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eddiemunsons80sbaby · 2 days

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Hard Habit to Break

Chapter 2

Pairing: EddieMunsonxOriginalCharacter

Summary: When a chance at the career he always wanted came knocking at the same time that she received the worst news of her life, they were forced apart. Long distance, time on the road, and stories in the tabloids destroyed anything they had left, leading him down a dark road, playing the role of the bad boy rockstar his manager wanted from him. Now tragedy will bring him back to the town he swore to never step foot in again and face to face with her for the first time in years. Will he be able to stick to the plan or will she be the one habit he can't break?

Word Count: 5.6K

Trigger Warnings: Cancer battle, death of a parent, grief, addiction

18+ Only

Now

“Do they need anything else from her right now?”

“I don’t think so. What more could anybody possibly do right now, anyway?”

“Then we should get her home. She needs to get out of this place and get some rest. Tori? Tori?”

“Huh? What?” she mumbled, shaking herself from her stupor, shocked to find her best friend’s eyes so close to hers. The gray blue of a stormy sea, mirroring the feelings rushing through her right now. A tumultuous tempest that she couldn’t make sense of. Her hands were frantically reaching for purchase but finding none as she was tossed around on angry waves that were threatening to swallow her into the depths and drown her.

Robin was kneeling in front of her now, her jean covered knees pressed against the tile. She took both of Tori’s hands in hers, keeping her tethered to this space, this chair, this horrible stark white space that she wanted to escape. Everything was so bright, too bright, the glare of it hurting her already burning eyes, aching from exhaustion. She wanted to tunnel down into the floor beneath her feet and disappear, curled up in the Earth, becoming one with the dirt, just like her mother would soon. No more pain. No more grief. No more heartache. Only darkness and peace.

How was she supposed to do this? How was she supposed to face this world without the person who guided her through it? How was she supposed to go on motherless? No one to tell her she was doing it right or call her out when she was messing up. Isolated, alone, roaming aimlessly with no one to point her on the right path?

“Babe, are you okay?” Robin asked carefully, each word laced with deep concern. “Sorry. That’s a stupid question. Of course you’re not okay. Do you want to go home? You know, you don’t have to do anything else today. Nothing has to be decided right now. It might be better to wait until Lacy’s here so you can do it together.”

“Yeah. You should go home, get some rest, and deal with everything tomorrow. It’s been a hell of a day. Honey, it’s been a hell of a few years for you, especially these past six months. Maybe you need to take a break,” Nancy piped up from the chair next to her, her hand coming to rub what she clearly thought were soothing circles on Tori’s back.

Tori knew she meant well but her touch was anything but soothing. It just made her want to jump out of her skin, conjuring memories, flashes of her mom’s hands doing the same thing whenever she was sad.

The time she sat next to her on the bathroom floor all night in fifth grade when she had the stomach flu. Sophomore year when Jenny Simmons has been so mean to her, lying and telling everyone she’d made out with Eric Hoffman behind the bleachers. Junior year when she stormed in the door, sobbing, because she’d just had her first fight with her boyfriend. Five years ago when she’d had to watch that same boyfriend get on a plane and leave her behind. She had come home, barely able to talk, collapsing into a ball on the floor. A year later when she’d made the hardest decision of her life and her mom had held her for hours, rubbing her back as she released all of the pain that was shredding her from the inside, assuring her that it would all be okay.

Now nothing would ever be okay again. How could it? How much could she lose and still keep moving forward? How many pieces of her heart could be lost before it stopped beating altogether?

“I…uh…yeah…” she mumbled, her brain complete mush, as if someone had run it through a food processor, her thoughts minced into pieces she couldn’t fit back together. She was unable to think, unable to process, unable to do much of anything at the moment. “That’s a good idea, probably.”

“I know it is,” Nancy delicately told her, taking charge of the situation as usual. Her hand came to rest under Tori’s elbow, gently guiding her to her feet. “Let us drive you home and get you to bed, okay?”

