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madelynraemunson · 8 months

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You can answer this privately, but a few weeks ago I was thinking about if Reader was trying to make Eddie jealous with the song I kissed a girl in the background making out with some girl on the stage you know. Or tryna make him want her more lol.

def need to catch up tho

ooooh a lil toxic lovin’ i see i see 😏💋 thank you for helping with the possessive!eddie dirty talk and reactions, my sweet.

from the CMWYW universe

timeline: shortly after chapter 013

𝐈 𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐭 18+

a collaboration with @emsgoodthinkin 💌

modern!strip club owner!eddie x modern!fem!exotic dancer!hargrove reader

CW: jealous!eddie, wlw, possessive!eddie, boyfriend!eddie, biting, degrading kink, eddie calls us a slut lmao, bratty shy girl, dom!eddie, sub!shy girl, lmk if i miss anything

[WC: 2.0k]

“I just think you’re getting a little too into it.”

It’s crazy to think Eddie would draw the line at Gareth and not Steve. Yet here you two are, arguing in the dressing room mid-shift because Eddie realized his D&D friends — who are regulars at his D&D themed strip club — have eyes and money.

“Babe, this is GARETH we’re talking about here,” you emphasize. “Gareth!”

You’re talking about the Gareth who’s gamer tag is ‘Gareth the “Gare Bear” Emerson’. The same Gareth who still uses the bunny ear method to tie his shoes. The same Gareth who gets upset when his food touches. Aside from his now relatively toned build, clear skin, and knowledge on self-care and personal hygiene, Gareth Emerson is still the same guy. And that guy is a fucking dweeb.

“Yeah, but Gareth is conventionally attractive now,” your boyfriend points out. “And somebody who’s had no choice but to build their charm from the inside out is a dangerous person.”

Projecting, are we Munson? You think to yourself. You couldn’t believe the audacity of your boyfriend. Ever since you two became exclusive, Eddie has become extra protective of you. You didn’t mind it. You actually preferred it because it means he cares. But really, at work? The place you clock in every day (not only to see him but) to make a living?

“You left scratches on his back last time.”

“He paid me to make a girl jealous.”

“And let’s not forget whatever the fuck that was that you did with Creel,” Eddie adds refusing to hear you out.

“Henry PAID me for a lap dance,” you hiss. “He was lonely, I was doing my job. He came in and spoiled me and your business on his off day, babe.”

The heat dissolves from Eddie’s cheeks when he hears his pet name. Albeit flattering, this conversation between you two wasn’t over just yet.

Eddie knew what he saw. He knows that blank, fucked out stare from anywhere, and it was prominent when you were giving Henry a lap dance, using the crinkle of his pants to get yourself off.

There’s no arguing there. But you were single when that happened and Eddie at the time made it really seem like he didn’t want anything with you. None of this was taking away from how ridiculous Eddie was being.

“Okay,” you sigh, still choosing to honor his wishes. “No more dances for Gareth.”

“At least for tonight,” Eddie barters, issuing you a fake pout. “Feeling a little bit jealous, but I’ll get over it.”

Stay away from Gareth, or men in general tonight. You can definitely do that.

Eddie’s a happy camper now. He watches as you do your thing at Vecna’s Lair, cock twitching eagerly in his pants as you swing down the pole and sink your pelvis onto the stage. The men douse you in ones, fives, tens, twenties. And you let it rain down on you with ease.

But why is Eddie still so jealous? He can’t help but turn green with envy when he sees you smile at your patrons. When you lock eyes with them as you speak. And the way they gravitate towards you and your pheromones like some magnets on a fridge.

You seem to be unbothered by everything, unbothered by his presence in a room full of other gentlemen. Eddie needs to test the waters. Eddie needs to know you care.

So he decides to grab a beer and approach the first customer of the opposite sex who happens to spiral into his periphery. It happens to be good ol’ Stephanie tonight.

A regular during the beginning days of the week, this kind hearted, very approachable redhead welcomes Hellfire’s owner with a smile, offering her beer bottle to Eddie for him to give her a clink, hello.

“Hey!” he chimes. “How uh, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing well, and yourself?”

Eddie grins. “Not too shabby.”

Performatively studying her with his eyes, he decides to ask her an innuendo-filled question. “You enjoying yourself tonight?”

“What’s it to ya?”

“I always like to make sure my customers are satisfied.”

Her brow does a fruitful quirk upwards.

“So you’re the owner huh? Already so young and successful. That’s quite impressive.”

“D’aww,” your boyfriend’s hands clutch his chest. “I appreciate that.”

You can’t help but look over, stomach warped into knots.

Eddie told you to stay away from guys. So why is he flirting with a girl? Specifically a customer you’ve interacted with before. Not that Eddie would know that, since he’s always in his office when Stephanie is here.

Eddie knows you see him now and that’s all the satisfaction he needs. Knowing he got the reaction he wanted, he excuses himself from Steph, strutting back over to his office to disappear for a while and let your mind wander.

But your mind is already two steps ahead. When Stephanie catches a glimpse of you, her eyes sparkle. You wave her over.

“You just keep coming back for more, don’t you?” you infer as she strides towards you.

Stephanie chuckles. “You just can’t seem to keep me away, Shy Girl. I owe Vicky and Robin one for putting me onto this joint.”

You swing your legs over so you can divert your attention to your stunning regular. She seems to be receptive to your flirtatious nature. And conveniently, the DJ transitions into a very fitting song:

“How are you doing tonight?” you assess her.

Stephanie shrugs. “I’m doing okay. The chick I was telling you about last week stood me up. So I’m here just trying to make myself feel better.”

“OMG I’m so sorry dude.”

But she brushes it off. “It’s okay. The loneliness will die down. I just gotta feel sorry for myself first.”

You rest a consoling hand on your shoulder. Before becoming exclusive with Eddie, you knew the feeling of rejection all too well.

“You’re welcome here anytime. Even if you just wanna talk. Girl to girl, we can even do a private room for an hour.”

Just then, Stephanie reaches into her bra and pulls out a twenty dollar bill with the smuggest look on her face.

“What about center stage? You tryna kiss it all better?”

You could’ve… and would’ve done it without the money. But knowing Eddie is in for the plot twist of his lifetime, you’ve rendered the deal priceless. Happily obliging, you accept the money Stephanie insists you take from her and extend your arms out.

“Bring it in, chica.”

It’s not what I’m used to. Just wanna try you on. I’m curious for you…

And then it happens. It starts with a timid smack of the lips to feel out both your comfort levels. The feeling of safety and trust propels you both further into realms of intensity you wouldn’t have thought of exploring with one another before. She tastes of cherry, with a hint of minty coconut.

You let out a satisfied hum. It registers as a vibration against her full, vivacious chest. Dancing your fingers in her wavy hair now, you pull her closer to your chest as your lips lock in tandem.

“WHEW!” you can hear Argyle shout all the way from the kitchen. “GAH DAMN!”

…I kissed a girl and I liked it. The taste of her cherry chapstick…

The uproar creates a chain reaction and soon all the gentlemen at Hellfire are hooting and hollering at the relatively unscripted act of affection in front of them. Soon, the money follows. Grinding your hips against her torso now, you chase the feeling of self-indulgence as you unravel yourself onto Stephanie. Right in time for Eddie to see.

I kissed a girl just to try it. I hope my boyfriend don’t mind it.

Floored, confused, and just a tad aroused, your man stands at the foot of Vecna’s Lair with his hands curling at his sides.

It felt so wrong. It felt so right. Don’t mean I’m in love tonight.

His stiff cock protrudes at the posterior ends of his zipper, boxer briefs shamefully laced with the salty spouts of his leaky tip. Fuck, he’s so hard. But still, oh so very pissed.

I kissed a girl and I liked it. I liked it.

Standing where you knew he’d be, you shoot him a wink, letting him know that you’re well aware of his foiled plan. And after you and Stephanie thank one another for each other’s time, you prance off to the dressing room with mountains of bills in your hands.

———

“You think Eddie’s gonna like this green set?”

There’s an itch to burn the cash you got tonight, so you find yourself browsing the internet for lingerie on your phone.

“Oooh,” Nina coos in approval. “Yes girl. You’re gonna look like a sexy dragon of sorts.”

“Mm. And what about this g-string?”

“Yes, get it. I have the same one and it’s so flattering and comfortable. Look!”

Just then the door shoots open.

“Eddie, what the hell?!” Nina shrieks, quickly donning her cloak to cover up. “Knocking, fucker. Ever heard of it?”

You turn towards the entrance to find your flustered man at the door, scowling at you briefly before turning to apologize to Nina.

“Sorry, Neens,” his gaze softens sincerely. But Nina is already storming out. “I was dumb for that.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” you tsk.

You two wait until your colleague is out of range to engage in what you both know is about to be some pretty reckless behavior. When all is clear, Eddie wastes no time, pouncing on you, pinning you by the wrists to the drawer of your vanity, leaving love bites at the crook of your neck just keen enough to draw blood.

Pathetically, you love it. Your dripping cunt swells for the intensity — the fury of his rough hands — the vampiric blows to your hot pulse points — the rugged buckling of his hips as he digs his claws into the tender indents of yours.

“Eddie…” you whimper.

“This familiar?” he demands between breaths.

“Rings a bell,” you muster, tracing his large display of excitement with your trembling palm. “Though it seems like you don’t necessarily…have a problem with it.”

A sinister laugh escapes his throat.

Eddie huffs. “Think you can be a smart aleck with me without repercussions?”

As swift as they come, Eddie flips you around, easing you safely onto the desk portion of your vanity by the your neck. You squirm around like a brat, whining and kicking at him with your heels in playful retaliation. His fingertips then tightly enclose around your thin lacy bralette, causing a minor tear of the sparkly chrome fabric.

Too far. Grabbing him by the wrist, you eye him in disapproval.

“Eds!” you hiss at him, seriously this time.

“You’re buying new sets anyways,” he shrugs indifferently. “You know, with the money you got for being a needy little slut.”

You issue a low grumble as Eddie sinks his body atop the small of your back. The softness in Eddie returns again when he presses delicate kisses around the tip of your chin.

“Mine, remember?”

He spins you around again, ordering you to your knees with an authoritative snap. You oblige a little too quickly, but you don’t care. You’re at the mercy of him tonight and always.

“Yours…” you breathe, knowing he’s about to fuck you and your mouth to spit and tears. “Yours only…”

He smirks, satisfied with himself. You bite your lip eagerly as you watch the King of Hellfire — and your heart — unbuckle his belt, ushering his pants down to line his pulsing cock up against your lips. Desperate for more already, your tongue peaks out to say hello. The deep lines of his snarky face concave further.

“Pucker up, sweetheart.”

💞 valentine’s divider by @saradika-graphics 💞

happy valentine’s day, sweethearts 💌

tag list: @chrrymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @mediocredreams , @motherfckerr , @jxpsi , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123 , @redbarn1995 @angietherose @kiyastrf94 , @purplewitchcauldron @kellsck @joyfulfxckery @munsons-mayhem28 @dragonfire @emma77645 @drivelikenina @livosssblog @thinkingth0ts @hugdealer @ellielunamckay

#em💐#maddy’s requests 🍸#maddy’s mailbox ✨#maddy’s moots #call me what you want #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson one shot #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader #joseph quinn #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #joe quinn #dom!eddie munson #dom!eddie

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joehawke · 1 year

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idk why this just popped into my head, but thinking about Steve who’s actually insanely smart, he always got straight A’s in school and the whole “dumb jock” was just a stereotype that Steve got stuck under and just never tried to prove wrong. Who cared whether or not he was actually smart? So he just played along. (Besides, it was an in to flirt with the girls; to pretend like he didn’t know what he was doing.) His parents had him tutored since he was old enough to count on his fingers, and sure it was exhausting, but it was something he was good at. Math, reading, science, it all came easy to him. He liked being able to impress the people around him. When he got involved with the upside down, the one thing that didn’t crumble around him was his studies. He was determined to make his parents proud. When it was time to send out all his college applications, his parents hadn’t returned home in months and by the time he heard back from the schools the upside down was worse than it’s ever been and it just wasn’t a concern anymore. So Steve stuffed the enveloped futures away. He had completely forgot about them. Until now.

It’s been a month since Hawkins cracked open. Max and Eddie both have been discharged from the hospital, on strict rehabilitation protocols. Because Wayne still had to work despite the government hush money, Steve decided it was best for Eddie to stay with him. Besides, the house is quiet and lonely, why not put it to good use? Steve had been downstairs frying eggs on a pan when Eddie came bounding around the corner clutching a stack of opened envelopes. He looked confused.

“What’s wrong Eds? What are those?” Steve asked, and when Eddie started rifling through the envelopes Steve caught the slightest sight of his school symbols. His heart dropped. “Eddie it’s not -“

“Harvard, Princeton, Yale, Columbia -“ Eddie starts naming off as he rifles through each envelope.

“Eddie.”

“You got into them all Steve. There’s like 10 different top notch schools here that you got into. Why has no one heard about this? And why are they stuffed in a drawer?”

“Because I’m not going” Steve says simply, like it was the easiest decision to make.

“What? What the fuck do you mean you’re not going?” Eddie asks appalled. And Steve gets why, he does, but he’s also determined to stand his ground.

“Why does it matter? I’m not going” Steve pouts, crossing his arms.

“Stevie. Did your parents pay for you to get in or something? Did they use the Harrington name you hate so much? There’s gotta be a reason you won’t go besides just being a stubborn asshole” and Steve gets why he‘a asking, and he’s never been hurt by it, but part of Steve flinches at the fact that Eddie couldn’t believe that Steve got in on his own account.

“No. It doesn’t matter, can we just drop it?”

“No. No we can’t. Do you know how badly I would KILL to get into any school, let alone an IVY. This is incredible Steve.” Eddie states, padding closer into the kitchen and Steve has to hold back a laugh at his rabbit slippers.

“I can’t go” Steve says quietly, turning away from Eddie and back to the stove where the eggs are starting to burn.

“Why though? Can you tell me that much?” Eddie asks, matching Steve’s soft tone.

“Because I have to be here. I have to be here incase Vecna isn’t really gone. Incase the kids need me. Incase Robin needs me. I can’t just leave…” Steve says, turning back towards Eddie to look at him before turning back towards the burnt eggs.

“Stevie. They’ll be fine. When are you gonna put yourself first sweetheart? I need a valid reason why you’re staying and I’ll drop it, because these aren’t -“

“Because you’re here!” Steve yells, turning back towards Eddie. Steve watches as Eddie’s lips part ever so slightly as his breath hitches before he continues. “When I got accepted into those schools the people who I did that for weren’t here anymore and fucking Henry Creel apparently was more prominent than ever, and the kids needed someone to take a hit and someone to protect them and Robin was here and she was the first person to care about me and what would that say about me if I left? And eventually those stupid schools were the furthest thing from my mind and then I thought about maybe going, maybe getting away from this hell… you came along and I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you Eddie. With the regards of sounding cheesy, you carved a spot into my heart along side those bat bites and how was I supposed to just let you go after that?” Steve’s out of breath, and tears are starting to gather at his waterline, but he doesn’t care because Eddie is looking at him like he hung the sun and the moon and the stars and he remembers why he stays. And when Eddie’s lips collide with his own, he thinks he found home.

“We’re not done talking about this” Eddie says, and Steve chuckles as Eddie dives back in.

#idk what this is #I just like smart Steve #I take that back #I just like Steve who has a hidden talent #I just like Steve #stranger things #steve harrington #steddie #steve stranger things #eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #eddie stranger things #steve harrington has bad parents #steddie drabble #Steddie fic idea #Steddie ficlet

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foundtherightwords · 5 months

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The Hollow Heart - Chapter 1

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Summary: To escape her mother's control and the stifling society of Gilded Age New York, heiress Christabel Cunningham impulsively marries Henry Creel, a charming and seductive stranger, and accompanies him to his remote mansion on the West Coast. There, as Henry grows cold and cruel, Christabel must uncover her husband's sinister secret before it's too late. But can she trust Kas, her husband's enigmatic assistant, who seems to be her only ally in this strange place, or is Kas's loyalty to his master stronger than his attraction to Christabel?

A/N: This was inspired by the moodboard for "Vecna's Bride" by @a-strange-inkling. I saw the title and the Gothic imagery and my imagination just ran wild.

