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gorgon-heap · 1 year

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I Thank You: A Brief Account of Sonic’s No Good Terrible Very Bad Day (and Shadow’s even worse day)

@son1c’s sonic prime au has been jingling around my brain like a loose marble (especially the splinters of shadow), and this ask from @boom-fanfic-a-latta inspired me to actually sit down and write it :D

~~~

The first thing Shadow noticed was the noise.

It was hard not to notice it, honestly. The eerie silence of the Void was disconcerting, but this was something Shadow had never encountered before. This was an oppressive wall of sheer sound that filled the air and slammed into his ears the minute he entered the Boscage.

It knocked the wind out of him, and he sunk to his knees as he tried to regain his composure.

Dimly, he heard Sonic buzzing around him, jabbering about something. Shadow could only grit his teeth in response.

It’s so loud….How does Sonic not hear this?

He clapped a hand over his mouth in a desperate attempt to ground himself, to experience anything other than the oppressive sound. It didn’t work.

“Shadow? You alright?”

Shadow let out a shaky breath, and it took great effort for him to stop his ears from twitching. The last thing he needed was Sonic worrying about him.

“I’m fine. It’s just adjusting to a new Shatterverse.” Shadow forced himself to his feet. “Tell me about this world?”

Sonic didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press the issue. “The Bocage is entirely take over by huge plants. The forest floor is entirely inhospitable to life, and that means that—“

Plants. It couldn’t be.

Could it?

He felt a tear escape and leak down the side of his face. He was vaguely aware that Sonic, who had been staring at him with concern, had tracked that tear’s path with his eyes. But Shadow had bigger things to worry about. He, and probably he alone, could hear the Boscage.

And it was screaming.

~~~

It had been a few days. Some of the worst days of Shadow’s existence. Boscage Maze was a blur. The residents of the Boscage were a blur. The only thing that was clear was, paradoxically, the murmur of the forest. As it turns out, when billions of plants whisper in someone’s mind, it results in a cacophony, and the worst headache Shadow has ever had.

He was beginning to have trouble remembering why he was there, his goal in coming here, and even who he was. He just shuffled behind Sonic as they navigated the jungle.

Today, they were visiting….somewhere. Egg…something? Shadow couldn’t remember, but Tails was leading the way. Or, this Shatterverse’s Tails. His head hurt too much to care.

He was also didn’t care when he met Windthrow. A tiny voice at the back of his mind reminded him that, but for the Deafening Sounds, he would have been astounded.

A larger, stronger, and more feral Sonic. Would wonders ever cease.

Shadow was roused from his thoughts as they arrived at their destination. It was an unassuming structure, with vine tendrils snaking around, but generally well kept. As they walked through the entryway, he absently noted that the design reminded him of the Ark.

They stepped into the entryway, and the doors swung shut, leaving their little group in the quiet hallway.

And it was quiet. It was utterly silent.

He felt his shoulders sag in relief. He didn’t realize how awful the noise was. It didn’t even bother him that there was a slight buzzing from the overhead lights.

“Shadow, everything alright?” Sonic’s voice boomed in his ears. It hurt, and made his ears twitch, but he welcomed it.

Shadow nodded slowly. He still felt a little dazed, but it was a relief to be able to think clearly for the first time in what felt like forever.

~~~

Sonic was worried.

Well, he was worried about a lot of things. This was an extremely bad situation, and he was well aware that that was an understatement. But in particular, Sonic was worried about Shadow. He was acting more reclusive and irritable than usual. Which was saying something.

Whenever they were at the Egg Base, Shadow disappeared, even though Sonic looked everywhere in the building. And when they were outside, he acted distracted and upset. Every time Sonic asked him what was wrong, he would respond (in true Shadow fashion) with a snappish “Nothing”. But his constant ear twitching and eyes darting back and forth belied his distress. So did his muttering under his breath.

Sonic had decided not to continue pestering him. He instead focused all his attention and worry on finding the Shard.

The sooner we find it, the sooner I get Shadow out of here. The sooner I fix my stupid mistake.

Currently, they were in the Egg Base, and surprisingly, Shadow was hanging out with the group. Sonic was grateful to see that he looked relaxed, even if it was only a little bit. The weird dude who looked kind of like Eggman was showing off his latest creation, which was a metal version of Windthrow.

But as Metal Windthrow was powered on, Sonic was distracted by a faint gasp behind him. He turned and saw Shadow standing there completely rigid, chest heaving and eyes darting wildly. His ears wouldn’t stop twitching. He locked eyes with Sonic, before he fled the room.

Sonic got up to follow up, but stopped when he felt a large paw on his shoulder. Windthrow excitedly pointed at his metal counterpart, and threw back his head and howled. Metal Windthrow followed suit, and his rusty howl joined Windthrow’s. Sonic couldn’t help but smile fondly at what was soon to be a fast friendship. His smile fell as he turned and strode out of the room, determined to find Shadow.

~~~

He didn’t see Shadow for days after that, until one day Sonic entered the dining room. Shadow was standing at one of the tables, poring over the map that they had crudely drawn.

“Shadow! There you are! Are you alright? You disappeared! I’ve been looking everywhere for this Shard but haven’t found anything yet. Hey, what do you think—”Sonic’s nervous rambling was cut off by Shadow’s voice, which was uncharacteristically quiet.

“Sonic. Everything is okay. I just needed some to adjust to the Boscage Maze.” At this, Sonic frowned and opened his mouth, and closed it again. He sat down at the table, watching Shadow’s green eyes rake over the map. He looked—well, calm. But at the same time, he didn’t look well adjusted at all. He still had a dazed look, and there were heavy bags under his eyes.

“Are you sure? You can rest today, and we can go look tomorrow!” Shadow gave a small, fond smile, and Sonic felt his concern tie itself into knots in his stomach.

“We are fine, and in fact quite like being outside among the trees. It’s like coming home.” He turned and strode towards the door. “Let us go now and find Thorn Rose. Finding the Shard is our top priority.” Sonic pushed his worries aside. Shadow was right. The Shard was the most important thing.

