#haunting of hill house x scream

[dreamersbcll]

The Nothing After Death

a scream x the haunting of hill house au

—————————————————————————-

Being the eldest child, Sam always knew a few things.

That, no matter what, she was the protector of her sister. Even when scared or tired, she was still the watchful eye, the secondary caretaker. The older one always ensured the younger one was alive and well.

Sam was no stranger to this. But it wasn't easy when she and her sister were so different. Both struggled with their past and fought in the present, but the depression and manic swings Tara went through were one of the starkest differences between the top.

She doesn’t quite know if it’s because she’s the eldest or just the most aware, but Sam has her differences from Tara. Some called it a feeling, some called it a gift, but to her, it would always be her mother’s definition.

Heightened Sensitivity. That’s what her mother called it, anyway. Supposedly, Sam got it from her grandmother, who passed it to her mom, who passed it to Sam. That’s what her mother said after Sam made the mistake of touching her.

In reality, what Sam feels when she touches any object or person is empathy. She calls it her ‘little doorway into the soul’ when she’s feeling cheerful, but most of the time, it is a ‘little window to hell.’ Around the fifth moment of terror, Sam starts to realize that she picks up on the emotions of other people and things as if it was her own emotions.

At first, it’s a gift.

(She thinks it’s a gift anyway after the night she drunkenly speaks of it to her latest midnight friend).

She can excel in life- or, in her field of study, she should say- by having a cheat code into other people's heads. In undergrad, she picked Psychology as a major. She will bring it to the grace that it was to be the best psychologist ever, but really, it was just to understand her family better and dissect her past.

And it goes well. She gets her masters, and gets a job at a powerful child psychology team that will stop at nothing to help the kids they see. If Sam was honest, she wasn’t very sure about working with kids. She wanted to see adults, but after the first session with a sexually abused six-year-old named Felix, Sam understands. She understands that her gift was a tool to help kids, to help the little kids that remind her so much of Tara and her. Sam then makes it her mission to help kids who need someone to stand up for them.

It was going well. Sam hadn’t met a kid she couldn’t help. One handshake, or hug, or high fives, and Sam knew how to help. Sure, she felt guilty at times for, in a way, invading these kids' emotions, but to see them get the help they were dying for made it all worth it. She develops a routine, work, dinner, club, and one-night stand. It was going so well.

Then, her little sister starts calling again.

Sam never truly knew what was up with her little sister. Tara Carpenter was once a bubbly child. If Sam closed her eyes and focused hard enough, she could still see big brown eyes staring up at her, asking if Sam would play tea party with her.

Sometimes, Sam finds herself negotiating with her baby sister- Maybe we can play outside instead?

But Tara doesn’t respond.

After, well, that night, Tara morphed into a peculiar child. Once the media circus started and their mother’s obituary was finalized, Tara was different. She was withdrawn, soft-spoken, and a little too brooding for her good. Gone were the days of games and dances; now, there was just a shell of a little six-year-old that sometimes followed Sam around.

There was only so much Sam could do between holding herself together and trying to deal with their incompetent father. It wasn’t all her fault. Her gift was more sensitive, and she was falling, too. How was she expected to protect Tara if she couldn’t protect herself?

So Sam lost Tara. Her little sister drifted, too far away to touch but close enough to feel her presence, her shadows. Tara stopped living in Sam’s life, only lingering. She ghosted through Sam’s apartment and place of work from time to time but is only truly present in her own head.

And then came Arthur Vance—sweet, kind, and patient. He was always loving Tara despite her flaws, always keeping her afloat. From the times' Tara brings Arthur around to her home, Sam could instantly sense that this was the one.

Sometimes, she closes her eyes and relives the wedding that took away the one physical thing that made Tara Sam’s.

——-

Tara Vance.

That was a strange thought. No longer a Carpenter, but something else. Something that wasn’t connected to Sam.

Even throughout her latest wedding hookup, she couldn’t get it out of her mind. She was still thinking of the broken connection when she exited the bedroom.

(In her defense, the Maid of Honor came up to her. Who was she to refuse?)

Instead of making her way to the reception area, she bumps straight into her little sister. Tara, all dolled up in her pretty white dress, looked shocked as Sam bumped into her.

Big brown, shocked eyes met Sam’s panicked ones, and neither moved for a second.

“Uh? What?” Sam asks, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing.

(Who sleeps with their little sister’s Maid of Honor anyways?)

She braces herself for the rejection, the final severed cord between the two. Sam believes that she can handle a new last name for Tara, but homophobic disgust wouldn’t fly. She straightens up, sets her jaw, and breaths out steadily.

Instead, Tara’s grin is wide enough to swallow Sam up whole. Her little sister opens her arms, squealing a bit. Shocked, Sam lets herself be hugged by her gorgeous (and confusing) little sister.

Tara’s voice rumbled against Sam’s shoulder, her height still permanently stuck in sixth grade.

“I love you so much, Sam,” she whispered, gripping Sam like she was six years old and scared of the dark again.

Everything in Sam screamed to let go, not to touch. The skin on skin was bad, and though Sam wore sweaty gloves, she could still feel her anxiety of being assaulted with emotions ramping up. She needed to let go.

But she didn’t. She let herself be held and comforted. She wasn’t ashamed of her sexuality, but she couldn’t deny the fear of being too open with people she didn’t honestly know. Yet her little sister loved and accepted her no matter what, even through their years of turmoil.

So Sam hugs her back, squeezing her tight. She protects her little sister from the monsters of her wedding day and holds her hand all the way to the reception area.

And Tara doesn’t let go until Sam does first.

——

That’s the last time Sam remembers touching Tara before today. A little over two years ago, Tara was alive and gripping onto her shoulders like her life depended on it.

Now Tara lay dead on the examining table, a sheet pulled up to her chest, her pale eyes closed. Sam doesn’t remember if Tara actually looks like that or if that was all due to the makeup they had caked on. Tara isn’t smiling or even brooding. She’s dead.

She's dead and Sam doesn’t know why. The cause of death was officially ruled a suicide. But Sam can’t accept that. She needs to know why. She needs to understand.

Tara had been struggling for years. Depression was a ribbon that lived in Tara, always twisted around her organs and squeezing her brain. Sam knew that Tara struggled with it and often couldn’t function like she could. Sam also knew it was a side effect of their traumatic childhood, but it was also genetic and came from their mother. But Tara had never attempted before.

Why now?

The authorities tell her they’ll never know. They’ll say that this happens to those struggling and that Sam has to be at peace with not knowing.

And Sam can’t handle that. She can’t handle not knowing why Tara decided to end it.

So, on the nights leading up to the funeral, Sam finds herself breaking into the room where Tara’s little dead body lied on the table. She didn’t really know what she expected, maybe a sheet covering her face, but she was glad the body was covered. She couldn’t handle seeing the damage her little sister caused to her own body.

Sam breathed deeply, closing her eyes. She removes her gloves and hovers her hand over Tara’s forehead. She tries to listen for her sister, tries to hear Tara say her name. Sam. I’m here, Sam. But she doesn’t hear anything.

As she lays her hand down on Tara’s forehead, she braces herself for images of death, the fall pout, the gushing blood, and the snapping of bones.

But she doesn’t expect The Nothing. She doesn’t expect her mind and emotions to shut down, her worldview instantly dull. There was no warning for the curtains being drawn. Nothing had meaning anymore. There was no value in life. It was all pointless. She was worthless. There was nothing when she died. There’s no next step or next place. There is only cold and empty.

Nothing.

Sam rips her hand from Tara’s head, scrambling backward. She trips and falls into a table, her head smacking into the side. It doesn’t matter.

A blood-tingling, organ-shredding guttural scream leaves her mouth. The sound makes her cry, tears her hair out of her head, yanks her teeth out of her mouth. It was painful. It should be painful. She was involuntarily putting everything into it.

But she doesn’t feel a fucking thing.

And she understands why Tara kills herself.

[goryhorroor]

day 17 of horror: the screams of horror

[thegalaxyonherlips]

Hi, I know people don't do this often anymore, but I've found that it's my best way to follow new blogs. And I'm in need of active blogs to follow 😅 So, if you post about these things, please give this post a like so I could potentially follow!

- From (MGM TV series)

- Yellowjackets

- The Haunting of Hill House/Bly Manor

- the Fall of the House of Usher

- Any Mike Flanagan really

- Castle Rock

- What we do in the Shadows

- The Last of Us

- Horror Movies, specifically:

- Any Jordan Peele movies

- Any Ari Aster movies

- FNAF

- Any horror starring Melissa Barrera, Kathryn Newton, Samara Weaving, Jenna Ortega, Mia Goth, or Keke Palmer

- Stephen King adaptions

- The big boy franchises like:

- Halloween

- Friday the 13th

- Scream

- Final Destination

- Nightmare on Elm Street

- Chucky (Child's Play)

- Saw

- And books like:

- Anything by Stephen King

- Riley Sager

- Joe Hill

- Graham Masterton

- Grady Hendrix

- Dean Koontz

Thank you for this!

[ghostfaceprincess]

I still don't know why tumblr put us as mutuals, but I am going to roll with it.

What your favorite scary movie?

ah, i grew up on the classics; so like House on Haunted Hill, Last Man on Earth, The Bat, Dracula, etc but i also love Scream, Terrifier 1&2, Jeepers Creepers 1&2, Halloween, Halloween (2018), Halloween Kills, and Halloween Ends to name a few, but i have a whole list in my get to know me thing!

yours?

[multimuseficreblogs]

i have reached 900 lovely readers so i’ve decided to do a poll in light of this. this is a little late to be halloween themed but i figured we can binge read together the night before halloween. that being said, this is only going to be open for 24 hours and i will get started on the reblogs asap.

side note #1: these may not be everyone’s cup of tea who already follows me (specifically the slashers/horror) so i will put unique tags with said fic reblogs (which are listed below) so you can block the tags. there will be a lot more reblogs than usual at once as i want to get these out to you as soon as possible so if you don't want to see them all, block the tags i've listed below. side note #2: be mindful of your own triggers with these!! these ones include very heavy topics including violence, blood/gore, cannibalism, torture, smut with serial killers/paranormal entities, non-con, murder, ect. some of these fics may not have proper warnings listed so just be mindful of this!

tags to block #halloween binge - for all the fic recs i will be reblogging over today/tomorrow/the 31st (there will be a LOT) #slashers - for all the slasher fic recs #zombies - for all the zombie fic recs #paranormal - for all the paranormal fic recs

[ahsgotham]

somebody had requested a masterlist but i lost my draft as a response for it, so i’m gonna write it out here and hope they say it. these are my main interests and what characters i’ll write for, there are still tons of things not mentioned i’ll write for (such as, i’ll still write for ahs and gotham.)

i primarily write smut now, which is why i post on ao3 more, but i’ll still write sweet stuff, sad stuff, etc.

DEXTER

- dexter morgan

- debra morgan

- joey quinn

- angel batista

- rita bennett

- brian moser

- miguel prado

- travis marshall

- oliver saxon

PENNY DREADFUL

- ethan chandler

- vanessa ives

- sir malcolm murray

- dorian gray

- victor frankenstein

- brona croft

i’ve only seen up to the end of s1 so far, but i will write for dracula and jekyll in the future <3

PREACHER

- jesse custer

- tulip o’hare

- proinsias cassidy

- eccarius

- jesus

AMERICAN GODS

- shadow moon

- laura moon

- mad sweeney

- bilquis

- mr world

- tech boy

- mr wednesday

STAR WARS

- originals (han solo, luke skywalker, leia organa, boba fett, lando calrissian, darth vader)

- prequels (anakin skywalker, obi-wan kenobi, padmé amidala, bail organa)

- sequels (finn, poe dameron, general hux, rey skywalker, han solo, d.j.)

- stand-alones (cassian andor, bodhi rook, han solo, lando calrissian)

- shows (din djarin, cobb vanth, cassian andor, syril karn, obi-wan kenobi)

HORROR

for these ones there’s too many characters i’d write for to list off, so just request someone and see if i’ll write them. if not i’ll tell you.

- the scream films

- the final destination films

- the evil dead films/ash vs evil dead

- interview with the vampire (1994/2022)

- fright night (2011)

- twin peaks

- the mike flanagan-verse

HBO SHOWS

same deal as horror, rq someone and i’ll let you know

- true blood

- boardwalk empire

- six feet under

- the righteous gemstones

- band of brothers

- the sopranos

- succession

- veep

- true detective (only seen s1 so far)

MISCELLANEOUS

- anything i’ve written for previously

- sons of anarchy

- the magic mike films

- you (tv show)

- the top gun films

- scoot mcnairy characters

- mozart in the jungle

- ray donovan

- workaholics

i’m sure i’m forgetting some things, but here you go !! <3 rq and i’ll get to it. some things i might post on my ao3, ianmckinley.