I changed the names to differentiate them from my Regency AU and better fit the Gothic vibe, so Chrissy is now Christabel (after the poem by Coleridge; the fic title and chapter titles are also quotes from the poem) and Eddie is Kas, because I took some inspiration from the D&D lore of Vecna and Kas (big thanks to @waterfallsilverberrywrites for helping me with that!) When I did a poll, the consensus was that Eddie's Gothic name should be Edmund, but... I prefer Kas :P (I already have plans to use Edmund for another AU.)

Chapter warnings: none (but Eddie doesn't appear in this chapter yet... please bear with me)

Chapter word count: 3.9k

Chapter 1 - At the Old Oak Tree

Christabel ran.

In the distance, she could hear the shouts and cheers of the hunting party, the excited barking of the dogs, and the occasional gunshots, cracking sharply in the crisp autumn air. She was not far enough. Lifting her heavy wool skirt above her knees, she pushed deeper into the bushes. The dead leaves from years past formed a soft carpet under her feet, muffling the sound of her steps, while the leaves of this year, despite having turned all shades of gold and crimson on the trees, had not yet fallen, so she need not worry about being discovered from their crunch underfoot. She hoped the party was not headed this way. After all her endeavors to snatch a moment alone, she intended to savor it to its fullest.

Christabel Cunningham hadn't had many opportunities to be alone in her twenty-three years on Earth. The only daughter of a wealthy New York businessman, she had been since birth surrounded by nurses and governesses and servants, who took care of her under the watchful eyes of her mother. Her father had died, quite suddenly, of a heart attack, when Christabel was only a child. Christabel did not miss him. To her, he was but a dim, distant figure, always away on business trips, or holed up in his study when at home, hiding from his wife, leaving Christabel to bear the brunt of her mother's nagging. The sole mark he'd left on Christabel's life was her name, given to her by him in a fit of romanticism, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Cunningham, who preferred classic names like Elizabeth or Catherine or Amelia. His death didn't leave much of a void behind.

Her mother, an ambitious and exacting woman, embittered by her failure to have a son and by becoming a widow so young, had poured all her affection and thwarted dreams upon her daughter, smothering the girl with them. She dictated everything Christabel wore and ate and read and play, and all the friends Christabel made and all the parties Christabel attended had to be approved by her. And so Christabel had grown up with her books and her dolls, lonely but never alone.

In truth, she hadn't been allowed to attend a lot of parties. As she grew up and learned more about her father's will, Christabel discovered a more mercenary side to what she'd once thought was her mother's overprotectiveness. As the trustee of her daughter's inheritance, Mrs. Cunningham could enjoy a lavish lifestyle, a townhouse on Fifth Avenue, a summer cottage in Newport, the latest fashion in her wardrobe and the most luxurious dishes on her table. But as soon as Christabel was married, she would be in charge of her own fortune, and Mrs. Cunningham would be left with half of what she was used to. Christabel believed that to prevent this, her mother would have locked her away forever, like Rapunzel in her tower.

But social standing has its advantages. Afraid of the wagging tongues of the town, the whispers behind closed doors that she was keeping her daughter from society to hold on to her money, Mrs. Cunningham had reluctantly allowed Christabel to make her debut when she came of age. Since then, her days had been filled with balls and theater trips in the winter, tennis matches and yacht races in the summer, giggling friends and fawning suitors, still under the watchful eyes of her mother. It was tedious, but Christabel had endured it because it was better than staying at home, surrounding by the dark walls of her room and feeling her mother's disapproving stare on her at all times. Besides, that was what was expected of all the debutantes. Smile, dance, flirt, ride, sketch or sing a little, play a little piano, speak a bit of French, a bit of German, be amusing but not sarcastic, be vivacious but not feisty, be modest but not withdrawn, and hopefully make an advantageous match, and then have daughters and watch them go through the same thing, over and over again.

Christabel knew she would not break free of this cycle. Her whole life she had been taught to do what she was told, to never question, to never put a foot out of line. But as her own, feeble form of rebellion, she made it a point to refuse every proposal she'd ever received—and there had been plenty of them. With her delicate features, dewy skin, wide blue eyes, and strawberry blonde hair, Christabel always turned heads in every room she walked in. It was true that her nose was slightly upturned and her front teeth were slightly crooked, but these flaws were seen as charming, not defective. And if her manners were at times rather listless and uninterested, well, her inheritance could more than make up for it. So a lot of men had fallen in love with her, or at least with her beauty, or with her money, and had proposed, but she had refused them all.

When Mrs. Cunningham found out about these refusals, Christabel always had a believable reason to convince her mother of her decision—the family had an unpleasant reputation, their fortunes were not equal, or the boy himself did not have a promising enough prospect. Mrs. Cunningham was appeased, for a while, but after two seasons and Christabel remained unmarried, she began to grow uneasy and warned her daughter of the perils of spinsterhood.

To all her admonishment, Christabel said nothing. It wasn't that she wanted to be an old maid for the rest of her life, far from it. But unlike other young women, who dreamed of marriage as a celebration of love or even as a way to further their social connections, Christabel saw it as a means to freedom. And none of the men in her circle could give her that freedom she so thirsted. They all grew from the same stocks, the same root. If she married one of them, she would move in the same circle, lead the same life, beating a tired circle from Manhattan to Newport and back again, perhaps with the occasional trip to Europe, but still seeing the same faces, doing the same thing as everybody else, and never be free of her mother.

For that summer season, Christabel had tried to convince her mother to go to London or Paris, or, if they had to stay, then she was secretly hoping—as hateful as it sounded—to catch the eyes of a European aristocrat, many of whom were flocking to America in search of an heiress to restore their family fortune. Europe would be the ultimate escape. However, her mother disliked traveling, and although Christabel's inheritance was sizeable, it was not large enough to draw the attention of an impoverish earl or baronet.

At least her mother had accepted Mrs. Carver's invitation to their summer mansion in Tuxedo Park for two weeks of English-style country party. There were to be riding and shooting and picnics in the woods, all culminating in a costume ball on All Hallows' Eve. They had just come back from Newport, worn out and looking forward to some quiet days to recover before the winter season, so Christabel had been afraid her mother would refuse, knowing her dislike of the outdoors. But an invitation to the exclusive Tuxedo Park was hard to come by, and when Mrs. Cunningham learned the party was thrown for Mrs. Carver's eldest, Jason, who had just come back from Yale, nothing could have kept her away.

Jason Carver. Christabel sighed. All the debutantes were in love with him, though to Christabel, he had always been just a good friend, nothing more. She'd never imagined he would set his sight on her, not when he was always surrounded by so many other girls. So it had come as a complete shock when, after a dinner party at the Carvers' mansion, Jason had asked to speak to her alone in the gazebo overlooking Tuxedo Lake. There, while the moonlight rippled over the water, turning the surface of the lake into a broken mirror, he had taken Christabel's hands in his and, tremblingly, haltingly, asked her to marry him.

For the first time, Christabel had hesitated.

Jason was one of her few childhood friends her mother had approved of, as the Carvers' Manhattan residence was not far from the Cunninghams'. He had always been kind and attentive to her, and unlike some men, she knew he cared not a jot for her inheritance, since the Carvers was one of the richest and most prominent families in the city. A marriage between her and Jason would send her mother to Heaven.

That was the problem, of course. Christabel never wanted to do anything her mother wished.

"If we are to marry, can we live here?" she'd asked. It sounded as though she had accepted him already, but she didn't care. She looked around at the untamed parkland of the mansion, with the woods surrounding it on all sides and the sparkling lake in the distance. It may not be far enough from her mother, but it would be something.

"Of course!" Jason had said, squeezing her hands. "We'll come here for the summer, and—"

"No, you mistook me. I don't mean for the summer. I mean permanently."

Jason had laughed at that, thinking it was a joke. "We can't possibly live here! I have my business in town, and there's nobody here for half of the year anyway. Why would you want to live here?"

Christabel had tried to say that she wanted to live in Tuxedo Park precisely because there was nobody there for half of the year, but one look at Jason and she knew he wouldn't understand. Nobody would.

"I'm sorry, I can't," she'd said and withdrawn her hands.

She'd half-hoped Jason would try to get her to change her mind, that he would say they could live anywhere as long as they were together, but he had only shaken his head, said, "It's not meant to be then," bowed, and gone back inside, leaving her alone on the shore of that moonlit lake. Of course. No amount of love could be enough to compel a man to throw away his whole life like that, and even if he had made the offer, she couldn't possibly have accepted such a sacrifice. Perhaps it was for the best.

Still, that hadn't stopped things from being rather tense and awkward between them when they set out for the hunt that morning. Christabel had never enjoyed hunting, but she jumped at any chance to be outdoors, to be able to walk and run and move freely without being criticized for not acting ladylike enough. And another reason—her mother, having no interest in hunting and riding, always stayed behind on such occasions. That morning, though, Christabel could feel Jason's mournful eyes on her whenever she turned. She'd only wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but it was difficult when she was surrounded by the hunting party with their guns and dogs and servants. It was only when they came across a flock of partridges and the others' attention was diverted that she managed to slip into the woods.

Now, as she walked through the trees, Christabel pondered her situation. Would it be so bad, being married to Jason? It would at least let her be mistress of her own life... except that life would still be tied to another's. No, if she simply wanted to claim her inheritance, she would've married the first man that proposed and had done with it. This regret was simply because she had started to feel anxious about her future. Could she go on like this until her mother died? Could she live as a spinster, becoming brittle and bitter in her old age, facing the pity and contempt of others? Christabel felt the old, helpless anger toward her father blaze up inside her once more when she thought about the predicament he'd placed her in. What was the use of ensuring no one could touch her inheritance, if she had to saddle herself to a man to claim it?

She passed through the line of trees and came to a clearing on the side of a hill, gently sloping toward a small glen, where an old oak tree spread its cape of gold leaves over a murmuring brook. It seemed something straight out of a Washington Irving story—all that was missing was a covered bridge. Tucking her skirt into the top of her gaiters, Christabel threw her arms over her head and sprinted down the slope, letting the cool air fill her lungs and clear her head.

Near the bottom of the slope, her skirt slipped out of the gaiters and tangled around her legs. Her ankles twisted under her and sent her tumbling down. She rolled head over heels the last few feet before skidding to a stop right by the oak. Luckily, the hill wasn't steep, and her fall had been more embarrassing than painful. She cursed under her breath. When they received Mrs. Carver's invitation, Christabel had begged and begged her mother to let her have a split skirt for the occasion so she could move about with more ease and perhaps even learn to ride a bicycle, as some of her friends had, but Mrs. Cunningham had insisted that her old riding habit, with its long trailing skirt, would do just fine. Christabel shouldn't do much walking or moving about anyway, Mrs. Cunningham had argued. Men wouldn't be interested in overly energetic girls. And as for riding a bicycle, showing off her legs in those newfangled bloomers, like some common hoyden? Forget about it.

"Are you all right, miss?" a voice said somewhere over her head.

Christabel looked up and saw a pair of blue eyes. A man had stepped out from the other side of the oak tree and was looking down at her. She suddenly became aware that she was sprawled on the ground with her skirt hiked up over her knees. She bolted up and pulled her skirt down, face burning crimson.

"Yes, yes, I'm perfectly fine, thank you," she sputtered, struggling to her feet.

Her ankle turned painfully. The man reached out a hand to help her. His grip was firm and strong.

"Thank you." Christabel peered at him more closely. He was dressed for a day out in tweed and stout boots, but with a walking stick, not a gun. "Are you with the Carver hunting party?" she asked, for she did not remember seeing him. He was a little older than Jason and her circle of friends, in his late twenties or early thirties perhaps, tall, with a fine-boned, elegant-looking face. But what startled her the most was his eyes, as clear and blue as the sky above, fixed upon her with an expression of fascination and interest quite unlike anything she'd received from her suitors. She reached a self-conscious hand to her hair, trying to dislodge any dry leaf that may have gotten stuck there.

"Carver? No, no, I'm a guest of Dr. Brenner."

Christabel's eyebrows shot up. Dr. Brenner was an eccentric who had inherited one of the largest fortunes in New York, but rather than continuing to run the family business, he had devoted his time to studies of the occult and other esoteric sciences. Unlike most of the residents of Tuxedo Park, who only kept their mansions here as holiday homes, he lived in a cottage deep in the woods year round, engaging in all sorts of obscure experiments, never interacting much with his neighbors. They tolerated him out of respect for his family name; some saw him as a harmless old fool and even invited him to some of their parties to show him off to their out-of-town friends, much like the ornamental hermits that the English aristocrats of old often kept on their grounds. Unfortunately, the Carvers were not one of these open-minded people, so Christabel had never met Dr. Brenner. She had to admit that she sometimes felt envious of him and the male privileges that allowed him to give up his family business, but not his wealth, and pursue his true passion. Alas, no such luck for her.

And here was this man, claiming to be a guest of the mysterious doctor! Her curiosity was pique immediately.

"Are you?" she asked, with interest. "I didn't know he ever invited anyone here. You must be a man of science or some sort of scholar, for him to allow you to encroach on his solitude. What is your business with him?" Then she colored again, realizing how intrusive her question was. Usually she never allowed herself to behave so casually with a gentleman, but there was something about this man that freed her from the confines of propriety. Or perhaps it was the scene around them, the wild woods and the open sky that had no use for etiquette. Still, the habits of upbringing were hard to shake off, so she cast her eyes downward and murmured, "I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not at all," the man said with a friendly smile. "As a matter of fact, my family came from this area before it was developed, and Dr. Brenner is helping me to research our history. I'm just looking for the ruins of their village."

"Oh. That sounds very interesting."

"And if there's anyone who must be pardoned," the man continued, "it should be me, for I have been so presumptuous in talking to you without so much as an introduction. You must allow me to make amends, Miss—"

"Cunningham. Christabel Cunningham," she said.

"What an unusual and beautiful name." The man looked into the distance. "The lovely lady, Christabel, whom her father loves so well. What makes her in the wood so late, a furlong from the castle gate?" he recited in his rich, musical voice whose reverberation seemed to reach Christabel's very core.

She laughed to hide her blush. "A very fitting quote. Only it's not so very late, and while the Carver mansion is grand, it is far from a castle," she said. "And I'm simply taking a walk, not praying for my betrothed. In fact"—the noise from the hunting party had ceased, and she realized it must be nearly time for luncheon—"I'm just heading back now."

"And alas, I am no Geraldine," the man said. "But may I accompany you anyway?" He extended an arm toward her.

Christabel hesitated, thinking what her mother would say about walking in the woods with a stranger. But surely, there was no harm in it. The hunting party was not so far away, and she could always tell the truth—that she had gotten hurt, and this man was helping her. She took the proffered arm, and they started walking toward the Carver mansion, not following the route Christabel had, but taking the longer way, along the lakeshore, Christabel hobbling to keep up with the man's long strides. There was a dull ache in her ankle, but she bit her tongue, not wanting to complain.

"I see that you are an admirer of Coleridge, like my father," Christabel said.

"Your father must be a man of great taste then."

Her smile disappeared. "I wouldn't know. He died when I was very little." She caught herself again. Why was she telling this man, whom she met not five minutes ago and whose name she still didn't know, all these things about herself?

"Oh, I am so very sorry." The man took off his cap, revealing longish blonde hair that fell over his forehead in soft curls. His eyes were full of sympathy. "I know how difficult it is, losing one's parents. My own parents—" His voice hitched. "They died when I was very young as well. An earthquake, in San Francisco."

Christabel's heart panged with sympathy. "That must be horrible."

Those brilliant blue eyes dimmed for a moment. "It was."

"So you live in San Francisco?"

"I do, yes."

"What is it like?" she asked eagerly. Outside of Newport and occasionally the Catskills, she had never been anywhere. She had never even left the state of New York.

Before the man could answer, she put her weight on the sore ankle by mistake and let out an involuntary yelp. He turned to her, all solicitous concern. "Have you hurt yourself in the fall?" he asked.

"I must have," she replied reluctantly.

Tucking his cap into a pocket, he knelt down, took her ankle in his hand, and gently turned it this way and that. "Does this hurt?"

"Only a little," she said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, that won't do." He put one arm around her and the other under her knees, scooping her up easily as though she weighed no more than a feather. "I should have noticed sooner," he said. "I'm sorry."

"It's quite all right." Christabel was feeling a little dazed. None of her suitors had ever picked her up like that—indeed, none of them ever touched so much as the hem of her skirt without asking for permission first. She found that she didn't mind being handled, didn't mind the lack of permission-seeking. Nestling against his chest, she glanced shyly up at her gallant rescuer. Despite his slender frame, he was carrying her across the uneven terrain with no effort at all. The sun was shining upon his blonde hair, turning it into a gold helmet, and his blue eyes sparkled as he smiled down at her. She was glad they were taking the longer route.