“Lacy…I have to call…she needs to know…I have to tell her that…”

“I already took care of it,” Robin assured her, taking her other arm, her two friends slowly guiding her through the building and toward the door. She simply allowed it, too tired to argue, too broken to do it on her own. “I called her at school. She’s going to head home first thing in the morning, okay?”

Tori nodded, anything else felt like too much work. She should have been prepared for this. She’d been preparing for this eventuality for the last five years. It had been a certainty for the past six months but she still wasn’t ready. She would never have been ready to say goodbye, would never be ready to live in this world alone, a girl without a mom. That’s what she was now and it didn’t matter that she was twenty-eight, a grown adult who should be able to survive on her own. It wouldn’t have mattered if she was fifty-eight. She didn’t know how to do any of this without her mom. How do you say goodbye to someone who’s been with you your whole life?

Even now, she wanted to call her, to ask her what to do next, to fall apart in her arms and let her fix it the way she always fixed everything. But now it was up to her and Lacy was coming home tomorrow. She was going to be looking to her big sister to take care of everything, to take care of her. Tori could barely care for herself right now. How was she going to take care of anyone else?

It didn’t matter. She had to. She had to find the strength within her somehow. Her sister was going to need her to be the strong one, to handle everything, to step up and be what their mom no longer could.

Tori was only vaguely aware as they tucked her into the backseat of Nancy’s car, mumbling, “What about my car?”

“I called Dustin and he and Steve are going to drive over to the hospital to get it,” Robin told her as she slid into the passenger seat. “They’ll drive it back to your house for you, okay? You don’t have to worry about anything besides taking care of yourself right now. We’ve got you.”

Tori nodded, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the window. She was so tired, running on empty, nothing but fumes left in the tank. The last five years had been hard, the last six months had been awful, but the past month had been hell. Long hours sitting at the hospital, spending any time when she wasn’t at work sitting vigil by her mother’s bedside from the moment they told her it was the end. They couldn’t say how long or when but it was inevitable. There would be no more going home.

Her eyes slid closed, her body desperate to shut down, but horrific images of the last few hours flashed through her mind. The haunting sound of that endless tone that had signaled her life had been irrevocably changed. She snapped her eyes back open. No. She couldn’t relive it. It had been awful enough the first time.

“Did you call him?” asked Nancy, her hands held tightly at ten and two, forever the responsible driver no matter the circumstances.

Maybe she could just let Nancy handle everything. She was good at that, stepping up and taking charge. Maybe she could go to the funeral home tomorrow and make all the decisions, take care of Lacy, deal with her dad while Tori allowed herself to sink into blissful nothingness.

“I tried,” Robin answered with a shrug. “But you know how it is. He’s not exactly the easiest person to reach these days. He’s always busy or flying off somewhere. I left a message for him with his people.” Her tone took on a haughty air as she snorted. “He’s all Mr. Fancy Pants now. Barely has time for those peons he left back in Hawkins. Hopefully he gets it. I can try again tomorrow.”

“I mean…I know the circumstances are awkward and she doesn’t usually want us to say anything but he should know about this, right?” replied Nancy, her eyes glancing up to the rearview mirror, checking on Tori for a moment, before returning to the road. “He loved Linda, too and…”

“Yeah, I know.”

Their mindless chatter was nothing but background noise to Tori, an incessant buzzing in her skull that she couldn’t make sense of even if she tried. And quite honestly, she didn’t have the energy or the desire to make much of an effort at the moment. It didn’t matter what they were talking about. None of it mattered. How could anything possibly matter more than the catastrophic thing that had just happened?

Her eyes glazed over as the world blurred by outside her window. A couple holding hands as they strolled down the street together, a man walking his dog while bopping his head to whatever music was playing through his headphones, an employee on the sidewalk having a smoke break.

These simple moments of people just living their lives filled her with an irrational sense of rage. How dare they. How could the world just keep spinning as if nothing happened? How could these people just keep on living their lives as if something unspeakable hadn’t just happened? Why wasn’t everything stopping to acknowledge the tragedy? Why wasn’t it recognizing the awful loss that had occurred?

