Dysphoria Tips Masterpost

Moving On

Summary: Everyone has the name of their soulmate written on their wrist. The main character has one, but after he dies, they get another.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove X reader, then Eddie Munson X reader. No y/n, just a main character in first person.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: SPOILERS for season 3 but I’m imagining you already know that. Billy dies, depression, being hurt, abuse mentions, a little gore. This is mostly angst and then fluff at the end.

Since the beginning of my life, I’ve had one name written on my wrist. First and last. The letters were neat and took up the space from bone to bone.

Billy Hargrove.

And for a long time, the ink was dark. The letters were engraved, unmovable. They were beautiful against mine on his wrist.

We were happy. We got along better than our parents did, their names fading and constantly being replaced. Ours seemed permanent, and I think we hoped it was.

It should have been that way.

A year ago, a new boy showed up in a blue Camaro and had the heart of every girl in sight. I immediately decided I wasn’t going to talk to him at all, but there was no avoiding the pretty boy from California in such a small town.

We were in the hallway. I was in a short sleeve shirt, even though the air was just beginning to chill. A few girls spotted the name on my wrist through my locker, and they turned toward me in jealousy. Before they could say anything, or tell me to stay away from him like everyone else did, I felt someone behind me.

“Hello,” he said. My stomach dropped. I didn’t want this, I had a test in my next class, but I turned toward him anyway.

“Hi,” I said. The girls near us giggled and walked away like they hadn’t just been planning to kill me.

“I’m Billy,” he cooed. He popped his gum. He held out his wrist to me, not his hand to shake. He pulled back part of his watch to show me the name there.

It was my own name. I chose to ignore the fact he hid it to play around.

I introduced myself, gave a sad excuse to leave, and did.

I pretended to not see the pink sticky note he slid into my locker. My heart fluttered until I met him later that day behind the school, and every day for the rest of the school year.

That summer was the best summer I’d ever had. When I was around him, I felt like I was understood. His family wasn’t good. Mine wasn’t either, and it felt better than anything to tell that pain to someone. It felt good to be touched by welcoming hands, ones that genuinely cared about me. I think he felt the same, but Hargrove would be damned if he ever admitted he had feelings. He still showed me more sides of him than any of the Hawkins girls got to.

I thought it might have been the fireworks that made him change so suddenly. We spent New Year’s in the woods, alone together with the snow, so I didn’t know how badly they could have affected him on the Fourth of July.

I thought it would be a good idea to go to the mall, to buy him something nice or to find him and give him comfort. We’d made the mall one of our places, and I had a feeling he was there that night. The loud noises from fireworks put me in a bad place too, but I thought I might have been able to help him.

The roof was gone. The glass glittered over the floor. The lights were flickering or entirely burned out, there were no people except for the ones on the opposite side of the middle.

And I still don’t know how I saw all of that before my eyes finally took in the thing that stood in the middle of the mall. It’s form was red, twisting like it was alive. It breathed heavily, its face, or faces, pointing toward the screaming kids and teenagers across the way.

The room began to light up with fireworks and loud noises, colors and fire painting the walls and the red thing in the middle. My mind spun, I felt like the noise got louder. The lights brighter. I couldn’t think.

The thing screamed. I did too, but I didn’t realize it until I got home later that night and my throat burned.

I ran across the mall, trying not to catch the thing’s attention but to run to some sort of safety with the other people.

I wished I had just stayed home. It was too late to leave now.

In front of me was a girl, lying on the ground, head bleeding. She cried. Above her was Billy, my Billy. He was crying too, his head in her hand. The girl whispered things to him and he cried harder.

I watched in a haze as he sacrificed himself for the girl I had never met before. Behind me, his sister screamed and ran toward his limp body after the thing dropped it.

The huge monster dissolved into a pool of blood and mucus, the substance filling the mall’s drains. I threw up, I think.

Nancy Wheeler and her boyfriend found me, along with the others. They told me everything they knew that night, but nothing quite stuck. I couldn’t get the image out of my head: his white tank top being painted with black blood, his body hitting the tile. The sound of fireworks and screams echoed through my mind, relentlessly shattering my eardrums.