[texaschainsawmascara]

for the ones who don’t have great sibling relationships all those other posts talk about

Clive Baker / Succession / Joshua A. Krisch / Cain Kills Abel / Natalie Diaz / Shameless / Richard Siken / Sharp Objects x / Jenny Han / The Other Boleyn Girl / Jane Mersky Leder / The Haunting of Hill House x / Succession x2 / Silver Linings Playbook / Boy Meets World / Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 / Ginger Snaps / Scream 4

[possession]

Psycho (1960) The Shining (1980) Possession (1981) Twin Peaks: Beyond Life and Death (1991) Scream (1996) I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997) Hereditary (2018) The Haunting of Hill House: Steven Sees a Ghost (2018) X (2022) Pearl (2022)

SCREAM QUEENS IN FILMS AND TV SHOWS

[catfern]

1 MILLION SUBSCRIBERS SPECIAL

pairing: ghost hunter!ellie x afab!reader (feminine pronouns used)

music: eyes without a face - billy idol

word count: 2.3k

summary: ghost hunter!ellie needs a new assistant to help film her 1 million subscribers special in a supposedly 'haunted house'. good thing you'll do anything she says.

warnings: SEXTAPE, oral (r!receiving) fingering (r!receiving), ghosts? spooky business, ellie is a shitty clickbait youtuber

an: heyyy this came to me in a dream. nothing much else to say. get ready to fuck dirty while ghosts watch idk. this is probably gonna be my only halloween fic while we're still in october. got some other ideas tho so get ready for a spooky november

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“come on! come on! it’ll be fun! something memorable on halloween.”

“jesus, ellie, you know I don’t believe in that shit.”

it’s a coy laugh. your fingers dance over your phone, unsure what to do. you didn’t believe her when she jumped and screamed, bolstering about her 1 millionth subscriber.

‘The Ghost Detective.’ her youtube profile was almost as shoddy as her Mr. Beast-esque clickbait video titles.

“then it doesn’t matter!” she had a hold on your forearm, intermittent squeezing begging you to fold, “please? the last girl I had thought her dead mom was talking to her and ran off.”

she had an almost pitiful look in her eyes, her eyebrows screwed together as she pleaded. 

fucking hell. you were convinced if you hadn’t met ellie, hadn’t started falling behind her like an obedient dog, you’d actually submit most of your assignments on time.

“fine.”

it wasn’t that your tiny town was particularly superstitious, or religious, or any other ‘-itious’, but it was in unspoken agreement that there was something inexplicable here, on the hill that looked over the lights of the suburbs. a decaying prairie protrusion built god-knows-when, the moon shone high in its fullness through the rotting foundations, casting its shadows over the dead grass, falling at your feet with the cool of the wind.

the whisper in her voice ran up your spine, “gettin’ scared yet?”

ellie seemed all too giddy to be here, a wicked smile and a laugh in her throat. her hair was pulled back from her face, and you could lightly see the ghost of freckles across her cheek in the night. 

“what? no, no. i’m just tired.”

“right,” she was poking fun, the words dripping from her lips like electricity. she dumped her arms-full of equipment in your arms with a huff, before digging around in her backpack. “here,” cold metal in your hand as she took back her stuff. redbull, “we’re gonna be here all night.”

you don’t know how she did it. even as a certified non-believer, the engulfing emptiness of the house, the darkness that settled in the cracks and corners caught up with you, something unsettling pricking the hairs on the back of your neck.

but here she was. she brought a lawn chair from home, said it was her dad’s. equipped with the built-in beer holder and everything, she was relaxed. her elbows settled on her knees, her hands fallen limp in the space between her legs. she had something in her eyes, a glint. something determined, charming as she stared you down. well, the camera.

but you were staring at her right back. memorising what little detail echoed through the lens of the shitty 2008 sony camcorder.

she said it was for the ‘found footage look’. you know it’s just because she’s broke.

“now, legend has it, ladies and gentlemen, that the last owners of this iconic hillside property were satan .. worshippers. and that this house, this very house that i’m sitting in right now, is actually an active portal. to. hell.”

you’ve gotta give it to her. she had a talent for drama.

“i’ll just point to you when i need you to do like, i dunno, a little camera pan or something, yeah?”

ellie was explaining it to you like you hadn’t just been at home binge-watching her channel for the past few days, meticulous research, you called it. to make sure you did a good job as her assistant. not like the blur of her messy hair and her face in the ghoulish green light of the night vision camera did anything to you.

you knew her video structure. front room first, then five minutes in a spooky hallway, then some time left to freak out in one of the bedrooms, find an old haunted toy that definitely wasn’t planted, and then a quick exit with a lot of swearing, screaming and camera shaking.

“right, you ready?”

you nod. 

the front room was, unsurprisingly, boring, although ellie put on her best shiver-me-timbers face, as she calls it. something for the fans.

but when you got back into the hallway, something in the air had changed. you looked to ellie, and you couldn’t tell if what she felt was real, or fake. she just kept looking at you through the camera, the same dramatised ‘concern’ written all over her face.

everything ellie does is scripted. fake.

if there was something wrong, truly wrong, here, you would leave, right?

the feeling was violently oppressive, pushing down on you. run, run, run. a gush of something ran across the back of your neck.

“fuck! what was that? did you feel that?”

“hey, hey,” the sudden normalness of her voice felt misplaced, “just keep the camera on me, okay? eyes on me.” 

you could barely see her fucking eyes. the imposing and suffocating darkness of the house seemed to wrap around you horribly tight, the only thing keeping you tethered to your sense of sanity was the sound of ellie’s breath, so close you could feel it wisp around your cheekbone, warm and inviting. the only comfort fighting the cold in the air.

slowly, your sight adjusts to the dark, and you could barely make out the outline of her face in the dim light of the moon. she was watching you, her eyes lidded, flickering over the shadow of your body. your own breath was quick, adrenaline laced, something sore and deep. you feel a slight graze against your arm and you jump, ellie catching your shoulders in her arms, pushing you upright,

“careful, it’s just me,”

there’s a closeness now, a beat. her grip is strong as it soothes the shaking, the fear, the absolute buzz that you’re convinced is the only thing keeping you alive. you quickly become obsessed with the design of her, you’ve never been this close. suddenly, you recognise the way her hair falls on her face, the look in her eyes, the shine as she looks at you. she clears her throat, and her hands drop, coarsely, from your shoulders,

“come on, you’re alright. let’s keep going.”

yeah, yeah. you fumble your hand back through the strap of the camera, a slight twitch in your hand as you press record,

“fucking hell,” her voice was raspy, deep, a soft but commanding whisper, “the spirits sure are stirred up here… i wonder what happened.”

stay close to me. it’s barely a breath, something not meant to be heard, but her voice is luring, and you nod.

your footsteps were a heavy echo against the aging wood floor, the creaks spreading through the house like a warning. to you, or to others, you don’t know.

the bedroom wasn’t far. you had to hike up a flight of decaying steps, but as ellie talked to the camera, she held a hand firm on your back. she wouldn’t let you fall.

the room obviously belonged to some kids, however long ago. abandoned toys and rotted posters littered the floor, and it almost felt painful to see the life that was once in this house. but why did they leave everything here? kids drawings, toys, a closet full of half-eaten, moth-ridden clothes.

what made them just get up and leave?

wind rattled against the window, it felt like it was rocking the house. something was uneasy here, unnerving. you tried to focus your thoughts on ellie, her dramatic storytelling and perfectly practiced ‘scared’ body language, but there was something here. and it was watching.

one final gust of wind surged against the rocky foundations of the house, and the closet doors flung open, an old wooden puppet flying out to your feet.

you were never a screamer, never. which is why, when you heard a blood-curdling shriek rush through the house, it felt like an out of body experience. something foreign. you fell back and tripped over your own feet, desperate to put as much distance between you and whatever was in this house as possible.

luckily, ellie’s fear is fabricated. she’s quick to respond, stepping in to steady you with kind hands and a charming smile. your heart rate was so intense, it rocked the both of you, chest to back, intertwined something fierce. your breath settles against her chest, and you meet her eye,

“thought you didn’t get scared,” she was being a tease. her hands ghosting over your body gently, carefully, thinly veiled under the guise of simply holding you, caring for you, she was keeping you safe. it was a little self-indulgent.

“i’m not,” you steel yourself, stubborn girl, although a soft laugh bubbles in your throat. there’s something unreal about the steady feeling of ellie’s hands, the roughness of her palms pushing through your clothing. you turn, and she’s smiling, the glint of her teeth in the soft light, mischief an echo on her face. her voice was low as she leaned in, tickles of her hair just brushing the apple of your cheekbone,

“really, baby? i don’t think you would even still be here if it wasn’t for me.”

“you think i’m here for you?” she’s so close you can feel your breath swirl with hers, heat brushing down your jaw and dripping onto your neck. her grip on your waist anchors, and you feel her settle in the crooks of your body, the corners of your skin, like she’s home. she’s looking at you, something jokingly fierce, but unsure, and her gaze falls on your lips, 

“mhm,”

you’d think she’d been starved. restless, choked breaths fall between you in gaps as she pulls you in, heavy, her lips on yours in fervour. her hands are everywhere, tracing themselves in your hair, down your neck, feeling their way blindly along the softness of your skin. god.

her lips draw from yours, dragging a mix of spit and lip gloss down your chin, along the ridge of your neck, a trail glistening in the edging darkness.

“fuck, ellie.”

you barely register the weight lifting from your hand, only a visceral whine as she pulls from you, walking a safe distance to gently place the camera down, out of the way.

ellie finds herself back in the crook of her neck, dragging your skin through her teeth, soft groans rumbling from her throat as her hands pull their way down to the waistband of your skirt,

a skirt? really?

had you planned this?

“come on, sweetheart,” she’s barely audible against your skin, vibrations dripping down your torso as her hands dive under your shirt, lifting it to bounce above your tits, “that’s it.”

her palm cups the base of your tit, dragging soft moans from your pretty lips as she squeezes.

under her breath, she’s praying. vulgar, tenacious, she can’t control herself, lost in the dream of your body as she presses you against a wall she hopes won’t collapse.

fuck-god, fuck, jesus, baby.

if you’re who she’s praying to, it falls on deaf ears. you’re no god, you can’t help her, but fuck, she feels like she could worship you. properly, forever, falling to her knees and cupping her palms behind your thighs, it’s like she’s pleading,

“can i?” she’s soft, her cheek resting on the inside of your thigh, you’re her altar, “god, say yes.”

her nose just graces the wetness of your underwear and you flinch, “yes! ellie, f-fuck-please.”

she loops her pointer fingers into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs, almost too rough. she loses herself in the heat, the slick dripping from your pussy.

heat poured over your body like molten gold, the feeling of her tongue inside you, raw, animalistic, sending pulses sliding up the ridges of your skin. she hums against your clit, her hand coming down to pull your velvet slick from the rim of her lips.

you convulse, clenching around the encroaching absence of a feeling, of something you didn’t know you needed. 

her.

“fucking hell, sweet girl,” deep, ragged breaths shadow your thighs. she needs air, but its not like she wants it. fuck, she wants you, she needs you. your taste on her tongue is metallic, a memory she’s chasing like a quick withdrawal. her tongue finds your clit and presses, a murmur leaving her drowning lips and echoing through your veins as you moan, desperation clawing through your hands and in ellie’s hair, binding. 

“please, el-f-shit, i need you. i need to feel you, fuck!”

you didn’t need to ask twice.

 fuck, you wrapped around her like you were made for her, godsent, a gift for her devotion. she stretched you, opening you with her fingers and you nearly melted, ellie’s arm wrapped around your thigh the only stability offered for your spent body. your head threw back, digging into the old, rotting wood of the wall, and if ellie looked up, pulled away from her firm spot between your legs, she would have seen you and completely unravelled.

she wasn’t gentle, the way her fingers moved inside you. desperate and completely unforgiving, she needed everything that you were willing to give her, her pace rough, fast, world-destroying.

and there she was, a lazy grin bearing her teeth against your clit, pussydrunk and delirious, tasting you and content enough to die.

she supposed she wouldn’t mind haunting this house, if you came to visit her.

low warbles against your cunt, you couldn’t hear her, even if you were listening. drowning in the push and pull of her touch, in the warmth of her, your head felt like molasses, your body something soft, mouldable to her design. ellie laughed against your walls, sweet and desiring, and you collapsed.

your vision bleary, you could just feel the tips of ellie’s fingers brushing through your hair, smoothing your slick across your skin. your head fell against hers, and you could just make out something blinking in the foggy distance, 

the camera,

“hey, el,”

she sighed, heat in the crook of your neck, “yeah?”

