. The narrow passage opened up to reveal a small circular room, torches mounted to the walls lit up, engulfing them in a dim, flickering light. There, in the centre of the room, was the answer to Steve’s prayers all bundled up neatly, waiting to be taken. The scroll of revivify.

With one hand wrapped around the scroll and the other one clasped tightly to Dustin’s shoulder, Steve was on top of the world. It felt electricity zapping through his veins, shocking him back to life one spark at a time as the hope spread through him. This was it. He was going to get Eddie back and all of them, together, would defeat Vecna and everything was going to be okay again. Everything was going to be perfect. Except nothing is ever perfect, which Steve realised as he caught sight of Nancy’s wide, panicked eyes looking over his shoulder before she let out a long, blood-curdling scream.

[hardcore-gaming-101]

Star Wars Episode I: Jedi Power Battles

Out of more than a hundred videogames based on the Star Wars expanded universe, Jedi Power Battles stands out for having been one of those titles whose different versions happened to be quite dissimilar from one another. The people behind the scenes responsible for the development of the first two versions of the game were none other than the legendary LucasArts guys themselves (currently known as Lucasfilm Games) whose creative genius, as we all know, gave rise to unforgettable experiences like Indiana Jones, Maniac Mansion, Monkey Island and The Dig, to name a few. However, they were not able to produce Star Wars related games up until 1992, due to the license being held by Broderbund; but starting from the following year, they managed to plant the seeds for future successful sub-series like X-Wing, Rebel Assault and Dark Forces.

Read more...

[canesenzafissadimora]

Lui è chi ha cantato Cristo in croce e ha dato i dieci comandamenti al commento di Tito, uno dei ladroni appesi.

Lui ha messo in musica un prigioniero che non voleva respirare la stessa aria dei secondini.

Lui cantava con voce di pozzo l'amore dei giorni perduti a rincorrere il vento.

Lui è chi ha tradotto Leonard Cohen, Georges Brassens, Bob Dylan in quell'impossibile, perfetta versione di "Avventura a Durango", capolavoro di trasferimento da una lingua a un'altra.

Lui è chi ha scritto che a morire di maggio ci vuole troppo coraggio, ha dato musica alla cattiva strada, ha squagliato la cioccolata dei dialetti, il genovese, il sardo, il napoletano dentro le ballate.

Lui è chi è stato legato a un palo dell'Hotel Supramonte dove ha visto la neve sopra un corpo di donna amato, addolcito di fame e ha ascoltato i racconti dei banditi e ha conosciuto una loro cura che nessun detenuto di questo Paese ha provato.

Lui è chi ha perdonato con gratitudine.

Lui è chi ha visto al collo di Teresa una lametta vecchia di cent'anni, lui sa che il dolore di Franziska taglia più di un coltello di Spagna. E sa il bosco dove Sally arrivò con il tamburello e sa il bisturi che corregge il sesso di Princesa, e la ragazza che si versa un cucchiaio di mimosa nell'imbuto di un polsino slacciato.

Lui è chi ha dato cantico ai drogati perché chiedessero: "e chi, chi sarà mai / il buttafuori del sole / chi lo spinge ogni giorno / sulla scena alla prime ore".

Lui è chi ha suonato i pensieri dei suicidi, il nasone di Carlo Martello, le fregole di un vecchio professore e la più concreta offerta di un paradiso, in vendita a via del Campo.

Lui è chi ha messo un giudice nelle mani esageratamente affettuose di un gorilla e ha lasciato che un pescatore sfamasse un assassino, e tacesse ai carabinieri.

Lui è chi cantò le lapidi di Spoon River dove Jones il suonatore mai rivolse pensiero al denaro, all'amore, al cielo.

Lui è chi ha voluto bene ai cuccioli del maggio che poi avrebbero azzannato i garretti dei potenti e avrebbero stabilito il record di carcere di una generazione italiana. Invano avvertiva gli altri: "per quanto voi vi crediate assolti / siete lo stesso coinvolti". Invano, perché gli altri si sono sempre assolti, da soli e definitivamente. Coinvolti restano solo lui, i caduti e i prigionieri senza fine.

Sì, è stato il più grande, non solo per iscritto e in canto, ma per carattere, per dirittura d'urto contro la macchina luccicante di successo e carriera.

Lui solfeggiava con gli sconfitti, sbriciolava il loro pane ai passeri.

Dopo di lui la specie dei selvatici si è estinta. C'è il gran bazar degli ammansiti.

Non l'ho nominato, solo enumerato.

Chi ha bisogno di guardare il suo nome, ha perso tempo a leggere fin qua.