They took me home. And they checked on me every day for months. I knew they wanted to help me, that they understood too, but it seemed like they were there only to make sure I didn’t tell anyone what I saw. I knew my brain made that up, and I hoped with all I could that I made everything else up too.

But nothing changed for those months. Summer passed. The next school year started. I was in a black sludge, I jumped at every noise again. I didn’t go home much. Christmas came around and I found myself in his house, not knowing how I got there. The ground was coated with snow, the room smelled like a heater.

I took his jean jacket and left through the window, where I assumed I had come through before.

I didn’t take the jacket off for a long time. The smell of his cigarettes and cologne had long faded, leaving the stench of my tears and grief woven into the fabric.

It felt like nobody missed him. I roamed the halls of the school and the storefronts lining the rest of town. Littered along the stucco were pictures of Barbra Holland, Chief Hopper, and a few other people I didn’t recognise. There wasn’t ever one of his.

I found a single poster during the summer. I could hardly see his face through all the heart stickers and lipstick smudges. I wanted to rip it off the wall, I wanted to burn it. These girls were so in love with him, they missed him so much that they had to kiss a fucking poster of him? He was mine, he was mine and these girls were still in love with him, even in death!

But I did not rip it down, or burn it, or find the girls that did it. I only cried underneath the faded paper for hours until the store manager kicked me out. I wasn’t the jealous type, but I had never felt so horrible in my life.

It just felt like I was the only one grieving.

The world went on, whether I followed or not. The black ink on my wrist began to fade. The letters were still there, but they hurt every day. Nobody ever tells you they hurt when they leave, down to the bone. It feels like an ache, and there’s nothing you can do to help it.

Before spring break, when the rain was pouring outside the school’s windows and the air was sticky, my wrist finally stopped hurting. I checked it to make sure the letters weren’t gone, and they weren’t. They just stopped fading.

At lunch that same day, I ran crying to the bathroom because the skin began hurting worse than any pain I’d ever felt. I held it, kissing the letters, praying they wouldn’t disappear. My tears clung to my skin as I sat on the disgusting floor.

The pain slowly ebbed. I breathed on it, trying to keep myself quiet. I didn’t want to look at it. It would hurt me worse than whatever the hell that was if the letters weren’t there when I pulled my hand away from my mouth.

I sat there, catching my breath well into the next period. I felt like enough of a human to stand up again. I closed my eyes and brought my hand down. I let it stop tingling before I covered it with my other hand, not daring to look at it.

I wrapped it in a paper towel and found my next class through puffy, red eyes.

The people who sat at my desk saw the towel. They pitied me, I could tell. They must have known what it meant, but they didn’t ask me. I thanked them silently that they left me alone.

I did no work that day. I stared into space as the sky went dark. I shivered on my roof as the cool air set in and the fireflies showed themselves. I decided I wanted to know. If there wasn’t a name, I supposed it was for the best. I could always get them tattooed for real, and I knew that would hurt less than whatever happened in the bathroom that afternoon.

I took my flashlight and a hoodie from my room and left to the park where Billy and I used to meet. I sat beneath our tree, I didn’t care that my ass got muddy.

I took the paper towel from my wrist before I could think about what I was doing.

The letters were still there. I almost stopped looking when I saw them, just the reassurance that they were there was enough to stop me from doing something I would regret. I studied the curves of the letters like I didn’t do that every day as a reminder he had existed at all. I burned them into my retinas before I dared look away.

And I didn’t quite do that. I looked just under the faded letters, and my stomach sank at what was there.

There was another name. The letters weren’t the same shape, the font was bold and spread out, not sprawling and almost elegant. That’s why they burned, I supposed; they had to etch themselves into my skin again. I was just incredibly glad that they left the letters above alone.

Eddie Munson.

I might have been in a haze for almost an entire year, but everyone knew Eddie “the Freak” Munson. He had made himself known well before I knew Billy, but I never talked to him.

It didn’t make sense. I knew he had a name on his wrist, I had seen it myself. He practically framed it with silver bracelets and tattoos. I guessed I had never truly read it. And if it was mine, then what? Would I have to get myself together in this wet grass and tell him?

I sighed and realized that I was crying.

I didn’t think it would be easy to let go, but I didn’t think I was ready for that yet. My body and the Gods decided that for me, apparently. I decided a long time ago that I didn’t have to follow them, but maybe I wanted to. Even if we were wildly different, I thought it might be good for a change.