 “does the red light mean it’s on?”

A few days later, the thoughts of ghosthunting weighing heavy on your mind, ellie texts you,

thought you might want a copy <3

my subscribers will love you

attachment: hauntedhouse.mov 

taglist; @whore4abby

dm me to join my sad lil list <3

[takusan-no-ai]

Scream King

PAIRING: Koleda/Grace/Nekomiya x Male Reader (Romantic) (Separate)

SUMMARY: (Y/N) is a major horror fan, and intends to introduce his girlfriend to the wonders of fear.

It was just a simple horror movie night. You wanted to introduce Koleda to a well-renowned franchise; “The house on the hill in the hollow is haunted by my ethereal family.” You showed the movie to Koleda, her face completely confused by the scary cover contrasting the weird title.

After hearing that title, she thought it’d be easy to handle. Horror movies didn’t necessarily scare her, but your tastes were always more…striking, as Koleda would put it. Surely her boyfriend would spare her, right?

Once it started though, she knew it was a mistake to watch it with you. The soundtrack, cinematography, acting, and overall quality was outstanding. In any other genre this would be a delight, but for horror, this was Koleda’s nightmare.

She doesn’t scream, all fear being internal. But you can tell from her overly sweaty palms that she isn’t comfortable. Koleda has a hard time sleeping later, filled with paranoia, and requires a cuddle session with you.

You decided to be a little cruel to your girlfriend with this movie marathon. She never suspected her sweet, caring boyfriend to pick a horror movie where kids are brutally slaughtered.

She ran out of the room before the first killing could even finish, bawling her eyes out to Koleda. “Sweet pea! (Y/N) is a monster!” At first Koleda didn’t get what Grace meant, then she saw the movie herself and realized what had happened.

You showed her a horror movie where robots were being slaughtered. “Can’t Protect Us” it was called. The movie was quickly blacklisted from ever being shown to Grace again.

She’ll forgive you…eventually. Just give her some time and she’ll get over it, realizing how silly she was for getting that upset at a fictional characters death.

Bring it on. Nekomiya has seen way worse. It was a thing that sparked the start of your relationship. Your interest in the morbid horror and Nekomiya’s thick skin led to heated “debates” about the best horror films. Just don’t have those discussions near Anby.

None of your horror films really phased Nekomiya, even ones with thiren cats or street kids being the victims didn’t work. She’d always have the same smug smile on her face, tails swaying in the air behind her. “Can’t think of anything scary right meow, handsome?” She’d say.

Well now was a day that she would soon regret that smug attitude; if she’d at least pretended to be scared once then she maybe could’ve avoided her current predicament. You picked a 3D horror movie with high quality cgi and practical effects. The whole shabang.

Her tail was puffy, ears flattened down, and hands clutching her swords. You turned off the movie after she kept swinging them around, for fear of your safety and furniture (the furniture didn’t make it). You won the battle but lost the war.

- Fin

[starhvney]

𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: mcd garroth x reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: everyone was back in the village, except for garroth. his absence haunts you everywhere except for in your dreams.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: angst, reuniting, hurt/comfort, love confessions

𝐂𝐖: none? mentions of garroth’s injuries

𝐀/𝐍: rah rah mcd angst

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

it’s been a week.

a week since you and everyone escaped the irene dimension.

everyone but garroth.

you remember the look he gave you. the guilt, the resolve, the anguish. guilt for being weak enough to succumb to the mind control and manipulation that put you all in this jeopardizing situation. resolve to amend his mistakes by condemning himself to stay in this hell falsely veiled as heaven. anguish that he couldn’t properly say goodbye. it was only seconds after the portal opened that laurance was carrying you through kicking and screaming for another way that it had closed once again.

you’d begged zoey to open it again, both of you barely able to stand on your own with your energy drained and spirits depleted. but you knew it couldn’t be done.

now, seven days later, you lay in your bed, staring at the dilapidated and dark ceiling above you. not that you had any room to complain. your house was nothing but shambles after fifteen years, so the fact that levin even provided you with any sort of housing for free was generous. it seems providing you with your own bed was useless, though, when you couldn’t even sleep in it. it by no means was because you were energized–you were in fact exhausted beyond belief. rather it was because every time you closed your eyes, your mind kept replaying that moment. 

over and over and over and over again.

you’re not sure when you managed to finally fall asleep, but when you open your eyes again under a large tree instead of a cracked wooden ceiling, it takes only a moment to realize you haven’t truly woken yet. everything about it was so vivid, though. you could hear the leaves in the tree ahead rustle in the breeze,. feel the soft grass beneath your fingertips. smell the sweet scent of the flowers that bloomed from the ground. everything else beyond the hill this singular tree was on dissipated into a strange haze you couldn’t make out, like when exhaustion blends your peripheral vision with the regular into a strange blur. 

lifting yourself up to stand, you take a look around at the peaceful scene when a soft groan of pain sounds from behind you. when you turn back to the tree, you nearly jolt yourself awake into your physical body at the sight of the man leaning against it.

him.

it was him.

that pale golden hair, the usual soft waves mussed and sticking to his forehead. his face was pale and a large cut marred the skin near his jaw, his eyebrows pulled together and eyes shut from pain. slowly his eyelids crack open when his ears seem to catch your gasp, blue irises meeting yours a moment later. you can’t hear anything but your own hitched breaths for the few moments you both stare at the other, watching as the head guard’s eyes haze over in a vulnerable emotion you hadn’t seen from him before.

the sudden clinking of his armor barely alerts you that he’s moving before he’s suddenly right in front of you, large hands grasping onto you desperately and pulling you into his chest. shaky breaths brushed against your hair and over your skin, rough gloves squeezing your skin like he was sure you’d dissipate in front of his eyes if he loosened his grip any further. he pulls back, and you only briefly see the beautiful shade of deep cerulean in his eyes before his gloved hands slide up from your arms to the sides of your face and his lips clash against yours.

it feels so real. his cool armor against your skin and the firm grip of his hand on the back of your head as he tilts your head back to mold his slightly chapped lips with yours. it’s desperate, the way his fingers thread through your hair–it’s like he was hoping he could pull you closer than you already were. 

he doesn’t pull away until you both have no more air left in your lungs, and with incredible reluctance he barely pulls back, your lips brushing against his.

“i wish you were real.” he rasps, pressing his forehead against you with a groan. “if only you were real.”

your eyebrows pinch together. you’d say the same, but you’ve never had a dream where the other people in it were aware. and this all felt so vivid.

was it possible to be brought together with the one you love in your dreams?

you want to speak, say something, but you’re too overwhelmed by it all to do anything but whisper out his name.

“if i’ve died and this is my afterlife, i’d gladly spend the rest of eternity here.” he pulls away, rough thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his eyes dart across your face—committing every curve and detail to his memory. “maybe this is my mind’s last way of giving me peace before i’m killed.”

“what?” your eyes widen at the ramblings coming from the reserved guard’s lips. “garroth… is this—?”

“i love you. even if this is a delusion, at least i can feel like i told you once before i’m gone.” he gulps back a lump in his throat, eyes misted over. “i love you so much it hurts. i’m so sorry i’ve let you down. the fact i was so weak to ever risk your life like that is enough for me to realize this is the fate i deserve.”

you begin shaking your head, breaths short and quick.

it is him. somehow. someway. this was real.

“garroth. i don’t know where we are or how this is happening, but you can’t die. please promise me you’ll live until we can find a way to get you.”

his lips pull tight in confusion before shakily murmuring your name.

emotions bubble forward from your chest, crowding your throat as tears involuntarily pool in your eyes. “if somehow this is real, please don’t give up. you can apologize when we reunite. don’t let zane win this way.”

“i… i won’t, but how…”

“i love you, garroth.”

“i love you.” he says through a pained exhale, like the words were coming out of his last breath before his lungs collapsed in grief. “i promise you i’ll come back to you. i swear it to you.”

his fingers brush away the teardrops from under your eyes as a quiet cry leaves your lips, his expression pained. it was like each of your tears were a stab wound into his chest, your trembling lips a twist in the handle. the peaceful silence of the dream is interrupted by the loud ringing of what sounded like church bells in the distance. it echoed and shook the air around you, sending everything into a white haze.

no, were you waking up?

“please don’t give up.” you repeat, somehow unable to find any other words despite having so little time left. “i love you.”

you hear another hoarse “i love you” from his lips, before his features fade away into a blindingly white haze and then disappear into the darkness. the next moment you’re back in phoenix drop, staring up at the warped ceiling. the only thing reassuring you from letting the empty pit in your chest from swallowing you whole was his voice, the deep timbre still ringing in your head.

“i’ll come back to you”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

taglist: @wasting-away-on-the-internet @angelhyperfixates @valentique

[herlondonboy]

7:3

Pairings: Wednesday Addams x platonic!reader / Enid Sinclair x platonic reader / Larissa Weems x platonic!reader

Summary: 7 reasons to go, 3 reasons to stay

Warnings: suicide, suicidal thoughts, vent fic I guess, so uh, like bcos I need validation 🫶 pure, unfiltered, angst. (Part two here) (Tagging: @lxtins @allisonsblog @wednesday-l0ver @capryuk @smolgayhooman @elduster because they said they’d read it x)

Word Count: 1.1k

Seven reasons to go, three reasons to stay. It honestly seems like such an easy answer, but if you add a zero onto the end of both numbers it becomes harder. Seventy reasons to go, thirty reasons to stay. You sat atop of this hill, resting your back against the oak tree. Weighing the reasons in your head made the pit in your stomach grow, but it needs to be soon.

1. You have no family.

In a fit of blind rage at eight, you set your house ablaze. The fire started in your parents bedroom where you, your mother and father and your little brother were. Larissa Weems, a family friend, was quick to aid you. She brought you to Nevermore and raised you like her own. It was abnormal for normie families to have Outcast children, but that just meant the Outcast gene laid dormant for a few generations. You didn’t speak to anyone for seven years after the incident.

Though Larissa was the closest thing you had to a family, she wasn’t your family and the kids at school liked to remind you of that.

2. The overwhelming anger.

Your nostrils flared as you watched the boy, whose name you never bothered to learn, called you an orphan for the umpteenth time that day. You clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palm until you felt blood rolling down. Pain makes you human, Larissa had said to you. Why wasn’t it working? A wolf pushed you and you struck him with flame covered fist. Your hand was burned onto his face and he hand to live in humiliation with that scar for the rest of his life.

The kids around you immediately dissipated and ran away from you. Then your roommate asked to switch dorms

3. People would finally care.

They don’t care until it’s too late. You knew this now, throwing the noose end of the rope over the highest branch that you could reach. You couldn’t even cry. Why would cry? Crying for the people that never even batted an eyelash at you. For he people that saw your pain and laughed in your face, dancing on what was left of your happiness, hoping to ruin it all for you. You can imagine the people that pushed you to this crying in each other’s arms as your body was lowered into the ground. Who do they think they are?

4. You hurt everyone you touched.

Larissa had pulled you into a hug when you came to her office sobbing. You were hesitant to accept it, but you did in the end. You remember her scream and push you away. It haunted your nightmares every. Single. Night. You looked down at your hands and your eyes widened at the melted fabric on your palms. She told you that it was all right and that she was just shocked, but you didn’t believe her.

You began using weird techniques you’d read about in books from the library; sitting in the kitchen’s walk in freezer for as long as you could, taking ice baths, letting your anger out in a controlled environment.

5. The dreams.

Waking up drenched in sweat and covered in a crisp duvet was not your forte. In fact, waking up wasn’t your forte. Your family coming back from the dead to berate you, blame you. They wanted to kill you back. Your brother showing you what could’ve been, what would’ve been, what should’ve been him. A dashing you man, your mother had said before casting her eyes over you in disgust. You wanted to apologise, but that didn’t deserve it. They should have to beg you for forgiveness. The world should have to beg you for your forgiveness. And it would have if you really wanted it to. You had the power to burn the world to ash.

6. You’d stop being a burden.

Larissa Weems already had a whole school of children to deal with. And, though she didn’t say it, you knew having you in her office for breakfast, lunch, and dinner was bothering her. You didn’t want to admit it, but you grew to like her presence, so instead of staying cooped up in your room, you stayed cooped up in her office. You’d get short, curt answers when asking something and you took that as a hint.

7. Eternal peace.

You’d be free from all your suffering. You’d be dead, you’d be gone. There’s no analogy for this reason. It’s just a fact. You wanted to be gone, that’s all.

But now the reasons to stay.