But all too soon, the shingled walls of the Carver mansion appeared behind the trees, and the hunting party came into view. Christabel was afraid her rescuer would put her down the moment they came upon the others, but if anything, his hold around her seemed to tighten.

"There you are, Christabel," Jason said, stepping forward. "We were about to send out a search party—" His countenance changed upon seeing her in the arms of the stranger. "What happened?"

"Miss Cunningham had a bit of an accident," the man said. "I happened to come across her and took the liberty of escorting her home."

"How fortunate," Jason said, his voice icy. He all but yanked Christabel out of the other man's arms, as though she was a child, or worse, a doll, a toy to be fought over.

"I'm perfectly all right, Jason," Christabel said, fighting to put her feet on the ground. "It's just a sprain."

Jason relented and put her down. Christabel turned to her rescuer, who was replacing his cap on his hat, preparing to go. "Thank you so much," she said. "I hope I haven't delayed you from your quest."

"It was my pleasure. It's not every day a beautiful lady fell from the sky and landed at your feet, is it?"

She couldn't stop a smile from spreading across her face. "I still don't know your name."

"Haven't I told you?" He looked confused.

Christabel frowned, trying to recall. "No, I don't think so."

"Ah." He tipped his cap at her. "Henry Creel, pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Will I see you again, Mr. Creel?"

He flashed her another of his dazzling smiles. "You can count upon it." Then, with a bow in the general direction of the hunting party, who was staring at him, he turned and disappeared into the woods.

Chapter 2

As usual, if you want to be tagged, drop me a line! Any likes/reblogs/comments will be greatly appreciated, thank you!

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #hellcheer au #eddissy #eddie x chrissy #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #henry creel #joseph quinn #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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rosewaterandivy · 8 months

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don't fall away from me

summary: “If I should fall, on that day / I only pray, don't fall away from me" from I, Carrion (Icarian) - Hozier

w.c.: 1.9k

previously

Years pass by, and time moves differently here. Hawkins, but not quite, stuck in the perpetual year of 1983. Life, or whatever you call his existence, in the Upside Down is one long, drawn-out night. Turbulent clouds of red and blue rolled through a bruise-colored sky.

And somewhere beyond, just out of his reach, lies the scent of summer. It wafts through as it pleases— fragrant blooms, sunlight, and waxy blades of green. He can almost taste the slupees and melting popsicles, watermelon sugar tingling on his tongue.

He can hear your laughter in the dead air, the sound echoing through the caverns of his mind. That is, at least, when he isn’t there.

Vecna, Henry Creel, his majesty the scrotum— whatever.

Speaking of which—

“It’s time.”

The steel-trap of his memory slams shut, though it’s useless to try and keep anything for himself. Learned that the hard way. Many times, in fact.

Like clockwork, the lone walkie crackles to life with a burst of static.

“Eddie, it’s Dustin. Over.”

His longs to wrap his fingers around the chunk of plastic and press down to reply. He always will, he can’t rightly help it.

But this time, Dustin says something else. It’s not the usual: “Eddie, can you read me? Over.”

Instead, it's: “Eddie, if you’re there just—” followed by a deep breath. “If you come back, things are different now. She’s different. She’s got another life and…”

In spite of himself, he creeps closer to the walkie.

Dustin heaves a sigh down the line. “Please don’t come for her. If you are what I think you are, you’ll stay away.”

But, of course, he doesn’t listen to Henderson’s pleas. Turns out, a prolonged stay in the Upside Down as Vecna’s Frankenstein abomination of a lieutenant will do that to a person. Or whatever he was now. He can’t listen to good sense because his has fled. He has to hope that some things are the same, that your love remains the same.

And with that, he unfurls his wings and takes off toward the surviving gate.

Ever since he’d woken up, or rather, been revived by Vecna, something has been pulling at him from Hawkins. Well, several somethings really, but two in particular burn the brightest. He follows them like the north star guiding him home.

Except home for him doesn’t exist anymore, at least not in any way that matters.

A cabin tucked away in the woods kept secret and safe, sunken back against the trees. On a thick branch of a nearby tree hangs a tire swing, pastoral and endearing. Next to it sits a worn picnic table, burgundy paint peeling at the edges. There’s a clatter from behind the door before it creaks open.

You linger there, back turned to him, a cream-colored dress falls to graze just beneath your knees. Your hair is longer now, a smile coming to his lips as he continues to observe, a few locks falling loose from the braid you’ve tied.

The braid and dress are new. But the ease with which you lean into the house, carefree and relaxed, that is familiar.

And maybe that’s enough.

He watches as you eventually settle back against a well-loved rocking chair, a soft crooning voice floating through the air as you tilt your head back and sigh.

Christ. You smell good. He always thought you had, even now the faintest aroma of sandalwood only serves to conjure vestiges of you. But he can’t detect the fine traces of them now. In its stead is a bright note of salt, musk, and heat beckoning him like a siren’s call.

Only once the sun has set beneath the horizon does he answer that call, stepping out from underneath the shade of the trees. A twig snaps underfoot at his approach, and your head whips toward him, your mouth pulled in a flat line. With the grace and quickness only Nancy Wheeler would envy, you grasp the barrel of a soldered off shotgun.

“I would suggest you turn back now,” You warn lowly, cocking the hammer and wrapping your finger around the trigger.

Stepping from the trees, he raises his arms slowly and sheepishly ducks his head.

“Unless you’ve got some silver bullets in there, sugar,” He jests, lips jerking into a careful smile, “I doubt it’ll do much good.”

Rising from the chair, you narrow your eyes to stare into the taller broader figure of a man you have known too well.

“Eddie?”

He responds with a nod, not that it does much to lessen the blow. You blink, eyes darting side to side as if questioning your reality.

Hearing his name slip from your tongue so softly nearly steals his breath. He can’t help but close his eyes to memorize it. That voice, his name, the years have passed, and he hasn’t forgotten. Not a single thing.

From the first time you called it, to the first time you whispered it, to the last time you sobbed it, following him into the unknown darkness. No matter how black his heart, he always had you.

“Hi sweetheart,” He greets, stepping forward and dropping his arms, extending a shaky outstretched hand.

Or, what could once be considered a hand.

And the devastation that falls on your face is worse than any of the terrors he’s suffered combined. You stand frozen like a statue, stiff and still save for the fluttering of your skirt in the breeze.

Beautiful as ever.

Your mouth begins moving before any words fall forth, expression ranging from shock to elation before settling at outright terror. There’s a slight tremor to your hands as they grip the weapon aimed directly at him.

He can hear the quickening of your heart, the whoosh of air that slips from your lungs with each breath, the inherent thrum of life all around you.

He makes to call your name, but the words fall silent in his throat at the sight unfolding before his eyes. The door creaks loudly as you dash in front of it, shielding something from view.

And then he sees it. The change Dustin alluded to; the life.

If he had a heart, it would have dropped, trembled even. Even the cool absence of it feels like it could burst right through his chest.

“Mama?” The boy whispers from behind the mesh of the screen door. He clumsily totters from one foot to the other, landing with a plop on the floor.

A child.

“Stay there baby,” You say, eyes trained on Eddie and flashing in warning. “I’ll be in soon.”

Mama.

Fuck. The boy is beautiful. Footsie pajamas and face shadowed, shielding him from Eddie’s prying eyes. Even if he can’t make out the boy’s face just yet, he knows, because of you, any child would be perfect. Like those cherubs from Renaissance paintings. A little cherub that could have been his.

“Cute kid,” Eddie smiles, voice soft and low, “What’s his name?”

“He’s named after his father,” You say taking one step toward him. “And you should be leaving.”

“Jams!” The boy helpfully offers, “My name's Jams!”

“J-Jamie.” You breathe, “His name is Jamie.” Clearing a tickle in your throat, you clarify, “Steven James, technically.”

The boy— Steven. Eddie feels himself roil at the new knowledge. His name is Steven.

“Steven? Steve?” Betrayal trips along his tongue, a lingering tang of wet pennies in the way he questions it. As much as he tries to brace for it, a tiny blooming wound breaks through the syllable.

Between your overcast eyes and Eddie’s inspecting onces, the boy is lodged like a twig in a dam, holding back the torrent from both sides. You continue to grip the rifle and shush him now for the time being.

“Is he— Steve? He’s Steve’s?”

Eddie observes the front yard, the blinding, hopeful curtain lifting from his eyes— there are three chairs on the porch, three black-eyed Susans painted on the mailbox, three stumps further afield surrounding a fire pit.

A home.

You face swims with heartbreak, mouth twisting into a scowl he’s seen rarely but still— he knows it.

“Yes, Eddie.” You sigh, nostrils flaring and face coloring with indignation.

Eddie frowns, broken-hearted, apologetic, jealousy roiling in his gut. Unshed tears gather at your lashes, lips pinched tightly, as if holding back your words will keep the tears at bay. He doesn’t know what you mean as he stares vacantly at your protective stance.

But then he sees it.

He sees it when the boy grunts, tired of a conversation that is years beyond his interest and understanding. He rests a tiny hand against the screen door and gently pushes at it.

Jamie is quick and before you can haul him back behind you, he scampers into the light as if the pair of you are playing a game, and when Eddie looks back to where his perfect little head is— drawn firmly to your side, plopped on your jutting hip, he sees dazzling cascades of mahogany curls glinting in the dim porch light.

The boy twists his little body around and stares of Eddie with some curiosity now that they are both wholly revealed to the other.

“He was there for me,” A faint whisper escapes your mouth, heavy tears falling down your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “He was there the entire time. All nine harrowing months, knowing that I was growing something that was yours. If it weren’t for Steve, I—” You shake the thought loose before it can take hold.

You press your lips to Jamie’s head, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, “I was completely out of it with grief. Th-thought, I coul— I couldn’t do it. Have a baby that was yours when you were gone. When you died, what we had was barely even a dream, Eddie.”

He knows, he remembers it all too well.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry— I didn’t—"

“I know,” You nod, acknowledging his confession. “You had no reason to.” He bites his tongue, hopes it draws some blood, hopes in secret that something will take his very existence from him now, and knows the chances are slim. He can’t stand the thought of being among the living any longer, facing the consequences of his actions, his so-called heroics— the two people he left behind.

“Steve was there, and he loved me through it. And when this little… when this sweet guy—” You press your face to his and take a steadying breath. “When this boy came, we held each other and wept.”

A small laugh escapes from you muffled by Jamie’s hair.

“So, he’s named after his father, just not necessarily his biological one.”

Jamie leans toward you, places his palms to your cheeks and pats the wetness away. “No cry, mama. Happy face.”

You crumble apart, bursting into tears against his little palm, pressing kisses to his fingertips, and part of Eddie crumbles to ruin too. The boy, this precious boy, who is both his and not his, turns and looks at him earnestly.

“Mama’s okay, baby,” You whisper to him, “I’ve got you now, my sunshine boy.”

“You should leave,” You turn to Eddie, reluctance rounding the words as they tumble from your mouth. “Before he gets home.”

Because your home is with Steve now. Not Eddie, at least not anymore.

“He’ll want to see you, they all will, but not like this.”

He wouldn’t even know what to say to Steve. He wouldn’t know what to say to anyone. The stories he’d told himself of abandonment and sacrifice all pale in comparison to the reality of it all— trying to mete out a meager phantom life, half-existing, while the world continued to turn above.

You and Steve, and his son— your son, Eddie’s son, Steve’s son.

All strung together like tragic marionettes, and he can’t protect you from the puppet master.

With a few beats of his wings, Eddie's gone, soaring above the tree line and catching the last few rays from the setting sun. Relishes the scant warmth and thinks that maybe Icarus had the right of it; the greatest tragedy, after all, is never to feel the burning of the light.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst

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armyangxls · 3 months

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About me: My name is Lexi, I’m 20, Queer, Christian writer, editor, neurodivergent, chronically ill, and my pronouns are she/they

About my stories: Most of my stories are written as chronically ill gender neutral readers! And all are autistic queer plus size readers!

What I post: fandom stuff, fanfics, stories, icons, gifs, fancasts, stimboards, etc

My f/os: Tex Sawyer, Bo Sinclair, Richie Kirsch, Evan Buckley, Ticci Toby, Ryan Hudson, Corey Cunningham, Henry Creel, Mike Munroe, Chris Halliwell, Gilbert Blythe, etc

Random favorite things: Scooby Doo, non sketchy storms, St. Augustine FL, cozy days, horror media, video games, board games, cartoons, road trips, cozy spooky media, ghosts, period media, dusk, Ghibli movies, foggy days, witchy stuff, mysteries, celestial stuff, decorations, paranormal!

Favorite aesthetics: whimsigoth, fairy Grunge, tropical girl, spooky coastal town, anything cozy or spooky!

Favorite music: Chase Atlantic, Chappell Roan, Brye, Isabel LaRosa, She Wants Revenge, BTS, TV girl, Taylor Swift, Conan Gray, Fleetwood Mac, Olivia Rodrigo, The Neighborhood, Lovelytheband, Mazzy Star, Melanie Martinez, Halsey!

Favorite YouTubers: Jake Webber, Johnnie Gilbert, Sam and Colby, Loey Lane, Trek Trendy, Jessii Vee!

Fandoms: BTS, The Vampire Diaries, Encanto, Stranger Things, DC Stargirl, Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Fear Street, Scream, The Lost Boys, Outer Banks, 9-1-1, 9-1-1 Lone Star, The Crow, Halloween, Nancy Drew, Lisa Frankenstein, House Of Wax, Pretty Little Liars, Elvis (2022), Bridgerton, Are You Afraid of The Dark?, Fate The Winx Saga, Anne of Green Gables (1985-), Riverdale, The Maze Runner, Creepypasta, Marble Hornets, American Horror Story & Stories, Harry Potter (anti JKR), Fantastic Beasts, Scream TV Series, Charmed, Dead By Daylight, My Babysitter’s A Vampire, Sense and Sensibility, I Am Not Okay With This, Love Victor, It (2017), Miss Peregrine’s Home for Peculiar Children, The Strangers Prey at Night, Rizzoli And Isles, Texas Chainsaw Massacre game, Five Nights At Freddy's, Abigail, Trap, Beetlejuice, etc

Social Medias: @btsarmygirl417 Edit Instagram TikTok @starry-ghost-tour my reblog account @whimsyspookyloves my f/o account

Playlist: Character playlists Part Two Monthly Playlist

DNI: Racists, Homophobos, Transphobos, pro-eds, fatphobos, ableists, Trump Supporters, Nazis, Proshipers, anti self-diagnose, conservatives, etc

Taglists: Stranger Things Taglist Scream Taglist Stargirl taglist Fear Street taglist

Masterlists: Writing Masterlist Gif Masterlist Test Posts Masterlist Fancasts Masterlist Icons Masterlist

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henrysglock · 1 year

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We Really Need To Talk About Henry Creel and the "Psychopath" Label.

I'm putting the word "psychopath" on a high shelf and out of reach until further notice because we as a whole clearly a) does not understand what psychopathy is, b) does not know what it actually looks like in people, and c) is more than happy feeding into the already existing stigma around the disorder by using the term to describe someone who is a villain, but who's also very much not a psychopath if you look at his actual mannerisms and beliefs.

That is to say: If we completely ignore any timeline fuckery and treat Vecna/Henry like one singular guy...The terms you all are looking for are "pathological altruism", "superiority complex", cPTSD, and/or autism.

Y'know, things that can stem from intense, prolonged childhood trauma and are characterized by a) believing oneself to have the power, authority, and duty to fix others' problems for them, b) fluctuations in sensitivity/reactivity to triggering situations, and c) reactive judgmental behavior.

"Psychopath" is not a catch-all for villains, and it does not equate to "violent man disorder".

Let's do a little psychoanalysis of what Henry actually does, working chronologically.

Little Henry (age 12)

He's described as "sensitive". This is code for many things throughout the show, some of which being artistic tendencies, quiet personality, increased vulnerability to emotional harm, queerness, neurodivergence, and connection to the supernatural.

He's shown gently collecting spiders in furnished jars. Henry identifies with the spiders, identifies that they both have been cast aside, and uses that connection to reach the conclusion that the spiders need love and care. He then handles them gently and spends time making homes for them. This alone is a display of empathy, sympathy, and compassion.

