YELLOW WAS NOT BILLY'S COLOUR, in his mind, anyway. Nothing of Harrington's was even remotely his style, either, but the chill of autumn permeating the air of the lavish home, even in spite of the fact that Billy had cranked the heat, sure made that yellow pullover draped over the back of the couch look mighty inviting.
He'd lost track of how long Harrington had been in the bathroom for. Minutes, hours, days, who the hell knows, with that seemingly infinite hot water tank they have, here. Long enough that the spot on the couch he stole from the other boy when he got up, was definitely not nearly as warm as it was when he took it over. Long enough that he got cold again, and regretted not following the other boy into the bathroom. He should have. After that long walk on the roadside, kicking fallen leaves and sharing their hot chocolate, the cool breeze had seeped under his skin more than he wanted to admit, and the heat of the home just wasn't doing enough for him, yet.
Before he knew it, staring at the offending, garishly bright sweater quickly turned into Billy holding it between his two fists and pulling it overtop of himself. The material was stupidly soft in his hands. Of course it was, the sweater probably cost more than Billy's entire vinyl collection. Despite the fact that Harrington had taken it off before heading off for the shower, it still felt warm to the touch. It smelled like him, too. Yellow was not Billy's colour, but that didn't stop him from listening to that enticing little whisper in the back of his mind to just put it on. There were just some impulses that were too difficult to ignore and this was one of them.
He finds himself suddenly grateful for the solitude, when he gets the sweater pulled over his head. He thinks he might've died from embarrassment if anybody else saw. He's got a reputation to uphold after all. Metalhead, bad boy, king of hawkins high, he shouldn't be wearing another boy's sweater. Shouldn't have it bunched up over his wrists, or the fabric hanging off of his nose for him to inhale the scent off of, like taking a hit of a drug... It's a little more close fitting around his chest and shoulders than it was on Harrington, but it's still a surprisingly loose but comfortable fit, even on him. Almost immediately, he feels warmer, but he's not sure if it's the fabric that does it, his flustering over wearing another boy's sweater, or... the fact that it smells like Steve, and that even thinking his name makes his insides warm, too. He doesn't hear the water down the hall stop running, as he lays himself back on the couch to lounge with the scent of autumn and the object of his affection, under his nose.
i saw you standing in the shadows and your eyes were blue
you put your hand out, opened the door
you said, come with me, boy, you'll live another day more
IN A LAND FAR AWAY, as all good stories begin, the taverns rang with merriment. cups of ale and wine lifted as the patrons sang of the songs brought to their towns by a traveling bard. It spun a perilous adventure, a fellowship of heroes come together through blood, steel and magic. The would-be king and his knight, slaying creatures, saving villages, rewarded with women and gold. The barmaids sang the one of the powerful mage who took revenge a lord, willful and just, narrowly escaping her fate. The fae folk carried the ballad of the tragic elven hero who spoke out against injustice for his people and avenged his fathers death. But you see, you cant always believe the songs of a bard.
Marquis Caedmon Byrone was not a hero nor was his knight. He had spent his life gazing out of his gold cage, the scars of his stubborn will marred his flesh. his only friends were a whip, a sword and his guardsman, Ser William. The boy had become friends out of circumstance, brothers over time. When Duke Byrone decided that it was time for his son to marry, Caedmon had to make a choice. He had escaped out the window of his wealth and title, denouncing his place as heir—and offered his knight the same choice.
stay and keep your honor or come with me and leave it all behind
For Ser William, it was never a choice. He had nothing to go back to except a violent father and a lonely oath. He was raised to protect the boy so he would keep that vow. He would follow him to the ends of earth. With nothing left to lose, the two men set off to write their own destiny. Despite the tales, they were not heroes but mercenaries for the highest bidders. They turned the tides of war and government, chased down bounties and vendettas, slayed creatures for kingdoms so long as they were paid handsomely. Their deeds not from the goodness of their hearts but the weight of their coin purses.
Edward Munson hadnt been what they had in mind. A lower class man born into a family barely scraping by as blacksmiths. His father was a criminal, his uncle tried to keep the boy out of trouble but trouble had found him in the form of beautiful maiden. Edward found her body mangled, broken and all eyes were on him. To escape the gallows, he left his home and took up his dream of being a bard. As fate would have it, his paths crossed with the two sellswords who saved him from bandits. And much to their dismay, Edward decided that they would be his muses—and protection from the world he had yet to know.
Along the way, they would come across the feisty mage who tried to take control of her own destiny as well. While there was lord who wanted to wed Lady Annette, the song had omitted several truths. It had not spoken of her capture by the mercenaries who would return her to her ill-gotten fate for gold. It did not speak of the shackles and minced words, the sudden change of heart and the bodies of men left in their wake. After all, the bard spoke of heroes and the mage knew them as captors. She had no where to go and despite the mens objections, she joined their party.