Over the next couple of days, Shadow took charge of searching the Shard. He would stay out long after Sonic returned to the Egg Base for the night, and would even be gone before he woke up in the morning. He knew that Shadow was the Ultimate Loner, but he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling in the back of his mind. There was something that he couldn’t quite put his finger on, something he was missing. And it had everything to do with the strange way Shadow was acting.

~~~

Sonic burst into the clearing, almost crashing into Shadow in his excitement.

“Shadow, there you are! I have a good lead on the Shard! We can grab it and fit the prism back together! We’re one step closer to going home!” Shadow looked up sharply with a glint in his eyes that made Sonic uneasy. As quick as it had appeared, Shadow’s face had smoothed back into that same calm expression he had had for the past couple of days.

“That’s good to hear, Sonic. But we don’t need to rush things. The Boscage is truly wonderful. I’m glad to have been able to experience it. In fact, we are sorry for our past anger. You see, it wouldn’t have existed if you hadn’t shattered the Paradox Prism. So, how could I be angry? I thank you, Sonic the Hedgehog.”

I thank you.

Sonic’s blood ran cold.

Shadow…

He took a step towards who…or whatever was controlling Shadow. “Who are you! What have you done with Shadow!”

‘Shadow’ just smiled. “We are Shadow. It would be rude to ignore this gift you have sent us. You have granted us a way to communicate with you, and a way to protect the Boscage.”

Sonic’s shoulders slumped, his chin hitting his chest.

Shadow…what have I done to you?

#unceremoniously knocks the rust of my creative writing skills #it’s been like the worst week of my life so i am coping by putting shadow in a jar and shaking him around #i didn’t know how to write either windthrow or metal windthrow so i just. didn’t lol sorry #might make a part 2 with the specific stuff the plants say to shadow after they like. fully possess him #so if you want a part 2 lmk :)#and thank you lovelyn! your au is awesome :D #also tagging boom fanfic a latta bc it was her ask that inspired me to write this so thank you :)#side note i don’t rly know how to format fanfic on tumblr lol :P #sonic the hedgehog #sonic prime #shadow the hedgehog #jackassery #son1c #tenya

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0p1er0 · 3 months

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Prompt: How do you grieve someone who's still alive?

✨ For @undertale-fic-librarby birthday event ✨

This is a sequel to my other fic "In The Rubble Of Our Sins, I Grow"

No beta reader 😞 I struggle so hard with prompts but I tried

------

The voice came back again and again but never strayed too close to the hidden ruins.

It had a strong booming voice that rolled over him like thunder. The gentle rain of whispers only coming after, making the initial yell only seem louder. The later calmness reminded Dream so much of his once softly spoken Brother.

he wonders what his not brother's new voice sounds like, if it would be smooth and sweet like honey or have the raspy crunch of snapped honeycomb as a bear feeds. Bee's swarming, trying desperately to save their home as it is destroyed without a second thought like what happened to the village.

The buzzing of the bee's collecting pollen from nearby flowers didn't seem so scary now. The small bumbling bugs were relatable in a way. They were scared just like Dream when their family, friends, and neighbors died.

The voice left suddenly, the gentle tapping of his voice only really noticeable after it left. it was like the sun and happiness that had been shining over him was quickly clouded. Dream looked to some of the few remaining bricks he could still see of his forgotten village. they were covered with moss and vines alike, weeds sprouting from underneath as an occasional critter crawled.

It was later in the season when the Voice finally stepped around the front of the statue, close enough for Dream to really see him. He was rather round for a skeleton. He didn't know there was more skeletons, let alone one that was a round copy of his brother. The softness of this new skeletons clothes aligned with the gentle tapping of his voice.

A gloved hand reached up and gently ran its fingers across his moss ridden cape.

"Wowie! you look really life like, Statue!" He exclaimed, "You kinda look like me! but that might just be because we're both skeletons.. mm" moving his hands up to scratch his chin.

The skeleton had blue eyes, blue deep like the cover of Nightmares favorite book. brilliant rings in his sockets that spin unlike Dream's forgotten dull ovals.

"I wonder who carved you" the skeletons eye lights turned to stars. "They must of loved you a lot to put that much effort into you!"

...Did Nightmare love him?

A dark hand flashed in his vision. reaching for his soul as he hurried to consume the last golden apple. There was so much hunger in those crazed eyes, like the dog that got rabies and chased him up a tree all those years ago.

Nighty had lunged the second he finished the apple, reaching, scratching, and tearing at the air like it was an old well read story book who's pages gave away at the slightest touch. It burned, then it ... didn't. it was ice cold, freezing him as he stood. He didn't feel anything now, not the vines that wrapped his arms and weaved through his once bones or the strong sun.

The only thing he could feel for the longest time was grief, grief for his friends, the villagers but most importantly his brother. He wasn't supposed to be able to feel grief, He was Dream! guardian of positive emotions which means he needs to always be positive. Grief was not something he was allowed to feel.

Movement in front of him snapped him from his thoughts. The blue skeleton had moved away and was looking at an old rabbit burrow. The top had caved in during a storm, leaving a slight indent in the soil, it was almost completely covered in grass.

He had named that rabbit.

#pierre drabbles #ZZ moments #Z1pperZoomin moments #do I have about 6 hours left? ye #do I trust myself to remember to post it in 6 hours? no #it's a little clunky but I think it's okay #beep #pierre things #Ut fic librabry #utmv #Dream #statue dream sans #dream sans

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scatterbrainedart · 3 months

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Made this in 2022 with the intention of doing every series, but I just. Got tired trying to work out double life and gave up. And then it's been rotting in my drafts ever since. So here is as far as it went, because I still think it's kinda fun.

Life Series lives markings concepts!

I like the idea that the lives a player have left are visualized as marks on their body, so this is my approach on it! I also decided to handle each season a bit different, and here’s how:

3rd Life

So, for 3rd life specifically I think it’d be pretty cool to have the lives running along their throats (this doesn’t work for last life since the people who ended up with like 6 lives absolutely will not be able to fit them all on their neck, but I’ll get into that later), simply because I drew my life series sona like that and now I’m attached, and I have decided to simply deal with it.

Generally I like the idea that the Murderous Intent™ of the red life is visualised as red vines (or, corrupted veins. A sickness in the blood, making them crave bloodshed. That could be pretty cool) taking control of the player and corrupting them. That would also be the same for latter boogymen, albeit a lot more subtle since it’s all canonically sneaky and invisible and whatnot.

Another general rule of the markings is that once you lose a life, a scar takes its place (preferably somewhat reminiscent of how that life was lost. Got blown up? The scar looks like an explosion. Got shot? Perhaps it looks like it’s shattering or something, I dunno. I haven’t quite thought that far ahead, but it could be fun to play around with).

Last Life

Now, as for last life, the design got a bit more tricky to figure out as, like I said, six lives would not be able to fit on someone's throat! So! I figured putting them along the spine would look really neat, so that's exactly what I did. Behold!

The greens go darker the further up they go, and I also have them shine. Why? Because style, that’s why. Anyways, not all people start out with six lives. So, what does that look like?

Boom! Grayed out hearts. This would be Grian after gaining that one life from Scar. I’d imagine, if the player has some empty slots, that’s where the extra life would end up (what about when they don’t have empty slots then? Like, if someone already has six lives, or if they have used up six ones? I’ll get around to that shortly. First, let’s mention red lifers and boogeymen).