1. Your Larissa.

She really was your family. The reason you were still alive right now, but it was proving not to be enough. You just hoped that she didn’t blame herself for this. She had saved you and protected you for as long as she could, but now it was down to you. You had to make a decision and it led to you tightening the rope around the trunk of the tree.

2. The people that liked your company.

You had met Enid Sinclair in your fourth year of solitude since you’d come to Nevermore. She walk talkative and it was nice for the both of you. She liked having someone that listened to her ranting and you liked listening to someone talk to you without belittling your feelings. Then you met Wednesday on your 16th birthday, three years later. She was Enid’s roommate and you were scared that Wednesday was going to take her away from you. But that’s not what happened. Soon in days where you waited for Enid in her dormitory, you found yourself enjoying the silence between you. It wasn’t that Enid’s rambling was annoying, but silence was nice every once in a while. Lastly, you met Eugene. He reminded you of your little brother, predominantly the good parts of him. He was a perfect mix of Wednesday and Enid. You loved hearing about his bees and how his mom’s were doing. You adored reading books with him in the library. He helped you get over your fear of yourself.

3. Life.

Sure, you hated life. But there were fun times like when you were five, on your father’s shoulders as he ran through the forest by Nevermore. Or on your fifteen birthday when Enid and Larissa threw you a surprise party in your dorm where’re the three of you danced the night away. Not to mention when you made Eugene laugh. A smile graced your face the whole day after hearing him cackle at a note you gifted to him. Even if it go you kicked out from the library.

It was moments like that that you craved.

But you didn’t get much more because here you were, standing on a stool as you put your head through the noose. Just as you strained to kick the stool away, you heard a scream.

“No!” They said, but it was too late.

Wednesday was too late.

[goryhorroor]

favorite 31-60 horror movies + quotes

[keeksandgigz]

in the wind and in the water

eddie munson x reader

a/n: This came from my headcanon that Eddie is a Sagittarius close to Christmas and hates his birthday so uhh enjoy (can be read as being in the same universe of one breath in, three breaths out) for context, you and Eddie have moved out of Hawkins and are now going back for the holidays.

cw: 3.2k words, sad language, mention of parental death, mention of alcoholism, mention of PTSD, some fluffy bits, mention of younger Eddie being sad (that deserved a tw), just overall angst with a happy ending, no y/n, no physical description of reader

baby taglist: @kellyxo1, @cryingglightningg, @tlclick73 (do let me know if you wanna be tagged in any future works!)

inspired by chemtrails over the country club by lana del rey

please like, comment and reblog! feedback is always appreciated and my ask box is always open <3

December 21st, 1990

The snow is unforgiving. Much like the passage of time. He turns 24 today.

He's alone in his bed. The heating in the trailer hasn't been working properly for years, he shudders in the layers he wore to sleep, in the mountains of blankets Wayne had given him once he'd decided to retire for the night. His uncle had even offered to give him his heater, Eddie declined.

You'd arrived in Hawkins early in the afternoon, Eddie's van once again withstanding the drive to your parents' house, where he'd dropped you off.

He'd been offered to stay, but the thought of Wayne being alone even if he was in the same town made his heart shrivel like the gray leaves in your pretty front yard decorated for Christmas.

You'd asked if he needed you to stay with him, in case of any night terrors, but he'd refused. He didn't want to put you through the arctic temperatures of his room in the winter. Once he'd dropped you off with your family he drove off towards Forest Hills.

That place felt haunting during Christmastime. Not that it was any less creepy all- year round, but there was an eerie feeling in the dirty, grey snow, the holiday spirit that attempted to come alive over their side of town felt more like the last dying breath of Father Christmas.

The flickering colorful lights, empty, barren Christmas trees. He saw a bunch of kids playing in the dirty snow.

He prayed there weren't any glass shards from the bottle of some drunken father, coming home to screams and cries. He still remembers the feeling.

He'd eaten crappy TV dinners, missing your warm stews and soups you'd make around this time. Wayne had insisted he took the armchair. He sank into it with guilt overtaking him.

The only part of Hawkins he'd never wanted to leave behind.

He gets out of bed, carrying a makeshift cape made out of a blanket. He smiles to himself, his mom would've called him Superman, and he would've started running around the house with his fist straight in the air.

But today there's just him. Him and a fancy cupcake with a candle stabbed in it Wayne must have spent at least $30 on. A sticky note reads 'In the next town over for a job, will be home by 6. Happy Birthday, kid'

He exhales, he's tempted to drive over to you, but it's still too early and you, ever the late bird, are still asleep.

He pictures you in your small twin bed in some silly pajamas you found in your drawers, happily snoring in the warmth of your home. He misses you in the kitchen making coffee, dancing around to some jazz record you found in his pile.

He runs in his room, grabbing a lighter from his old weed stash, which now contains a dirty bong and a broken glass pipe and a yellow lighter with barely any fluid in it. He grabs it and goes back into the kitchen, lighting the candle on the small chocolate cupcake.

Make a wish! his mom would have said. Make a wish, Eddie!

His mind scrambles to find something. A do- over. To do his life again. Choose a better dad. Let his mom live. Be able to see his mom's smile again.

The wax falls over the white frosting while he ruminates. What good is a wish if it never comes true?

He blows the candle. "Happy Birthday to me" he's sarcastic about it. There's nothing happy with the way the Christmas tree in the corner seems to be staring back at him, as barren and as empty as his mind.

The white smoke from the candle envelops the kitchen as he sets it back down on a plate. He'll share it with you later.

Then he goes back into his room and lays on the floor, enveloped by three quilted blankets, and just stares at the ceiling.

Nobody ever remembered Eddie’s birthday. Except his mom. 

When he turned six she took him to get pancakes. She made sure they were extra special for him, a smiley face made out of chocolate chips adorned his breakfast as he drowned it in maple syrup. December 1972, there’s a polaroid of the two of them from that day he’d kept in an old run- down copy of The Hobbit. The one she’d gotten him that same day. 

When his mom died and he went to live with his dad, December 21st, 1973 was the year his birthday began to cease existing. “What do you need a birthday for, Junior? Christmas is right around the corner” his dad bellowed over a cup of spiked hot chocolate that was more whiskey than milk. 

Christmas 1973, Eddie's dad taught him to pick locks as a gift.

Sometimes, his dad wasn’t even around for his birthday. He spent his day cooped up in his home, scrounging for whatever he could eat. He’d learned to hate Christmas. And his birthday. 

One December, after being left at home for a week, on Christmas day, Wayne came to visit. He came to wish Al and Eddie Merry Christmas, bringing some socks for the kid.

When he opened the door, Wayne found Eddie on the couch eating stale cereal dust.

“Where’s your dad, kid?” Wayne had asked. Eddie just shrugged.

“He’ll be back.” Christmas 1975.

Wayne looked around the house. Eddie had learned to use a stove, but not to wash the dishes. A pile of them sat precariously in the sink, the odor emanating from there made the man assume Eddie had grown nose blind to it.

He’d also not been taught to shower regularly, as he found a ball of matted hair in the back of Eddie’s skull. Grown nose blind to his own smell, too. He sighed.

“My mommy would brush my hair for me” the kid protested.

After many wails and I hate yous, Eddie was brought back to Wayne’s trailer, where they spent the rest of Christmas day trying to get rid of the matted hair.

After a couple hours, Wayne had grown tired, seeing little to no progress. As a man of not really much patience and resources, he’d grabbed his razor and some kitchen scissors and shaved Eddie’s head.

Christmas 1975, the year Eddie got a buzz cut as a present.

He'd kept that same buzz cut all through the end of elementary until seventh grade. "Good for lice," Wayne explained.

Eddie had mentioned in passing that his dad always forgot his birthday. Wayne’s ears perked up.

“When’s your birthday, kid?” he’d asked, leaning forward on the armchair while Eddie was playing with some sort of action figures he’d drawn on paper.

“Oh, December 21st” then he went back to his game.

Wayne ran to the calendar he kept hanging on the kitchen wall and scrolled through the pages. He grabbed a pen and wrote Eddie’s Birthday in bold red letters. He never forgot another one.

So when you came around, after everything that had happened in Hawkins, his birthday was the last of his problems. You'd met in one of the makeshift infirmaries spread throughout the town. He called you his 'cot buddy.' After the summer, you both were able to move back into your houses.

You hung out pretty much almost every day, not really bothering to put a label on whatever it was that was happening between the both of you. Enjoying and reveling in each other's company, healing. Also kissing.

Unprompted you’d asked him “So… what are we doing next week?”

The hairs on his neck stood straight, in fear he’d forgotten a date. 

“Sorry, sweetheart, I don’t mean to be stupid, but what’s next week?” he’d asked, sheepish, scared you were gonna get mad at him. 

“Your birthday, silly. I asked around. Tell me why Dustin had to hack into your old student files to get that information. Nobody knew when your birthday was” you laughed “I literally asked everyone. It’s like you’ve never been born” you said. 

He thought it was irrelevant. All his friends would go on winter vacation after final exams, there was no one to celebrate his birthday with but Uncle Wayne. He’d take him to see a movie, use his savings to treat him to something that wasn’t TV dinners or Spaghettios.   

After that conversation you two had, you’d made it a tradition to bake him a cake. Chocolate with cream cheese frosting. You’d put together a party for him at your house. Invited all his friends. You’d get him two presents. One for his birthday, one for Christmas. 

On Christmas day you’d handed him a box, he looked at you confused. 

“What’s all this about? I already got my gift, hon. Literally four days ago, that new vest was really cool, see I’m wearing it right now” he said, pointing at his new denim battle  vest. 

“That was your birthday gift, Ed. This is Christmas” you smiled at him. 

He’d never felt more loved before. His friends pitched in and had gotten him a new record player as both a birthday and Christmas present. You’d gotten him a bunch of new records. Megadeth, Anthrax, Slayer.

His eyes did light up like a kid on Christmas day.

Christmas 1986, the year Eddie got a girlfriend. And some sick presents.

A knocking startles him. He’d fallen asleep on the floor, wrapped up in blankets.

He looks at his watch. 2:00 pm.

Groggy, he stands up and slides his hands in the pockets of his sweater and goes to see who it is.

“Ed!! Ed, c’mon open up! I'm freezing out here” it’s you.

He opens the door and you run in, seeking refuge from the snow. You’re holding a small box. You look so pretty, face bitten by the cold, making the tips of your ears and nose a pretty blushy shade.

"Took you long enough" you huff "I was about to get hypothermia"

“Why’d you drive all the way here, hun? That snow looks pretty bad” he says, rubbing your coat to get the snowflakes off of you.

“Well, yeah, but it’s your birthday! I made a cake” you gesture towards the white box in your hands.

“Sweetheart, you didn’t have to” he smiles, and pressed a kiss to your cold forehead, riddled with snow. You never have to. The fact that you want to do such nice things to him is still something he struggles to wrap his head around. He helps you out of your puffy coat, grabbing you a warm blanket from his room.

"Why'd you bring it here? I thought we were gonna go to your house?" he said as you shed the layers you'd wrapped yourself in.

"Too much family at my house, we have my aunt from Virginia staying with us, and my grandparents. You don't wanna meet 'em, trust me" you laugh.

"You told everyone to meet here? You could've told me, baby, the trailer's a mess" he scrambles to pick up some dirty mugs from the coffee table.

"It's okay, Ed, I'll help you. Come here for now" you circle the counter to put the cake down.

He huffs, giving you a kiss on top of your head.

“So, what have you been doing here, birthday boy?” you nudge him, opening the cake box.

“You know, the usual. Despair about the passage of time, be sad about my mom, be sad about my dad, blow a candle and make a wish” he smiles half-heartedly. It makes you sad that he’s never able to fully enjoy his birthday.

“I’m sorry, Ed. I know your birthday is never an ideal date for you. Anything I can do to help?” you quip, smiling at him from the counter.

“The cake you made looks like it could be a good contender,” he smiles. You open the box, a simple chocolate cake with frosting says “Happy Birthday Eddie!” in bold chocolate letters. His heart feels like it's doubled in size since he woke up.

He gives you a kiss on the crown of your head as you reach into your purse, a packet of candles in your hand.

“Do you have a lighter?” you ask, kicking yourself for forgetting it. He tosses the almost- dead yellow lighter at you.

You stab the cake with the candles. You’d bought 24. He smiles, no one had ever done something like that for him before you.

You sing to him. The lights of the candles hitting your cold bitten face, making your eyes look shiny, like you had the sun from within.

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Eddie.

Happy birthday to you!

He breathes in, then blows out the candles while you clap contentedly, the white smoke of the candles dissolving into the air between the two of you. Setting the cake down, he gives you a kiss.