The tales of their travels had become songs and songs became whispers. Echoes had reached the ears of an elf, tragically the only one left of his bloodline. The elven had fallen from grace as humans started their wars, the Harringtons had been the last of the high elven nobles left on the continent. His parents spoke out against injustice, wanting better lives for their people. It made them targets for those who benefited from keeping the status quo. Unfortunately his family was murdered in cold blood and his wealth meant nothing if he had no one to share it with. In an act of vengeance, Lord Stephan set out to find the infamous mercenaries and pay them to aid in slaying the one responsible for his family's demise.
The oracle was much the same, though songs of her were not so merry. You see, the woman had a dark secret she kept close to her chest, a darkness that resided within her very soul. A daughter was born into a noble family of great renown and a suitor made himself known quickly. Her father turned the man away, refusing to make such a choice for his daughter who had just been born. With his pride injured, the man found a sorcerer to curse their daughter and she took the name 'woes-day'. Lady Wednesdays curse would only be lifted upon the death of the one who cursed her. Keeping her plight a secret, she offered riches to the mercenaries to deliver her safely to a new land, leaving them unaware of the dangers that lie ahead.
and so the saga of their adventures begin where they started, traveling an unknown path made of blood, magic and steel. The bard carries their legacy across the land and oceans, bringing tales of hope and escape to those who may never cross their paths. Yet the truth is that all of them seek to change their fates, none of them know what lies ahead.
now chant the tales and legends told
strengthened by the hymns of old
weathered as this winding road is long
so we sing our traveler's song
THE FELLOWSHIP SO FAR:
CAEDMON BYRONE, the king. @prettybrawler
SER WILLIAM HARGROVE, the soldier. @kinghaargrove
EDWARD MUNSON, the poet. @eddie
LADY ANNETTE WHEELER, the mage. @wheelrisms
LORD STEPHAN HARRINGTON, the elf. @bbysttr
LADY WEDNESDAY ADDAMS, the oracle. @woednesdayaddams
pinterest board. playlist (coming soon).
this is an open verse for anyone to interact with these characters in this plot, feel free to follow and reach out if you have muses or verses in D&D, game of thrones, the witcher or any high fantasy worlds. all characters are 30+ in age, some with older face claims. new characters can be added, all additions are welcome as side quests and will be added to this lore post.
this is not a gv, its just a shared plot. no plot drops, just a fantasy verse.
with eddie , steve , & kerr all having to deal with these snot nose kids has me only picturing the family dynamic of. steve ( mother ) , eddie ( father ) , kerr ( family pitbull ) AND I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING.
“ Eddie? hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter? are you okay? what’s wrong? oh, come here… “
@bbysttr
The very adult camping trip had been Robin's idea. A chance for the six of them to get away for a few days and pretend to be normal for a change, and not six broken young adults, all thanks to an inter-dimensional horror world that probably screwed them up forever. And fuck therapy because who had the cash for that? Not Eddie Munson. But he was grateful for the getaway, maybe more than anyone else. He hadn't been sleeping right since everything went down, eating or doing much of anything other than existing. As expected, graduating was not on the cards for him in 1986. The town pretty much loathed his existence and still believed him to be a stone cold murderer despite evidence that suggested otherwise. Then the thought of going anywhere near Hawkin's High made him throw up without fail every single time. Ultimately, the sheer stress wasn't worth it for a piece of paper meant to validate his life. Fuck that. All in all, he needed everyday life out of his head for those few days.
They laughed and joked, drank and smoked legal and illegal substances around the rather impressive campfire built by Nancy. Was there anything she couldn't do? And much to everyone's surprise, Eddie even sang for them. Fleetwood Mac, at the two ladies' request, and he couldn't refuse them after four beers, three joints, and some tequila shots taken with Jonathan and Argyle. He guessed it slipped his mind to tell his newer friends that he sang as well as played guitar. It wasn't the sort of thing that came up when fighting for your life and the planet's fate.
But once the wound down and sleep blanketed their little world away from the world camp, cold began to seep into his bones. Eddie and Steve had plenty of blankets in their two-person tent, yet Eddie couldn't keep out the chill. It awoke him in the dead of night in a freezing sweat from nightmarish flashes of gore and screeching death flying through the blood filled sky and broken corpses of familiar faces dragging their broken bodies towards him in search of unfulfilled justice. And when it became clear that Eddie couldn't give that to them, they aimed to pull him back beneath the iron-scented earth with them.