Red life, and the second chance. Just like in the 3rd life version, there’s these red vines or veins corrupting the player, except this time the player can be healed if they’re gifted a life. This is what that would look like. Like I said, the extra life fills up the empty slot and avoids the scar tissue, sort of like a lighting bulb turning on and then breaking once that life is spent. As for boogeymen,

The red life shines far brighter, and is starting to corrupt. The corruption is not yet deep enough to leave scars when healed, and should simply retract once the boogey is cured. If the boogey is cured. Now. About what I said earlier about that seventh extra life.

I’d reckon there’d just pop up a new one under the red life, and if there were even more they’d just continue down. I doubt there’d ever be an issue where someone would have too many lives to fit all their markings, so I don’t worry too much about that tbh. Oh and one last thing before we move on from last life onto everyone’s favourite romantic comedy drama (which will not happen. Curse 2022 me's positive thinking). I think it’d be kinda cool if the neck scars from 3rd life stays. Simply for angst reasons. Tho, they’d be a lot more faded than the scars from the current season ofc, but they’d still be there. Just enough to remind the players of the past lives’ bitter ends. Of the betrayals and the regret, the guilt and the weariness. Because why not.

(Might update with the other seasons. Hmmm)

#grian fanart #digital art #art #digital painting #fanart #artwork #digital artwork #painting #sketch #concept #3rd life fanart #3rd life #life series #life series fanart #last life smp #last life #last life fanart #last life grian

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butmakeitgayblog · 2 years

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Medusa and the Blind Woman

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Come to me, my love

Across fields full of lilies at night

The stars shining overhead

Are witnesses to our love

As bright as the sky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Coming sorta soon to an AO3 tab near you)

She crashes in on an easterly wave.

One that threatens the bare spindles of a long dead port. The wind bites at stilts gnarled by sea salt and the negligence of time, threads of frayed twine whipping in retaliating lashes against the onslaught versus sturdy grecian wood.

Lexa watches from on high, eyes on mastheads and white sails in the distance when she takes a moment to admire her only non-hissing companion, the sea. She stands an eagle in her nest of serpentine thorns, as the speck of a sailor draws near from the horizon, boat marching on the back of winds that carry it onward. The ocean howls of intruders long before they arrive, the swishing churn of embattled rip tides announcing the threat among rustled gusts and spits of algae foam.

It's all become so painfully predictable.

Lexa sighs at the sight of them marching on toward her fortress.

A sinking weight floods her stomach, weary resignation presses heavy against her throat.

The grip of her spade tightens as she reminds herself they mean nothing to her morning, to her schedule, that must be kept. What with the chill slipping through the cracks of a waning afternoon sun setting quick on the intruder's horizon.

She doesn't bother to watch their approach further, instead keeping her thoughts to steady hands that churn earth and crumble stone, driving her blade against charcoal and turning it to soot. She checks her moorings to the west and fells a few fresh saplings for kindling. Nuisances in that particular corner of her nest of thorns, ones she's been waging a losing battle with for ages.

Her thoughts scatter like the seed and silt that pour through the calloused cracks of her fingers, wondering—

A sharp whine fills the air below, followed by a screech and crash of splintering wood. A thunderous boom echoes along the rockside loud enough to shake the very gravel under her feet followed by a full chested bellow.

"Gods damn it all!"

Lexa straightens from her work at the cry of anger, loud enough to have her dropping her tools where she stands. Loud enough to send a shiver across her scalp that hisses and spits its welcome in return.

She slips past brambles and thickets of overgrowth. Moves between boulders and shrugging aside the hang of vine, winding her way to the edge of her oasis. The sweet scent of honeysuckle mixes with sea water as she moves close to the rocky ledge of the cliff shore.

Careful to stay hidden, tucked neatly in the shadows, she lifts a few leaves on the tips of her finger to see her would be… captors…

Or. Captor.

The waters are littered with floating bits of dock and warped wood, now useless and broken into a thousand tiny shards that bob their way back out into the wild.

In its place is a boat.

A rather meager boat, Lexa notes to herself at the feel of a nose nudging her cheek. A vessel of one lonely single seat, barely a rod for a mast, with two matching oars on each side.

The very sight of its paltry build makes her frown. Her lips drop open shock as she looks past the debris of the wreckage to the fleeing white sails receding into the burgeoning twilight distance.

Another screeched caw from a circling bird above makes Lexa jump, ignoring the snap and hiss in her ear at the same time the air fills with a strained, "Oh shut up!"

Well.

This is certainly not what she had expected.

Because…

She's blonde.

Her apparent assassin is… blonde.

And decidedly less muscular than she'd become accustomed to. Not the type bearing rippling muscles, or the thuggish brawn born of beating one's own chest.

This assassin is downright… dainty.

Dressed in a simple white shift in place of the bronze and pounded silver chest plate that Lexa is used to, stands a woman with sun laden ribbons of spun gold hair, bare of the usual swords and shield expected of such a journey and instead grasping a rather pathetic looking stick. Her face is cloaked in a curtain of wispy strands of gold, darkened by sea spray and the looming cliffs above as she fiddles with a satchel tied to her hip. She tussles with the strings, fingers awkward as she struggles to keep hold of the long spindle stick while fighting a losing battle with a knot that ignores her angered muttering.

Lexa watches from the safety of the shadow's edge as the intruder goes about her various tasks. She watches her reach out and smack the end of the stick in her hand along the ground in sweeping thunks. Watches her do a slow sort of pirouette, a kind of turn here and there as she taps each stone and rock around her in a series of dull clicks. Her steps seem timid, calculated in the way they shuffle and pause and then go again, as her head twists slightly at every creak of the trees that bend toward the skyline, every crash of the tide, every chirp of a bird that follows.

She watches the woman zigzag a line away from the wreckage of splintered wood and sails, weaving her way in measured footsteps and the incessant tapping of her stick.

Lexa glances toward the two beady eyes staring at her and gives an equally mystified shrug.

It's only when she comes close, dangerously close to the ridge cut in the cliff face that leads to the well worn path inland that Lexa finally finds her voice.

"Who are you?"

The peculiar tapping stops on the sharp cut of a startled scream. "Hades in hell!"

The hand not brandishing the stick clutches at her chest as she takes a half spin, the stick coming up in a wild arch like a sword apparently ready to slice the air in battle.

Lexa frowns from the safety of her shadowed nook at the ridiculous display below. "If you wish to keep your life, turn back. Now."

The woman makes another half turn in her direction, face lifted and eyes screwed shut. "Where are you? This place is like an amphitheater."

"Your search is in vain! I said—"

"Give me a left or right, lady," she cuts her off impatiently, the stick shaking but still held vaguely menacingly aloft. "Clap or something so I at least know I'm not talking to a tree."

"Leave," Lexa booms with all the might of her weary bones, feeling her words reverberate against the stone embankment and echo into her chest. Power courses through her as she watches her idiotic, would-be killer startle and stumble back… only to right herself and throw her hands up in a huff.

"Fine! I'll just shout at whatever, since apparently that's what you do here!" The stranger slams the stick down on its point, burying it deep into the sand and leans her weight against it, wobbling only slightly with a heaving sigh. "Listen. Just relax a minute and listen to me."