It's a soft kiss, full of gratefulness. Full of the thank yous he'll never get to tell you, just because you'll jokingly roll your eyes with the amount of times he'll say it. It's a sad kiss, a kiss that makes you remind him of his mom, the softness and gentleness with which she'd hold him. The kindness she'd show him, the same kindness you gave and continue to give him.

The kindness he wasn't allowed to have throughout his life, with the names and the threats and the beatings.

A whole town turning on a twenty year- old kid.

The kindness his dad had never given him, coming back whenever he needed money, or a place to hide. His rainy day funds raided, with no trace of Al Munson in sight.

Your kisses taste like summer, summer of '86, when he kissed you for the first time. High and clumsy in the back of his van, being too much of a pussy to ask you if you wanted to be with him.

His eyes become watery, almost like his thoughts materialize in the reflection of your eyes, where he can see himself. Tall, sad, Eddie the freak. Eddie the freak who just wanted to be loved, who wanted to be accepted.

He isn't a religious guy by any means, but your kisses feel like a baptism. Everything has been washed away by your love, forgiven for things he's never done. Sins he'd never committed, absolved by the taste of your lips, the feeling of his hands holding your waist, as if to never let you go.

The way you hold his face, cold, shivering hands against the feel of the slight stubble of his jaw. He'd manipulate the weather so you'd never feel cold, he'd bring down the heavens and hell to not make you feel any pain.

A tear falls down his cheek, too many emotions, too many thoughts. It collides with your thumb, you break away from the kiss.

"You okay, Ed?" you press your lips to his cheek, kissing the lone tear away.

He's okay, he just gets overwhelmed by all the love you have for him. He nods.

"Just miss my mom, 's all" he sniffles, then smiles.

"I'm sure she would've been so happy to see her baby turn twenty- four" you reach for a knife to cut the cake.

"No, split this with me" he says, showing you the small cupcake "Save the cake for when everyone gets here, Wayne probably spent a fortune for this one single cupcake" he chuckles.

You cut the cupcake in half, clinking the two halves together as one would two overflowing cups of champagne.

"They'll be coming in a couple hours. I already took care of food and everything, but I came here 'cause I wanted to give you my gift" you say, it never gets easy, getting him gifts. He's so tight lipped about needing things sometimes you just don't know what to get him.

"You didn't have to do that. The cake and the party are enough, sweetheart" he whispers, giving you a soft kiss between chocolate crumbs.

You reach for your bag on the counter, extracting a small black box from it.

"Happy Birthday, Ed" you say, nervous he might not like it.

Words become hard to fabricate, so he gives you a tight smile, almost embarrassed, guilty, you did this for him.

He opens the small, square box. He's not really sure what it is at first, but the nylon and cotton feeling feels familiar. The leather ends, with a loop in between. The red stitching. It's a guitar strap.

He gingerly takes it out of the box, bated breath, holding it horizontally.

The red stitching on the strap says Corroded Coffin, with a red border. But his favorite thing is his initials and yours on the end of the strap, right above the leather bit. He smiles. A smile so wide that you could have been blinded by it.

"I didn't know what to get you, just everything felt so, like, obvious and cliche. I had my mom help me" you rambled timidly.

"It's perfect, honey, thank you" he goes to hold you, guitar strap still in hand. As if it held the fabric of time and space itself, he refused to let it go.

Once he lets go of you, muttering thank you, baby's and i love it, it's so perfect's he grabs his guitar, crackled red and black paint chipped by the passage of time. He changes the straps and plays a few riffs, deft fingers moving across the fretboard, the sadness of the twenty minutes before seems to have vanished, as he spends the rest of his afternoon playing around with his guitar.

You clean up, and at around 6, Wayne comes back with the food you'd requested him to go pick up. All of Eddie's favorites from the diner he'd used to go with his mom. The smiley pancakes, the spaghetti and meatballs, the little sausage and eggs and pizza pockets. His smile is as wide as you've ever seen it, thoroughly shocked that you'd remembered everything he'd told you.

At 7, all his friends start to arrive, bringing him baskets of sweets, cookies, presents. The parties the years before had never been this large- scale. Or maybe the trailer is just small.

Everyone goes outside, wrapped up in their winter clothes that quickly become too hot as they play with the dirty snow, checking for glass shards in every one. In the lights of the shitty street lamps, Eddie is throwing a snow ball at Steve, and Robin throws one back at Eddie. You have a video camera in your hand, documenting every single moment of Eddie's night. His night.

He's frost bitten, his nose and the tips of his ears sticking out from the knitted hat Nancy had gotten him. His smile infectious as he hides behind a car after having thrown a ball at Steve's team. Everyone's on a sugar high, giggly and happy, reveling in the snow, the looming holidays making everything feel a bit lighter.

He opens up birthday presents and eats pancakes until he feels sick. But he's never felt better.

Everyone leaves at the late hours of the night. You decide to stay over, albeit the bite of the cold that forces the both of you to huddle close for warmth. Neither of you complain. Your house is too crowded anyway.

December 21st, 1990. Eddie Munson has had the best birthday of his life.

[trashmouth-richie]

pt 1: flicker

summary: Hawkins Annual Halloween Festival is in town, and this year you and your friends were lucky enough to work the event. But when some of your co-workers are missing, and a trail of blood leads to the woods behind the festival. Your friends work together to find out what’s going on. A killer is on the loose but who could it be? Or is it the town’s spooky secret of what really happened at Hawkins Lab?

[tickets] [flyer] [clipboard]

pt 2: A SCREAM AND A SLICE

summary: the day is finally here and our joyful crew arrives to get their assignments for the work day.

tw: 18+ only goodbye minors, billy hargrove smut, billy hargrove being a disgusting human being, mentions of drinking and drugs, character death x 3, hallucinations, drunk behavior, etc childhood background stories.

The air is cool and crisp, fluttering an ombré of red and orange leaves all over the carnival. Staff was to arrive no later than 8 o’clock, sporting burnt orange Hawkins Haunted Carnival shirts with red hems on the neck and arms. “STAFF” printed on the back in black bold letters. 

Robin's hair and makeup looked exactly like it did last night, a little smudgy and unkept, the style suiting her personality and image to a T. She was holding onto Steve’s arm while picking gum from the bottom of her dirty converse. 

“Fuck I hate kids,” she grumbled, wiping the last bit of the pink wad of bubble gum on the grass. 

Argyle, Nancy, and Jonathan stood and watched. Nancy with her hair in a perfect pulled back ponytail showcasing her bone structure and light makeup, was wide eyed and bushy tailed, making up for the lack of enthusiasm everyone else brought with them this morning. 

Argyle’s long pin straight hair is braided down his back, and he looks almost half asleep, or maybe he was just high, but more than likely that was just him in general. 

You yawned loud behind your hand for the second time since racing into the parking lot, Eddie poked you in the ribs and shook his head, he had wanted to stop at the gas station for some badly brewed coffee this morning upon finding out that your apartment was lacking any sort of caffeine, but you were already going to be late and Mr. Creel’s speech last weekend about not being on time, would scare anyone straight. 

That is unless you were Billy Hargrove. 

Billy rolled in a full thirty minutes past the time all staff were expected to be dressed and ready to go. A cigarette hung lazily from his mouth and the hickies on his neck were splotchy and fading yellow on the edges. He was clutching a can of beer upon walking over to the group, finishing the contents and tossing it behind his shoulder. 

His chin nodded to Eddie in that douchey dude type of greeting. One he reciprocated with flared nostrils and tense shoulders. 

Billy and Eddie used to be as thick as thieves, running like hellions through the trailer park, with you trailing behind them, trying to keep Eddie out of trouble. They had disturbed any little sort of peace that the tenants ever found there. They tormented the occupants of Forest Hills by egging their houses or lighting bags of dog shit ablaze on their steps.

But the boys were left to their vices much like their parents were. Neil and Al knew each other from high school, oftentimes spending nights at the Hargroves kitchen table laughing after many beers about the cars they’d stolen and the broads they shared. Hands around their chests like parentheses to emphasize the breast size of one in particular. 

Billy’s apple didn’t fall far from Neil’s tree, a ladies man but rotten to the core.  However when it came to Eddie and Al, it was almost as if Eddie’s apple was from a different tree entirely, rough on the edges and a little banged up, but the inside was sugary sweet, much tastier than the sour bite Billy’s had to offer. 

You never forgave the blue eyed boy for pushing you off your bike, a scar still etched into your knees, or for chasing you around with a snake he caught by Coolwater Creek. 

Eddie wiped your tears when you cried to him about how mean Billy was. His own brown eyes welling seeing you so upset. He convinced him to leave you alone. And since that day, you were the driving wedge between them at 8 years old and you stayed there up until last year, when the tie that bound them together was ripped apart.

“You’re late Billy-boy,” Mr. Creel sneered, the pierce of his blue eyes shining like heated crystals, “do you not own a watch?”

“Just got in,” Billy said with a yawn, his muscular arms stretching over his head and showcasing his abs when his shirt rode up. 

“I guess I wasn’t aware you had another job.” 

“Oh I’m not paid for this type of manual labor, I do it for free.” He glances over at you and shoots you a wink. And the shiver that shook through you was anything but pleasant. 

Steve rolls his eyes, pulling Nancy into his front and resting his chin on the top of her head. 

Eddie shifts to the side of you that billy is closest too and blocks his view. He made your skin crawl like it was infested with bugs. 

You didn’t like him anymore than he liked you, Heather Holloway was one of the sweetest girls you’d ever met, and to this day you couldn’t figure out why she fell in his traps. He didn’t care about her, only used her to keep his bed warm when he was out doing God knows what with God knows who. His dick was dirtier than a pile of laundry, and he was out of detergent. 

“Let’s not make this a habit, we have a festival to run, and you,” Mr. Creel says, thumbing through a clipboard, “… are on Corn Maze Duty until sun down, then you’re driving the Haunted Hayride like we discussed last week.” 

“Munson, you and Pebbles? Is that a real name?,”

“no,” you say with a laugh, nudging Eddie in the ribs, he was the only one called who still called you that after your moms had decided to dress you both as Pebbles & Bam Bam for Halloween one year, for Eddie, the name stuck, “it's a nickname from when we were— 

“Don’t care.” 

 “You two are on rides, Hairyten—

“It’s Harrington,” Steve interjects but Mr. Creel doesn’t stop.

“.. will take over for you at sundown and then your ‘band’ takes the stage.” 

Billy scoffs around a lit cigarette and Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder to stop you from reaching around him to slap the mustache off his face. 

“Girl Wheeler and R-guy-el are on games… Buckley, you and Hairytoes will be working the ice cream stand, Byers you’re in charge of taking promotional photos. Please make sure the children are smiling. I don’t need any snot nosed little brats blubbering while getting their face painted like a clown, it will drive down sales.” 

Jonathan nods with wide eyes, checking his bag with fumbling fingers making sure he had extra lenses and plenty of film. 

Nancy stands at attention, flipping through her binder full of the game rules, she had been studying it all week, not wanting to give Mr. Creel any sort of assumption that she wasn’t taking her position seriously. 

“Relax Nance,” Steve purred, a little louder than a whisper, “you’re gonna kick ass at this.” 

You didn’t know Steve Harrington was capable of being supportive of another person until Nancy came along. When they first started going out Eddie and you took bets on whether or not it would last. Nancy wasn’t anything like the other trashy girls at your school throwing themselves at King Steve any and every chance they got. 

She was reserved and shy. Pretty in a classy way, minimal makeup needed on her cherub features. And Steve fell hook line and simp er for her. He lost friends, lost his title at school but he didn’t care. He felt unstoppable with Nancy on his arm. 

It made you wish you had a love like theirs, minus the breaking up part, you had dated before but nothing that would last. 

You remember spending a very drunk night with Eddie once on the roof of his trailer, begging him to tell you who he thought was the hottest girl in school. Going through every grade, every single girl from the mathletes to the athletes, the teased hair of Tina down to the short bob of Barb, but he wouldn’t budge. 

“Come on, Eddie .. that was every girl in the school besides Shit teeth O’Donnell.” you laughed and rolled into his chest, spilling beer onto his shirt, your chin sitting on his sternum as he looked at you with a serious stare.

“Not every girl.” 

“Yeah huh,” you poked at his ribs and his armpits only for him to overpower you completely and pin you down, the ends of his hair tickling your cheeks had you squealing. 

“Say uncle or I’m gonna make you piss yourself.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

The dark glint of mischief in his eye wasn’t lost on you,

“D’ you know me at all?” 