He's lonely, rejected by his mother and his peers. This rejection hurts him, and he later bitterly internalizes/recontextualizes the experience to avoid that hurt.

He's called "broken", but later realizes that he isn't broken at all. This indicates that he believed he was broken for some span of time, and his later anger surrounding the topic indicates that that experience hurt him.

He displays a variety of emotions. Henry openly displays sadness, fear, anger, enjoyment, fascination, and excitement.

He is unable to hide his social "wrongness". He couldn't hide the fact that he was different from the other children, indicating that a) he tried and failed, and b) he wanted to fit in at one point.

His father seemed to have liked him as a person. Whatever was "wrong" with Henry, whatever it was that he couldn't hide, it wasn't something that made Victor dislike him.

He recognizes cruelty in society and openly condemns it. Yes, I recognize the later irony in that. That's part of the narrative structure of his villain arc. This isn't about Vecna, it's about preteen Henry.

He hates dishonesty. Whether it be dishonesty with others or with the self, Henry has a specific and powerful hatred of lying.

Now, if anyone tries to tell you about diagnosed "child psychopaths", they're lying to you.

Psychopathy is clinically knowns as Anti-Social Personality Disorder, and it cannot be diagnosed until ages 18+, since children tend to grow out of any "psychopathy markers" they might display in childhood. Children displaying these markers might be flagged as having "conduct disorder", but not psychopathy.

However, lets look at the markers anyway:

GM: Grandiose-Manipulative, DI: Daring-Impulsive, CU: Callous-Unemotional Source

Conduct disorder: Generally characterized by aggression towards others/destruction of property, lying, theft, and limited prosocial emotions. GM: Superficial charm, glibness, suave behavior. Megalomania and narcissism. Lying. DI: Fearlessness, impulsivity, recklessness, lack of responsibility. Risk taking behaviors. CU: Lack of remorse, empathy, sympathy, or compassion. Shallow emotional affect.

Let's tally him up.

Psychopathy:

Grandiose-Manipulative: ❌ Henry does not fit in, and it's clear to everyone that he does not fit in. He can't hide this, no matter how hard he tries. He is not charming or suave. He also internalizes the "broken" label and recognizes that he's rejected for a reason, and it hurts him. It's only later in his childhood that he realizes being different=/=being broken. He has a specific hatred of lying. If we compare him to Billy, the narrative anti-hero who acts as both parallel and foil to him, we can see artificial charm in action. Billy lies and uses acting to get his way. Repeatedly (see: his interactions with Karen). Billy represents GM behaviors in action. Little Henry is, then, in direct conflict with GM traits.

Daring-Impulsive: ❌ Henry only lashes out with violence when he perceives himself as being in imminent danger. He is shown as and later described as being afraid. The only fearlessness we see is in regard to spiders, and that fearlessness can be traced back to his empathy for the spiders as disliked/socially rejected creatures. Again, Billy. Billy and his erratic driving with Max in ST2 and his attempted fling with Karen are both classic displays of DI traits. Little Henry, in contrast, does not display DI traits.

Callous-Unemotional: ❌ Henry displays a range of genuine emotions. He also displays empathy, sympathy, and compassion. He's described as a sensitive child, for heaven's sake. Billy, as a contrast, does not display empathy, sympathy, or compassion. He's unnecessarily cruel and violent for his own entertainment (the car scene) or to maintain control (Max), and he does not display remorse for it. Little Henry does not meet the criteria for CU traits.

Conduct Disorder:

Aggression/Destruction: ❌ Henry is often hiding, he's reclusive, his father describes him as "sensitive", and he's gentle with the spiders. Even his later visions aren't particularly aggressive. It's spiders crawling out of a drain, a cradle in a fireplace. Disturbing, yes, but not aggressive. Henry is shown killing a rabbit, but his reaction is distinctly unhappy and we're only conclusively shown him doing so once. Due to differences in killing style between his singular kill and the other dead animals his family finds on the property and the fact that there are animals that show up mutilated on the Creel property which Henry wouldn't reasonably have access to (see: chickens)...It's not a concrete pattern of behavior. He's not an aggressive child, especially if compared to Billy. Billy is openly violent and aggressive, and he seeks out opportunities to physically hurt others. Henry does not do this. He only lashes out when cornered, which is what happened in 1959 (if we take canon at face value).

Theft: ❌ We are not shown any instances of or inclination towards theft.

Low guilt/remorse: Inconclusive Henry is shown (supposedly) practicing his powers on a rabbit, but he looks distinctly disturbed while doing so. Henry lashes out at his mother with his powers and displays little remorse, but that was self-defense, which muddies the remorse waters. Compare him to Billy, who is clearly enjoying tormenting kids whenever he can (see: the fatshaming at the pool, Max in the car, Lucas at the Byers house). Generally, Henry doesn't meet this criterion, but it remains inconclusive.

Low Empathy: ❌ Henry visibly and verbally displays empathy for the spiders (A similar trait in autism: more empathy for creatures than humans)

Low Affiliative Behaviors: Inconclusive He has issues with regulating eye-contact (it seems like he tends to stare), and he doesn't seem to seek people out. He's reclusive and quiet. However, these are also shared traits with autism...or just being an introvert, and we do see him display warmth/happiness on multiple occasions. We also know he has interest in connection with others due to his later bitterness over the lack of connection he experienced as a child.

Deceitfulness: ❌ Henry hates lying and dishonesty. That's his whole thing.

Fearlessness: ❌ Henry visibly and verbally displays fear on many occasions.

Henry Creel, age 12, is not meeting the markers for conduct disorder/precursors for psychopathy.

Next time point.

Henry Creel, age 32: Orderly

He's good with kids. He soothes El's anxiety, calmly engages with her anger surrounding her mother, sits on the floor beside her to be on her level, takes her concerns seriously, and tries to help her succeed against her struggles in the lab.

He's relatively social. He's the only orderly who interacts with the children willingly/actively seeks out social connection with the children. He's shown wandering around the room observing them, and he seeks El out as company (this will come back later).

He's not harsh with the children. In ST1, we see El being carries around by her arms and thrown around by orderlies. We see Henry being dragged by his arms by orderlies after his electrocution scene. Henry, even when given the authority of an orderly, doesn't engage in this kind of disregard for a) personal space, b) autonomy, and c) wellbeing. The worst we see from him is his reprimand of 002 when 002 is bullying El, and even that's just a quick verbal reprimand.

He empathizes and sympathizes with the children. Henry is openly disturbed by 002's electrocution, even when no one is watching him except the audience. El isn't watching, Brenner isn't watching. Henry empathizes with 002, given that his own electrocution scene just happened in the previous episode. We're being shown genuine empathy and sympathy coming from Henry.

He's still quiet, gentle, and reclusive. He often hunches in on himself when he's not being watched by Brenner. He's consistently soft-spoken and unassuming. His likability comes from his lack of stereotypical superficial charm/suaveness. He comes off as the guy who was bullied to hell and back as a kid, not like a politician (which is what psychopathic charm is most likened to).

When he isn't being like that, it's an act...and an unconvincing one at that. Henry looks distinctly uncomfortable and out of place when he's trying to play the straight-backed, unfeeling orderly. We get tons of side-eye from him directed at Brenner. He doesn't enjoy being on display like that.

Henry tries to help El and then acknowledges that it didn't work/made things worse.

Henry tries to help El escape with no request for anything in return. Her escape was not transactional. Soteria's removal only happened when El reached out about Henry not coming with her, and even then he never asks her to remove it. He gives her information, and then he lets her make her own choices. She wants him to come with, he did not ask her to set him free. All this, despite the fact that he easily could have asked her to remove it as repayment for letting her loose without any red flags being raised on El's part.

Henry displays concern for El's wellbeing He takes her with him when the guards come running after Soteria, even though it would have been a good distraction/would have given him a head start if he'd left her. He defends her and himself from the guards who clearly want to hurt them. He hides her in the store room and tells her he's going to find them a way out.

Let's tally him up.

Grandiose-Manipulative: ❌ Henry still lacks the "classic" psychopathic charm. He's still a bit kooky, definitely not suave. A touch of narcissism might come into play with his desire to "save" El, but that's leaning into pathological altruism. He doesn't display himself as powerful, even after Soteria is removed. He's still soft-spoken and curled in on himself. Of course, we could argue that he's doing all this to manipulate El. Sure...but he never asks for anything in return even when it would be logical and understandable to do so. Getting El to remove Soteria would be like taking candy from a baby. All he'd have to do is say "If you take Soteria out, then I can help you escape. I can only help you if you take it out, though", and she'd do it. She's a lab-raised 8 year old. It would be a far safer gamble for him to flex his authority than to...what? Not mention it and hope she says something? Hope she chooses to do something? Okay. Hell, if we take the show at face value, no timelines or anything...Henry has already leveraged his authority with El before. "If you want to escape, you must do exactly as I say", he tells her in the chess scene...and then he just straight up never mentions Soteria. No matter how you slice it...that wasn't manipulation. It was altruism.

Daring-Impulsive: ❌ Henry does display risk-taking behaviors, but we need to apply context. He's been locked and abused in this lab for 20 years, El's been there for 8 years under similar conditions...there's no chance at escape for either of them unless someone takes a risk. Even so, it's not the type of risk that's associated with thrill-seeking. He's not doing it for the thrill, he's doing it to get out.

Callous-Unfeeling: ❌ It's a bit more difficult to say that it's not an act here because he's usually being watched by El, however...in the times when he's not being watched, he displays empathy, sympathy, and compassion, and those displays are paired with distinction emotional expressions. This is where the escape scene comes into play. Henry once again only attacks once he's cornered and in danger (not to mention that this time he has a dependent to worry about). His plan is to run. He's not inclined towards violence until he's left with no other choice, and when he does lash out he doesn't actually use his powers to kill until that final guard (who seemed to take great pleasure in the prospect of getting to shocked both him and El). He throws the other soldiers around, but he doesn't give them that menacing, sadistic look. That's reserved for that specific guard. It's sadism borne of a personal grudge due to prolonged mistreatment. It's revenge, not sadism for the sake of sadism.

Orderly Henry Creel, age 32, definitely has something going on up there (likely a whopping dose of cPTSD). He sure is a Guy in a Situation. However, he does not meet the criteria for psychopathy.

And now, my favorite and most controversial section:

Vecna-Henry (ages 32-38)

First and foremost: I need you all to read this with the understanding that I am explaining behaviors, not excusing them. Nothing that happened was right or justified, based on a normal person's frame of mind. However, in order to even come close to psychoanalyzing someone, you have to get inside their head. It's their thoughts and motivations that matter here, not what outsiders judge them to be. That's why it takes months of talking and testing to pin down diagnoses.

We need to be able to look at things from Henry's point of view and piece it together in his frame of mind. You feel me? Good.

I'm abandoning the checklist format for this section because it requires more nuance than just "yes" or "no", but I'm still going to list off some key traits about Vecna:

He chooses his victims carefully. Our 4 victims are not chosen willy-nilly. This isn't "I want to kill for fun", or we'd have Art the Clown instead. He personally kills exactly as many as he needs to open the Rifts, no more. He doesn't kill for killing's sake.

Each victim is chosen with a specific backstory in mind. I've spoken about this before, but if you know anything about serial killers it's that they're almost always going after victims that tie into their own trauma (i.e. killers with mommy issues going after women who look like their mothers, etc). Stranger Things, of course, is a touch more intricate. The order and specific stories of the victims tells a meta narrative. Chrissy and her horrible mother with the rotting food that's a direct link to the custom-made painting in the Creel dining room during the dinner scene. Fred and being a murderer, even though it was a negligent accident. Max and Billy, whose story is so complex and so inverse of Henry's that it fits perfectly with a song about swapping places to feel how the other feels. Again, a death outside of the victim's control, but this time tinged with the relief that an abuser had died after years of wishing for it to happen. Patrick and his abusive father, his abusive Papa, if you will. They tell us a story, just like almost every other serial killer. We know Virginia was a bad mother based on the situation Henry finds himself in at age 12, but we're never shown the extent of that conflict because we never see them interact. It wasn't physically possible for Henry to have killed Alice. How could Henry, who was near-fainting after having "killed" Virginia, find the strength to trance Victor and kill Alice? How could he do that, when we don't even see Vecna do that, when he's so much more powerful? He's not capable of multitasking. ST4 made that very clear. Thus, negligent death. Billy and Max vs the Creel murders are essentially just an inverse situation. Older abuser dies, the young victim wished for it to happen and is now Feeling Things about the situation. Lost a sibling in the process. And last but not least, Patrick, who shares a name with a lab guard in ST1 and has an abusive father. That's a Brenner link. It's a story by proxy. Vecna uses that shared trauma to connect with his victims. (That's the real deal: Shared Trauma). It's weaponized empathy.

He talks over and over again about honesty and ending suffering. Those are his two huge Things in his kills. He holds up a mirror to what the victim perceives to be the worst part of them, and then he turns around and all but tells them he'll make it end. After all...everyone is just waiting, waiting for it all to be over. He's got a fixation on making sure his victim knows that a) this was their fault, and b) he's being the Good Guy by relieving their suffering.

He has no reason left to pretend to have a Good Moral Justification for his kills, and yet he still talks to his victims like he's justifying their deaths.

That's...a lot, but let's dive right in.

Henry and his funky morality complex is endlessly fascinating to me, because what he seems to be doing is self-soothing about it all. Psychopaths, in contrast, are aware of moral compasses, of good and bad, but they aren't typically beholden to the concept. A psychopath likely wouldn't feel the need to self-soothe about their actions by telling themselves and others that they're doing what they're doing to relieve suffering...which is coincidentally exactly what Henry, as Vecna, does the whole time.

At this stage in the story, Henry would have no reason to keep up that kind of savior charade when his audience is just himself and his victim. There's no one there to manipulate by falsifying morality. The only other person listening is going to die imminently. The interesting part comes in when we understand that Henry doesn't have to play the angel at all in ST4. He's certain he's already succeeded by the time we realize what he's up to. He doesn't have anything to gain by lying about his perceived morality. Psychopaths, generally speaking, don't care enough to put the effort into lying if it isn't useful. That means that the last time he would have actually needed to play the angel was during his 1979 monologue. However, we see the same phrases about suffering and the associated release that we hear in 1979 continuing to return as far in as 1986, when Henry no longer has any reason to lie, even if he were okay with lying in the first place (which he's not)! They're all genuine lines. They're a core part of his character.

Vecna wants to be in the right, in the clear, morally. He can't accept that what he's doing is abusive; he has to frame it specifically so that he is doing what's right, that he's freeing people and solving problems.

He's doing his damndest to actualize his "predator, but for good" line from 1979.

This does not smack of psychopathy.

This smells like a savior complex.

Even as far back as 1979, Henry has been obsessed with saving things from their problems ("Tricked you? No. I saved you"). He "saves" spiders from the vents of his house and gives them new homes, he "saves" El from the lab's brainwashing, he "saves" the ST4 victims from their suffering...and dare I say it...he "saves" the lab children in 1979 from their suffering as part of Brenner's lab, the only true escape from which is death (And if it was a 2-birds-1-stone situation with absorbing abilities...well. That's just a bonus).

Granted, the morality surrounding the manifestation of Henry's savior complex has been warped by massive psychic alteration and 20 years of unimaginable abuse with no feasible escape, so yeah. It's a little fucked up. He's a little fucked up. Obviously.

However, at it's core: Everything Henry has ever done has (in his mind) been Right, Good, and Necessary, despite the fact that he's now actively doing more harm than good.

This reeks of pathological altruism.

Here's what that can look like, clinically:

Source

Well damn, doesn't that sound familiar? (I'm staring directly at Henry's spider hoarding versus the above image)

"Saving" spiders, but condemning them to death in jars after his kidnapping. "Saving" El from the lab, but traumatizing her and ultimately condemning her to his own fate: being the sole focus of Brenner's attention. "Saving" the ST4 victims from their suffering, but hurting them in an attempt to kill two birds with one stone: free himself, and eliminate their suffering as a nice morality bonus.

Pathological Altruism. Savior Complex.

Jamie himself has said that, based on what has been shown to us, Henry truly believes that what he's doing is right and beneficial (which fits with his Catholic-God coding (here) so well).

All this to say, and I cannot stress this enough: This is not psychopathy. What Henry displays is not psychopathy. This is pathological altruism. Psychopaths, particularly those who go on to commit violent crimes, largely do not have savior complexes. A psychopathic serial killer would not care, and would not hide that they don't care if there isn't anything to gain from it.