Only the crashing waves and panting drags of her breath echoes in the silence.

"Alright," she says as Lexa seethes and looks on. "My name is Clarke. I'm not… one hundred percent sure where I am, but if I am where I should be, I need you to know that I was sent here by my people, okay? I didn't choose to be here—"

"That does not matter!"

"I know that!" this woman, this Clarke, snaps right back. "I know you're pissed, you've made that abundantly clear, but what I'm saying is, whatever you think I'm here to do, believe me when I say, I am not."

"I think you're here to kill me," Lexa says in all but a growl.

Clarke throws the arm she's not leaning on into the air. "Then it's a wonderful thing we're having this chat, because I'm not."

Lexa's jaw aches with how hard she grits her teeth at the snark soaked rebuttal. "Then what are you here for?"

"I already said I didn't have a choice. I was just shipped off here and told to—." Lexa watches the woman swallow down the rest of her words, blonde hair swaying with the shake of her head. "Look, it doesn't matter what I was told to do. I'm not interested in fighting anyone else's battles right now. All I plan to do is squat here for a few weeks, work on my tan, fix my gods forsaken boat, and get out of your hair… Or uh, not your— The, with the— I'm assuming, if you are— If you're —"

"Why shouldn't I strike you down where you stand?" Lexa calls over the pathetic bumbling of the woman below. "I stay to the shadows for your safety, grace you with an opportunity to flee for your life. Why should I not step forward and let you see the face of your end?"

All Clarke does is snort. "Yeah, good luck with that."

Fingernails digging into the weathered bark of the tree does nothing to soothe the surge of anger that rises in Lexa's chest. She watches as the stranger seems to sigh to herself. The stick gets yanked from where it'd been buried in the sand and shook off.

And then the damn tapping starts again.

"What is that you are doing?" Lexa calls in a huff.

The woman flops a careless hand in her general direction as she calls back, "Playing a real fun game called trying to not break my neck. You can't tell?" and taps the stick against a hip sized boulder along its side and up the top, and then moves on to it's sister to the right in a few series of clicks.

Lexa watches her repeat this process several times over, wandering in short bursts until finding another object of interest before starting the process all over. She watches that face turn up, eyes still shut tight, pausing and leaning and listening to every roll of the waves, every rustle of wind, every minute chirp of birds.

It's only when a head butts her temple and black beady eyes slip closed and stay closed, when the tip of Clarke's stick finds the gnarled roots of an upended tree and the woman chances a feel with her hands along the rough bark that it all finally makes sense.

"You're blind."

She says it more to herself than anyone, long since used to the lack of audience that can talk back, but the astute observation still earns her laugh. One topped with a tired smile from that unseeing face as she eases down onto the overturned tree for a rest.

"Whew. Nothin' gets past you."

#clexaweek23 #clexa #friends or foes #sorry I didn't get it up last night I started feeling awful and gave up #shocking I know

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that--unusual-person · 2 years

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Hi so I saw that one anon who talked about shaking Starscream in a jar and feeding him cucumbers and couldn't agree more. Your art is so crunchy and reminds me oddly of an old journal discovered in an apocalyptic world that contains the Big Information TM. Your style is incredible and I'm highly inspired by it. It feeds directly into my little monkey brain love of dire situations like in Subnautica, HZD/FW, or the trailers for TFR. Just incredible and I always look forward to seeing more of your concept sketches and whatnot. As for the initial thing I said about putting Starscream in a jar and feeding him cucumbers- I want to put him in a rectangular glass container and give him crackers, cheese, cucumber, and ghost pepper and see what happens. Can he even taste spice? Can Cybertronians taste the agony of 1 million Scoville Heat Units? If he doesn't like peas I'm going to make him play Subnautica on the hardest difficulty. Then I'm going to shove him in a room full of blankets and force him to become a burrito. I also want to give Shockwave a playlist of insane youtubers doing stupid shit (micheal reeves, styropyro, nile red, electroBOOM) and lock him in a room with a bunch of microwaves and tools to see what happens. Will he be able to make a weapon of mass destruction out of microwaves? probably. Soundwave,, aur I want to put him in the same situation as Starscream but also I want to shove him into a pit of cat stuffed animals. Just a room full of a bunch of cat stuffed animals. Then make him listen to the wii theme for 10 hours interrupted by the occasional vine boom. Whirl Needs to punt carrots. If you read all of this I question your sanity and wish you have a lovely day/night ^^ - Cosmic anon too shy to use account

ohmygod

#the definition of insanity #i'll pass the message onto them cosmic anon #thanks for the kind words of hysteria #transformers #maccadam #anon #starscream #answer #digital art

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ghostismybbygorl · 2 years

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Some silly cod headcannons

Ghosty ghost

Hes got the witch doctor squishable in a keychain version and then the medium size plushie (soap gave him the keychain one)

He sometimes forgets hes wearing his baklava and ends up, taking a shower with it on. (insert im washing me and my clothes vine)

He's terrified of snakes

He loves abba and will blast dancing queen and sing to it when hes alone (soap caught him singing to it once and lets just say he ended up with a black eye and broken nose)

Hes 35

He loves the Steven king books the shining is one of his favorites

He loves romcoms but is also total psychological horror, fanatic. He absolutely hates the horror movies with jump scares because he can predict when it happens.

He owns a pair of skeleton feet socks, and wears them all the time.

he owns a whole library of dad joke books

He secretly has a Pinterest

The only social media he has is Instagram (soap made him to download it) and TikTok

watches anime with soap and gaz

Hes kinda sorta vegetarian not for a choice, he just doesnt like meat but he'll eat it if he has to.

He loves abba because it reminds him of his mom (rip ghosts mom)

Blind af he wears contacts, has prescription sunglasses, hes got a pair of these glasses only price knows about it

Carries contact solution with him everywhere

It takes alot to make him laugh but when he does he has a BOOMING LOUD laugh. It like echos through the hallways

Hates getting his photo taken but when he does he either throws up a ✌🏻, 🖕🏼, or the British version of the middle finger

He smokes american spirits

Has slight autism but masks really well

Loves Kentucky bourbon

He has a black cat named Anubis and spoils him rotten

Still a virgin

Soapy soap

Used to be a stripper (had to pay the bills somehow)

He LOVES music festivals

Bros got adhd for days hes like a whole ass ball of energy

Does the leg twitch

Hes 27

He loves dogs

This man SNORES like a motherfucker

Can play the bagpipes but he only brings them out on special occasion

Hes got a tactical kilt that price gave him as a gag gift for Christmas (he secretly loves it and wore it to training once)

Hes roman catholic

Hes got a tattoo of saint michael on his chest for protection.

His patron saint is saint michael

He crinkle his eyes when he smiles he also has a crooked smile

He used to have braces when he was younger

Hes got two little sisters ones 17 and the other is 26 that he absolutely loves and he's PROTECTIVE over them. When his youngest sister brought home her first boyfriend he was sitting on the table sharpening his knifes and told him "if you hurt my baby sister ill fuck you up"

Gym rat

Hes got ALL the social media. Him and gaz have a 300 day streak going on in snapchat. His instagrams are just pictures of him flexing at the gym and occasionally silly photos of him and his sisters. Hes got a tiktok and posts stupid videos of everyone

Hes got a photo of him in full blown drag makeup that his sister did on him

He's bisexual

He lost his virginity at 15