Erri De Luca

[rosella-writes]

Hi Rosella, happy Friday! For DADWC, I am here with another poetry prompt, from “Fugue” by Louise Gluck:

10. A golden bow: a useful gift in wartime.

How heavy it was — no child could pick it up.

Except me: I could pick it up.

11. Then I was wounded. The bow was now a harp, its string cutting deep into my palm. In the dream it both makes the wound and seals the wound.

THANK you, I used this to deal with the idea of a mentorship that grew too close within the Circle and a child who was given an adult role far too soon. For @dadrunkwriting

Relationship: Lucas Trevelyan x Senior Enchanter Lydia of Ostwick

Warnings: mentor x student dynamic, abuse of authority, death

~~~

Beautiful, boy.

A warm glow of pride takes root in Lucas’s chest, like an ember gently blown into a flame — Enchanter Lydia’s hands around his help guide the tiniest of magelights towards a sconce, which they plant within with a quick snap of Lucas’s fingers. He’s ten, and this is his first intentional magic. 

Ever after, his success is owed to Lydia. She is the ember of pride that watches his growth within the Circle — her eyes are the ones he searches for when he learns to conduct electricity without scorching the soles of his shoes, when he learns to commune with healing wisps of Compassion, when he raises his first successful barrier against the battering power of an Enchanter. He learns quickly, but he does not do it for his own gratification. He practices and reads and studies for the sake of his mentor’s warm smile. 

Unlike the other apprentices in the Circle, Lucas holds no fear of the Templars — they are guardians, failsafes, as Lydia says. She soothes him with reminders of this in his darker days, when he comes to her with the aching pain of missing home. She folds him to her breast and strokes his hair and hums an old song that replaces any memory of his mother’s voice. 

It’s Lydia who wakes him in the dead of night when he’s seventeen. She holds his face between her hands and presses her forehead to his, whispering frantically as he rouses from deep sleep. He doesn’t know what she says — it could have been a prayer, or advice, or simply an attempt to quell any rising fear. But when the Templars take him past the door he was never permitted through, up the winding stairs, and urge him into a room with soaring ceilings and windows that pour moonlight through their tinted panes, she is not with him. 

His Harrowing is his first magic done without Lydia’s proud, watchful protection. 

Lucas cannot say what he experienced within the Fade when he wakes — the Templars later tell him he cried out, not for his mother, as many apprentices do, but for the Senior Enchanter. She is outside the door, wringing her hands, when he is finally permitted to leave. 

Beautiful boy, she gasps. She takes his face in her hands again and kisses his forehead, and he can remember the sensation of her hot, quick breaths across his hairline and over his tear-stained cheeks even years later. 

My beautiful boy. 

Her last words when Ostwick’s Circle falls carry Lucas to the Conclave itself. He can still feel her blood drying in the sticky creases of his hands, see her violet eyes grow cloudy and tacky and dark like those of a dead fish. He can taste her last dying kiss in his mouth. 

At the Conclave, Lucas’s magic is as wild and barely constrained as it was when Senior Enchanter Lydia first guided his hands. It is both the string of a bow and of a harp, humming beneath his skin — capable of such violence as what laid the Circle low, or of such healing as he tried to weave in the depths of Lydia’s wounds. But where he had excelled in warlike arts, Compassion slipped away from him, and his mentor had grown cold in his arms. He has only the memory of that glowing ember of her pride to carry him — he tries to remember it as he stands among the other mages at the great gathering, how she would find and hold his gaze even in a crowd.

[thepringlesofblood]

Find Out Your Ceresian Senator Name!

(made with love, the d20 gang put a lot of work into diversifying character names, & as I was doing my etymology post I noticed similarities but no clear formula so I thought I’d write one for funsies)

First Name: The first letter of the street you grew up on (if you didn’t grow up on a street feel free to use a town/city name, or a landmark!).

I included alternates for gender reasons - a/o means the name can end with either a or o depending on your preference, e.g. Emilio vs Emilia. You can probably also throw an -e at the end of some of them if (like me) you wanna be a bit nonbinary about it.