So I got off my muddy ass and went to school the next day wearing something colorful under Billy’s jacket for the first time all year.

When lunch came around, I found myself at Eddie’s table before he and his friends even sat down. I wasn’t planning on changing my life the next day, but I was there anyway.

When he neared the table and saw me there, he hesitated to set down his plate. His friends did not, they slumped down into their cheap chairs without glancing at me.

“I know you,” he told me. “Well, I don’t exactly know you, I’ve just heard the stories.”

I finally looked up at him.

There had always been a storm surrounding my head since last summer, it coated my eyes in a strange film and pressured me to cry every time I thought of his name, let alone anything else that I knew about him or about what we went through. I tried to fake it, to act like everything was fine, and that I could get better. And I never felt like I could.

But his brown eyes cleared an opening in that storm. I felt the sunlight on my skin, I felt the fresh air in my lungs. And I felt new. I felt like I could finally be something other than numb. I felt like I could change. That I didn’t have to get better, but that I could live with it.

“I’m sorry, by the way.” He said. It took me a second to understand what he said.

I didn’t say anything back. The rest of the table filled in. I recognized a few of the kids from that night at the mall, but it seemed that everyone went back to forgetting about me for a minute.

Everyone but him. I could feel his eyes on me as I contemplated what to tell him.

Instead of talking, I waited for a lull in the conversation that didn’t come.

So I pulled up my sleeve and set my wrist down on the table.

Everyone went silent at the table. The others in the room continued on like I hadn’t made one of the biggest confessions of my life.

“Holy shit,” Mike said. He stared at the names there, and I knew he recognized both. He knew what having two names meant, they all did.

Grief was not permanent. Not in my case. Not according to the Gods.

Eddie was in the chair next to me in seconds- I hadn’t even seen him move.

“May I?” He asked, gesturing at my wrist. I nodded and he took it into his hand. The coolness of the rings on his fingers practically burned my skin, but I almost sank into how gentle the touch was.

“This shouldn’t be possible,” he said. He didn’t quite say it loud enough for everyone to hear, but I assumed they were watching it all happen. “I’ve checked everyone’s names. I’ve seen yours, and you didn’t have…” he trailed off.

“It only appeared yesterday.” I told him.

He showed me his wrist. My name, in simple letters, was surrounded by bracelets with charms of hearts, skulls and cigarettes. He ran his thumb along his own name. I pulled it away then, but I didn’t mean to. It just reminded me too much of Billy.

He pulled back too, in a silent apology, then held his other hand out. “I’m Eddie.”

I shook his hand and introduced myself. He went around the table and introduced them all to me, but when he got to the two boys from the mall, they told him they already knew me.

They looked sad. Not sad for me, but just sad.

Maybe they did miss him. I hoped they did- I didn’t want to be alone in this.

“Hey, do you want to meet me after school?” Eddie asked. I nodded. “Meet at the soccer field, okay?”

“We have Hellfire tonight,” the boys at the table protested.

“Hey, we’re having a moment here.” Eddie flung a pretzel at one of their heads. It hit him between the eyes. “If I don’t make it to Hellfire, I don’t make it.”

“It’s Vecna’s night!”

“I don’t care!” He said.

I didn’t think he gave up on caring very often.

The bell rang, and the entire room stood up. I watched the boys leave before I began the rest of my daily routine.

Eddie tapped my wrist again. “Soccer field, okay?”

I nodded.

Being outside this time of year sucked. My hair stuck to my face, my neck, everywhere. I had to take off Billy’s jacket and set it next to me, which already felt too far away. I tried doing homework while I waited for him to find me, but I couldn’t focus.

I brushed my hair out of my eyes and looked back up at the brick school.

I saw him then, no backpack, no books. Just his chains and smile.

He waved at me, still out of earshot. I waved back, but I don’t think the fake smile I had mastered quite did it for him. His smile faded as he neared me.

“Are you okay?” He asked as he sat next to me. He pulled his legs up into a criss-cross, facing me.

“Yeah, I think so.” I told him. It seemed true for the first time in a while. I didn’t tell him that, though. I didn’t think I needed to.

“So my name appeared only yesterday?”