Nancy pulled into her driveway and the car went silent as she turned off the engine. Tori opened the door and made her way up to the porch mechanically. She grabbed the knob, turning it, but nothing happened. Tori stood, glaring at the door as if it had done something terribly wrong to her. Robin appeared at her side, dangling her keys from her fingers. She swiftly unlocked it and three of them headed inside.

Tori froze just inside the door at the sight of the hospital bed in the living room, the image sending new waves of grief crashing over her, threatening to pull her down under their swells. The entire room tipped and she reached out, instincts kicking in to grab onto something to stop the inevitable crash, when Nancy caught her around the waist, keeping her upright.

“Whoa there,” she said softly, brushing her hair back from her face. “I got you. It’s okay. Come on. Let’s get you upstairs, alright?” Her eyes turned to Robin, her head tilting toward the hospital bed.

Robin took the hint, heading in to pull the curtains around it that they had put up for her mom’s privacy. The hospital bed had become a necessity six months ago when her mom grew too weak to make it up the stairs anymore. Tori had taken to sleeping on the couch, wanting to be near in case she needed anything in the middle of the night. For the past month she’d slept on a cot in her hospital room. It felt wrong now to be heading upstairs to her room, to a bed she hadn’t slept in for months, even though there was no reason not to anymore.

“Did anyone call my dad?” she questioned quietly, not sure where the thought had come from, logic somehow breaking through the haze of grief for a moment.

“Lacy was going to do that, babe,” Robin assured her, somehow returning without Tori even noticing, the blond now on her other side. “Everything that needed to be done tonight has been taken care of and everything else can wait until tomorrow. All you need to do right now is get some rest, okay?”

Robin led her to the bed, holding her hands and sitting her down as Nancy rummaged in her drawers, finding Tori a pair of sweats and an oversized shirt. The two of them helped her, tugging off her clothes, lifting her limbs, pulling the pajamas on, as if she were a toddler who was incapable of independence. But that’s exactly how she felt right now. She was still just a little girl, a little girl who wanted her mom, who wanted the person who always took care of everything to come and take care of all of this because she didn’t want to. She hated the universe for forcing her to.

Tori glanced down at herself and frowned, some small part of her brain recognized the shirt she was wearing. It was a shirt she never wore, not anymore, because it was attached to another kind of pain, a different loss. It was a shirt that stayed tucked away in a drawer, hidden from sight but always there because she couldn’t bring herself to toss it.

Seeing it was always like having her heart torn from her chest all over again. But in this moment, not even that pain, the pain that was so unbearable she thought she’d never recover, the pain that was the worst she’d ever felt until tonight when she learned there was another level of hell, couldn’t break through. That awareness of what it meant couldn’t break through. She was already in agony and the last thing she gave a shit about was what she was wearing.

“Alright, how about we lay down now?” Nancy urged, lifting her feet and turning them toward the bed as Robin gently pressed down on her shoulders, her body sinking back into the mattress compliantly.

Robin pulled the blanket up over her, tucking it under her chin, and sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing her hair back from her face. She fought the urge to slap her friend’s hand away, illogical anger coursing through her at the gentle gesture that should have come from someone else.

“Just try to get some sleep, okay?” her friend urged. “Close your eyes and get some rest. Everything else can wait until tomorrow.”

Tori’s eyes moved to her bedroom doorway at the sound of someone walking in the front door downstairs. Her brow furrowed in confusion, wondering who would be coming into her house at this time of night. But that was a silly thing to think because she realized she had no idea what time it even was.

“It’s just Steve and Dustin. They were bringing your car home for you, remember?” asked Nancy quietly, her hand sliding over Tori’s hair before cupping her cheek. “Just go to sleep, Tori. We’ll go down and take care of them.”

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded softly, her hand grabbing onto Robin’s, clutching it tightly. “Please? I just…I don’t want to be in the house all alone.”