The scar on his chin was from his sister when they where kids. They where 11 and she pushed him causing him to fall on a rock and cut his chin open. He had to get 20 stitches

He watches romcoms with ghost

He loves to draw and he keeps a little doodle book with him at all times

Hes dyslexic

Hes Pretty messy his room is scattered with clothes

He can pop every bone in his body

He punches the air when he gets excited

Loves lizzo, doja cat, and cardi b

papa price

He has a whole collection of cigars that he buys when he travels to different countries

Has a german shepard name leo

Him and laswell are best friends and go on friend dates all the time

He got his first grey hair when he was 17 and was able to grow a beard at the age too

Everyone thinks hes in his 40's but in reality hes 37

He love to hunt and his house has taxidermy animals everywhere

He has a little brother and a older brother. His little brother is 27 and his older brother is 41

He has 2 nieces and 4 nephews (his younger brother has a girl and a boy and his older brother has 2 boys and a girl.

Hes the best damn uncle ever and he spoils the kids rotten.

He reads all the time. His favorite genre is nonfiction auto biographies

He likes to watch sci-fi movies and history documentaries

Says the most random facts ever and no one knows how get learns them

He grunts when he sits down

He has chronic knee pain and they pop when he sits or squats

He dresses like a dad in his civilian clothes gaz and soap make fun of him and joke around calling him papa price

Hes the god father of laswell's kid (she and her wife have a daughter together )

He laughs like santa clause

He shaved his bearded once and everyone thought he was a different person

He's got a baby face under the beard of his

He has a whole collection of hats

Hes gay but everyone thinks he's straight until he mentions his boyfriend

He owns a bearded dragon named roger

He gets carsick so he always has to sit in the front seat

He LOVES ted lasso and dressed up as him one Halloween

Gazzy gaz

Loves anime

Hes very shy when he first meets someone but eventually opens up and is super talkative

Smokes that schweed to help his anxiety (price caught him once but understood when he explained it to him) he only smokes when hes not on a mission

soap smokes with him

He loves the percy jackson books and binge reads them (hes read the series 6 times)

He 26

Hes a only child

His dad is from atlanta and his mom is from london

He used to do ballet when he was a kid and hes still super flexible

He travels from London to atlanta alot

He can dance really well

He Loves country music and is a huge orville peck fan. price suprised him with tickets to see him and he FLIPPED his shit.

Hes gay

He has a grey cat named totoro and a black cat named percy (his full name purrcy jackson the 2nd)

He hates broccoli with a passion

He accidentally called price dad before but, now he does it ironically

He has a collection of baseball caps

He loves baseball and american football

He often quotes vines and tiktok memes. Price will look at him like hes fucking crazy when he does a tiktok dance or quotes something

His tiktok is of him doing dances and soap likes to do it with him too

He will send the most random photos to soap on snapchat.

He loves phycological horror so he'll watch them with ghost. Soap will try to watch it with them but gets too scared.

His favorite movie is silence if the lambs and he will quote "it rubs the lotion on its skin" when he sees someone putting on lotion. That was one of the times ghost laughed. Soap was putting lotion on his skin and kyle snuck up behind him and said that quote causing soap to scream like a girl.

Thats all i got rn i'll do Alejandra rudy next if this gets likes

#ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #soap mactavish #call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fanfic #cod #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz #john mactavish #john soap mactavish #johnny mactavish #john price #captain price #price #kate laswell #headcannons

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waywardrose · 10 months

Text

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 25

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

5.3k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: We're in the endgame now! There'll probably be one or two more chapters and an epilogue after this. 🖤 I'll compile and post a masterlist for this fic soon, too!

Your heels pounded on the pavement. The pressure patch bounced against your chest. Bitter wind dried your eyes. Ash swirled in the air, creating incomprehensible patterns. It contrasted the dark wall of smoke curtaining the street ahead. You skidded to a stop.

Why were you running towards a fissure? What the hell were you thinking?

You looked over your shoulder. Eddie stepped onto the street, shirt streaked with blood. You couldn’t run in his direction. He was too fast. He’d catch you, take you to Vecna.

Shit, you’d nearly done that yourself.

A roar like a tornado boomed in front of you.

You turned to the fissure. A massive arachnoid shape moved inside the smoke. You stepped back. The blacktop surrounding the fissure cracked further, making you retreat. Vines you’d only seen through the tumbler or in visions snaked into the air.

You couldn’t fight a thing made of smoke. You couldn’t beat back the vines.

Chittering and howls echoed from the fissure, reminding you of a wolf pack. Demodogs, according to Dustin. You’d heard them months ago. The primitive part of your brain had known then they were predators.

There was nowhere to hide. Eddie had already seen you, anyway. However, you couldn’t give up.

With a scan of the street, the only practical option was an alley on your left. You raced into it. Dumpsters, blocky AC units, and dented trashcans blurred as you ran.

A wood pallet soared on your right. It hit the brick wall and exploded into shrapnel.

You shielded your face in your elbow. A board smacked your side. Pain bloomed, muscles cramped. You twisted and gasped, stumbling over shattered pieces of wood.

Eddie stood yards away. From the street, the chittering increased in volume. Your shoulder knocked into a parked box-truck. He stepped forward, relentless and silent. You cursed as you bounced into the wall.

You had to keep moving, had to keep him away from Max.

You jogged into the narrow gap between truck and wall. It was a clear shot to the next street. Unfortunately, the fissure crossed the alley on the other side. Vines slithered up the broken buildings.

To your left, police barricades spanned the street. You couldn’t go right because that would lead you to the nexus. You ran left and realized you were drawing closer to the hospital. At the next intersection, you went left again.

Humvees, camo-painted trucks, and police cruisers rolled away. Plumes of ash spun in their wake. You ran onto the street and yelled for them to stop, but an attack helicopter whooshed overhead. It charged towards the nexus. You had to get out of here. The helicopter launched one of its missiles. A great, monstrous shriek answered. You covered your ears at the cacophony. The ground shook, and you bent your knees to keep your balance. A second later, the report from a blast rattled windows.

You looked back. Eddie steadied himself on the side of a parked car less than twenty feet away. With eyes on you, he pushed off.

You murmured, “Come and get me, baby,” before sprinting down the street.

You passed the police and fire stations, squinting against the falling ash. While you could seek shelter in either place, you didn’t know what Eddie would do to those who got in his way. And you didn’t want to think of what they’d do to Eddie if they saw him.

You needed him to pursue you — and only you.

The nearest fissure cutting through the street stopped you short. Vines zigzagged over the ground. Another monstrous shriek bellowed, and it reverberated in your heaving chest. A neighborhood of older homes sat across the way. You ran between two houses, certain no one was inside — not with how close the houses stood to the fissure.

You hid behind a large oak in the backyard and leaned on the trunk. In the distance, demodogs chittered and gunfire resounded. The hit to your side made itself known as you panted for air. You pressed your palm over it. Muscles spasmed. With a grimace, you repeated the healing spell under your breath. Heat sparked under your skin. Sweat prickled above your lip and at your hairline.

It took a small eternity for the heat to dissipate. You lifted your shoulder to stretch it out. The muscles complained, but it wasn’t a stitch in your side. That was good enough.

