❝ and suddenly i'm an angel on the cutting room floor, wearing gore, a blank stare, not much more.❞
-daphne gottlieb
STRANGER THINGS SEASONS 2 - 4
。° fem oc x steve harrington
。° fem oc x robin buckley
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
∘₊✧──────────────✧₊∘
TRUDGING OVER TRAIN TRACKS, Dominic thought about death.
More specifically, all the times his Dungeons & Dragons character nearly died throughout years of campaigns with the boys.
If one thing was guaranteed when the party gathered around that flimsy card table in Mike's basement, it was that Dom's half-orc Rogue and blundering oaf of a DnD persona, whom he named "Assface", would have a rough go. Without fail, Dom would roll a statistically ridiculous amount of Nat 1s. Critical fail after critical fail. While Lucas' Ranger and Will's Wizard cast slingshots and fireballs in battle, Assface would trip over cliffs and slice off his own arms.
It was Dustin's Bard who kept him alive time and time again—the goofy pragmatic healer to his grumbly chaotic warrior.
Without him, Dominic would be hopeless. And armless, apparently.
Real life was the same. Dustin had a way of fixing all the foolish conflicts Dom would make within the party. Whenever he butted heads with Mike or Lucas, Dustin bridged their differences. He had a way of keeping Dom in check when he got too proud or too mean. Dustin understood his darkest side. The self-sabotaging shadow determined to cut everyone out and wallow in despair. And he made it his mission to save Dominic Lee from himself.
Dustin wasn't going to save him this time, though.
Dom realized this with an acidic drag of breath against his ribs. Dustin was busy leading the way through the forest beside Steve. They were deep in conversation. Every so often their rubber-gloved hands would slip a chunk of raw meat to the train tracks, scattering a trail.
Dominic lugged a gasoline canister a good distance behind them. He was trapped in a nasty feeling, familiar and festering in his chest, singeing outward. The feeling that something had gone wrong and he was the reason why.