“Never. We’ll be right here all night, okay?” her best friend assured with a squeeze of her hand. “And we will be here when you wake up.”

Tori murmured her understanding, the sleep she’d been fighting for hours finally winning its battle as her eyes closed, exhaustion taking over as she slipped into sweet oblivion.

___________________________________________________________

The plain, yet organized space, was a stark contrast to the messy, disheveled guy sitting on one of the dark leather couches. A large glass window that ran along the wall would allow any passers-by to see his agitation as his leg jiggled with frustration, fingers raking through his tangled waves. In the corner was a soundproof booth with thick padding to allow for maximum noise isolation but he didn’t need that when he had nothing to work with. Speakers and amps that sat silent, waiting for music that he couldn’t write.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Eddie, yanking the pencil from behind his ear to scribble out lyrics he’d already written over twenty times.

This song was turning out to be a pain in his ass. Every single time he thought he had it, he would try to play it and it sounded all wrong. And it wasn’t just this song. It was any song. Something that used to be as natural to him as a river flowing downhill, following the natural curve of the Earth, had suddenly become impossible.

He chewed on the end of the pencil, metallic and rubbery in his mouth, eyes screwed tightly shut as his head moved to the beat, struggling to find the right words to lay down with it. The problem was, he didn’t even like the music. The intro was messy, the bridge was leading nobody anywhere, and the hook definitely wasn’t hooking anything. And the chorus? Forget it. Their fans would boo them right off the stage with the bullshit he’d been coming up with.

“Man, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm if you don’t chill out,” Gareth teased as he entered the studio, dropping into a chair that sat in front of the control board. “It’s our time off, Eds. Give it a rest already.”

Eddie glared at his friend, “I can’t give it a rest. I can’t get this goddamn song to work. I can’t get anything to work. Everything I write is fucking wrong lately. It’s like I’ve lost my mojo or something.”

Gareth chuckled, shaking his head, “You haven’t lost anything, man. You’re just overworked. If we’re not on tour, you’re locked in the studio writing. If you’re not writing, then you’re making calls, figuring out the next show, always trying to make everything bigger and better than the last time. You never stop, man. I swear you never even sleep. Maybe your brain is trying to tell you to slow down. If I were you, I’d listen to it. We can’t have our frontman burnt out or all of this work is for nothing anyway.”

Eddie groaned, tossing the pencil onto the table with annoyance. It bounced and then hit the floor, rolling off and under the soundboard. For the last three months, he’d been having a block, finding himself incapable of writing anything that was worthy of another Corroded Coffin album. Every single time he tried, everything just came out absolute shit. He was close to losing his damn mind over it.

They were at the top of their game right now, the hottest metal band in the country. How were they going to stay on top if he couldn’t come up with any new material?

It happened to so many bands. They became an overnight sensation, sold out stadiums, records gone platinum, only to hit their peak then slide backward after a few years. Pushed to crank out albums quickly, the quality of the craft deteriorated as concern became about keeping up with demand and striking the iron while it was hot. All those people behind the scenes, pulling the strings, wanted to cash in on their payday. And if your band failed? So what? They had thousands just like you waiting in the wings for their six minutes of fame.

Fame was a fickle bitch and if a band didn’t constantly stay relevant, it could snuff out like damp fingertips suffocating a candle’s flame. Instantly and without remorse. Eddie couldn’t let that happen to Corroded Coffin. He wanted them to be one of those groups that stood the test of time, their albums still being bought and played long after they’d left this earth. He didn’t just want fame. He wanted immortality, a legacy he was proud to leave behind.

His body buzzed with nervous energy, needing something to take the edge off. Eddie pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, worrying at the already torn and flaking skin. He was always hearing it from Amanda, their make-up artist, when she had to buff all the dead skin off his lips and then slather them in Vaseline.

But not being able to do the one thing that he’d always been sure of, the only thing he knew he was good at, had him on edge. And the only thing that might help, he’d sworn off of, promised his friends he wouldn’t touch that shit again. He’d almost sent the band crashing and burning, torched everything they’d worked for and he couldn’t risk that again no matter how strong the urge was. He couldn’t just toss two years of being clean down the toilet because of some writer’s block.