Henry also has this incredible fixation on truth and right vs wrong, and yes, he weaponizes that, but again he does so while self-soothing with padded morality phrasing. He monologues for ages about how terrible it is that everyone is lying to themselves and others, and how everyone is suffering but no one wants to admit it. His main goal is remaking the world with a "better" version of society that's less oppressive (which happens to be one where a rule-bound society is entirely done away with). Henry then swings way past "Good, Right, Necessary" into villain territory but going so far as to force his victims into facing the truth of what's going on inside their heads, forcing them to stop lying about their own mental states, only to then use the "worst" thing about themselves to judge them. He's quite literally playing God based on his use of right and wrong to maintain control/power while holding a moral high ground. (He's doing a pretty good job, too. He sounds just like the Catholic God.)

This is not psychopathic behavior.

His behavior seems more like black/white judgmental thinking:

A misguided and overwhelmingly strong sense of justice:

Source

and a killer superiority complex fueled by chronically low self-esteem:

Source

A psychopathic serial killer would have little attachment to truth or right and wrong.

A psychopathic serial killer would not care.

Source

The thing is: Henry's whole issue is that he cares entirely too much. His problem is that everything matters, everything can and should be sorted into good and evil, right and wrong (and obviously he is in the right here), save and destroy. It's judgement and warped justice and the need to believe he's special, that it all happened for a reason, that the world deserves to burn for what it did to people like him, that he can fix the world if he destroys it first.

This also happens to be why Henry cannot be considered a nihilist, which is another term I'm putting up on a shelf. Henry sees the world as inherently having value, that life has value, that there's something worth rebuilding (so long as he gets to dictate what the rules are...so long as he never gets hurt again). If he didn't care so much, he wouldn't be so damn upset about it all. He's a mess. He legitimately cares too much, the hurt is too deep.

That, in combination with the perspective warping from not only his absorptive quality but also 20 years of MKULTRA/Hawkins National Lab Fuckery, has created the mentality we see in ST4 and the actions it has manifested in (again, ignoring timelines).

Vecna is a violent, lab-made hypocrite with a touch of trauma-borne misanthropy, for sure, but he's not a psychopath.

tl; dr: Psychopathy is not synonymous with "villainous man disorder". Henry Creel is not a psychopath, though as it stands he is technically our villain.

#breaking: media fans told that psychopathy is NOT just ''evil man'' disorder #[squirts fans with a water bottle] AHT. AHT. PUT THE LABEL DOWN.#henry was a good kid. a good young man even. and i'm standing by it #henry creel analysis #henry/vecna/001 #psychoanalyzing henry creel #st character analysis #stranger things

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kittythelitter · 2 years

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CW: Chrissy's mom. Specifically being body shamey and ableist. Also characters being pressured into a relationship they don't want to be in.

Okay but ST season 4 AU where everyone lives, including Chrissy and Jason. Like, Vecna breaks his victims and traps his victims in their own minds instead of killing them so he can feed off their life forces or whatever and Chrissy is found in the trailer broken and covered in upsidedown goop but still alive so everyone's like. This is some weird supernatural bullshit. And Jason still leads a witch-hunt.

After it all, Chrissy is awake and recovering and she breaks up with Jason for being the worst. And her mom is like. You're legally an adult, you chased away a good man, because you're bed bound for now you lost your cheerleading scholarship and the only thing that makes you worth anything. You can't even get a job in your current state. You need a man. If you let me set you up with a rich eligible bachelor and don't fuck it up, we will pay your hospital bills, maybe even college.

Meanwhile Steve is a hero, and is a publicity asset for the Harringtons, and for the first time since he graduated high school has some kind of value to his parents. He's being celebrated, and if they set him up with one of their business partner's kids they can curry favor. More so if it's the poor injured Cunningham girl who is beloved and lauded by the town for being victims of the bizarre serial killer, Henry Creel.

(Ignore the goo and the vines and the crack in the ground that used to be main street there was a serial killer and an earthquake and they were totally unrelated.)

So Steve and Chrissy are both being pressured by their parents into a relationship that even conceptually makes them uncomfortable. But she can't back out without starting adulthood in a wheelchair in crippling debt. And while Steve could probably survive being disowned and his parents' ire his abandonment issues and desperate people pleaser tendencies make him not want to piss off his parents, disappoint the Cunninghams, or hurt Chrissy's feelings.

So they go on a lot of very uncomfortable dates. And they kind of get along. And Steve breaks down and full on Robin word vomits that she's great and he's sure she'll find a great guy but he really doesn't want to upset their parents or hurt her feelings- but he really really doesn't feel that way about her- and it's not because she's in a wheelchair or anything- one of his kids is in a wheelchair- well not his kid- there's these kids he babysits- that's not the point- he's really really sorry, but he kind has a crush on someone else, and he can't keep pretending to date her to make other people happy, and he's really sorry. And she's like. Holy shit.

And he just broke down so she feels comfortable explaining her situation and he, overwhelmed by his protector instincts, agrees to keep up the appearance of dating until her hospital bills are paid and she can make her own choices about what she wants.

So they keep doing public dates and stuff. But outside of that, he invites her to meet his friends, cause she lost a lot of hers in everything. She's been really lonely, and she's very sweet and kind of dorky so she gets along with everyone.

And Steve told Robin everything because she's Robin, but not everyone else because he didn't want to get into his parents bullshit or expose Chrissy's baggage so they're all nice to her and get along but they're a little weird about it because that's Chrissy Cunningham. And Steve's dating her???

Also Robin is weird around her because hot girl, but everyone thinks she's jealous which is a weird dynamic. Chrissy thinks Robin is Steve's crush and keeps talking Steve up to Robin and talking about how Robin's great and how close she and Steve are and how nice that is. And it's very awkward.

Eddie is insanely jealous and he knows that Robin's a lesbian so he's like. Oh she has a crush on her best friend's straight girlfriend. That sucks. And he also hates that he can't hate Chrissy, because she's so fucking nice and sweet to him.

(Nancy, Jon and Argyle are all on varying levels of knowing something is up but are staying out of it because they are too stoned to parse what specifically is happening or too stubborn to admit that they made some wrong assumptions.)

(the kids don't care much beyond being glad that Steve wasn't flirting with every age appropriate girl he crossed paths with anymore)

And then Chrissy figures out that a) whoops she has a crush on her fake boyfriend's best friend (Robin). b) Steve and Eddie are in love. And c) Eddie thinks she and Steve are for real. So Chrissy tries to explain to Eddie that their relationship is fake without spilling Steve's baggage, and mentions that she doesn't even like Steve like that she actually likes Robin.

Through some miscommunication Eddie now thinks Steve is unknowingly Chrissy's beard. And he doesn't want to out Chrissy but he's a little upset that she's using his crush totally platonic guy friend this way.

Meanwhile Chrissy tries to team up with Robin to get Steve and Eddie together. Because Robin clearly loves Steve and Eddie and wants them to be happy even if she hates Chrissy for some reason. (Again Robin doesn't hate Chrissy she's just super awkward).

Boundless shenanigans ensue.

#stranger things spoilers #stranger things #Chrissy Cunningham #steve harrington #steddie #robin x chrissy #platonic stobin #shenanigans #miscommunication plot #fake dating #arranged marriage #ish #Robin Buckley #eddie munson #this was just going to be #Chrissy and Steve being unexpected friends who can relate because of parental expectations #but it got away from me #i want Chrissy to be in the party #she and Eddie deserve to become friends

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finalboybyers · 9 months

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the hentty and byler parallels are actually so insane

this is giving “around 1976, a lonely mike saw a boy named will byers on the swingset. mike asked if he wanted to be his friend, and will happily agreed.”

“the first and only person to ever truly love henry creel” vs “i’m the only one who cares about will”

mike canonically being will’s main weakness.

can’t wait for hentty coded scenes between will and mike in season 5 ^^

#byler #hentty #will byers #henry creel/vecna #mike wheeler #patty newby #stranger things #st the first shadow

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inklore · 2 years

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✶ all playlists are on spotify.

fic inspired.

wicked game (joel miller)

romantic getaway (scott lang)

virus of the heart (joel miller)

heavy metal love (eddie munson)

call me lover (andy barber)

the art of a storm (bestfriendsdad!steve rogers)

(her) interlude (yelena belova, band au)

sweetman (jake 'hangman' seresin)

fandoms.

in love with a rich boy (ransom drysdale)

and he’s toxic (frank, endings beginings)

my beautiful beautiful makkari (eternals)

bruce wayne’s apple music account

in a toxic relationship with marc spector

summers with peter (tasm!peter parker)

a soft love with steven grant

getting high with peter (tasm!peter parker)

001’s favorite girl (henry creel)

sub!bruce wayne

songs eddie munson would [redacted] to

songs i’d drop it down to for joseph quinn

songs to gulp eddie’s fingers to (eddie munson)

a dream within a dream (morpheus)

my lucifer is lonely (lucifer, the sandman)

a party with desire (desire of the endless)

a god u party (gen v)

jordan li <3 (gen v)

tag team cocksplosion (jordan x marie)

i would eat your puke (sam x emma)

don’t be scared (jordan x marie)

#top4 (gen v)

little bad ass (emma meyer)

lost in saltburn (saltburn)

are you going to behave? (farleigh x oliver)

resourceful.

fight scene vibes

is it lust or love (for writing filth)

like lovers do (when you need a fluff boost)

heartbreak hotel (angst ain't gonna write itself)

that reading ambience

(lit)ature

miscellaneous.

the female gaze

the culture

we saw you from across the bar

unhinged homely men

bimbocore

regency daydreams

springcore

suns out tits out

he’s a murderer!

unhinged hot girl era

sad girl autumn

girls do it better

i wanna be sedated

cool story bro

visceral rejection

hitch hiking in the desert

happy girl autumn

one of those moods

desolate estate

kpop girlie

bumpin dAt grind

baby it’s cold

pink sepia

boyband sundaes

poppin summah

feeling slutty on a tuesday

slasher summer

#playlists #playlists masterlist #spotify playlist #spotify #character playlists

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creep1ngdeath · 2 years

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Repost of an old request! (My original post got deleted I think. I apologize)

Request: Hi! sorry if this comes off as a bother but i saw your reqs are open. so i was wondering if you could write headcannons for henry/001 x shy!male!reader? because there are literally zero fanfics of male reader with henry/001. also could it be caregiver henry? i find that very comforting:) and could the relationship be romantic?

Caretaker!001/Henry Creel x Shy!Male!Reader

Hi! I hope this was sufficient! I’ve wrote x reader fanfiction in the past but I’ve never actually done headcanons before

Ciswomen/Fem Aligned DNI, this isn’t for you!

-For the sake of age gaps you’d take 002’s place

-You don’t remember much of what your life was like being in Hawkin’s lab, you couldn’t really tell if your memories of your life outside the lab were actual memories or just dreams

-Something you knew for sure was an actual memory was the first time you met 001

You were walking down the white halls of Hawkin’s Lab with Dr. Brenner, or ‘Papa’ as he wanted you to call him. It felt weird having to call someone who wasn’t your actual father Papa, however you didn’t want to argue with the man, so instead you silently agreed to his request. Finally, after walking down several hallways that all looked the same you ended up in a room filled with toys and mind games, it had a distinct rainbow painted all around the room. “The Rainbow Room” as Papa called it. In the middle you could see a boy, two years older than you at most, sitting down at a table with crayons. Papa cleared his throat which caught the other boy’s attention. The boy placed his crayon back down on the table then got up and stood in front of Papa.

“001, this is 002, 002, this is 001,” he introduced.

You stood there awkwardly, hoping that 001 would say something first. 001 looked you up and down, he seemed to be judging you. “Hi,” he said eventually. “Hi…” you said in a hushed voice. “I’m 001, I’m glad you’re here, it gets lonely being the only kid here,” he smiled a little bit which made you feel a bit more at ease. “You boys get along, okay? I need to leave so I can finish some things up.” The older man explained. “Yes, Papa” you and 001 said in unison. The two younger boys watched as Papa left the room, leaving you two in silence. “Do you want to see what I’m drawing?” 001 asked. “Uh, sure,” you replied. The boy rushed over to go grab the sheet of paper. He held it up proudly, “It’s a spider!” He said excitedly. You smiled slightly, maybe being here with him wouldn’t be so bad after all.

-As years passed you and 001 bonded more over time, however as time passed more children were brought into the lab which scared you a bit, it was louder, more chaotic, and it wasn’t just you and 001 anymore

-Brenner knew how dangerous 001 could be with his powers and it scared him. As soon as more children started coming into the lab he worked quickly to nullify 001’s powers. Soon after that he became an orderly as Brenner still needed 001 around

-Brenner knew how anxious and shy you could get around other people, sometimes you refused to do lessons because you were afraid of failing in front of people, you thought all the other kids saw you as weak and cowardly, you knew you were stronger than all the other kids, however it never showed as you’d get to overwhelmed and would always find a way to slip up something

-It got to the point where Brenner assigned 001 to become your caregiver, he knew of the bond you and 001 shared ever since you two were young. He was the only one you were truly comfortable around in the lab

-You’d do lessons with him instead of another adult, or if you were with another adult he’d always be in the room with you

-He’d reassure you that you could do the task and rub back or even hold your hand when you were feeling down or anxious

-After behind assigned your caregiver and spending almost the whole day together, it didn’t take too long for the two of you to develop feelings together

-You wanted to push him away because you knew you weren’t allowed to be with him since you’re in the lab and especially because you’re both boys

-001, or Henry as he finally told you his real name one day while sitting in your room knew that something was wrong. It was quite obvious that you were distancing yourself from him

-He’d try to ask you what’s wrong but you’d just push him away, you honestly felt really bad and it broke Henry’s heart, being pushed away from the only one he loves

-One day Henry knocked on your door, he wanted to know what was going on because he wanted to help you. It hurt him seeing you hurt. That day you ended up admitting your feelings for him, expecting to get rejected, or yelled at

-Instead he admitted that he had feelings for you and asked if you wanted to be his boyfriend

-Let’s be honest, he’d probably be pretty soft for his boyfriend (you saw how he was with 11)

-Lots of cuddles at the end of the day. Spooning is probably his favorite, big spoon or little it doesn’t matter. He loves being held in your arms since he’s probably touch starved but he also loves holding onto you, it comforts him knowing you’re safe in his arms. He also likes it when you fall asleep in his chest, he’d play with your hair or trace shapes on you back as you fall asleep

-He’d fall asleep in your room while cuddling, he always comes to your room in the middle on the night to cuddle and sleep then wakes up early in the morning to sneak out before any guards catch him (yes I’m aware of the cameras)

-He’d never want you to fall asleep in his room because he doesn’t want to risk you getting caught while sneaking out in the morning, he’d rather face the consequences himself

-If you did fall asleep in his room he’d carry you back to your own room and explain to everyone who sees him about how you got really tired while using your powers a lot that day

-He’d probably randomly drag you into a closet to make out then apologize for it after

-“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait till the end of the day to kiss you, it’s not easy having my boyfriend with me 24/7 but I’m unable to give him the love he deserves,” he’d say

-You’d chuckle and pull him into another kiss before the two of you sneak out of the closet while no one is looking

-If Brenner ever found out about your relationship, he’d probably just let it happen fearing what Henry would do if he banned him from seeing you

#stranger things x male reader #001 x male reader #henry creel x male reader #x male reader

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madelynraemunson · 11 months

Text

CALL ME WHAT YOU WANT 𓆩♡𓆪

(Book #1 of the Hellfire Gentlemen's Club series)

(strip club owner!eddie × fem!exotic dancer!hargrove!× reader)

𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐔 18+ minors get out of my kitchen

Chapter 010: The Freak

A fight breaks out at the Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club.

* = somewhat smut

** = smut

↳ chapters: 001, 002*, 003** , 004**, 005 , 006 , 007* , 008**, 009, 010, 011, 012* , 013**, 014**, 015, 016**, 017, 018, 019, 020*

word count: 4.4k words

warnings & disclaimers — mentions of seggs tr@ff!ck!ng, lots of blood, violence, physical altercation, profanities, glass shattering, screaming, jealousy

“I feel it coming, my soul cannot be found. I feel it coming, don’t fucking tie me down.”

♡

Eddie is glued to Nina’s hip during her orientation.

You can hardly watch. You can’t even listen. All Back of the House seems to be talking about is the fact that the cute new girl pulled up to work with Eddie. Apparently she skipped out of the passenger side of his van stoned out of her mind, waltzing in absentmindedly while Eddie opened the door for her.

