eddie kaspbrak. (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
klussy) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deercountry2021-09-15 10:56 pm
klussy) wrote in deercountry2021-09-15 10:56 pm
Entry tags:
It's getting dark and it's all too quiet
Who: Eddie and Ryan
What: Learning about their blood powers in a VERY emotional way
When: Sometime in September/sort of around sunset, a little after.
Where: The Farther Shores
CONTENT WARNINGS: Heavy descriptions of poison-like abilities, telepathy, mind-sharing, some vague blood drinking, emotional breakdowns, lowkey existensial crisis mode, panic attacks, trauma/ptsd.
(As the days wore on, Eddie became more and more absent-minded. It was difficult to feel anything, negative or positive, and he felt like he was feeding lines to people rather than having any real connection. Even with Richie, he felt oddly mechanical and as though he was five feet above his own body. He could figure the abstract concept of emotion and understand what he should be displaying, what he should be feeling, but he just wasn't feeling any of them.
Not sorrow. Not joy. Not amusement. Not excitement. Not fear. Nothing.
At first, it had felt peaceful. His mind was usually a clustered parade of noise and panic and emotions that would whiplash him on a regular basis. He hadn't even touched a single Xanax since he arrived here simply because he wasn't panicking. He didn't feel anxious. It had been really nice and he had thought was I cured?
Except if he was "cured" then he was left with almost nothing at all.
And that was somehow worse.
Even without emotions, he knew he didn't want this. It began to crack open a deeper void in him. He wandered out to the ocean because there was some instinctual pull, but not just because he was born from it. But because something within it called to him. Something about the shoreline felt safe. He sat down where the water washed over his feet. He had taken his shoes off, set them aside, and sank Taylor the Turtle in the sand next to him, desperately hoping even one of her songs might muster a stronger emotion in him.
He watched the waves, contemplating, knowing that what he was thinking about doing could worsen it. But he had gone through this before a little over a year ago now. He had a small jar of warmblood in his hand. He rotated it carefully in his palm, thinking, and he didn't know how long he sat on that beach staring at the blood. But eventually, he tipped back and downed the whole thing in a few eager gulps. The moment he tasted it, he could feel it working.
Back to this.
Only it wasn't like before. Before, he needed it to physically live. This? Not so much. He could feel his head clearing almost within moments. Once he's finished, he dropped the bottle aside and just crossed his arms over his knees, watching the ocean. His skin slowly diminished in its sickly green to his more healthy, natural brown, and his teeth became blunter. He started to feel threads of actual emotion sliding through him, and he felt vicious relief. He felt that burst of love and relief knowing that Richie was here, but then a sharp pang of hurt that Richie had to go through Eddie forgetting him.
The emotions were starting to mount, but there was nothing Eddie could really even do. His chest started to flutter, his lungs shrinking down, and all he could think was a roaring panic of I need my inhaler, ma, I'm having an asthma attack, oh God, it's been years since I've had an asthma attack. The jointed memories weren't doing him any favor and he sucks in a deep gasp and immediately begins to cry. Loudly.
The most unusual thing, however, were the thin, wispy black spores that were sliding down his arms, pooling up, and floating up into the air around him. His grey eyes became bright, shining like reflective coins in the evening. The pressure of the air around him was heavy, dense, like a humid summer day, thick to walk through. He doesn't really hear anything as the panic begins to rise because good lord, he had missed a lot of reasonable panic attacks since arriving in Trench.)
What: Learning about their blood powers in a VERY emotional way
When: Sometime in September/sort of around sunset, a little after.
Where: The Farther Shores
CONTENT WARNINGS: Heavy descriptions of poison-like abilities, telepathy, mind-sharing, some vague blood drinking, emotional breakdowns, lowkey existensial crisis mode, panic attacks, trauma/ptsd.
(As the days wore on, Eddie became more and more absent-minded. It was difficult to feel anything, negative or positive, and he felt like he was feeding lines to people rather than having any real connection. Even with Richie, he felt oddly mechanical and as though he was five feet above his own body. He could figure the abstract concept of emotion and understand what he should be displaying, what he should be feeling, but he just wasn't feeling any of them.
Not sorrow. Not joy. Not amusement. Not excitement. Not fear. Nothing.
At first, it had felt peaceful. His mind was usually a clustered parade of noise and panic and emotions that would whiplash him on a regular basis. He hadn't even touched a single Xanax since he arrived here simply because he wasn't panicking. He didn't feel anxious. It had been really nice and he had thought was I cured?
Except if he was "cured" then he was left with almost nothing at all.
And that was somehow worse.
Even without emotions, he knew he didn't want this. It began to crack open a deeper void in him. He wandered out to the ocean because there was some instinctual pull, but not just because he was born from it. But because something within it called to him. Something about the shoreline felt safe. He sat down where the water washed over his feet. He had taken his shoes off, set them aside, and sank Taylor the Turtle in the sand next to him, desperately hoping even one of her songs might muster a stronger emotion in him.
He watched the waves, contemplating, knowing that what he was thinking about doing could worsen it. But he had gone through this before a little over a year ago now. He had a small jar of warmblood in his hand. He rotated it carefully in his palm, thinking, and he didn't know how long he sat on that beach staring at the blood. But eventually, he tipped back and downed the whole thing in a few eager gulps. The moment he tasted it, he could feel it working.
Back to this.
Only it wasn't like before. Before, he needed it to physically live. This? Not so much. He could feel his head clearing almost within moments. Once he's finished, he dropped the bottle aside and just crossed his arms over his knees, watching the ocean. His skin slowly diminished in its sickly green to his more healthy, natural brown, and his teeth became blunter. He started to feel threads of actual emotion sliding through him, and he felt vicious relief. He felt that burst of love and relief knowing that Richie was here, but then a sharp pang of hurt that Richie had to go through Eddie forgetting him.
The emotions were starting to mount, but there was nothing Eddie could really even do. His chest started to flutter, his lungs shrinking down, and all he could think was a roaring panic of I need my inhaler, ma, I'm having an asthma attack, oh God, it's been years since I've had an asthma attack. The jointed memories weren't doing him any favor and he sucks in a deep gasp and immediately begins to cry. Loudly.
The most unusual thing, however, were the thin, wispy black spores that were sliding down his arms, pooling up, and floating up into the air around him. His grey eyes became bright, shining like reflective coins in the evening. The pressure of the air around him was heavy, dense, like a humid summer day, thick to walk through. He doesn't really hear anything as the panic begins to rise because good lord, he had missed a lot of reasonable panic attacks since arriving in Trench.)