“During lunch, yeah.”

“What did it feel like? I can’t remember getting mine.”

I huffed a laugh. “It hurt like shit, I was crying in the bathroom.”

“Oh my god,” he breathed. He held out his hand, and I set mine in his. He touched the names there so lightly I thought I imagined it. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I would literally hurt you without even knowing you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I’m still sorry.”

He only touched his name. I didn’t realize that until now. “Does it make you jealous?” I blurted before I even formed the question well enough to be spoken.

“What?”

“That there’s two.”

“No,” he touched Billy’s name, just as light as before. I flinched, and I almost pulled away. “Sorry. I’m sorry. No, it doesn’t make me jealous. I just feel horrible.”

“Why?”

“Because I never knew him. I’ve heard the rumors around school about the both of you, but I don’t have any memories that are mine. And you’ve been hurting so bad, I wish I could understand why.”

“They all tell me everyone understands grief.” Which was true. The school counselor filled my ears with her lies like those when my grades took a fall. She told me it was a universal language, but I didn’t think that was true either. Nobody would quite understand mine.

The worst part is that they think he died in a fire that night. That he couldn’t run away for some reason, that he was at the mall on July 4th just for fun. There were always so many broken ties, unfinished lies that blurred together to create half a truth.

“I’m going to pretend that’s true.” He said.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. He kept my wrist in his hand, but he soon held my hand. “I don’t want you to be sad anymore.”

I looked up at him.

“I don’t know how you’re feeling, and I won’t try to understand. I really won’t. But you can talk to me, you can tell me anything. I’ll be here for you.”

I had heard those words before, all of them sounding muddy and half-true. But these, coming from a freak and a weirdo like the one before me, sounded so much more genuine. I hadn’t felt like anyone actually wanted to listen to me, or like they could understand me at all. But I felt like he could.

I was crying before I knew it. I felt the tears falling from my eyes, then I felt him drop my hand and watched him freak out.

“Oh no, what do I do?” He was looking at me, but he seemed to be racking his brain for anything helpful. “Should I hug you? Is a hug okay?”

I nodded and he wrapped his arms around me. I melted into the touch of comforting hands. I could tell that he knew it was more than grief that weighed me down, and I thanked the heavens that he knew enough about me to ask before doing anything.

I cried into his chest for a while. He held me tight, but left enough room to breathe or run away, whichever came first. I was thankful for him, but I didn't dare try to speak and tell him so. My throat was closed.

He waited until my breaths matched his before he asked, "Do you need a ride home?"

I shook my head. "I don't want to go home."

"Where do you want to go?"

"Snack date?"

"That sounds amazing."

I got up first. He took my books and backpack into his arms and led me to his van. As we drove, we told stories of the names on our wrists. I told him nobody had seen his name until lunch today, and we laughed about how people would talk tomorrow when I showed it off.

"Did it scare you that it was my name?"

"Not at all," I told him. "I just recognized you, and I knew I had to say something."

He hummed. "I knew you before today." He said. "I know I said that. But I do know you, past what they say about you, about last year."

“You never talked to me?"

"I didn't need to. I thought you didn't have my name because someone else had mine. That happens sometimes, you know?" I nodded. "And this year I knew you needed your space. But you came to me."

I nodded again, even though his eyes were on the road.

"Why did you?"

It took me a minute to answer.

"I want to get better."

He flashed me his wild smile.

—Note—

I got distracted while writing this and couldn’t get back into it again, but here’s what I think would have happened: they got closer and they understood each other better, and our main character never really leaves their grief behind, but they begin to live with it. Eddie helps them be happy again, and he knows when to give them time. They might be soulmates, but they’re platonic. They stay best friends :)

I dont know who to ask and the internet is not giving me much but, is incense dangerous to animals? I really like burning incense for spells, cleansing and generally bringing a nice smell to my house, but i also want to get pet rats and i dont know how those two will work together. Is there anything i can substitute for incense in spells etc or what should i do in general?

WITCH SAFETY 101: HERBS / ESSENTIAL OILS / INCENSE AND PETS

Hi! It is ok to burn incense with pets as long as they are in a separate room away from the smoke. Cats are risky because they don’t have the enzyme we have to break down essential oil particles but things like lavender are safer. Since rats are usually in cages most of the time, as long as you keep them in the cage in a separate room, and after, let the room air out through the windows for an hour... It should be safe.