Nina’s excuse was that she didn't have a ride to work. And while that may be true, your jealousy was projecting itself...hard. The times you were in Eddie’s van sitting right where she was were completely unrelated to work.

But Nina is a pretty girl. Eddie does love doing favors for pretty girls who flatter him.

You still couldn’t figure out why no one will talk about anything else. Like how Henry has evidently been spiraling into a lonely, seasonal depressive episode and could snap any minute. Or how whoever is closing isn’t sweeping the aisle all the way through. Also, one of the lights keeps flickering. Totally throws off the whole vibe of VECNA’S LAIR.

But no, the hot topic of today’s shift is still Nina and Eddie.

It's an awakening for you though. Now you really understand and have accepted that you are no different from everyone else.

Eddie’s jokes? He recycles with everybody.

Food? Makes for everybody.

Smoking and drinking in his van? With everybody.

Calls on Henry to fight off the bad guys? Yes, for everybody…

You are not special.

Speaking of Henry…he’s off task again. Luckily lunches are usually not busy so he can afford to be away from the door.

Henry is at VECNA’S LAIR with you, chatting away with Eddie’s buddy Gareth while you give Gareth a lap dance. And you can tell by the eagerness in Henry’s eyes that he’s anticipating his dance that you agreed to do for him to combat his loneliness.

“You gotta let me know how your dance goes, Creel,” Gareth grins. “Shy Girl is one of the best.”

Gareth is one of your regulars. He went to school with Eddie, played in his band Corroded Coffin when they were younger, and he also tips well. Eddie usually stays and chats with him, but today he is off and aloof, avoiding any type of eye contact with the both of you.

Screw Eddie. He’s seemed to have forgotten about you already now that there’s a new toy for him to play with.

“I love how you move your hips, babe,” Henry comments, snapping you back into reality. “And how you bond with every customer. I had no idea men pay you just to talk to them sometimes.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” you nod all while grinding yourself onto Gareth, hands combing through his wavy hair and trailing down to graze his neck. “Some guys just come here just to vent. Business men, teachers, doctors...”

“That’s really nice,” Henry blushes.

“Bouncers too,” you wink at him. “You know, when they’re not clocked in and supposed to be working.”

Henry’s eyes widen as he realizes, and soon he’s back up and starting towards the door. You and Gareth share an innocent chuckle about it before carrying on with your business.

"I can tell that dude is lonely," Gareth makes the same observation. "He doesn't have that many friends outside work."

"I wonder why," you ponder aloud, doing a little dance on Gareth’s lap. "He's so nice."

"From what Eddie told me, it's hard for Henry to open up to people," your patron explains. "Dude had a fucked up home life when he was younger. Dad was a piece of shit to him and his sister. Abused the shit outta 'em and their mom."

There's a pattern here. You try not to think about it.

"Anyways," Gareth says pulling out a $20 bill. "Can you give me scratches on my back? Trying to make an ex flame jealous."

"You manipulative fuck," you banter, snagging the $20 from him anyway. "I'm sure you have your reasons though."

So you honor Gareth's requests and leave some sharp etchings on his back, one large scratch in the shape of a heart.

You scan the club as you work, searching for your sister. Max is spotted near the entrance of the club, acquainting herself with Lucas and Dustin. She also met Steve earlier today and admitted to you that she has an innocent crush on him.

Of course she would. Who wouldn’t have a crush on The King?

You smile at how easy Max makes friends. She tries not to look at you while working but sometimes her curiosity takes over.

Gareth nods towards her.

"I see your sister knows the big secret now."

"Yeah, one less thing to worry about," you shrug sheepishly.

"She's supportive, I'm assuming?"

"Very."

"That's good," Gareth rubs your back. "I'm happy for you."

“Thanks,” you smile.

You catch sight of Steve next as he walks over to you. He greets you with a warm kiss and rests a hand at your waist.

Eddie watches you with Steve and Gareth, attempting to remain composed and professional with Nina as he spots her on the pole.

"What is going on here?" Steve asks you.

"I'm trying to make one of Gareth's ol' lady friends jealous," you explain. "Leaving him scratches and all."

"I love your sharp ass nails," Gareth swoons. He hands you a five.

"You are just spoiling me today,” you coo. “You can pick out my nail color next, Gare.”

"Green," Gareth answers right away.

"Yeah, I second that," Steve agrees.

Steve leans in to kiss you. You kiss him back, affectionately, relishing in how beautiful Steve always made you feel. Meanwhile, Gareth watches, running his hands softly across your thighs and muttering a soft, “fuck…”

And then you hear Eddie clear his throat closeby you.

"Jesus H. Christ," you hear Eddie grimace.

Eddie sounds uncomfortable. Good. It is not until someone else speaks that you realize he was shaken up about something else.

“Well well well,” comes a voice. “Looking just as skanky as you did when I last saw you.”

You look to see the patron standing by the entrance. He’s the scariest he’s ever looked. Your heart sinks to the floor.

It’s hard for you to find the words. “You...”

“Boo,” he grins, amused at how startled you are. “Kinda insulting that you think all these men can give you more than I can.”

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you demand.

Frantic footsteps sound not too long after, and Henry comes spilling in. He looks mortified, panicked. He had one job and he failed to do it.

“Hargrove, I’m sorry!”

“Henry!” you scold him, almost at a scream-whisper. “You weren’t supposed to let him in!”

“I didn’t know!” Henry exclaims.

“I thought Eddie told you!”

“I forgot!” Henry says. “It all happened so fast.”

“Yeah, security here sucks,” the man you’re tempted to throw something at smirks.

A crowd starts to form, which is odd because no one said anything that inherently stood out. But energy doesn’t lie. The tension in the room is noticeable.

“You can’t be here,” Eddie’s voice darkens.

Eddie makes his way down from the stage and to the front of the club, Nina watching in confusion as everyone huddled around. Eddie clears his throat and stands with his chest propped forward, chin raised along with his gritted teeth.

“You’re not welcome here,” your boss snaps.

“That’s no way to talk to a customer…”

“I know who you’re here for and you can’t have her,” Eddie growls.

Eddie looks over at you. Making his way into the crossfire, Eddie creates even more space between the two of you. Henry stays where he’s at on high alert.

“And I own this joint. So I can refuse service to anyone… Billy.”

Your twin brother flashes a dangerous, amused smile. “I see I’ve become a household name.”

Billy inches closer to you, leaving you paralyzed in place.

He looks different from when you last saw him. A lot more muscular. His beer belly is gone, and he finally shaved that obnoxious porn stache that he swore drew in all the ladies. Billy looks more satisfied at your horror than angry at who you’ve become.

A million thoughts are racing through your head. How could your brother have possibly known where you are? Did you leave your location on? Did you butt-dial him? Was it 'twintuition'?

Then you remember he's Billy. And a sociopath like Billy always finds a way to win.

“Eddie Munson,” Billy continues. “Owner of The Hellfire Club. Drug dealer. Car jacker. The town FREAK who’s notorious for sleeping with his employees before attempting to sell them into a sex trafficking ring in the outskirts of town.”

“That is SO NOT TRUE!” you hear Chrissy scream from behind the boys.

“Oh, hey Cherry!” Billy chimes. “Huge fan of your work. So is Eddie, though. And a million other men, so what makes me special huh?”

Henry is hovering, lingering between Eddie and Billy with a stance you knew all too well. The angled torso, a hand floating ready to butt in. The memories come flooding into the room in the form of burning tears against your waterline. Your throat is tight.

“How…the fuck…” you choke. “Did you find me?”

Billy flashes you his phone. Looking through his cracked screen, you see that the evidence is all on Reddit. Sure enough, there you were, doing your thing in a video surrounded by tons of men, exposing your birthmark that’s oh so similar to Billy’s.

“This girl is so fucking hot!” a Redditor comments.

“What’s her name?” someone asks.

“She goes by Shy Girl,” another answers. “Hellfire Gentlemen’s Club in Hawkins, IN.”

It’s no surprise that Billy follows the ‘stripper’ Sub-Reddit. You’ve gone viral, so of course he was bound to see it.

“Ever heard of a digital footprint?” Billy questions darkly. “Shy Girl?”

You gulp. In the age of technology, you should’ve known that your cover would be blown if you stood out well enough. How could you be so stupid?

“Oh look!” your brother chuckles. “There it is, the biggest giveaway of all. Right front and center… your birthmark."

“You win,” is all you can say. “You can stop now.”

“I’m not trying to win anything,” Billy jeers. “I’m just saying, if you had a brain, you would’ve at least thought to cover it up with makeup or something.”

Eddie looks over at you with sad eyes. It’s the first time he truly looked helpless. A part of him also looks like his own cover is blown too. You can’t help but wonder why.

“Yeah, you could say I did my research,” Billy draws on. He shoves his phone back into his pocket. “It kept me occupied on the plane. The news articles aren’t hard to find either. Hawkins is pretty small. A whole shoebox compared to Leucadia.”

His eyes dart back to Eddie. “And I’ve read up a lot about you.”

“You know the media loves to twist things,” Eddie hisses. “Especially if everything about me fits the narrative they’re trying to sell.”

Billy decides to challenge him. “So you’re saying everything is fake news?”

Eddie doesn’t comment. It strikes you odd that Eddie doesn’t even try to defend himself. What could he and Billy possibly be talking about it?

“Funny, I on the contrary believe you’ve earned your reputation,” Billy insists.

“What is he talking about Eddie?” you ask.

“Just forget about it,” Eddie shuts down.

“Yeah, forget about it,” Billy somewhat agrees. He turns to you. “You’re coming with me.”

You turn to Max. She watches, terrified as Billy ushers you in the corner. You’re too drained to fight back so you let him. But when you finally meet his eyes, Billy looks like your brother again.

“Seriously, WHAT were you thinking?” his voice shows genuine concern.

Billy sounds more disappointed now than vengeful.

“This is all because of YOU,” you snap. “I had no choice.”

“That’s your bullshit excuse?” Billy demands, eyes welling up with tears. “You’re a fucking waitress! I’m sure Benny’s down the block would’ve sufficed.”

Billy’s an asshole, for sure. But at the end of the day he’s still a multifaceted human. When the trauma doesn’t take over, he’s a level-headed individual. A clear thinker with good critical thinking skills and an ability to read the room. Something you’ve spent your whole life second-guessing yourself over.

Your brother continues his tangent.

“YOU HAVEN’T DANCED IN YEARS, first of all. The only ‘stripping’ you know is when you go skinny dipping with your little hoe friends at Black's Beach. You don’t have a permit to dance, which I’m pretty sure is illegal somehow because EVERYWHERE ELSE in Indiana requires a stripping permit. You don’t even know anything about what this industry entails, yet you cannonball headfirst into it like it’s just easy. This industry is a hotspot for sex trafficking. Millions and women and little girls are kidnapped every year and forced into sex work, don’t you know that?”

Billy nudges the ribbons in your hair.

“Child-like ribbons in your hair too. You disgust me.”

He pauses. It’s like he has an epiphany. The devilish smirk returns.

“But maybe Eddie knew that,” he tuts, waving a stupid finger of his in the air. “BINGO! With the little experience you have, Eddie must’ve known you were naive. Desperate. A little bit of a slut. Eddie knew he just HAD to get his hands on you. Take advantage of you. Exploit you.”

“Shut up.”

You knew Billy was being dumb. But what he says makes sense. And in the depths of your wounded heart, what he said felt true in a sense. Because there was a time you did feel betrayed by Eddie. Meanwhile Eddie has gone pale.

All eyes are on you now, and not for the reason you want. Sure, it’s a strip club. But never have you ever felt so naked. Never has your soul ever felt so exposed.

“Yeah…” Billy grins. It’s like you can see the gears grinding in his head. He flashes Eddie a disgusted look. “That’s exactly what it is. You know, you give me the creeps, Munson. Sure you hear that a lot.”

“You give me the creeps…Hargrove,” Eddie counters. “With how IN LOVE you seem to be with your sister.”

Eddie takes a few steps towards him to elaborate.

“Showing up to the place she strips at…causing a scene when you see her on someone’s lap… and then proceeding to tell her no one will love her like you do?”

Eddie scoffs.

“Yeah. Totally not creepy.”

“We’re family, Eddie,” Billy sighs. “Families love each other. Of course you wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Hey, douchebag—” Steve begins but Chrissy stops him.

“Too fucking far, Billy,” you plead. “Stop.”

“You know what else I found out?” Billy smiles. “Your boy toy Eddie comes from a long line of crooks.”

Billy turns to Eddie. “Your half brother Eagan is a con man in Montauk, New York. And your other brother Ansen Wayne back in Memphis got arrested for, guess what? Arson! Funny.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Chrissy roars again.

But Billy proceeds. “And if I’m not mistaken, your dad Al is a drug dealer who married one of his clients, your mother. And guess what? When she wasn’t bringing him any money? He pimp slapped her in broad daylight and eventually slit her throat.”

Billy looks you in the eyes when he says that.

“How tragic,” Billy breathes. “Dad killing Mom.”

Billy turns back to Eddie.

“One dysfunctional ass family. And a poor excuse of a son.”

“Takes one to know one,” Eddie spits.

Billy laughs and nods. You’re surprised that doesn’t set him off.

“I’m not entertaining this,” your brother refuses. “I’m trying to be a better person, but Munson you are pushing it. Nah, my family is where I draw the line. Come on, sis. You’re coming with me.”

Yanking you by the wrist, Billy pulls you along with him.

“No,” you refuse.

But his grip is too tight. Now you’re just along for the ride.

“I would never do anything to hurt your sister,” Eddie says, running after you both. Henry follows closely behind Eddie. “Surely that’s something you can’t say.”

“You’d never do anything to hurt her?” Billy halts challenging him with the most satisfied grin on his face. “You’d never do anything to hurt her?”

Eddie nods. Billy releases you, sending you flying forward into Max’s arms. She’s shaking when you wrap your arms around her for comfort.

“What happened to Isabelle then, Eddie?” Billy taunts him. “Court records are also public, you know.”

Isabelle. Eddie’s ex-girlfriend. How does Eddie’s ex-GF fit into Hellfire’s narrative? In your mind you always thought Isabelle was a random chick.

The whole room is silent. It’s like a wave washed over everybody. Eddie simply stands there, no visible reaction besides the look of defeat.

Something tells you something is very, very wrong. Finally, Eddie speaks.

“Don’t you EVER bring up my wife again,” Eddie’s voice is breaking. “I loved her with my whole heart.”

Your world stops. Everyone else’s keeps going.

“Your wife?” you exclaim. “You have a wife?”

Billy exudes a Joker-like laugh as he watches the lore unravel.

“Ex-wife,” Eddie corrects himself. “We’re separated.”

His gaze burns into Billy.

“Since you’re such a historian, Hargrove,” Eddie hisses. “I’m afraid you missed the part where Isabelle used me to get her hands on my business and then weaponized the fact that she’s a woman to try and tarnish it during our separation. But of course, it doesn’t feed your narrative about me so you’re purposely leaving it out.”

“That’s what you get then,” Billy’s tongue glides against his inner cheek. “For getting involved with an employee. They’re all the same. A bunch of gold-digging whores.”

It all makes sense now. You look over at Eddie. Plastered on his face is the same haunted eyes he had the night he tried to resist your advances. Now you know why Eddie was so hesitant to pursue you. He wasn’t playing hard to get. He was guarding his heart. And his business.

“So, you wanna tell us about the trafficking ring?” Billy questions.

“I didn’t try to sell her,” Eddie spat. “God dammit. Our marriage was bleeding into work so I had to send her to a different club. One I thought I trusted. But the owner stabbed me in the back also.”

“Yeah!” Chrissy adds. “He was an undercover pimp! Didn’t you read the court docs on the plane like you said?”

“He’s not exactly book smart, Chris,” Eddie smirks. “Too many big words for his big brain to handle.”

There’s nothing else for Billy to say. His failed attempt to paint Eddie as the bad guy and him as the hero did not go to plan. But as usual, Billy wants the last word.

“Stay away from my sister.”

And soon your wrists are suffocated by his grip again. You whimper in fear as Billy drags you along, angrily pulling you towards the exit while resisting your kicks and shoves.

“This is what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna go put your fucking clothes on,” Billy’s voice shakes. “Grab your shit, and you and Max are gonna come back home with me. Away from this shady bullshit.”