“Eds, you’re starting to make me a bit nervous, man,” Gareth told him, angling his body toward him, elbows propped on his knees. He could see that look on his friend’s face, the look he hated, the one he’d worked so hard to keep off his face for the past couple years. “In fact, you’re making all of us nervous. You’ve been off lately. You’ve been real twitchy and moody. It’s bringing back memories, man, memories none of us want to relive. You’re not…”

“No,” Eddie snapped, his hand slamming against the table as he lurched to his feet. His fingers ran through his hair roughly, one of his chunky rings getting caught in the strands, pulling and causing him to wince. “No. I haven’t touched that shit, okay? I haven’t touched it since…that was different. I was in a really bad fucking place, man. I’m not in that place anymore. I dealt with all that shit in rehab and I am still dealing with it. I’ve got it under control. I’m just pissed off at myself. This is what I do, Gareth! I write and play music. If I can’t do that…what the hell else am I even good for?”

“That’s not true. Music is not the only thing you’re good for. Even if all of this ended tomorrow, you are so much more than just a rockstar, Ed,” Gareth assured, rising to his own feet, waving Eddie’s worries off as if they weren’t this giant monstrosity sitting in the middle of the room, keeping him up at night, causing him to chainsmoke until his throat was on fire. “Every writer goes through this shit, man. You really think you’re the first musician who struggled to write? Take a few days off. You can’t force it so give it a break. Do do something relaxing for a while. Get a room at The Biltmore. Chill by the pool and have a few drinks and get some damn sleep and maybe a little sun. You’re starting to look like the undead, my friend.”

“Thanks asshole,” he huffed, snorting with a roll of his eyes. You could always count on a friend to give you the brutal truth and Gareth was an expert at that. Of course Eddie needed that dose of reality from time to time. It was what kept him grounded. It was what kept him clean.

“I mean it. I say this with all love, man, but you gotta do something different. You’re looking less rockstar and more Dracula, and not in a sexy way. I mean, some chicks might be into that pasty, sunken eyes look but only if you can stay upright long enough. Call Gianna and see if she can meet you for the weekend. We don’t have to be in this damn studio for another two weeks. So, get the hell out of here and take advantage of the time off. They’ll have our noses back to the grindstone before you know it.”

Eddie considered his friend’s words. A weekend at The Biltmore didn’t sound half bad. He was drained, absolutely fatigued, running on nothing but black coffee and a dream. He’d been pushing himself hard for the last few months, harder than he ever had, angry that he couldn’t get one damn song right. Music was the only thing that kept him sane anymore. It was the only thing that mattered in his life anymore. Without it, he didn’t know who he was and that terrified the shit out of him.

He’d had more sleepless nights than he could count, his brain unable to quiet, desperate to find that next great song. That anthem that would have kids from California to Maine banging their heads, devil horns raised proudly. Maybe he did need a break, a chance to reset. Who knew? Maybe it would get his creative juices flowing again.

Inviting Gianna, now that part he wasn’t so sure about. The last time they’d talked she’d called him a selfish prick, told him to go to hell, and hung up on him. Eddie might not be the smartest guy in the room but he knew how to take a hint. Spending a weekend with him was probably the last thing she wanted to do. Whatever. It was only a matter of time, anyway. He’d known this was coming because it always did. None of them ever lasted.

He hadn’t had a relationship last longer than a couple months since…nope. He shut that thought process down, a door slamming in his brain. That was the name they didn’t speak. The name he did not allow his brain to even think. That name always led to pain, pain that led to…other things. Things he was trying to stay away from. Things he swore to the guys he wouldn’t touch again and he intended to keep that promise. So that name stayed locked up tight where it belonged.

Fingers snapped in his face, jerking him from his thoughts. Gareth stood in front of him, brows meeting in concern. “Hey man, you still with me?”