The night ended with your jeans and underwear in Eddie’s washing machine, his boxers on your waist after you took a shower and used all of his conditioner. A $3.00 payback for him actually tickling you until you peed yourself, you were just happy Wayne wasn’t home when you waddled through the Munson trailer with wet pants and a hyena laughing Eddie behind you. 

Diversion was his best game, because he never answer your question. 

“Remember.” Mr Creel said pointing to you and Eddie, “two minute rides if there isn’t a line, one minute rides sounds perfectly fine, three minutes and they’ll puke on the floor, 4 minutes and you’re at Satan’s door.” 

He recited the creepy poem without blinking, simply looking from your face and back to Eddie’s, a grim smile on his Curt lips. When he was through he turned on his heel and walked away, snapping at Heather and Chrissy to get to the face painting station. 

“Well that wasn’t weird at all.” Eddie said, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised into his frizzy bangs, clearing his throat. 

“Yeah no shit,” Steve grimaced, “such a weird mother fucker.”

Nancy shut her binder and spoke to you, “sorry about last night— I think I’m just a little stressed.” 

“No worries, Nance, Eddie ended up staying at my place and we smoked a bit and went to sleep.”

“Don’t forget about that weird shit with the streetlights,” Eddie chimed in. 

“Streetlights?” Jonathan asked you, “what about ‘em?” 

“Nah man it’s cool,” Eddie chirped in, lighting a cigarette and offering it to Jonathan, “Pebs and I smoked a little too much, thought we saw some weird shit, that’s all.” 

“Well, my lights went out last night, went outside to check it out and the whole street was dark.” 

Maybe you weren’t high as fuck lastnight on Rick’s Redrum. What if there was actually something strange going on. 

“Did they turn red and explode?” you ask him, trying not to seem too alarmed that someone else who wasn’t high and on the complete opposite side of town experienced the weird lights. 

He picks a scab on his arm between blunt fingernails, uninterested in the conversation, “no idea, just noticed they were burnt out..didn’t see anything else, but hey, I’ll see you guys later okay, I forgot my wallet.” 

With that he turns and leaves, holding his satchel close to his body so the expensive camera attachments don’t break. 

Steve and Nancy kiss each other goodbye and Argyle steps forward to Steve batting his eyelashes, “what about me handsome?” He laughs before Steve can smile awkwardly and walks beside Nancy, asking about her new Reeboks. 

“Six months since we played truth or dare at Munson’s and that guy won’t let it go,” Steve says, shaking his head, “see ya later, don’t have too much fun,” with that he grabs Robin’s elbow and directs her towards the Scoops Ahoy stand. 

Eddie laughs at the memory of a peachy cheeked Steve leaning in to press his lips to Argyle’s. A dare that had Nancy in tears, and had you comforting her for an entire week. 

It was the same night that you had drunk almost an entire handle of vodka and woke up naked in Eddie’s bed, next to Jonathan. 

To this day you don’t remember what happened. 

You left in a hurry when you woke and realized the sleeping body next to you was not only naked but belonged to Jonathan Byers, and you didn’t have any panties on. 

Grabbing your clothes and shoving your feet into your shoes, you stepped over Argyle’s cocooned form in the hallway— using the bathroom rug as a blanket. 

Tiptoeing over the squeaky parts of the linoleum floor you made a glance to the living room and saw that Eddie was sawing logs in Wayne’s recliner. 

You felt dirty, full of shame and guilt as you looked at him forlornly, not able to nail down why you had felt that way. Eddie and you were friends, nothing more than that. 

The door shut behind you in a quiet creak and you sped home as fast as you could, bleary eyed and confused. 

Thankfully, Jonathan wasn’t upset when you told him the next day that you didn’t remember what had happened, and he was relieved, chuckling with a hand on the back of his neck, because he hadn’t remembered that night either. 

You vowed to never tell a soul about that night, and you waited for Eddie to ask you about it, to make some crack about him finding your panties in his room, but he never spoke a word of it. 

You stifle a nervous laugh, “yeah that night was crazy.” 

“yeah no shit, Wayne’s still mad that I ruined his cowboy boots.” 

You smack his chest with the keys, laughing at the memory of his white ass and wild hair running down the dirt road, wearing only Wayne’s boots and his cowboy hat to cover his dignity, the first dare of the night, “c’mon, Munson, I’ll race ya.” 

-

The day flew by, people came from all around to shove their asses into the metal seats of the rides you and Eddie were in charge of. 

Kids of all ages ate melty ice cream and got their faces painted into princesses, witches, pumpkins and spooky ghouls and goblins. 

Eddie’s little gaggle of DnD buddies from high school ran through the carnival like they owned the place. Hootin’ and hollerin’ making themselves look like a bunch of assholes, and you wondered if he sometimes missed that part of being in school. 

Steve and Robin were fending off Erica Sinclair and her many attempts at getting free samples, but realizing if they did give her what she wanted, they’d run out of ice cream and have to close up earlier than expected. Erica Sinclair would later leave the carnival with a sugar high and a stomach ache. 

Argyle gave away the giant stuffed bear on the first ring toss game, earning him a psychotic look from Creel and whiny kids all day not having anything to look forward to when they won, but nothing a few coupons to Surfer Boy Pizza wouldn’t fix when the parents got involved. Nancy was almost in tears at the way Argyle didn’t follow the rules and his dude-like approach to the day's events. 

—

Robin was in a mood, her normal chaotic rambling mouth self was eerily quiet today. An abnormality for the freckled face girl. And Steve was doing what any normal best friend would; hounding her on what the hell was going on. 

“Drop it pretty boy, I mean it I am fine!” She tossed the ice cream scoop back into the carton container and slammed the freezer door, huffing and lighting a cigarette. 

He saw the way her demeanor changed when Vickie showed up to the carnival with her boyfriend. The same boyfriend who Vickie had promised Robin that she had dumped months beforehand. 

Steve watched as Robin’s eyes flashed with hurt and anger as Vickie sauntered up to the Scoops Ahoy booth, no look of guilt or shame anywhere on her porcelain features, she acted completely oblivious to Robin’s behavior, like she had never even met her before. 

“She’s a bitch Robin,” Steve jabbed, hooking a thumb over his shoulder and wiggling his keys,  "I'll go run her over with my car right now if that’d make you feel better.” 

She had to admit, watching the light leave Vickie’s eyes might make her feel better. The crushing of her bones would play like a symphony in her head. She wanted her to hurt just as much as she was right now. 

“Nah,” Robin says shaking her head, “not worth it, let’s just get day drunk instead, or better yet,” she pushed her ass onto the counter, and swung her hips out to the opening, her long legs hitting the dirt and crunching beneath her converse, “is Argyle still working games with Nance?” 

—

“That’s what I’m sayin’ man, fuckin’ aliens and shit,” Argyle says with blood shot eyes, “this town, it’s crawlin with em, you’re not one of them are you, Byers?” 

Argyle was on one of his many pot induced tangents about aliens and monsters. It was hard to tell if he was just high or if he truly believed in multi dimensional beings that walked the same paths we did but were hidden from us by the government. 

“I think,” Jonathan says, adjusting his camera around his neck and holding it to eye level, “that you spend too much time with Munson,” he angled the camera just right and snapped the shutter button. Capturing candids of kids throwing softballs at steel milk jugs set into a triangle.  

Argyle wipes his upper lip and throws a braided lengthy lock behind his shoulder, “and how do you know Eddie is wrong? M-Maybe Dungeons & Dragons is real. And the dice is like, the days we have left,” his eyes widen further as he licks at his lips absentmindedly, rambling on, “Eddie’s putting us all into little situations, so he’s like a- a god or a master! Like figurines and shit…”

Jonathan tries his best to drown out Argyle’s stoned ‘epiphanies’ knowing all too well the rabbit hole he’d fall down and wouldn't be able to see the light of day until the lasting effects of purple palm tree delight subsided. 

Argyle’s eyes go wide, “…yeah I hope I got a long sword or something, I’ll definitely need it.” 

“DnD isn’t real,” Jonathan huffs in annoyance, “it’s a fantasy game, one designed to make you think outside of normal everyday life, at least that’s what Will says.” 

“Will the Wise,” Robin calls from behind them, her long fingers tangled in her hair, trying to put her short cut into two little ponytails, “isn’t that what they call him?” 

Jonathan nods, “yeah, yeah it is.” A smile of appreciation on his face, “how’s ice cream going? I saw Vickie… sorry.”

“Love that kid, and yeah that’s why I’m here, need to forget,” she says leaning against the softball toss, the toe of sneaker catching the knee of Argyle’s colorful pants, her forefinger and thumb up to her lips, “you carrying today or do I actually have to pay Munson?” 

“Nah little birdy, I’m all out,” Argyle says with eyelids half closed, “but I heard Rick’s runnin’ some new shit, kinda psychedelic like.” 

—

By six in the afternoon, Eddie was crabby and ready for Steve to take over. His hair was sweaty and a bandana was tied around his head. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up, showing off his muscles and the tattoos on his arms. 

“Take it easy with this shit, ‘m serious,” Eddie says passing Robin the joint and pocketing the cash, “we saw some weird shit last night after smoking, just go to the woods or somethin where no one will see you.” 

Robins fingers clasp the paper of the joint and hold it into a loose fist, she bows and salutes Eddie, “Aye aye cap’n, I promise, I’ll be good.” 

He watched her leave and shook his head. He didn’t know the entire ins and outs of Robin’s relationship with Vickie, but he knew enough that Robin was hurt more than she was happy, and he felt bad for her. 

At least Robin was brave enough to be her true self. Eddie couldn’t even tell the girl he had a crush on for years that he liked her. 

“These kids are fucking assholes,” he said to you when you brought him a lemonade and bummed him a smoke, “yeah I’m talking to you Mayfield, shouldn’t even be on this ride with two broken arms but what the hell do I know?” 

The redhead flipped him a double bird and yelled out, fucker! as her basket on the Zipper spun faster and faster. 

“Were we like this sophomore year?” Eddie asks you around a puff of smoke. 

“Oh absolutely not,” you said matter of factly, “we were worse.” A smile breaks from your lips and Eddie returns it, only his crinkled out your favorite dimple. 

“Fuck man,” he exhaled, hitting a random button on the ride, and raising his eyebrows when it beeped back at him and shook the baskets loudly, “this whole town still thinks I did that shit to Higgin’s dog.” 

It wasn’t a secret what had happened. And as much as everyone swore it was Eddie who did that heinous crime, he was with you that night, stealing cartons of cigarettes from the gas station while the attendant was busy trying to get your number and look down your shirt. 

You knew Eddie was innocent but the town wasn’t convinced, even Wayne questioned him for a while about it. But Eddie wouldn’t squeal on you, knowing that you were just as guilty as he was, and he wouldn’t tarnish your squeaky clean reputation. Not even to save himself. 

“We know the truth, and that’s what matters,” you breathe, stealing the cigarette from his hands and placing it into your mouth. 

Eddie shakes his head, “yeah I know, just wish we knew who did do it.” 

“Ri runno Raggy,” you said using your best Scooby Doo impression, “rits a rystery.” 

Eddie chuckles and shows you his dimples again, a pretty blush painted on his cheeks, “you can always get me to laugh, even when I’m pissed the fuck off at some little shits.” 

He plucks the rest of the cigarette from your lips and takes the last drag between his thumb and forefinger before flicking it off into the dirt. 

He brushes an eyelash from your cheek with his knuckle, and he holds it there for a bit, unconsciously licks at his lips,  “That’s why you’re my favorite,” he admits for the one hundredth time, but it still felt good to hear. Still made your stomach somersault and the glittery butterflies flutter. 

Before you can say anything the kids on Eddie’s ride start screaming to get off, having been spinning upside down for over the time limit. Satan’s door according to Creel. 

“Shit,” he mutters before turning the ride down, the heat on your cheeks and the burn from his finger still there. 

—

“c’mon I know you wanna,” the clink of his flask unscrewing followed by the chugging slurp from his throat burned her ears, but not more than the red pock marks on her forearm from his cigarette ashes.

She didn’t want to lose him, she knew how lucky she was that he tolerated her and kept her around. After all he only fucked the other girls to piss off their boyfriends. But she meant something to him. Right? 

“Are you sure no one will see us?” She was used to the thrill of being with Billy, mistaking the fight or flight feeling for adoration, the crazed look in his eye for lust. 

He was everything all the other guys in Hawkins were not. A legendary bad boy. All leather jackets and tight jeans, the prettiest eyes she’d ever seen, a fast car that smelled of musky cologne, cigarettes and sex on Friday nights. 

He had shown her things only seen in movies, hickied her up in spots that only he would see, and fucked her in places that would make Satan himself jealous. 

Heather Holloway was completely wrapped up in everything Billy Hargrove brought to the table, only to be leaving starved for more. 