He bolted upright, breathing heavily, trembling and clawing at his arms to ground himself back into reality. It hurt like hell, but it helped; the pain reminded him that he was still alive. Next came the sniffles and the tears like clockwork. They came most nights, streaking down his face with some leftover eyeliner when he rubbed at his eyes. But when they appeared that night at the camp, something different happened.
Suddenly, Steve was there too, wide awake and with an atrocious bedhead. At any other time, Eddie would have laughed, but the fear that wrapped around him while he slept refused to leave quickly. So, instead, Steve replaced Eddie's fears with himself, pulling Eddie close to him for comfort. It was unexpected but not unwelcome in the slightest. He melted into it almost immediately and felt more at ease than he had in months, every weight lifting from his skinny shoulder. Was that really all it took? Warm arms and some sweet words to chase the dark away? Shit. Someone should have told him sooner, like years ago, maybe.
He said nothing when Steve gently pulled his hands away from harming himself, wrapped one arm around him tight, and let the other lazily stroke through his unruly long hair under the dark of night. It would be their little secret, he supposed—their night of passion for coping with trauma.
The trembling stopped after a while, leaving his whole body at ease and vulnerable to sleep to attack. Where he usually felt unfiltered terror at that idea, Eddie thought sleep might be bearable if it happened here like this. Maybe he could have a slice of peace just for one night in the embrace of a real good dude.
ANONYMOUS SAID; Big one for grandpa / @bbysttr — grandpa is genuinely so sweet and kind and I absolutely adore them all around. They’re talented, they’ve brought more realness to Steve than the duffers could ever. They’re a treasure on the dash, a treasure ooc, and I am forever thankful and happy to have them around. Love you grandpa!!
With the VHS inserted into the television, Oz is backing up, nodding his head as the screen lights up with the title menu. ❛❛ This one’s gonna scare the shit out of you, dude. ❜❜ He’s admonishing over his shoulder, grinning mischievously as he presses play before backing up and falling on the couch beside Steve, immediately cuddling against his side.
Oz definitely picked the scariest movie possible so Steve would cling to him when he got scared, plus, it always cracked Oz up when Steve tried to act tough, only to jump at every particularly scary scene. It’s incredibly cute. ❛❛ But not like Halloween did —— there aren’t any babysitters in this one, don’t worry. ❜❜ @bbysttr gets a plotted starter <3
The timing couldn't be better. He could tell him, right now, he could get this over with, like a rip of a bandaid. Let him know that Hawkins wasn't meant to be for forever. That this... what they have? Meeting each other after work, kissing in their cars, spending countless summer nights wrapped up together in Steve's pool, in Steve's bed... This couldn't be for forever, either. Not here, not now. Possibly not ever. There just wasn't a place in the world for queers like them, how could they think they could have this, and keep it?
Billy needs to tell him. He's returning to the coast one day, soon, and between busting his ass working at both the pool and the autoshop on main, with every cent he's been able to scrape away and put into his little savings box... every day brings him one step closer to going home. If everything kept going as well as things have been, lately, by the end of August he could pack his bags and go. Finally, finally, he would be out from under Neil's boot. He only loathed that his freedom would come at the cost of breaking one Steve Harrington's heart. He deserved better than this. Than him. He really did.
He looks at him, now, Steve's forehead creased with worry and pain in such a way that Billy hates to see. In a way that he'd seen before, in a way he'd hoped he'd never have to see again once he'd tentatively began recovering from Nancy leaving his heart in tattered fractals. He looks at him in such a way that makes Billy's heart squeeze in betrayal of everything he's wanted, since putting California in his rearview. He wants to go home but god, he doesn't want to leave this.
Nothing, not even his own internal war stops him from letting that easy, sunkissed smile stretch across his lips, as he turns over on his side to face him. Billy abandons his filched pillow to plant his head on Steve's instead, scooching in and knocking their bare knees together under the sheets to bring them a little closer. Until there wasn't more than inches between their heads, and those gentle, worried doe eyes could pierce him through with their concern, and deeper. All that warmth and care under the surface that Billy's been greedily soaking up since the start. He brings up a hand between them, to trace his fingertips up over that pretty boy's jaw. He keeps going, from his chin, to under his ear, and further still. He sinks the fingers slowly up into his long, sleep-messed dark hair, tangling them in the roots at the back of his head just gentle, to keep him close.
❝ Relax, princess, ❞ He breathes, thumb sweeping slowly over his cheek. He can't do it. He can't hurt him right now. Not yet. Fuck, there's still so much of summer left to go, why can't they just have this for a little while longer, without something so heavy hanging over their heads? Why can't they just stay here as long as they can? ❝ I'm not going anywhere. I'm right here. ❞