“Yeah.” He laughed hollowly, shaking his head. “Sorry. I guess I must be even more tired than I thought. I was just thinking that maybe you’re onto something. Maybe I do need to take a break. Maybe I’ll even make it a whole week instead of a weekend. Sleep until noon, order some room service, watch some crappy movies, lay in the sun so I can stop looking like Nosferatu….recharge my battery, you know?”

“There you go!” Gareth exclaimed happily, clapping him on the back. “So you thinking just a solo trip or inviting your girl?”

Eddie snorted, “I’m going solo on this one. Besides, I’m pretty sure she’s not my girl anymore.”

Sighing, his friend gave him the look, the look Eddie had received more times than he could count, especially these last few years. He squeezed Eddie’s shoulder and he knew what was coming but he really didn’t want to hear it again. He knew he was hopeless when it came to relationships. He knew he sabotaged every single one but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. No matter what the guys said, it didn’t make a difference, and it just pissed him off that they felt the need to keep harping on something that wasn’t going to change.

“Eds, you’ve got to stop chasing every single damn girl away,” Gareth groaned. “It’s been years, my friends. Years with an ‘s’, meaning plural. You’ve got to move on at some point. It’s like you think you don’t deserve to be happy but you do. I swear to you, you do. You know she wouldn’t want this for you. She’d hate to see you doing this to yourself. You say you’ve let go and moved on but it sure as hell doesn’t seem like it. I don’t know if you’re still holding out hope that one day Tor…”

Eddie’s hand slapped over his friend’s mouth, cutting him off before he could finish her name. Gareth knew the rules. They all knew the rules. He’d been very explicit about the rules with every single one of them. The rules were in place for a reason and saying that name was the number one no-no. Gareth knew what hearing that name did to him. His friend shoved his hand away, rolling his eyes.

“Fine, you’re holding out hope that one day the person we don’t name is going to suddenly show up and want you back but it’s not going to happen. You guys broke up four years ago, Eds. You can’t keep destroying every single relationship you have because you’re still waiting for the one we don’t talk about. I know you hoped that one day things would be different and…that unnamed person would come find you but it’s not happening, man. You two haven’t even spoken in four years. Don’t you think it’s time to move on? I’m betting she has.”

“Hey, Eddie!” called his manager, Arty, as he walked in. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What the hell are you doing in the studio, kid? Did you miss the memo that you’ve got two weeks off? You should be out living it up and enjoying your break because I am going to work the hell out of you guys when it’s over. The fans are anxious for the third album. We gotta keep the fires burning red hot, you know. Anyway, we got a message for you. Usually, we ignore that shit because it's just fans trying to find a way in, but this one sounded like it might be legit so I wanted to double check. It was from someone called Robin.”

One simple word, two syllables, a name, and he was spiraling. Jesus, had they known him and Gareth had been talking about her? Was the universe playing some perverse trick on him? His stomach twisted, muscles tensed, the wrench spinning and spinning around the bolts that held him together until he was twisted so tight he couldn’t move. Everything went rigid, strained to its maximum threshold, ready to snap under the slightest pressure.

The blood whooshed through his head like a tidal wave, pounding in his ears, behind his eyes. Eddie’s hand came down on the table, propping himself up, knowing he had to find out what the message was even if it had the potential to destroy him. There was only one possible reason that Robin would even bother to try to reach him after the last conversation they had.

“She said…” Arty paused, bringing the yellow notepad closer to his aging eyes, unaware of how tightly Eddie’s hand had wrapped around the edge of the table. “Tori’s mom passed away a few hours ago and she felt like you should know. They haven’t made any arrangements yet but she left a number for you to call her back if you want to know the details.”

Arty held out the slip of paper proudly, smiling like he’d just done Eddie some massive favor. The man had no idea what he’d just done. He’d taken over their management almost three years ago once they got too big for the guy they’d had before. When playing smaller venues turned into massive arenas, Todd could no longer handle it. He was more of a small time guy. That was when Arty swooped in, a guy who’d worked with some of the biggest names in the industry when they started to take off. That was his specialty, not getting you to the top but helping you stay there once you’d reached it.