Glancing around, it was difficult to find your bearings. You weren’t sure it mattered where you were. Your primary concern was keeping Eddie occupied until you figured out what to do.

A twig snapped.

You whipped to the side to peek around the trunk. Nothing was out of place. No sign of Eddie, either.

Shit.

Had he given up?

No, making the hunted think they were safe was a horror-movie cliché.

You weren’t safe.

You turned to face the other backyards. Still no sign of Eddie. He was hiding and watching. You felt it. He would lose patience soon enough, though.

Instead of running, like your hind brain wanted you to, you walked away from the oak. He wasn’t going to kill you. Vecna didn’t want you dead yet. You marched farther into the neighborhood, navigating fences and darting between houses.

A wooded area bordered the neighborhood. That was a prime place to play hide-and-seek with your undead, psycho-controlled puppet of a boyfriend. Jesus Christ, what was your life? You paused on the curb at the end of a cul-de-sac. The woods lay beyond the arc of houses.

A fence gate clanged before Eddie walked around the corner of a house and stopped in the front yard. He’d smeared the blood from his chin up his sharp jaw. The blood on his scrubs had oxidized to a rust brown. From this distance and through the ash-fall, his cursed eyes could be mistaken for pale ones. It didn’t suit his face. He looked best with brown sparkling eyes and flushed cheeks. He looked best smiling. He looked best when he’d been yours.

But he wasn’t yours anymore — and you didn’t know if he’d ever be again.

The edges of your vision blurred. You took a stuttering breath. There had to be a way to get him back. If Vecna could animate him, you could restore him.

You stepped onto the grass, heading for the woods. Eddie matched your pace stride for stride. At the edge of the yard where manicured turned wild, he quickened his steps.

He wasn’t toying with you any longer.

You ran, graceless and bumbling, into the woods. The real fight started now. Under the canopy of ash-covered foliage, shadows deepened. Your heart pounded rabbit-fast. Branches and twigs snagged your sleeves and hair, scratched your exposed skin. You couldn’t hear anything beyond the sound of your panting breath.

After jumping the third log, your thighs almost gave out. You staggered to a thick tree and lay against it. Your temples throbbed with your forceful heartbeat. Sweat beaded down your face.

Sudden weight pressed you against the tree. The musty scent of dried blood filled your nose. Hands grabbed your hips.

��Got you.”

You gasped and tripped sideways. Eddie held the back of your jeans until you pushed him away. He caught your forearm until you wheeled it out of his grasp. You spun and bolted deeper into the woods.

He clawed at your shirt with every step, fingers scraping down your back. You lunged to the side. Arms hooked around you before lifting you off the ground. You kicked out and writhed. He swayed with you to expel your momentum. He then brought your upper body close and dragged his sharp teeth over the side of your neck.

You stiffened, thinking of the MP he’d killed.

This couldn’t be it. Eddie wouldn’t kill you. This couldn’t be what Vecna had planned. It made no sense. You had magic, for fuck’s sake.

“No, let me go!”

“Or what?”

He didn’t even sound out of breath.

You pushed against his arms.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’d like to see you try, witch.”

You arched your back, freeing your arms, and slapped your palms on his cold forearm. You concentrated all your energy into them. The air cooled. The temperature dropped so fast, you expected to see your breath fog. You shivered as goosebumps rose along your skin. You pushed the energy as heat into him.

He howled and released you.

You landed hard and fumbled forward. The energy vanished from your hands like it’d never been there. The air heated. Your forehead ached from the quick temperature change. However, you couldn’t let that stop you. Eddie was right behind you.

After lumbering into a tree, you found your balance and pushed off. You ran with the hope it was away from the houses and fissure.

You glanced back. Eddie was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t slow to catch sight of him. Like before, you knew he followed you.

He darted out between two trees and tackled you into another. Your back struck the unyielding trunk. It knocked the breath from your lungs. He pressed his burnt forearm across your upper chest, pinning you to the tree.

You heaved for air and pushed at his elbow and wrist. His other hand went to your hip.

“You will see this through,” he said, leaning his weight on you. “It’s your responsibility.”

You shook your head. At one time, having him against you would’ve been a comfort. You would’ve wrapped your arms around him and buried your face in his neck.

He said, “We should thank you, you know. None of this would’ve happened if you hadn’t cleared the way.”

You hung your head and held onto his arm. He was right. You’d opened the proverbial door for Vecna.

“I know,” you said. “I thought I understood. I thought… I thought I could heal this place.”

He huffed.

“So arrogant.”

The corner of your mouth quirked.

“Yeah, so fucking arrogant. Just like Vecna.”

“But Source can do what you can’t.”

“Oh?” You met his colorless gaze. “Like make the world worse?” Searching his blank face, you said, “He’s going to kill everything.”

“Sometimes destruction is a means of restoration.”

“That’s not what you believe.”

“What do you know of what I believe?”

“I know you want to create.”

“I am creating — with Source.”

“I thought you wanted to create with me. You wanted to leave this town with me.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. Don’t you remember what you said on New Year’s? You said I inspire you. You want to write songs for me! You said you think about me every day!” You touched his cold cheeks. “You said you’d give me everything.” You inhaled and put weight into your words. “So, give. me. everything.”

The weight of magic overloaded your limbs. You fisted his shirt to stay upright. However, he was no stronger.

Together, you fell to the ground.

Through gritted teeth, he said, “No, I’m doing what needs to be done.”

“For who, huh? You? Me?” You bent closer, taking the risk he wouldn’t choke or bite you. “Don’t you care — about me — at all?”

You wanted to ask if he loved you anymore, but… That was too far, too much. You imagined all the venom Vecna would make him spit.

“I do this because I—” He blinked. “It has to be done.”

“Are you listening to yourself right now?”

“What?”

“He killed me. Vecna killed me. He took Max.” You motioned to your head and said, “He killed me,” before motioning to your heart.

“Then you should’ve stayed dead.”

“Well, here I am.” You threw your hands wide. “Just like you.”

“You’re pointless.” He moved in to drive his words home. “You’re a little rich girl slumming it. You have all this power, but you never make anyone’s life easier. You have it easy. You’re spoiled and entitled, and we’re glad we killed you.”

“Fuck you! He killed you, too!”

What he said couldn’t be true. That’s not what Eddie thought. Right? You weren’t… You couldn’t be… It must’ve been a ploy by Vecna to hit where it hurt. He’d pulled some doubt or negativity from your mind months ago.

“It had to be done,” Eddie said.

“And what’s he going to do when he gets what he wants, huh?”

“I…”

“Answer me! What’s he going to do to us?”

“He’ll…”

“He’ll kill us again, Eddie.”

“No, he—” He frowned, looking away. His mouth opened and closed. “No…”

“Yes!”

You grabbed his face and forced him to meet your gaze. You wouldn’t play into Vecna’s hands by abandoning Eddie. Too many people had done that already, and you refused to be another.

“Come back to me.”

He wrenched his head from your hold to hide his face.

“I can’t come back. No, I— I’m where I need to be. I’m whole here. I’m bigger than… Bigger than—”

“Come back, honey.”

He looked to the side, the corners of his mouth turned down.

“You know, I never told you how you feel to me,” you said. “What you feel like. I figured it out in Chicago. At the concert.” You followed the slope of his blood-covered jaw with your eyes. “With all those people around us, you still stood out to me. I couldn’t help but feel you… feel your warmth.” You rested your forehead on his temple and softly said, “You’ve always been a flame in the dark.”

He propped his hands on his knees, sagging.

You softly added, “He can’t make it out of the Upside Down without us. It’s you and me. It’s always been you and me.”

He pulled away to look at you.

“You and me?”

You nodded.

“However long we got.”