Incense is safe as long as you keep it in a different room than your animals because certain animals can be more sensitive than others. 

Rats have a very sensitive sense of smell that even little things can disrupt their respiratory system. So make sure you don't burn it for too long and be very careful about what you burn. And to make sure you burn it far away from the rat.

It is your choice if you want to eliminate all risks or limit them. I have 2 cats, and as long as I have followed these safety precautions (5 years), they have never gotten sick or lethargic. 

I’ve actually seen some fear-mongering posts that say if you burn anything in the house it will automatically kill your animals. While this is good information to keep people from posing a risk to their pets, if you take proper precautions, it should be ok if your animal does not suffer from (Breathing problems, bad liver, or a heart condition. When in reality, if your pet is suffering from essential oil/incense poisoning, it will not kill them in a single day, but poses a risk if you ignore the symptoms. You will see the symptoms as follows:

Dizziness (You can tell by your animal's eyes rolling back and forth)

Vomiting

Shaking and tremoring

excessive drooling

diarrhea

Collapse or seizures

Lethargy, depression, or dullness

If you see any of these symptoms, contact a vet immediately.

Safety precautions:

- Keep your pets away from smoke/diffuser and in a different room

- Make sure to clean the area if something spilled

- Keep what you're burning high up

- Work in a highly ventilated area

- Keep it away from fabrics and carpets.

Remember that these incense/herbs/oils are toxic to rats:

- Peppermint + Eucalyptus (Will kill them instantly don’t do it)

- Jasmine

- Lavender 

- Black pepper

- Rosemary

- Oregano

- Sage 

Part 2: If all else fails

Take a pot of water, boil some vanilla extract, orange peel, and star anise, and it will make your house smell wonderful. You can substitute incense for beeswax candles anointed with special oils and herbs that are nontoxic to rats!

Medical Sources:

Cats:

https://emergencyvetsusa.com/scents-that-are-bad-for-cats-dogs

https://www.petpoisonhelpline.com/blog/essential-oils-cats/

https://vcahospitals.com/know-your-pet/essential-oil-and-liquid-potpourri-poisoning-in-cats

https://www.today.com/pets/essential-oils-danger-cats-warning-signs-look-t121300

Dogs:

https://emergencyvetsusa.com/scents-that-are-bad-for-cats-dogs

https://vcahospitals.com/know-your-pet/essential-oil-and-liquid-potpourri-poisoning

https://www.petpoisonhelpline.com/pet-safety-tips/essential-oils-dogs/

https://coralvilleanimalhospital.com/news/essential-oil-diffusers-and-your-pet

Rats:

https://animalknowhow.com/what-essential-oils-are-safe-for-rats/

https://luciesapothecary.com/essential-oils/essential-oils-pet-safety/

http://pghspayvac.com/essential-oils-toxic-for-cats-dogs-rabbits-birds

Reptiles:

https://eluxemagazine.com/culture/articles/which-essential-oils-can-hurt-your-pets/

https://www.animalaromatherapy.com/educate-empower/safety/fish-reptiles/

Birds:

https://www.thesprucepets.com/are-essential-oils-safe-for-birds-4587493

https://eluxemagazine.com/culture/articles/which-essential-oils-can-hurt-your-pets/

https://organicaromas.com/blogs/aromatherapy-and-essential-oils/is-it-safe-to-use-essential-oils-around-birds

https://callmeoil.com/essential-oils-that-are-safe-for-birds/

I hope this helps!

As above, so below (my socks feel bad rolled up and unrolled)

Something about how the Eye’s always been there. About how Jon’s voice starts slow and monotone in the first season, when he still doubts these statements. Something about how, toward the middle of the statement, before the thing happens, he takes a breath where the victim took a breath, where their thoughts stumbled. About how he reads them and laughs when they do, and how his tone changes.

Something about how, in Mag 33, Tim was asking Jon why he classified things under the wrong date, someone’s name was wrong, something was cross-referenced wrong…he Knew all along, and had no idea he did.

Something about how he knew everything since the beginning, he read the statements as if they were his own stories, with fear and questions and scoffs and stutters. Something about how the Eye’s been in him since he worked above the basement.