A - Aurelius (Adria, Andrea) B - Bianca (Bacchus, Basilla) C - Cara (Cassius, Camila/o) D - Dominic (Donatella/o, Daniela) E - Emanuel (Emanuela, Emilia/o,  Eduardo) F - Francisco (Fabrizia/o, Fiero) G - Giuseppe (Graciela, Gio) H - Hercules (Hero, Hermes) I - Ignazia/o (Imelda, Isabella) J - Jupiter (Jiovanni, Juno) K - Katarina (Kronos, Celeste) L - Lorenzo (Luca, Loretta) M - Marco (Messina, Manuela) N - Nunzio (Natalia, Nico) O - Oliverio (Ouranos, Roberta/o) P - Patrizia/o (Paula/o, Pallas) Q - Quirinus (Pietro, Ricarda/o) R - Rizzo (Rafaela/Rafael, Renata) S - Silvio (Sabina/e, Serafina/o) T - Titian (Tullia/o, Terra) U - Ulysses (Urania/Uranus, Rosetta) V - Valentina/o (Venus, Vesta, Vesuvio) W - Luigi (Mario, Rosalina) X - Xanto (Romeo, Diana, Apollo) Y - Ylenia (Saturn/Saturnus, Minerva) Z - Zappa (Mars, Melete, Diana)

Last name: The last letter of your favorite food

A - Bucatini B - Capellini C - Bavette D - Matriciani E - Pappardelle F - Scialatelli G - Spaghettini H - Tagliatelle I - Trenetti J - Vermicelli K - Anelli L - Cascatelli M - Castellane N - Cavatappi O - Farfalle P - Garganelli   Q - Passatelli R - Paccheri S - Rigatoni T - Strozzapretti U - Testaroli V - Cannelloni   W - Agnolini X - Cappaletti Y - Fagottini Z - Sacchettoni

Voila! Now just put “Senator” (or another Roman govt position if you want) in front of it. I’m Senator Andrea Trenetti!

I also did some optional funsies for those of us with dice we never get to use:

Roll 1d20 


If it lands on a 1, you are straight up a loaf of bread. use the Bread Table under the cut


If it lands on a 2-10, you are a pasta dish. Use the last name chart for your first name, and use the Pasta Dish Table under the cut for your last

If you roll a nat 20, you are may choose b/w

a popular snack food. Use the Snack Table under the cut
. 

you can also use the first name chart and use the snack table for your last name if you want

a Ceresian folk deity. not a senator anymore, but arguably funnier. Use the Deity Table under the cut

otherwise, use tables above as normal.


In The Ravening War, all of the senators also got “tribune” titles like “Tribune of Triscutia” - if you want one of those, you can either:

Use the last name table but use first letter of your favorite food

Use either the Bread, Pasta Dish, or Snack table under the cut

Bread Table

Roll 1d12 or use your birth month

1. Panettone (you have a little Candian on your mother’s side of the family) 2. Muffuletta 3. Pane rustico 4. Panino 5. Pita 6. Tortano 7. Baguette 8. Ciambella 9. Fugassa 10. Friselle 11. Crescentina 12. Boule

Pasta Dish Table

Roll 1d20 or how many mozzarella sticks do you think you could eat in one sitting? (if you can’t eat mozzarella sticks imagine carrot sticks instead)

1. Arrabiatta 2. Amatriciana 3. Bolognese 4. Capresi   5. Bottarga 6. Indiavolati 7. Siracusani 8. Scarpariello 9. Boscaiola 10. Fagioli 11. Lucchesi 12. di Mare 13. Napoletana 14. Puttanesca 15. Ragu   16. Sorrentina 17. Tartufo 18. Valtellina 19. Zucca 20. Cacio-pepe

Snack Table

Roll 1d6, or rate the last movie you saw from 0-5 stars (or 1-6 if you don’t want to do math)

Tostito(s)

if you like you can also use Fritos or Dorito(s)

Chex (you can add a last name that describes the kind of Chex if you want)

Pepperidge (like Pepperidge farms)

Ritz

Kellogg (you can add a last name that describes the kind of Kellogg’s food item if you want)

General Mills

you can forgo the “Senator” title if you so chose and just be “General Mills”

the ancient Roman govt Ceresia is based on had a lot of interplay between the military and the government so like. Generals still have govt. sway.

you could also just be “Senator Mills”

Deity Table

Roll 1d6 or tbh just pick which one you like they’re all fun

you are now known as Ben the Original, but you have never forgotten your past life as Uncle Ben.

you are Little Miss Sunbeam, a maiden goddess of light and happiness

you are the Triple God, the Holy Trinity, and your aspects are Snap, Crackle, and Pop

you are a Keebler elf, one of a large family of forest spirits hidden deep in the mountains on the border of Candia and Ceresia

you are Umaemon, an otherworldly cat-like being with unknowable powers and dual aspects of both cat and human.

you are the Pillsbury Doughboy. 

[lantur]

Thank you so much to @roseofbattles for the tag!

Ten good things in 2023,