He knew about Eddie’s substance abuse issues, but he never knew why he’d first touched the stuff. He didn’t know why the idea of forgetting everything, of not being in control of his own faculties, of just allowing himself to get swept under the bad boy rockstar image had been so appealing to him. But Arty had been the one to kick his ass and get him into rehab, telling him he was going to destroy everything, that he was a ticking time bomb sitting in the center of the band, that was going to explode and decimate it all if he didn’t get his shit together. He’d seen bigger bands than them fall apart over the same shit.

Eddie’s eyes darted over to Gareth’s, his best friend since they were kids, the one who understood exactly what this meant, how this news was causing him to spin out of control like a car careening on the highway. That careful wall he’d built around anything that had to do with her was crumbling apart around him, massive chunks tumbling and smashing to the ground to expose everything he worked so hard to conceal.

Gareth stepped forward, taking the paper from his hands, looking down at the hastily scrawled set of numbers as if Robin herself were going to leap off the page. He looked back up at Eddie, eyes wide.

“Vacation plans changed?” he asked knowingly and Eddie didn’t miss the flash of fear in his friend’s eyes, the way his jaw stiffened into granite. He knew exactly how hard it would be if Eddie made this choice. He knew what the potential fallout could be. But he was going to have to take the risk because what other choice did he have?

“I guess my vacation time is going to be spent in Hawkins…” Eddie murmured, eyes falling back to the paper again, his brain struggling to catch up with the decision he’d just made, the repercussions of what he was about to do.

“Hawkins? Where the hell is Hawkins?” Arty asked with a snort. “Sounds like some podunk town if I ever heard one.”

Eddie lifted one eyebrow along with a shoulder. “That’s exactly what it is. Some podunk town in Indiana.”

“So, what the hell is in Hawkins that’s got you spending your precious time off there?”

“Everything,” he whispered, snatching the paper back from Gareth and striding out of the room.

Here it is! Hope you all enjoy. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts. I am forever trying to better my writing so feedback is always welcome and reblogs are always appreciated. Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist. And if you do, please make sure your age is on your profile. I will not add if it's not.

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21 notes · View notes

elftwink · 1 month

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been learning to play ironsworn (gritty fantasy ttrpg which you can play with a gm but is mostly suited for solo or small group co-op gmless play) after having the rulebook pdf for several years (stars finally aligned to remove invisible thing blocking me from reading it idk) because i'm on another solo ttrpg kick & i don't know what took me so long to get around to this game because it genuinely is exactly what i was looking for. years ago when i was playing through solo 5e modules i should have just been playing ironsworn (believe it or not, 5e isn't very suited to solo play and is extremely clunky when you try lol).

also though i have dabbled in some other solo ttrpgs, a considerable amount of them are journaling games which is fun but imo considerably more work (usually by the time i'm a quarter of the way through the journal entry, i know how to entire scene played out and i want to move on to the next gameplay thing, so i get frustrated and bored quickly. it feels like when you solve a level in a video game but don't have the coordination to pull off the necessary move so you have to spend 20 extra minutes doing something you already figured out), so i really appreciate like not needing to write something for the game to progress (ive been taking notes for my own record since im playing solo and thus am not really out loud roleplaying the way you do in a group, but i definitely could do that instead and not take notes and the game would still function perfectly)

& ive been playing by myself but also in the past ive played a lot of ttrpgs in very small groups which has been other games but is mostly dnd and like. we also should have been playing ironsworn so that having a gm was not necessary. have definitely played games where we had to adapt the rules soooo much to do something that is just base game included in ironsworn. plus it's rules-light enough to do pretty complex moves that pose difficulties in bulkier games (ever introduced someone to dnd and they tell you they want to do a sick backflip and catch something and then attack and you have to tell them that will require several different consecutive rolls and some creative liberties with how the rules are 'supposed' to let you move? you can just Do That in ironsworn. use the strike move and describe it. done!)