Something about how Jon would read each statement and give what seemed to be an initial reaction to the content—shock, fear, ‘more spiders’— and then say “I had Martin look into this,” and then explain what they followed the case with, even though this seems to be the first time he’s read it. About how the Eye looked into every case, or set it before any of the gang and had them look into it before Jon could read it.

And now, something about how the computer voice fades. How Jon’s voice is still there, how he’s still real. How he’s real on his own terms, in computers still run by the Eye. How he can’t escape but he’s still listed as “unknown” on his Wiki page. Something about how Jon Simms is still out there and still being human through these wires.

Something about how the Eye’s known and loved Jon, and how the Eye still crinkles when someone tells a lie and how Jon’s still human enough in there to read these statements to everyone, listening or not.

I’m not even sorry, this is my fave season 🎃

The symbolism of flowers

Flowers have a long history of symbolism that you can incorporate into your writing to give subtext.

Symbolism varies between cultures and customs, and these particular examples come from Victorian Era Britain. You'll find examples of this symbolism in many well-known novels of the era!

Amaryllis: Pride

Black-eyed Susan: Justice

Bluebell: Humility

Calla Lily: Beauty

Pink Camellia: Longing

Carnations: Female love

Yellow Carnation: Rejection

Clematis: Mental beauty

Columbine: Foolishness

Cyclamen: Resignation

Daffodil: Unrivalled love

Daisy: Innocence, loyalty

Forget-me-not: True love

Gardenia: Secret love

Geranium: Folly, stupidity

Gladiolus: Integrity, strength

Hibiscus: Delicate beauty

Honeysuckle: Bonds of love

Blue Hyacinth: Constancy

Hydrangea: Frigid, heartless

Iris: Faith, trust, wisdom

White Jasmine: Amiability

Lavender: Distrust

Lilac: Joy of youth

White Lily: Purity

Orange Lily: Hatred

Tiger Lily: Wealth, pride

Lily-of-the-valley: Sweetness, humility

Lotus: Enlightenment, rebirth

Magnolia: Nobility

Marigold: Grief, jealousy

Morning Glory: Affection

Nasturtium: Patriotism, conquest

Pansy: Thoughtfulness

Peony: Bashfulness, shame

Poppy: Consolation

Red Rose: Love

Yellow Rose: Jealously, infidelity

Snapdragon: Deception, grace

Sunflower: Adoration

Sweet Willian: Gallantry

Red Tulip: Passion

Violet: Watchfulness, modesty

Yarrow: Everlasting love

Zinnia: Absent, affection

📚 QUEERBOOK 2024 is hereee! We made a book by and for LGBTQ+ youth! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍🌈

Last year, we asked LGBTQ+ youth: what's your idea of a "queer utopia?"

Not gonna lie - with more than 150 bills introduced in 35 states in 2023 that aimed to restrict student access to inclusive and diverse books and other library materials, the theme felt pretty radical.

And you DELIVERED. With the help of our Youth Voices (amazing queer youth activists from across the country), we compiled your amazing submissions of poetry, short essays and letters, visual art, photography, and more into Queerbook 2024. Like a yearbook, it captures what queer youth are feeling, going through, and hoping for - right here, right now across the U.S.

It's also no accident that it's the perfect small-ish size to stash in your locker or backpack so you can crack it open any time you're looking for some queer connection. :3

Read some more about the book and grab your own limited-run copy of Queerbook 2024 now here.

Please, spread this for those who might need it right now

U.S. suicide hotline: call or text 988 (available 24 hours)

U.S. trans lifeline: (877) 565-8860 (when you call, you’ll speak to a trans/nonbinary peer operator. full anonymity and confidentiality)

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration (SAMHSA) National Helpline: 1-800-662-HELP (4357) – provides 24/7 confidential support and referrals for individuals and families facing mental health and substance use disorders, including panic attacks and anxiety.

LGBT National Help Center: (888) 843-4564

Trevor Project: Call (866) 488-7386, text START to 678-678, or chat online.

Take care of yourself and each other. Please stay safe ♡

can we like…get rid of the so-called leather and rubber “pride flags” ? it’s honestly ridiculous and offensive to the lgbtq community. those aren’t pride flags.