Love. I felt so loved by my husband, my cat, my friends, and my in-laws. This was a year that I badly needed the love, the support, the encouragement, and the comfort they bought me, and they surrounded me with it. I felt so much compassion from my manager at work and the other two ladies in my department. I got so much compassion, care, and empathy from people who read and replied to my posts on tumblr, who sent me messages. Never doubt that your kindness to your friends and family, to your coworkers, to the people on your tumblr dashboard, makes a difference. Your kindness makes life worth living and it saves lives.

Writing. I wrote a novel! I am so proud of myself for starting and finishing this in 2023, and getting through painstaking rounds of edits. Writing and publishing a novel has been a lifelong dream, and I'm so happy I will be able to see that come true within the next several weeks.

Travel. Getting to experience Greece, Washington state, and Peru was healing in so many ways. I'm grateful for getting the opportunity to experience that and see such beautiful things.

Cooking. Cooking is one of my most beloved hobbies, and I got to try so many delicious recipes this year. It feels great to make restaurant-quality food at home. Shout out to recipetineats and Swasthi's Recipes for being the MVPs for helping make all these delicious meals happen!

Discovering new music. It is SO rare for me to listen to new music. Until fall of 2023, I listened to the same artists I have since high school and college. Friends were the gateway to helping me find inspiring new music - Logic, Joyner Lucas, and BTS, and BTS opened the door to me getting into kpop. BTS, Blackpink, (G)-IDLE, Hyuna, Mamamoo, Le Sserafim, Stray Kids, and Monsta X have fueled great workouts, alongside Nicki Minaj, Cardi B, and Megan Thee Stallion.

Fitness. I got back into weightlifting in late summer/early fall of 2023. It has helped me become stronger, feel more confident, and most importantly, run without pain! My endurance, strength, and cardiovascular fitness is so much better than it was this time last year.

Growth. I became more resilient in my professional and personal life, and I hope to reap the benefits of that resilience for years to come.

Medications. After years of trial and error, and inadequate symptom control, I finally got on the correct dose of antidepressants. The benefits have been tremendous.

Routines. My routines brought me great comfort in 2023. Tea in the mornings, walking Westin in the yard on summer mornings, morning workouts, Saturday or Sunday trips to the garden store and planting on summer afternoons, cooking dinner while listening to an audiobook, watching a show with Derek after dinner.

New hobbies. In the last 2 months of 2023, I got into learning Spanish and scrapbooking. I love both. My ~35 minutes of Spanish daily is a highlight of my day, and I had SO much fun spending hours scrapbooking over my winter break. I'm so happy that I am finally making progress on my scrapbooking project, which I started over a year and a half ago.

I would like to tag @wind-on-the-panes, @broomchickabroom, @northshoretragedyeagle, @disgruntledturtle, @lady-harrowhark, @taylor-renee, @candlemouse, and @chewytriforce, as well as anyone else who wants to do this. It was a fun and interesting challenge to think about what I appreciated most about 2023!

[gregorsamsa-ra]

patti smith, matthias grunewald, sylvia plath, john singer, toni morrison, frida kahlo, gina pane,, oscar wilde, el greco, george struikelblok, tracey emin, mark rothko, julia margaret cameron, jung boc su, ron athey, andrea mantegna, seamus heaney, nico, gustav mahler, paula rego, diane arbus, arvo part, bob flanagan, leonard cohen, ahn chang hong, francisco goya, nina simone, ulay, susan sontag, marina abramovic, edith piaf, edvard munch, louise bourgeois, beth gibbons, ian curtis, raimund hoghe, antony hegarty, maria callas, samuel barber, gunter bruce, francis bacon, arthur rimbaud, kae tempest, mike parr, david nebreda, pier paolo pasolini, sam fender, nick cave, ana mendieta, christian boltanski, leon golub, fabio mauri, david olusoga, kiki smith, maya angelou, hieronymus bosch, bobby baker, janis joplin, nan goldin, andrei tarkovsky, bob dylan, abel ascona, nancy spero, billie holiday, robert capa, sarah lucas, friedrich nietzsche, sonia boyce, steve mcqueen, fabrizio de andre', alda merini, letizia battaglia, nick drake, charles bukowski, iannis xenakis, rogier vander weyden, janine antonii, arvo parks, tracy chapman, jean genet, valie export, linda mary montano, william blake, john cooper clarke, hannah wilke, lou reed, tracey moffat, doris salcedo, rebecca horn, giacomo leopardi, santiago sierra, teresa margolles, regina jose' galindo, suzanne lacy