“Who fuckin’ cares,” he grunts, lighting a cigarette and blowing it towards the orange painted sky, “ain’t nothin’ they haven’t seen before.” 

She obeyed like she always did, a simple okay Billy and she was on her knees in the soft upturned soil, nothing but a single row of pale yellowing corn stalks behind her, rustling against the breeze and knocking against one another in a broken violin screech. 

She adjusts her dark curls away from her face, and waits with an eager mouth for what he has to offer. The teeth of his zipper purr as he undoes his pants, holding a thick meaty cock up to her pretty lipgloss smile. 

He’s putty in her hands, rocking his hips up to shove himself further into her mouth, and he groans when he falls into her wet throat. 

Fuck Heather, that’s it. 

He doesn’t hear the scraping of the corn leaves on a quiet shoulder, or the way the dirt crumbles underneath footsteps. He’s high above it, drunk on the feel of his dick in Heather's mouth, and the slight graze of her teeth against his shaft. 

The blade is dull, taking much effort to slice through the muscles of Billy’s back and angling upwards beneath his ribs into his lungs.

Billy gags and gurgles on his own blood, noises that could be easily mistaken for pleasure. The knife is unsheathed and slid across Billy’s throat in a fluid motion spilling claret colored blood down the front of his shirt, he’s dead before he hits the ground. 

Heather is frozen with fear, she lets out a scream that’s stopped cold by the blade puncturing her temple, her lifeless body falling to the soft ground with a thud. 

The blade is wiped clean. Any blood splatters are left on the mask and hidden in the tree line, their lifeless bodies are stuffed further into the corn maze, vacant expressions on their cold faces. 

—

“… Jesus Christ.” 

“Beautiful isn’t it?” 

Standing 10 feet tall and brandishing slick, gray translucent skin, the flower head shaped monster screeched at the sight and smell of blood pumping, racing.

“Exactly how he described, I can't believe the tunnel leads here.” 

“The tunnels are all over Hawkins, he designed it, just like they said he would. Now c’mon, sun is about to set and I need help figuring out this code, son-of-a-bitch wrote it like a damn puzzle.”

—

Eddie wasn’t kidding, the strain was powerful. Robin was walking in a dream land of brownie covered ground and licorice grass. She was seeing things;  beautiful, ominous, things she wouldn’t be able to describe. 

And she knew she was high when she heard a high pitch scream from the corn field on her right— damn this shit was good. 

Her face was sticky and so were her hands, the sky spun above her as she laid flat on the cake bed ground, watching the tangerine soda sky as it shifted above her like a kaleidoscope. 

But no matter how many times she blinked her eyes, one piece of the dream never blurred away. A figure standing straight in the air below a tree branch. 

Upon further eye squinting, Robin realized she recognized it to be someone she knew very well. 

She had seen those eyes before. She had felt those hands on her skin. And the gold ring on the delicate middle finger looked way too familiar to just be a coincidence. 

But there wasn’t any way that this could be real, just a prop for a good gag right, or the everlasting effect of the funny smelling joint from Eddie. 

Because why was Vickie standing stone still..? With a large knotted necklace around her pretty neck, covered in red paint, and why wasn’t she moving? 

♡ thank you for reading, please consider a rb, or dropping a comment below, I would love to hear from you and your thoughts on this chapter.

♡ currently receiving messages in my askbox on who you think the killer is

part 3: THE ROCKSTAR AND THE REDLIGHTS

♡tag list: @dashingdeb16 @emxxblog @mopeymopeymouse @pretendthisnameisclever @mommybaby-witch @eddies-acousticguitar @tlclick73 @figmentofquinn @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @whenshelanded @micheledawn1975 @3rd-conchord * @leelei1980 @mopeymopeymouse @browneyes8288 @emilyslutface @mmunson86 @josephquinnsfreckles @eddiesxangel @elegantkoalapaper * @str4ngergirlw0rld * @corrodedcoffincumslut @nailbatanddungeon @katethetank @munsons-mayhem28 * @mandyjo8719 @joannamuns9n @littlebookworm86 @hunnybuns-world @littlegingerbat

[simp-ly-writes]

Chapter Six: Heavenly Stars

Can be read as a standalone: Personal Hell Series (pt.7)

Pairing: (Hazbin Hotel) Lucifer Morningstar x demon overlord!Reader

Summary: You wanted to be alone, to hatefully survive in the hole you found yourself in but when answers come knowing at your door, will you listen to their call even when it goes against everything you have established for yourself in this home?

Warnings: 4864 words, mentions of blood, gore, injury, metal health subjects, drowning, death, and emotional angst.

A/N: Apologies for the wait my Lucifer darlings! But *rubs hands together* we gain answers now.

Masterlist | Taglist | edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

The grandfather clock ticking away down the hall is the only sound found within the home besides your paint strokes against the canvas. You are multicoloured, covered in paint from head to tone in various shades and hues as you step back and observe the piece you had been working on. 

How long have I been here for? You think to yourself, muscles sore as you stand and move to get a new cup of water for your paint brushes. Since your time in the Gardens and you haven’t been able to sleep since, you cringe while catching a glimpse of your reflection in a window. The usual ringing in your head was all long gone from your past days without rest now your body feeling more energized than ever as you kept yourself busy with old hobbies in this newfound time. 

The sink whines open, a few droplets drip once you close the tap and find your way back to the balcony, overlooking hell's outer rings. That once cure you had found eons ago had come to fruition, now a vast scape of rolling hills and mature trees breathed with life as you felt jealousy stir within your bones, outlining another tree to your composition. Only accompanied by seemingly endless amounts of time, you felt more and more lost in this old and empty house. As if being sat with your old self that stared you down through each object left for dead in this place. It was equally comforting, being near death’s door again, that old self, but that cold loneliness haunted you more than the screams that plagued the back of your mind. 

Just know that when you wish to dream- you will find me here… waiting. Shaking your head of these thoughts you pack up your supplies and go to the kitchen in search of sustenance. A bowl of pristine red apples glowed in your face, begging for attention, for you to take a bite as you stuck your head into the cabinets and finished out the supplies to make a fresh loaf of bread. 

In between paintings and trying your hand with an old shotgun to hunt for food, you would be found harvesting the overgrown crops of your greenhouse. It felt connecting, taking the time to watch your harvest grow, you had forgotten the wait, the patience of it all in recent times, just observing before going in for the grab. You had started journaling once more, keeping track of your sanity, allowing yourself the possible freedom of finally letting it all go….

You wipe the sweat from your forehead, setting the bread to rest on the windowsill as you look out towards Heaven and its sun-like quality in the red sky. You still do not feel tired, the wood of the structure groans, begging for you to rest like a casket but you clutch at the walls, silent tears falling but you cannot escape. You are forced awake, you cannot dare to dream of a life outside of this, finding yourself wearing the same clothes, his jacket resting against your body, a ghost of a hug that has your heart aching no more than your desire to finally burn that bridge for good. 

His voice haunts you. You can imagine his comforting words, his touch, the ghost of his breath falling upon your neck as your hands trail the various seams and buttons along the coat. You do not realise yourself to be smiling through these tears. You do not know yourself to be in the right or wrong- just horridly conflicted with past and present, vice and virtue. Morality calls to not be in vain, you grip your hair, immortality is a silent scream much to your own, crying out for you to be more. I just can’t seem to find a place to start…

--

After an awkward call to heaven, Lucifer leaves the hotel with a seedling of hope that has yet to be watered. A few guards bow to him as he passes down the mirrored maze of hallways and never ending staircases towards your office where he throws himself to the floor. His breathing is ragged, he watches possible futures flicker through his eyes. Blood and tears mix between songs as he brings his knees up to his chin. 

Throwing off his hat, he listens as the gold of his crown scrapes against the hardwood floors before the snake slithers its way over to him, wrapping its way around his throat, he reaches upwards to it, begging for it to release as his body directs him towards the shattered crown before him. He shakes his head, boots scraping against the floors as voices yell out from behind the closed doors. 

In a few hours, Charlie will be in Heaven, in another few days, your general will still not be there, The King thinks to himself as he cries, forcing himself to stand and lean against your desk as his hands grasp over the various maps and journals. The snake slowly lessens its grip as he takes in deep breaths, trembling fingers drifting over your handwriting.

He feels pathetic, smaller than he knows himself to appear. His mind keeps flickering to those last few moments with you, holding your hand, voicing his love for you to only watch you disappear and be set with the ghosts of you in these rooms and down these halls. He swears to hear your feet are running up to him with grand news or a mere correction to the weather report but nevertheless he ears strain to remember you voicing his name once again- to know that you call out to him. Yet he fails to dream any further as he sips cold tea and places signature after signature on the various reports left unfilled. 

--

A tapping at the window has you falling off the couch as your hands feel under the coffee table for your shotgun. Bringing the handle up to your chest, you stalk your way around the archway and make haste towards your front door. Looking through the peep-hole, not a single soul is present- your shoulders only tense as you raise the barrel and twist the door handle. Rushing outside as you check every corner only to hear a squawk, eyes darting downwards to see a Raven dancing its way from being stepped on by your black boots. 

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, the bird flies up, resting on the barrel as it presents a wax-sealed envelope with your name written in glitter. Shaking your head, the raven transitions itself onto your shoulder as you take the letter from its beak and drop your gun on the coffee table once more, knocking over a stale cup of coffee as it stains the recent newspaper you snuck out to steal from the nearest village. 

The bird chirps in your ear, presenting its neck for a scratch as its wings flutter happily to your physical praise. Filling a bowl with water, you tip your shoulder down to the counter and watch as the raven dips itself inside and takes a drip. Ripping open the letter using a claw, your fingers trace over the Princesses signature, resembling much of the same qualities of her father. A common pattern of letters that you forged oh so many times in Hell's past. 

Your eyes drift over the shaken handwriting as concern etches its way into each wrinkle upon your face. The paper is stained with tears and a droplet of golden blood that has you seeing red- motherfuckers, you spit out, flipping to the next side that houses a simple request. “...I don’t know where else to go, but I need to be away from everyone, could I come stay with you?”

Obvious wear of the page signifies that this sentence had been scrapped and rewritten a multitude of times as you hum out in thought. You saw echoes of yourself in her words and actions, taking the chance to run for a moment, to find freedom from all the decisions that wear a person down overtime. The raven’s eyes pearce through your own that have started to shimmer a yellow hue in the moonlight. You rip a page from one of your journals, listing a simple yes with a request that the bird be the only one who shows her the way here. 

You open the kitchen window, watching as the bird flies up, becoming a mere black speck in the bloodied sky as you lean against the counter, observing your home and omitting a sigh, looking down to your hands. With a singular clap you listen as each scattered object finds its place upon shelves or in the sink beside you. Shoes walk their way towards the closet as your shotgun polishes itself back into its display. Small golden specks flicker and fall towards the floor, lost without a trace alongside the dust between the floorboards, the magic you used now settled as your blood becomes warm- happy that you made use of it. 

You can only roll your shoulder, the jacket appearing to dwarf over your frame as you shimmy it off, resting it against the back of the couch as you make your way upstairs, fighting mentally to come up with a nice outfit to greet the Princess with- Charlie with, your brain corrects you. Hands fly to button up a new shirt as you iron your pants and choose a clean pair of workboots and gloves. You bring up a bottle of wine from the cellar, eyeing the date with a laugh, gods I really am ancient. You think to yourself, this bottle was practically double Charlie's age and you could only reminisce of the sentences Husk would string together at the mere mention of such a luxury bottle of liquor. 

Popping off the lid, you lean your head back on the white jacket, an arm falling onto your shoulder as you swirl your glass, watching as the liquid falls from the walls, clashing back into itself. You can imagine these waves roaring, clashing and becoming one in the end- a pointless battle in the grand scheme of things to only be interrupted by the ringing of a doorbell as a distressed blonde collapses into your arms, their black mascara staining your fresh white gloves as you cradle their head. 

Charlie's glossy red eyes peer into your own as you still, at a loss for words. You had never seen Charlie so down, so utterly miserable as you squeezed the girl that bit harder and picked her up. Flicking your hand for the door to be closed behind you both and led her towards your living space. She looks up as you place her on the couch, conjuring a fresh plate of tea as you extend your hand, offering physical support as she latches on, nails digging into your palm as she sobs out, tears and snot choking her next words as you lean in to hear better. 

“I-I was so excited and then… it all goes to shit. I should have listened to everyone, to you, my dad… my mother…” You open your mouth, about to comment before she continues, eyeing up your glass of wine. “I understand the pain my father went through, now more than ever.”