His face became a rictus of pain, eyes going full black. Gray veins wormed under his sallow skin. He shook and wailed. You held his shoulders to keep him upright. He coughed black liquid as his eyes flashed brown. The liquid trickled down his chin to mix with the dry blood. His eyes clouded white.

He listed right. You couldn’t steady him as his weight dropped. You cushioned his head as he fell, your mind racing. Could you use the Eradix spell now? Would it kill Eddie, too? Did you want to gamble with his life? Was the nexus open enough for any spell to get through or not? Would he hate you if you couldn’t do anything?

The whites of his eyes went red — like blood, like lightning. He flailed. The black liquid from his chin smeared your inner forearm. Blistering heat sizzled up your nerves. You pulled away with a curse and a quick draw of breath. Your skin puckered. You needed to get it off you.

The few fallen leaves crumbled in your grasp. You picked at your shirt. If the liquid burned your skin, it would probably burn through clothing. Then you’d be in the same predicament, but this time on your stomach. The only solution was scraping it off.

Leaning over, you bit your lip and dragged your throbbing forearm across the bark of the tree. It abraded the wound like sandpaper. A whine escaped your throat.

Eddie’s yowl eclipsed it. He thrashed to the side. The gray veins darkened. He retched more black liquid. It sprayed over rotting moss.

The entire forest was rotting. The leaden sky became visible as leaves drooped, black and brown and covered in ash. Even the evergreens umbered.

“Eddie,” you said, touching his sallow cheek. “Eddie, don’t leave me.”

He rolled onto his back, coughing a mix of black and red. It splattered his reviving face. The eyes that stared at you were the Bambi brown you adored. Red bloomed across his clothes in blurry slashes and discs.

“No no no no no…”

A pained, distant roar rang through the woods.

You clambered for the side-seam of your shirt. You could use the fabric to wipe the caustic liquid from his skin. Then you had to stop the bleeding. He couldn’t— Not like this. You wouldn’t let him— Not when you could make it right.

His shaking hand made its way to your face, fingers warm on your cheek.

His voice was thick when he said, “Sweetheart…”

You knew what he was going to say, the jerk.

Tearing an uneven strip from your shirt, you said, “Shut up, no.”

His eyelids fluttered and hand dropped to the ground.

“You gotta take ‘im out then.”

“You’re more important.”

He grinned, eyes half-closed and teeth red with blood.

“You flatter me.”

“Quit distracting me.”

You wiped at his chin first, then his cheeks and neck. There had to be a way to get Vecna and heal Eddie at the same time. His bloodstains grew. Time was running out.

“Far be it from…” He panted. “From me…”

“Oh my God, will you be quiet?!”

“Impossible.”

You laughed despite yourself. A sob bubbled out between breaths. Your tears landed on his top. Ignoring them, you threw the soiled fabric and pressed your palms to the biggest bloodstain on his torso. Thick, fresh blood oozed between your fingers. He winced and tensed. You told him to relax.

He breathed, “Fuckin’ bats…”

That was right, the demobats had done this. The bats that had been yours, but taken over by Vecna. They’d become part of the hivemind — and maybe you had, too, until your death. Vecna had sent them. Even if they were dead, they remained a part of him. The hivemind was a loop—

Which meant you could send back what they’d done.

Like a karma spell. What went around came around. You couldn’t recall a full spell, but you remembered enough to focus your intention.

“Stay still,” you said, settling on your calves. “Thought of something.”

He gestured he wouldn’t go anywhere.

You closed your eyes to visualize the vague, shadowy form of Vecna superimposed on Eddie.

“Three times three; Here’s what you’ve bid.” You imagined every bite and every tear pulling out of Eddie’s body. “Own what you did.” You pushed the wounds into Vecna. “Reap what you sowed; A torment you’re owed.”

Eddie twitched under your hands. He choked around broken syllables. One of his hands wrapped around your wrist.

That same pained, distant roar came again.

You met Eddie’s distressed eyes.

“It’s okay,” he croaked. “Keep—”

You nodded, shutting your eyes, and repeated the chant, putting more force behind it. He wheezed as his hold loosened. You bent over him as if to shelter him, but it was too late for that.

You said the spell again. Your fingertips dug into his flesh.

“C’mon, you fucking shit.” You repeated the spell at double speed. “Get out!”

A terrible roar vibrated the very air, resounding from every direction. The ground shuddered. Ash showered from the tree canopy. Eddie’s hand fell from your wrist.

You shoved his shirt up. Your bloody fingerprints joined the blood-rimed scars littering his stomach. Despite the healing, his chest stayed unnaturally still.

If he was healed, why didn’t his chest move?

“Eddie?” You tapped his cheek and put a finger under his nose to check for breath. “Eddie?”

When he didn’t respond, and you couldn’t feel him exhale, you rose onto your knees. You hadn’t cast spell after spell, cried pitchers of tears, and literally died to lose him like this.

Those CPR lessons from middle school had better pay off, you thought as you got into position.

You layered your hands at the center of his chest, hoping you weren’t making a mistake. You used your weight to compress his chest in a fast rhythm. After a few seconds, you tilted his chin back, sealed your lips over his, and breathed air into his lungs.

Cycling through compressions and breathing, you began silently bargaining. If he lived, you’d give up anything — Djarums, wearing black, spellwork. If he lived, you’d do anything — tell your parents about you being a witch, volunteer at an old-folks home, bless every person you interacted with. Anything. Anything to get him back. Whatever higher power out there told you to do, you’d do it.

You puffed into his lungs once, twice. You begged him to breathe. He convulsed, feet kicking the dead leaves. You cried out in relief before resting your forehead on his shoulder. His head flopped to the side as he coughed and sputtered.

His voice was thready as he said, “Ow.”

You straightened and held his cheek. He didn’t pull away from your touch or stiffen, but something in his body language shifted. Like you made him uncomfortable, and he didn’t want you to know you made him uncomfortable.

“Can you breathe okay?” you asked, withdrawing your hand from his cheek. “Any sharp pain?”

“No, just… just sore.”

You nodded, gnawing on your lip, and rubbed your dirty palms on your thighs.

He asked, “Vecna’s alive, isn’t he?”

You nodded again.

With your left eye still cursed, you had to assume so. You’d failed. Sure, you’d injured him. Maybe that would work in El’s favor. Maybe that would be enough.

You glanced at Eddie. He lay in the dead leaves, scrubs bloody and morgue tag around his toe.

Injuring Vecna wasn’t enough. Leaving it to El wasn’t enough.

“I think I can kill him.”

Eddie strained onto an elbow. You reached for him, then stopped short. You didn’t want to make him uneasy. He closed his eyes as he breathed through obvious discomfort.

He asked, “What do you need?” before opening his eyes.

“Nothing.” You swallowed. “I just need to concentrate.”

In the meantime, ash had ceased falling through the withering trees. Chittering from the demodogs had quieted as well. You took that for a good sign. It was time to hit Vecna while he was down.

However, if using magic made Eddie uncomfortable, you wouldn’t do it in front of him.

“Rest here,” you said and scooted back on your knees.

Your gut twisted and muscles quivered. The back of your neck twinged.

“Where—”

“I’ll be over there.” At random, you pointed to your right. “It won’t take long.”

You stood on flimsy legs. The woods spun and became fuzzy. The ground tilted. You caught yourself on aching, tired arms as you collapsed to the side.

Eddie said, “Don’t—”

“No,” you said. “I can do this.”

You shook yourself alert before attempting to stand again. This time, you rose by degrees. Your knees still wobbled, and your fatigued thighs complained, but you stood. You couldn’t give up. Vecna still lived.

Eddie said your name like a question.

You assured him it would be alright. Then, taking deliberate, deep breaths, you heel-toed it to a tree a few yards away. After rounding the trunk, you slumped. The bark caught on your shirtsleeve and flecked away in brittle pieces.

You sank to your knees, skeptical of your ability to stand again. That doubt hardly deterred you. If Vecna died after this spell, you’d sleep off the exhaustion here.