You can tell Billy is also terrified for you. But this is your story to write now. Not his. This is a narrative he cannot control.

“No!” you scream. “My new life is HERE.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” Billy denies. “Your life and Max’s lives are in California.”

“Are you deaf?” Steve demands. “She said no. Let her go.”

“Aw, now Walmart Ashton Kutcher has something to say!”

“Leave me alone, Billy,” you wail. “We are not going with you.”

“It’s all an inside job,” Billy is shaking now. “He’s no good for you, sis. Don’t you understand? How can you be so blind?”

“It’s my journey!” you roar. “And my life. You don’t get to control me anymore, especially since you’re part of the problem. And I’d rather be provided for by men like you than live with you ever again.”

Billy can only chuckle. “You’re delusional.”

He grabs Max on the way out.

“Max come on.”

“NO!” Max refuses.

Steve jumps in front of her and pulls her behind him. Billy rushes to grab Steve but is pushed back by Henry.

“Why are you grabbing Harrington?” Henry demands.

“Why’s he grabbing my sister?”

You’re waiting for Billy to face Henry’s wrath. He’s already trying to create space between the both of you so that you can wriggle free.

“HEY!”

To your surprise, the fist that meet’s Billy’s nose isn’t Henry’s.

“EDDIE!” Chrissy shrieks.

“WHOA MAN!” Steve screams, trying to run and stop the fight but Henry tackles him.

“EDDIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Dustin demands. “EDDIE, STOP!”

Billy is blindsided by Eddie with little to no time to react. Eddie gets two good punches in when he’s sprawled on top of him.

But Billy is quick to bounce back. Already accustomed to punches, Billy allows Eddie a few more blows to tire him out. When his hair gets in the way, Billy grabs Eddie by the wrist and tosses him off, hoisting himself over him to get him in a headlock.

“Son…of…a BITCH!” Eddie elbows him.

And as Billy scrunches to block his ribcage, Eddie gets him with a good left hook and a right cross-jab.

Blood splatters from Billy’s nose onto the surrounding area.

“HOLY SHIT!” Dustin shrieks.

“BILLY!” Maxine screams.

“You guys, STOP!” you order.

You rush over to your brother and attempt to pry him off. Steve rushes to Eddie and tries to do the same.

Billy’s stumbling back, unusual since he always wins fights. This is causing you to stumble back and lose your grip on him. Eddie gets a few more good punches in.

Jab. Jab. Jab. Jab-cross. Upper cut. Upper cut. And a seismic kick to the solar plexus.

Eddie Munson is strong.

“EDDIE, LEAVE HIM ALONE!” cries Chrissy. “YOU’RE GONNA KILL HIM IF YOU DON’T STOP.”

“Yeah?” Eddie mutters. “Well that’s kinda the plan.”

When he hears that, Henry stops whatever he’s doing to charge towards Billy and Eddie. You feel yourself grow lightheaded because of the amount of blood that has been expelled. You can almost smell the iron.

“Nope. That’s enough,” Henry declares, dragging your boss away this time.

Eddie has the advantage now during this time, and he uses all of it, punching Billy mercilessly into the ground. Billy tries to get up, but fails, and just when he’s not looking, Eddie sneaks a few roundhouse kicks to his head and neck.

The blood starts to pool.

“EDDIE, STOP!” everyone continuously chants.

“EDDIE, LET IT GO MAN!” Gareth begs.

“EDDIE, GET OFF OF HIM NOW!” Chrissy pleads.

“IT’S NOT WORTH IT!” Steve says to him.

“YES THE FUCK IT IS!” Eddie roars. “IT IS WORTH IT!”

The sound of glass shattering fills your ears as you look over at the boys. Henry managed to tackle Eddie in one brisk movement, unfortunately taking a small table that housed some beer bottles on it with them.

Now it smells like rust and Corona.

Gareth and Steve take over now, pulling Eddie away while Eddie cusses Billy out through his bloody nose. Meanwhile, Max rushes to Billy’s side and urges him to get out. Henry runs to her aid, dragging out your volatile twin brother so he wouldn’t harm anybody else. Billy’s out of sight now, but the thought of him still lingering in Hawkins until he sees you two again is unsettling.

“Whoa,” Steve exhales.

“What?” you ask him, crossing your arms in frustration.

“Eddie just fought someone,” he pants. “Your brother, Billy at that.”

You try to shrug it off. “Big deal,” you say. “Fights happen all the time here.”

“You don’t understand Hargrove,” Henry says, walking up you. “Eddie never fights anyone.”

You turn to face Henry.

“That’s what I’m here for,” the unscathed bodyguard explains.

———————-

The first person you go over to is Max. Consoling each other, you both hug one another and rock back and forth.

You look off into the corner and see Dustin with a tampon, trying to shove it up Eddie’s bloody nose while Nancy watches in amusement. Eddie swats Dustin’s hands away, mumbling, “Get that shit away from me” and setting for Kleenex instead.

“Shy Girl,” Nancy calls out. “Please come and get your man.”

Confused that she’s even talking to you that way, it dawns on you that Nancy is talking about Eddie. You walk towards Nancy, who is behind the bar, supervising Eddie and Dustin from a distance.

“Do you have some ice?” you ask her.

She holds up a pack she had been preparing.

“Way ahead of you love,” Nancy says.

You chuckle and thank Nancy as you take the ice from her. She gives you a nod, you’re welcome.

“He’s not my man, by the way,” you add, correcting her. “Just did something really sweet.”

“Well does his ass know that?” Nancy raises a brow. “Only a dumbass in love does shit that crazy and stupid.”

You look over at Eddie. His eyes find you at the same time. Chrissy is over in the corner with Nina, talking her down from the anxiety witnessing a fight that bloody must’ve caused her. Steve is over at the lair still, thinking. You can’t read the expression on his face.

Your grip on the ice pack tightens as you walk closer to Eddie. He gives you a nod and a terrible excuse of a wave, slowly wincing in pain after the slightest raise of his left arm.

“You are vile,” you say in his voice from the day it all fell apart. You extend your hand with the ice pack in it to him.

Feeding into your truce, Eddie looks up at you with a faint smile. He takes the ice pack in his hand.

“I prefer the term protective,” he parrots you.

———————————

🏷️ tag list: @battymunson , @the-fairy-anon , @ali-r3n , @corrodedcoffincumslut , @bebe07011 , @mmunson86, @eddiesguitarskills , @chelebelletx , @imonhereforareasonsadly , @eddies-trailer-babe @hideoutside , @motherfckerr, @jxpsi , @munson-magic , @lindseyj23, @sidthedollface2 , @manda-panda-monium , @elvendria , @micheledawn1975 , @hereforshmut , @siriuslysmoking , @nymphetkoo , @m-chmcl-rmnc , @justinelittlewoodsworld , @ahoyyharrington , @keepittoyourselftellnobodyelse @kellyxo1 @emsgoodthinkin @winchester-angel @chloe-6123

#eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 5 #eddie munson fanfiction #Eddie munson fanfic #Eddie munson x reader #Eddie x reader #Joseph quinn #Joe quinn #Steve harrington #SoundCloud

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fastlikealambo · 1 year

Text

t𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 p𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚘𝚛 c𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚕. || d𝚊𝚛𝚔 a𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚊! f𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚢 f𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚡 bl𝚊𝚌𝚔!f𝚎𝚖 r𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 2/3

Summary:The spring semester has begun and Reader finds herself ensnared in the trap of charismatic psychology professor, Henry Creel. When her relationship with the professor becomes all consuming and strange things begin to occur, Robin, Steve, Nancy, and Eddie race to uncover the truth before they lose Reader forever.

Warnings: mental health discussions, past trauma, mental abuse, murder, gaslighting, violence, hypnosis

Link to part one.

“I’ve spoken to your other professors, they say you are brilliant. I think they are incorrect, wouldn’t you agree?”

You looked at your psychology professor of only three weeks, bewildered with mouth agape, semi resembling a dying sea bass. There’s no sign of joking in his tone or sparkle in his eye, as if he asked you about today’s weather rather than anything else.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand, is this about the test? You gave me an A, did I do something wrong?” You asked, sinking into your blazer while Professor Creel observes you like a cat sunbathing near a mouse, just as content to watch potential prey as it is to hunt it.

“Every answer was correct, I can see that you studied, however I can also see that you are deeply and utterly mindless. Your mind is as empty as it is open and I think you know that.” He said again with no hint of malice.

You stood up, bag in hand, already going through the hours of the registrar in your mind to see if you could drop intro to psych today, a tight smile on your face. You knew the rules, if you did not smile, you would be seen as angry and to be angry and brilliant is only admissible for whom the world indulges.

“I’m sorry Professor, I think there was a mistake with the registrar and I’m not actually supposed to be in this class. I don’t want to take a spot from a student who needs this class, I hope you understand.” You said voice even and turned toward the office door but his hand closed tightly around your wrist.

Somewhere, a clock chimed.

“Let go, you’re hurting me!” You yelled but a clock chimed again and you stood still.

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time, so lonely, so guilty. I can fix that, I can fix you.” He whispered but you yanked your hand out of his grip, racing for the door.

A clock chimed again and stiff as a board, you fell backwards, silently creaming for help.

For them.

Robin’s scream ended just as quickly as it began, Nancy’s hand over her mouth.

Eddie, Robin, Steve, and Nancy stood almost as still as you did, rooted in fear of you making even the slightest movement.

Nancy was the first to make a move, fast and silent up the stairs with the rest of her lovers on her heels, whispering back and forth as they made their way to the third floor banister you were poised to swan dive off at any minute.

“What do we do?”

“We have to wake her up!”

“You’re not supposed to wake a sleepwalker, Steve!”

“Does that look like sleepwalking, Robin?”

It didn’t.

It looked like you were frozen in place, eyes open but not open, fluttering this way and that, standing on a thin banister that was not meant to bear the weight of a human being in Bart Simpson socks.

It looked horrifying.

It looked impossible.

Steve made a move to grab you first but Nancy stopped him, drawing him back.

“Nancy, what the hell?!”

“If you do it too fast, she could get hurt, you could get hurt! Look at her, she’s not moving at all, we’ve made noise, there are noises all around this house and she’s still not moving. Whatever we do, we have to do it slowly.” Nancy explained, looking back at you, the fear she had tried to keep from her face in full force.

Steve nodded, moving slowly with Eddie on his other side, practically in slow motion in their short agonizing walk to you. Steve gently snaked one arm around your waist, the other around the back of your knees while Eddie waited to guide the rest of you safely down to the ground.

Robin scampered over to an old ratty chair on the landing, grabbing its cushion and placing it down on the ground as a marker for them to place your head. Nancy took a spot right next to them, three fingers in the air.

“On the count of three, okay? One, two-

“So no one told you life was gonna be this way?”

The downstairs tv blared and a clock somewhere else chimed, causing you to open your eyes wide with a gasp.

And your foot to slip.

You don’t know how he was not seen but Creel carried you to his car like a broken down doll, your eyes wide open and stuck as he shoved you in the trunk with something else.

Not something.

Someone.

“Please don’t try to scream, you’ll choke. She was a failure like you but I couldn’t make her better, I tried so hard to make her better!” Creel bemoaned, hitting the steering wheel over and over until his knuckles turned red before straightening in the driver’s seat.

“You won’t remember this but it’s nice to have some company for the kedeia. We can go over your new academic career while we drive! You will be seeing me four times a week for tutoring, evaluation and further punishment. After this semester should you not disappoint me and I don’t kill you, you will change your major from that garbage to a double major in classics and psychology with me as your adviser, won’t that be perfect? You will have to live with me and leave those degenerates behind but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make.”

Creel continued to talk but all you could do was stare into the face of a dead young woman you now recognized as your former classmate, her bloated face frozen in an expression of pure terror mere inches from your own.

He propped you up in the car somewhere in the woods behind campus and made you watch as he reorganized a funeral pyre.

He had done this before.

“To Athena, we commit one of your failures to the earth. May her disappointments burn away as quickly as her flesh.” Creel whispered, tossing a lighter onto her body.

All you could do was let out a choked guttural moan as he got back in the car.

“Don’t be afraid, it will be over soon.” He whispered, lips on your cheek.

Somewhere, a clock chimed.

You were falling.

There was no time to wonder how you were falling or why when hands roughly lifted you, your arms nearly pulled out of their sockets as your lovers hauled you back over the railing, falling over in one breathless heap.

No words are spoken on the floor, just weak attempts at catching breath and subtle glimpses at the railing to affirm that whatever just happened really fucking happened.

Robin’s around your middle first, her head resting on your stomach, tears wetting your apparently sweaty t-shirt, holding you so tight it should have hurt but the weight of her keeps you from dissolving into screams.

Nancy’s next, hands running up and down your body to check for blood or bones that would have broken had you actually fallen. When she’s satisfied you are not mortally injured, she draws her forehead to your feverish one, hand cradling the back of your neck, a series of quiet sobs escaping her.

Eddie’s hands sort of hover over you, face in between in worry and damn near grief, too scared, too relieved, too everything to touch you at first before giving in and leaning you against his chest, rocking you, for his benefit or yours you’re not exactly sure but you don’t want him to let go.

Steve’s lips meet every inch of exposed skin, a fury of wet kisses all over you in an attempt to drown out the sound of his own muffled crying but with one last kiss on the top of your head he breaks, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks, arms stretched wide to somehow hold each and everyone of his lovers.

The moment you’re truly enraptured by their almost sorrow is when you allow yourself to shatter, sobbing in fear and confusion, holding on to Robin, Nancy, Eddie, and Steve as if your life depended on it.

Because it did.

A clock chimed somewhere but this time, you didn’t hear it.

“The last thing I remember is you coming to pick me up from tutoring, everything before and after that is a blur. Everything’s been blurring together these days, I know there’s something wrong but I don’t know what, it feels like I’m losing time.” You said, draped in just about every blanket in the house, sitting on Steve’s lap, his arms around you like a seat-belt, Robin holding one hand and Nancy the other.

“You don’t remember anything that happens when you see Creel?” Eddie asked, pacing around the living room.

“Not really, I have these flashes, a clock, the trunk of a car, a fire but I can’t put them together, it’s like something doesn’t want me to.”

“ Or someone.” Nancy said grimly.

“Professor Creel is doing something to me, something I can’t fight, something I can’t control, all I know is that it-

“Will all be over soon?” Robin finished, placing your notebook on your lap and you look down at the pages.

“This is my handwriting but I don’t remember writing this. Fuck, what’s happening to me?” You exclaimed, eyes watering all over again as Nancy took you in her arms, transferring you from Steve’s lap to her own.

“What if this isn’t you losing your mind? What if you were warning yourself?” Robin asked, looking down at the paper again.

“ Again, share it with the class Robin.” Steve huffed.

“Whatever Creel is doing, you’re fighting it, you just don’t remember doing it. Those flashes, this paper, you’re leaving yourself clues. You’re not a mad woman, you’re a goddamn survivor.” Robin said, kneeling in front of you, taking your face in her hands.

“What if I’m not strong enough to fight him?” You whispered.

“You don’t have to be, we are.” Steve said, with a hand on your shoulder, kissing your neck.

“We won’t let anything happen to you angel, he doesn’t know that we know and we can use that to our advantage.” Eddie said.

This was all so overwhelming, your head was killing you, and you couldn’t help but feel like someone was watching you.

“Baby, your nose!” Robin exclaimed and you looked down to see blood dripping down onto the blanket.

“He’s going to kill me.” You muttered quietly but Nancy calmly tilted your head forward and kissed your blood stained lips.

“Not if we kill him first.”

This is going to be a three part story! Sorry for the wait, but I hope this makes up for it.

𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚡 𝚋𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛: 𝚍𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚊𝚌𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚖𝚒𝚊 𝚊𝚞

#the fruity four #the fruity four x reader #robin buckley x reader #nancy wheeler x reader #eddie munson x reader #steve harrington x reader #the fruity four x black reader #dark academia au

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foundtherightwords · 3 months

Text

The Hollow Heart - Chapter 11

Pairing: Hellcheer, Gothic AU

Chapter warnings: assault, violence

Chapter word count: 3.7k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 - Chapter 9 - Chapter 10

Chapter 11 - Force and Fright

The days following Luna's death were the worst for Christabel since her arrival at Creel House. She was lonely, horribly lonely. Without Luna, her daily walk felt empty, aimless, and she tried hard to avoid the fresh mound of dirt overlooking the beach, though Kas had planted a bush of night-blooming jasmine on it so it wouldn't look like a grave. And Kas... what used to be comforting from him was now a torment. She was afraid to be alone with him, afraid of what he might do if she let him, of what she might do if he let her.