“Charlie…” you breathe out in concern as you pull the hair from her tear stained cheeks, offering her your handkerchief as she dabs her eyes, looking up towards your vaulted ceilings. “I should have never gone to heaven, held these ‘loft dreams,’” she quotes in her fingers, dropping your hand as she exhales frustration, going to grip her hair, head falling between her knees. “I wanted so much then and now I feel the consequences. Vaggie is not the person I knew her to be- she's an angel and to even think that I admired heaven when these are the tricks they pull!” 

“Charlie-I-” 

“No! It's not fair, and now that motherfucker Adam!”

“Language,“ you state as Charlie flips you the finger, “okay dad/mom,” she states back, picking up her head and showcasing an eye roll as you pull her closer to you, resting her head under your own as you breeze past the title. “I remember Adam,” you state as Charlie looks up at you curiously, “did he declare to come and kill you first too?” 

“Actually-” you start to say while scanning through your memories. 

“You’re joking,” Charlie deadpans just as you shrug your shoulders. The Princesses face falls again soon after as she picks at her nail polish, “I am just as bad as the cruelest list of overlords in hell-”

“No you are not!’ you stand, anger filling your voice as shadows soon emerge from the floorboards before you gain a hold of yourself witnessing the terror starting to rise in Charlie's eyes as you drop to your knees and apologise. “You are not cruel Charlie, you are kind as you are strong. Any overlord in hell… misses those feats,” you state, wrapping her fathers jacket around her frame and pressing a cup of tea into her hands. 

“Now I know better than anyone that all these thoughts lead to nothing but more self wallowing,” you say, taking a sip of your drink before leaning against the arm of the couch opposite of Charlie as she raises an eyebrow. 

“Isn’t that why you are here?” Charlie questions, sneaking a sip of your wine with a small smile starting to form, knowing she caught you there. “Well as I have stated before, you are better than me in many ways,” you retort, shifting the fabric of your shirt to position itself on your elbows as you lean down to pick up a tea cup. 

Charlie laughs out softly, a ping of pride emanates from your chest in managing to cheer her up slightly yet both of your positive reactions soon fall as you summon forth your spear, horns growing out of the top of your head and through your healing hair with the information she presents you. “But that is all besides the point, I need people to fight this battle with me, I need you and I have already made deals-”

“YOU DID WHAT?!” you coldly ask, head tilting, your eyes now slits as you demand answers from the princess. Rank falling from any traditions you held, even with her fathers coat on, you stand at nothing but their utmost safety, even when it comes with disrespect to their pride filled backgrounds. “I made a deal with… well more like through Alastor. He said that I could only accept when I was sleeping so I got him to put me to sleep before coming over to you,” her words come out in waterfalls, spewing at a gallon a minute while you stab a hole into your floors as she continues her story. “A-and I was put in this space with water and a guy who looked a lot like my dad, but he wore these white clothes and called himself the Creator out of all things- I mean I have seen god and god is not him I shall have you know, anyways I-”

“Woah, woah, woah, WAIT!” You comment, racking your brain as horror coats your features, your spear clashing against the floor as you place your hands on her cheeks, moving her eyes to your own as you ensure the seriousness of your next question, “You have met THE god?” 

“He was there for my birth and well… the day of your death. I was too young to remember anymore, you would have to ask dad but…” Charlie conines to ramble, you fade out of reality, feeling your socks becoming yet, clouds flickering in Hell's skies before you drop your hands from her face and grip your head with stress. Becoming out of breath, Charlie soon slows her speech as you pick up on what she has to say once more, “...so I made the deal and now I owe him my dreams till Adam is dead.” She finishes as you grip the back of the couch, eyes starting past her head and into the kitchen window where heaven sits gleaming mockingly in your face. 

“I think it's time for you to catch some rest, I will be there with you in a moment… there's a few words I wish to share with your dealmaker,” you state with vice as Charlie swallows, nodding her head a few times just as the raven flies in through the still opened window, staring between the two of you before making your way upstairs and showing her to your guest room. Charlie clicks her hands together, suitcase flying its way into the room and on her bed as she yawns out, “thank you for letting me stay here,” she says in a small voice while looking down at her feet. 

“Thank you for coming to me when things like this happen,” you reply, pulling her in for one last hug just before you exit your room, once hearing the door close, you exhale a soft breath, a hand of your own trails from your waist, upwards you chest and rests upon your neck- grazing over the golden scar. You step towards your room, hands moving over your journals as you recount each conversation, preparing yourself to enter the dreamworld once again. 

You walk towards your washroom and run a bathtub, knowing you would be unable to sleep in normal ways. Your breath hitches as the tap squeals shut, the bird now taps rapidly against the glass window above your head, beckoning to be let in just as you undress, submerging toes to shoulders in water. You watch the water ripple to intake your form, your hands begin to float in the water as you gradually sink your back deeping into the warm waters.

Snapping your fingers, bubbles fill the tub, flying off towards the window, gleaming in Heaven's light, creating the only natural rainbows to be found in hell. Water now just up to your chin, you take in one last small breath before submerging your head. Your body unconsciously kicks, trying to force more air into your system but you stay, your feet twitch, your lungs scream and just as your nails ding into your skin and a droplet of pain enters your system- you are transported to the otherside. 

--

Your body is wrapped in fine cloth garments, silver patterns are sewn into the fabric in waving lines as you stand at the foot of a bed that houses a sleeping Charlie. You start to move to the side of the bed, raising your hand, just hovering over to tuck her in just as a hand is placed on your shoulder. You stand back upright in an instant, hand dropping and becoming covered in your robes once more as you face forward. Staring off into the horizon as sunlight fades and blues arise from the sea, coating the sky. 

Greetings, the deity calls to you, you feel the warmth of their breath on your skin as it crawls into your ear, making a home in your senses as you become senseless to their powers taking over your form just as the last. Why have you come to the Creator on this fine evening? A smile starts to form across their features, their rosy cheeks taking over your eyes as they expand to hold every pointed tooth in your eyes. 

Why speak, why even think if you already know the answer? You strike back, a hand of theirs now drifting from your shoulder down to your back as they lead you away from Charlie, your feet moving on their own as they spread the very water before you and towards a tea set primed for the occasion. A singular snake following in your robes, teeth latching on to a sleeve as it becomes lost under the waters. You feel its tug but cannot look back as you take your seat beside the deity, their hand now on your knee as they pat it thrice in contemplation. 

Where is the fun, immoral one when another can already speak for me? You roll your eyes in response as the snake now catches the corner of your eye. Its white scales disappear in your garments but hiss towards the man beside you, warning of what you have yet to discover. A question for a question, both never to be answered, you say, gaining control of your head the longer you sit in the waters. The deity still faces forwards, watching Charlie breath, your heart slows realizing the water had been rising but you kept on breathing. 

A choking sound can be heard, you feel yourself thrashing in the bathtub just as Charlie emits a silent scream in her dreams. Stop this, you state, the snake now slithering to rest its head in your hand as your knees begin to shake, you have to stand but their hand still rests on your knee. Their eyes flicker to gold coins, a scoff coming up from the back of their throat. It does not serve you well to beg, dearest, they tut out towards you just as your body shakes in anger. 

You will stop this cruelty this instant, she is young, unknowing in many of the wicked ways we have lived through. You speak, starting to stand, pushing up against the currents as fish swim around our eyes, finns swatting in your face. And just how would you know what I have lived through? They deity questions.

How do you know yourself to be the Creator when Creation itself happened to make you? You question back, their head tips over to you, neck cracking as the night had finally come, the once rosy pinks and orange waters now rich blues mistaken to be black and soulless. Bubbles rise when they laugh, they create waves as Charlie uses these air pockets to breathe. Her arms reach out to you even when she is unable to open her eyes. Her fingers flex and bend in search of comfort and you become distracted. The snake bites into your skin as you hiss out in pain, droplets of gold now rising towards the unseen surface, it glimmers in contrast to the depths of the ocean. 

The snake bites you again, more droplets emerge as they rise above your head and they sliver away with them. Looking upwards, you watch as the snake curls into itself before bursting into the brightest light yet, the supposed god cowers in the display. You take a deep breath in at the sight of the patterns that your blood has created in the darkness you once emerged from. Constellations shown from earth's surface come into view, Orion’s sword and shield fall from the sky and into your hands as you slam the two together. The deity flies backwards from the impulse as you sprint before extending your legs, jumping and crashing into their awaiting fists as the water parts, Charlie falling behind you as she chokes up water. 

Her eyes open, she screams out in warning as the brother rushes up to you, clouds now battle axes as each connection of blades groans on impact. Your muscles ache, your lungs filled with frustration as you fight. Blood drips from their teeth, your smirk seeing their pain as Charlie stands back in horror seeing you so far removed from yourself. She thinks back to the tales her father told her, the depictions of the townsfolk when their version of self emerged in protection of her mother, her father, and now… her. 

Charlie ducks as an axe swings over her head, she watches as your back dips, the blade caressing your chin just as you kick his knee, making him tumble for balance as you place a cut to his arm and later to his chest. Gold pours out in vats as you cry out, cutting through fabric and skin down to bone. Exposing the dead-skin that laid underneath yet you paid no mind to it, even when an emptied hand came to hold your chin as your blade rests under their own. 

You are stunning like this dearest, a true waking dream, their last word echoing as the sky crashes down upon you, sun rises and drying any trace as the ground begins to crack- a desert forming in response to your aching bones as they lay before you, barely able to move. Charlie views the grey skin you had unleashed to the sky, it is a mere replica of the ground she now walks upon, removed of any prior life as fish flap around helplessly at her feet. 

You continuously speak about creations, fate, and now dreams. What are you, for the only object I see now is failure before me. Their eyes close, basking in the light rays just before golden eyes sparkle on their own. They do not show any greed, and promise for truth yet their lips move on their behalf, “I am the spirit of dreams, a heavy branch from the father himself. I twist fate in the most gorgeous of affairs, I bend time on a whim just as I destroy. I can revoke happiness, I can tempt death, I can so I do… until now, until you…” 

Your blade still holds strong against their throat, itching to make the same cursed line to match your own, their hand still rests upon your face, that once comforting feeling now a hollowed caress as they hum out peacefully in thought of their next words. “I have called myself the Creator so as to not confuse you with the many renditions you were before this. We have had a long relationship, a changing one two, you were once my greatest friend, a confidant and even lover…”

A sickness plagues your mind, you don’t recognise the plethora of visions that coat your memory, not feel as your blade shatters against the ground as Charlie moves to hug you, pleading for your return as you stare lifelessly off into the horizon. 

--

You wake in a distant memory. You find yourself in similar robes as you walk along the cosmos, galaxies are your furnishing as they are your being, you drift between them with grace as the stars twinkle and black holes bend to make way for your presence. A hand emerges from the darkened veil of space, a white glove pulls you through and into a home lost to time as a grandfather clock ticks in the background, the hands left unchanging yet it sounds just the same. Teeth smile into your neck, their hands on your waist as you drift between one another and you awake once more.  

--

“NO…” you state, coming back to cruel realities as you hold Charlie's head, comforting the girl by unknotting her hair with your claws as you yourself need to be grounded in some semblance of the current life you live. “Your greatest dream was to always have more time, dearest and I could never deny you of anything in my power. I paused the clocks as long as I could before father came knocking at my door and when the earth went to dream again, I didn't have you to join me. In this all, I had yet to discover my hatred for my brother truly, it was only when I saw you with that ‘King of Hell…’” he speaks the table to such spite as his wounds begin to heal and he stands to full height, hands extended towards you as Charlie blocks their touch with her body. “...I grew that hatred, that jealousy and revoked his dreams. I pleaded for your return and even when I received it… Lucifer always found a way to claw you back into hell, he gave you that extra time when I was unable to...”

“You twist your words…” you say, shaking your head in disbelief as the Spirit of Dreams smile fades to that of a smaller one as their hands drop. “Only when I must, but now I see that there is no longer a need for me to do so,” they say as their eyes drift over Charlie's blonde hair. 

Your eyes begin to feel drowsy as you emit a yawn, feeling exhausted for the first time in weeks and cannot help but feel giddy at the feeling. You watched relaxed as his robes drift off like clouds in the sky once more as a sunset rises from behind you all, an array of reds reminding you of Hell. They chuckle out lightly, their eyes flickering knowingly to your current state as they speak in mere whispers, your eyes fluttering closed. “You are due to wake up any moment now dearest.” 

He nods once towards Charlie, her eyes soon closing once again as she lets out a peaceful sigh, resting on your shoulder. “I am sorry for not dreaming enough for the two of us…” You shake your head at this, starting to fall slowly back into the tub as their voice softly shuts closed their domain. 

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist

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