You leaned your shoulder on the trunk and closed your eyes. Even though you had no idea what Vecna looked like, you knew his energy. You threw a silent prayer out to guide the Eradix spell. No one else should be harmed.

Enough people had suffered because of Vecna.

You bowed your head and fisted your hands. “Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma,” flowed from your lips without thought. Thunder boomed nearby. You repeated the incantation, thinking of an arrow nocked. Again, you repeated it. You loosed the arrow. It blazed through the air, its tip glinting sharp and true.

You wet your lips, tasting steel. Each word of the incantation rocked you forward. Your arrow glided through smoke and lightning, a cage of lies, a temple to misery. Dark secrets yielded like the earth to a shovel.

Clouded eyes widened when the arrow struck.

Vines like veins burst to hemorrhage inky bile. It flooded the blood-soaked land in a torrent of black. The red sky turned gray. Screams, mighty and meek, crashed across realities. Pillars housing relics of despair crumbled.

Countless hands rose from the inhospitable depths to flay burnt, corrupted flesh. They whispered his name; your incantation beneath. He attempted to drive them away, but the dead were relentless. They didn’t know pain or exhaustion. There was no torment he could show them to make them cower.

They pulled at his neck, his scalp, his open mouth. He gurgled and choked on decades of his own creation. Pieces of him disintegrated, leaving swirls of gray in the ichor’s black mirror.

The dead dragged him under at last. Then there was silence, like the brief hush after a long exhale.

His inner world fragmented with a bellow of thunder. The last beat of his desiccated heart. Fragments became slices became scraps became splinters became particles — until there was nothing.

Not even your arrow remained.

Cool droplets landed in your hair, slunk down your forehead. You opened your eyes to a murky woodland. Raindrops trickled over trembling leaves. You blinked before bringing your fingers in front of your left eye. You could see them.

The curse had been lifted. Vecna was dead. Was Max awake? There was no reason to think she wasn’t.

With a grin, you called, “Eddie?” and spread your hands on the damp soil.

Only the peaceful tip-tap of drizzle answered.

“Eddie, are you there?”

Using the trunk for balance, you stood. Your rubbery legs held your weight, but you wouldn’t trust them to run a marathon any time soon. You held onto the trunk and inched around it.

Eddie was gone. The used strip of your shirt lay amongst the leaves as evidence he’d been there.

You left the safety of the tree, heading to where you’d left him. You examined the ground to determine where he’d gone, because you couldn’t linger while a storm gathered. Trampled leaves offered some direction. You followed the trail, yet the surrounding woods remained unfamiliar. Of course, you reasoned, you hadn’t exactly been surveying the land as you ran from him.

Step by aching step, minute after barren minute, your heartbeat sped. Your chest constricted. He wouldn’t abandon you. Your shirt dampened with chilly rain and new sweat. He wasn’t callous. The trees all looked alike. You assured yourself you weren’t walking in circles.

Ahead, leaves crunched in uneven strikes. Like tottering footsteps. You opened your mouth to call for Eddie, but you stopped short. That could be anyone. You huddled behind the nearest tree. They could be a soldier or a lone vigilante or an injured demo-creature.

Lord, you hoped it wasn’t a demo-creature.

You put a hand over your mouth and nose to muffle your breathing. Footsteps shuffled past. You stole a quick look, recognizing the dark hair and green scrubs. You slumped and caught yourself before you fell.

“Eddie?”

He spun to face you and winced.

“Hey, I—” He bounced on one foot. “Goddammit…”

He bent and did something at ground-level the leaves obscured. You stood and eased from your hiding spot. He staggered before crowing. He sounded like his old self, which made you smile.

He straightened, holding the morgue tag aloft.

“Fucking thing’s annoying.”

“I bet.” You wiped water from your forehead with the back of your hand. “Where’d you go?”

“Found us a ride.”

“My car’s parked at the hospital.”

“We’ll get it later.” He approached you, tucking the tag in the shirt’s breast-pocket, and held out his hand. “C’mon, our chariot awaits.”

You dried your palms on the sides of your jeans.

“Are you sure?”

He frowned, his hand dropping to the side.

“Sure about what?”

“That you want me touching you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Before… After I…” You sighed and shook your head, too tired to explain. “Nevermind.”

“Hey,” he said, drawing near to cup your cheek with a trembling hand. “We’re—uh… We’re good, alright? I’m… good.”

You put your hand over his and leaned into his touch.

“Me too.” You gave him a wry look. “Under the circumstances.”

He grinned.

“Yeah, your eyes are the same color now.”

You returned the grin.

“Yeah, you’re breathing.”

His grin widened.

“What a pair we make.”

He extracted his hand and offered it for you to take. You curled your hand around his palm. His fingers tightened. That certain touch was enough to keep you going, though neither of you could walk at a brisk pace.

“Sorry if I freaked you out by disappearing back there,” he said as he picked his way through the underbrush. “I wasn’t leaving-leaving, but I knew it was safe. I… I knew you were safe.”

You squeezed his hand in affection before offering your socks to protect his feet. He refused, albeit kindly, explaining he didn’t want to stick around long enough to put them on.

“Are there demo-whatevers out there?” you asked.

“Dead ones.”

“Holy shit.”

“It’s a goddamn mess, but the truck can handle it.”

“Truck?”

“Unlocked. Looked like the owner left in a hurry.”

You didn’t blame them.

He asked, “Where do you want to go?”

With a sigh, you mentally deliberated. Your house was across town. Or at least, you thought it was. His might be closer, but there’d been a gate in its ceiling. No doubt that had turned into the start of a fissure. So that was out. Getting your car from the hospital meant driving close to the nexus — and the heart of the battle.

The underbrush yielded to a carpet of mown grass. Eddie rubbed his feet on it, muttered how much nicer it’d been when he hadn’t felt pain.

The cloudy sky was just a cloudy sky that promised steady rain. The tower of smoke from the nexus had vanished. You’d never experience this level of stillness and quiet. No whoosh of cars, no conversations, no television or radio, no pet noises, no chirping birds. It was like you and Eddie were the last people in Hawkins.

Even so, Eddie hadn’t joked when he said the street was a mess. Demo-creature bodies littered the pavement and yards. Some shaped like canines, others like spindly humanoids, but all their petaled mouths and clawed hands lay limp and bloody.

You whispered, “Holy shit.”

This was what the predators you’d heard months ago looked like. The lamprey-like tooth on your necklace came from them.

The rain started coming faster.

Eddie gave your hand a gentle tug.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

You nodded, letting him lead you across yards, through rusting gates, and around painted sheds. He guided you to the passenger side of a maroon-and-white pickup truck parked in front of a detached garage. The worn interior smelled dusty, but you cracked the window as Eddie slid behind the steering wheel.

He unclipped the steering column and pulled a socket of wires loose. From the bundle, he chose two wires and yanked them from the socket. Using his shirt hem as insulation, he twisted the wires together. The dash lights and radio lit. Static gushed from the speakers. You turned the volume knob until the radio clicked off. He nodded in thanks and pulled another wire loose to graze it with the twisted wires.

Sparks blinked across the exposed metal.

The engine rumbled to life. You hooted in delight and drummed on the dashboard. Eddie beamed at you, revving the engine.

He gave the locked steering wheel a good heave. Metal pinged from inside the steering column. He turned on the windshield wipers and shifted the truck into Reverse.

“Where to, my lady?”

“Well, I’ve been staying at Steve’s, so…”

With a sly look, he asked, “Is there something you wish to tell me?” His eyes widened. “Have I been replaced?”

You chortled.

“It’s not like that.” You poked his upper arm. “I’ll explain on the way there.”

Radicitus scindo, vlaen forma = (butchered latin and dutch) By the roots I tear, to flay the body

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson #stranger things #em tagd #waywardrose writes

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