the one thing is that although it's rules-light enough to theoretically play any setting or genre (some with more difficulty than others), ive found so far that like... the grittiness and sense of threat is very built into the mechanics so that would be sort of difficult to work around or change (but i think it's great from a game design perspective). what i mean is like, okay: you start with 5 max hp. there isn't really a way to raise this max hp, you just slowly gain abilities (assets) that make you less likely to have to lose the hp in the first place, or that make it easier to recover. when you encounter foes, you rank them on a scale of 1 -5, and enemies on the lowest side of this scale do one harm to you, while enemies on the highest side do five harm to you. so even though encountering an epic enemy won't always be deadly due to the assets you have, they are ALWAYS capable of taking you down to 0 hp with one good hit. so the feeling of threat is much more present compared to games where your character starts to be able to just tank and push through a failure or huge threat.

admittedly also i'm playing solo, im still learning how to balance combat, and also i built a character who has NO combat talents and iron (the close quarters fighting stat) is one of my lowest stats so i personally am under much more threat than if you built a character who knew how to fight or who could do deadly harm. but also the other thing about combat is it's extremely difficult to maintain control of the fight; you have to score a strong hit to do it on basically all moves, and there's a really limited pool of moves available when you don't have the initiative, and obviously none of them really favour you. i don't know that this makes combat genuinely more difficult, but it does make you feel like the fight is always about to spiral out of your control. every second you let it drag without decisive action feels like it brings you closer to dying. like i said, this is a feature of the game design and not a problem in any way. just thinking about it because when i was initially learning i was going to try to supplant it into a homebrew fantasy world of my own but the tone just wouldn't be right. and that it is somewhat difficult to replicate the kind of worlds that i typically play or run for dnd, which tend to lean somewhat sillier and definitely much higher fantasy

but i like to try new things and tbh especially in dnd i find that i very rarely feel that sense of threat and when i do feel it, it has nothing at all to do with the actual mechanics and reality of the combat and everything to do with how well the dm sells it to me and makes it sound and feel scary and dangerous. which is a testament to what a good gm can do for you but i do appreciate the threat feeling more built-in and also being actually real.

#good idea generator #kas plays ironsworn #am giving it a tag because i will continue to talk about this. its my blog #idk i just find in dnd like. players often FEEL threatened WAY before they actually are threatened #which makes it really hard to balance combat because players treat evenly matched fights like hopeless death traps #so instead they do underleveled combat that feels boring for some hard to pin down reason #but like. the reason is even though you're nervous about the dm's description and the things the monsters can do #there is no real threat. especially in bigger parties where the players DOMINATE action economy. they are always in control #so of course it gets boring. it drags out so everyone can take their turn but it never forces you to make difficult choices #or to totally exhaust all your abilities. after awhile the combats start to feel same-y #because even if the monster is different. you never have to do anything different to defeat it #ofc this is a subjective assessment and also if youre reading this and we play dnd together this is not a gripe abt our table i love u #i think it's really easy to get trapped doing this esp in tables which like rp more than combat #because its also like. once you're used to a certain balance of combat if your dm suddenly threw you a big one #you assume that this is a uniquely large threat in the narrative as well (rather than a rebalancing attempt)#and treat it accordingly. which is to say with way too much caution because it isnt actually that big of a threat #so then as a dm when you have to maintain the feeling of threat and the mechanical threat #(especially when sometimes the mechanical line between 'cakewalk' and 'tpk' is razor thin #and is more about the initiative order and luck than anything else)#you start to prioritize the feeling of threat. which is imo the right call always #but its just after awhile when you feel the threat but nothing ever happens to anybody. the dissonance starts to affect the table #also balancing dnd combat as a dm is really hard and often requires a LOT of on the fly adaptation #because sometimes the CR is useless and you don't know how it's gonna do until the dice are on the table already #anyway. my point is that im enjoying how ironsworn handles this problem

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