Her torment had little to do with guilt. She no longer loved Henry, that much she knew. Perhaps she never had. He had fascinated her, and she had only seen him as a ticket to freedom. But did she love Kas? After Henry, she no longer trusted her own heart. She certainly wanted Kas, wanted him even more now after that agonizingly brief kiss, but how much of that want was for himself, and how much was born out of sheer loneliness? How much was because he was the only other person around, the only one that treated her with some decency? What about Kas himself? He wanted her too, she knew. Even before the kiss, she'd known it. He'd spent his hard-earned wage on a phonograph for her and gone to the trouble of recording music for her, he'd risked going out under the sun to save her, he'd always comforted her ever since the first moment they met, he brought her what she needed even before she knew it herself. Nobody would do such things if he didn't care. But did he want her for herself, or simply because she was the only woman who would give him the time of day? And of course, there was the little matter of her being married to his master...

Back in New York, the gossip columns would occasionally explode over the scandal of an extramarital affair or an elopement, but even those only occurred between two persons of the same social circle. The mistress having an affair with a butler, the daughter of a prominent family running off with a footman, or the heir to a large business empire impregnating a maid, such things were too disgraceful even for the rags. They would get hushed up very quickly, and if they got discussed at all, it was only in whispers behind closed doors, to warn or to gloat over the misfortunes of those foolish enough to let lust cloud their judgment. Christabel had never dreamed that one day she would find herself in the same situation.

She could only be thankful that Henry didn't notice anything wrong, didn't see anything suspicious in the way she and Kas danced around each other and avoided each other. In fact, after Luna's death, Henry was almost affectionate toward her, as affectionate as he could be. He seemed to realize that he had gone too far and was trying to make it up to her.

One day, he announced that he had a special treat for her—he was taking her to town to see the Chinese New Year parade. Christabel didn't really want to go; whenever they'd tried to do things as a couple, it had turned out disastrously. But after Christmas and New Year, she felt Henry owed her some sort of celebration, so she donned her claret velvet dress again, leaving off her corset this time, and off they went.

Leaving Kas waiting by the car in an alley, Henry led Christabel down Dupont Street, toward the heart of Chinatown. Christabel had never been to a Chinatown before. There was one in Manhattan, but it was close to the slum of Five Points, and no decent people, let alone a woman, would ever set foot there. The Chinatown of San Francisco seemed more respectable, at least on the outside, though it was far busier than any place she'd ever seen. Even the streets of Manhattan during the St. Patrick's Day Parade were not as crowded. People thronged the sidewalk three deep, mostly Chinese and mostly men, in black silk shirts, white trousers, little silk hats covering their heads, and long pigtails down their backs. The few women, in their resplendent silk robes, their impossibly tiny feet crammed into beautifully embroidered satin shoes, were busy tending to small children with three funny tufts of hair on their heads. The crowd was so thick that Christabel couldn't even see into the stores that lined both sides of the streets—she could only glimpse the signs in Chinese on the top of their doors and the silk and paper lanterns hanging over their windows. The parade hadn't started yet, but firecrackers were already being set off everywhere, and the entire place smelled like what she imagined a battlefield would, of acrid smoke and gunpowder.

The crowd didn't seem to bother Henry, as his height allowed him to move through them with ease. Elbowing people aside, ignoring their angry Chinese and English protests, he steered Christabel toward the front of the crowd, where she would have the best view, keeping a protective hand on her waist. Christabel followed his lead, though deep down, she would've much preferred it if it had been someone else at her side...

No. She must not indulge in such fantasies any longer. That way lay heartbreak and ruin. She had already made one mistake in eloping with Henry; she could not make another one in yearning after Kas as well. After all, Henry was her husband, and she must treat him as such.

The sound of music in the distance cut off her train of thought, and Christabel turned her attention to the parade. People in lion costumes danced down the street, jumping about to vigorous drumbeats, batting a red ball held up on a long pole by their leader. More dancers followed, waving colorful fans and fluttering silk banners, acrobats performing unbelievable moves, stilt walkers looking like some giant birds on their tall bamboo sticks—Christabel stared at them in awe, wondering how on Earth they managed to walk with such ease. Musicians playing drums, cymbals, and bamboo flutes flanked the dancers, playing at such an ear-splitting volume that she could not tell what the melody was.

"Amazing, is it not?" Henry said in her ears, and she nodded. Yes, it was noisy and crowded and bewildering, but it was also overwhelming in a good way. It allowed her to forget her troubles for a moment and simply get lost in the wild movements and colors and sounds.

The music reached a fever pitch, and a burst of firecrackers exploded at the end of the street. The crowd around them surged up like a wave, momentarily blocking Christabel's view.

"What is it? What's happening?" she yelled to Henry over the noise.

"It's the Golden Dragon. The grand finale. Watch!"

A vision of gold and fire appeared out of the smoke of the firecrackers. It was a dragon, though quite different from the dragons Christabel knew from her fairy tales, those lizard-like guardians of gold and princesses in towers. This was something much more unearthly—a huge horned head, eyes and mouth wide open to show the fire burning within, followed by a long, long undulating body covered in golden scales and festooned with lights. Christabel knew it was only made out of silk and paper and gold foil, and the body was being controlled by people holding up bamboo poles, but the smoke and the flickering light masked the dancers, making it seem like the dragon was moving on its own, making it that much more real.

Christabel watched, so mesmerized that she didn't notice Henry's hand had slipped from her waist. The crowd was getting more boisterous, and she soon discovered why—the dancers were tossing coins to the spectators, and people were climbing over their own mothers to get to the money. Christabel stumbled, her cloak caught on something or by someone and was ripped from her neck, but she hardly felt the cold, pressed as she was by hundreds of bodies on all sides. She called for Henry, only for her voice to be lost in the deafening sounds of the firecrackers and drums. The magic of the parade was gone. Now she was caught in a storm of cracking thunders and fire, of shouting voices and pushing hands, of sharp smoke and rank body odor, caught and drowned in it...

Then the crowd and the smoke thinned, and she glimpsed Henry's tall figure disappearing into a shop across the street. Was he searching for her? He couldn't be, for she saw him handing money to a man with a long, drooping mustache in exchange for a package of something, looking in no great hurry. Puzzled but relieved at having caught sight of her husband at last, Christabel dodged between the spectators and the dancers, barely avoiding getting hit in the face by one of the dragon's fins, and made her way to the shop. Over the entrance was a sign with three Chinese characters on it, and a symbol she didn't recognize—a circle divided in half by a wavy line, one half painted white with a black dot on it, the other black with a white dot.

A bitter, herbal smell assaulted her nostrils the moment she entered. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, stacked with bottles, vials, and packets of strange-looking plants and herbs. In the display window, bundles of dried newts dangled near a giant glass jar containing some sort of root that looked like a horribly disfigured baby.

Eyes and ears still dazed after the commotion of the parade, it took a while for Christabel to realize that there was no sign of Henry or the mustached man. The only person in the shop was a little boy sitting by the door, impassively watching the crowd outside.

"Excuse me, have you seen the tall blonde gentleman who came in just now?" Christabel asked. The boy turned, and she was startled to realize he was no boy, but a dwarf, quite an old one at that. There was something disturbing about that wrinkled face set on the small, childlike body. He gave no indication of understanding her question, and, after a sullen glance at her, turned back to watch the crowd.

Exasperated, Christabel walked further into the gloom of the shop, calling for Henry, for anyone. She lifted the curtain separating the front from the back, and was hit by another wave of bitter smell. Workers looked up at her from where they were cutting, pounding, and mixing medicines, their gaze curious and hostile. From the back of the room, the mustached man spread the workers aside to approach her, yelling in Chinese.

"I'm sorry, I don't speak Chinese," Christabel said awkwardly. "I'm only searching for my husband, Henry Creel. He was in here just now?"

The man kept yelling at her. His mustache flapped on either side of his mouth, making him look like an angry catfish. The only words she could make out, in between the Chinese rant, were "No" and "Out".

"All right, I'm leaving," she said, raising her chin. "There's no need to shout at me."

She indignantly swept up her skirt and took a step back, but the man had another idea—he gripped her arm tightly in a hand with nails so long they were almost like claws, and dragged her through the workroom toward a back door, paying no attention to her protest. He shoved her through the back door into an alley and locked the door behind her.

I knew it, Christabel thought in dismay as she stood in the filthy alley, feeling the chill air on her bare arms and neck and shoulders. I knew something would go wrong. But it was no use standing around feeling sorry for herself. She could still hear the parade from here, so it shouldn't be a problem to find her way back to Kas and the car.

Or so she thought. Henry had told her that the streets of San Francisco were laid out in a grid, which made it easy to navigate, but she discovered that the Chinese had created many shortcuts and walkways between the buildings, turning the grid into a maze. Many times, she would turn a corner only to find she had been down that alley, or gone past that building already. All the while, the sounds of the parade floated to her through the air, tantalizingly close yet remaining elusive.

There were some Chinese men following her. They said nothing and did nothing, but always kept a fixed distance between her and themselves, never letting her out of their sight. Christabel quickened her steps, trying not to show that she was running, hoping she could lose them at the turn ahead.

She came around a corner, into another alley, and immediately regretted it. This alley was occupied. Several men were bent over a game of dice on the stoop of a building, passing a bottle of alcohol between them. They all turned toward her, and she gave an involuntary shiver.

"You lost, ma'am?" one of them asked, lifting the brim of his felt hat to get a better look at her. He looked white but was dressed like a Chinese, in a silk robe.

Christabel shook her head—she did not trust herself to speak without giving away how afraid she was—and took a step backward. Her back collided with someone, and she looked over her shoulder into the leering grin of one of the Chinese men who had been following her. Her heart dropped. This was a trap, and she had walked straight into it.

"So eager to leave?" the white man said, getting up. He was clearly the ringleader. "You should stay awhile."

He nodded to the Chinese man behind Christabel, who immediately grabbed her arms, bending them painfully behind her back.

"I know you high-and-mighty ladies," the white man continued, approaching her slowly like a serpent approaching its prey, followed by several of his cronies. "Your life is so cushy, so boring, so you come here for the mystery of the Oriental, to fulfill some sick fantasies about the filth and depravity of the Chinese, don't you? Well, we can show you how filthy and depraved we really are, right, boys?"

He was now so close she could see his yellowed teeth in the gloom of the alley and smelled his rancid breath on her face. Terror rose within her, pinning her to the spot. He placed his hand at the neckline of her gown, and with a ripping noise, her bodice was torn from shoulder to waist. Cold air hit her torso, shaking some of the numbness from her limbs, and she started fighting madly against the vice-like grip on her arms, screaming her throat raw.

"Shut her up!" shouted the white man. The man holding her moved his hand to her mouth. The moment her arm was free, Christabel twisted and lashed out at her captor, hitting, clawing savagely with all she had. Her nails dragged across something fleshy, she heard a muffled curse, and more hands descended on her, gripping her arms, her waist, her legs. Fingers wrapped around her throat, squeezing, cutting off her screams, cutting off her air. Black spots appeared in her vision, and she could feel her consciousness slipping away into nothingness. It was just like when the mist took her in her dream, except now the pain was not in her heart, but on her throat and in her lungs...

There was a blur of movement, and the pressure on her windpipes eased. The hands gripping her were no more. Turning her head to the side, she was dimly aware of a dark shape moving too fast in the murky light for her to see, cutting a swathe through her attackers, sending them scattering, their screams mingling with the sounds of the parade into a nightmarish chorus.

And then all was quiet. The dark shape was bending over her, and it was Kas's hands that ran over her shoulders and back to check for injuries, and Kas's frantic voice that asked, "Christabel, are you hurt? Did they hurt you?"

The sound of his voice calling her name finally shook her out of her daze. Still she couldn't speak, and could only shake her head between panting, sobbing coughs. Kas wrapped his coat around her quivering shoulders and scooped her into his arms. "It's all right," he whispered. "I'm here now."

They sat for a long, long time, with Kas holding her against his chest, brushing his lips over her hair, until her breath returned to normal and her trembling subsided. She nestled deeper into his arms, feeling safer than she'd ever felt, as though she hadn't just escaped certain death. At that moment, she wanted, more than anything, to just sit like that forever with Kas, forgetting about Henry and Creel House and the rest of the world. But it was not to be. As fireworks exploded overhead, signifying the end of the parade, Kas lifted her in his arms and took her back to the car.

As they left the alley, Christabel couldn't help glancing back. That was when she discovered that not all her attackers had fled. A number of them, including the ringleader, were on the ground, eyes wide open and unblinking under the flashes of the fireworks, their bodies twisted grotesquely. She looked up at Kas in awe. He had always seemed so gentle; she never imagined he had it in him to put up a fight, let alone to kill. Somehow the thought didn't frighten her. If anything, it was reassuring. She knew that as long as she was with Kas, no harm would come to her.

Kas had just helped Christabel into the car when Henry came back, a package tucked under his arm. So she hadn't been mistaken, he had been at the shop. Where had he gone then? Why had he left her alone?

"What happened?" he asked, taking in the sight of Christabel's crumpled form on the backseat, wrapped in Kas's long coat, her gown all torn and muddy.

"She was attacked," said Kas. "A group of men cornered her in an alley. But I found her and stopped them."

"Did you? How fortunate." Henry pushed Kas aside to look down at Christabel. "Well, you can count on this as the last time I ever took you into town," he said to her. "I've told you how dangerous it is, but you never listen! And now look what you've brought on for yourself!"

Christabel curled up in the backseat, too exhausted both mentally and physically to fight him, to remind him that she'd never asked to go to the parade and that he had been the one leaving her alone. What was the use? He would find a way to twist her words around, to blame her somehow. So she just lay there, letting the tears fall into her hair while he shouted at her like he was reprimanding a child.

"Mr. Creel, please," Kas stepped in. "What good would that do now? She's had a terrible shock, we'd best take her home."

"Be quiet," Henry snapped. "There's no we here. I will deal with my wife as I see fit, and you—you do as you're told."

Kas backed down and started the car without another word.

The car wound its way down the coast back to Creel House. Christabel wished she could have sat at the front, next to Kas, to feel his reassuring presence by her side, but she didn't feel strong enough to sit upright, and anyway she couldn't, not with Henry sitting there, his face thunderous, his barely concealed rage radiating from him like an ice storm. She knew he was angry with her, and as unfair as it was, his anger with Kas was even more senseless. Was he worried about the men lying dead in that alley? Did he blame Kas for not keeping an eye on her, for letting her get into danger? It didn't seem to occur to Henry that he, as her husband, was as much to blame as Kas, if not more.

As Kas pulled into the drive, Henry said, "Kas, come see me in the attic."

"I'll just see Mrs. Creel to her room first, sir," Kas replied, going around the back to put down the hood.

"She can take care of herself."

Kas whirled around to face Henry. "She can barely walk! She needs to get warm!"

"That's her own fault for wandering into the alleys of Chinatown, isn't it?" The contempt in Henry's voice lashed at Christabel's heart. She tried to hold back her tears, not wanting him to see her cry, not wanting to show her weakness.

Ignoring Henry, Kas leaned over the backseat, lifted Christabel into his arms, and carried her into the house. She rested her head on his shoulder, grateful for this closeness, no matter how brief. He took her into her room, put her on the bed, and went about lighting the fire.

Once the fire was crackling in the hearth, he tucked the blanket more closely about her shoulders. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Do you want something to eat, or to drink? Coffee, or something stronger?"

She shook her head. Seeing him get to his feet, she reached out a frantic hand and grabbed his wrist, as she had on the boat. "Please, don't go." She couldn't stand the idea of being left alone in the dark, with all its whispery shadows and its ghosts.

Kas leaned down, the amber flecks in his eyes shimmering in the firelight. He brushed his fingers over the bruises that had formed on her throat, his eyes full of remorse. "I'm sorry," he said. "I'm so sorry. I left you, when I promised that I wouldn't..."

His touch seemed to ease the pain instantly, like magic. She threw her arms around his neck and drew him to her for a desperate kiss. Her lips had barely grazed his when he pulled away. "I have to go," he said. He plucked her arms from around his neck with a gentle but final gesture, stood up, and all but ran from the room.

Chapter 12

#hellcheer #hellcheer fic #eddie munson #chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer au #henry creel #joseph quinn fic #kas!eddie #vampire!eddie munson

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