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asumofwords · 1 year

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Smoke, Fire and Ash

Warnings: This fic includes noncon, dubcon, manipulation, violence and inc3st. Tags will be added as the fic goes on.

This is a dark!fic. 18+ only. Read at your own discretion. Please read the warnings before continuing.

Summary: You are the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen. You are forced to navigate the difficult surroundings of your upbringing and the eventual disintegration between your family and the Hightower's relationship. What will happen when your older and estranged uncle suddenly takes a more sinister interest in you? (Dark!Aemond x Reader)

Characters: Aemond Targaryen X Reader, HOTD characters.

Note:

Chapter 10: Spool of green, spool of black.

Helaena did not tell you why your uncle had asked after you, and you spent the rest of your day pondering his intentions. You knew that if he truly wished to know of your wellbeing, there was nothing stopping him from breaking into your chambers again.

Your feet, although for the most part healed, were still sensitive to walk upon, though it was now a more manageable pain rather than the excruciating agony before.

The large gashes were now shallow wounds that no longer split with every step, or seeped blood into your bandages. The smaller cuts were now shiny pink scars, raised on the delicate flesh of your soles when your brushed you hands against them.

Your day was spent like most others, lounging in your chambers, reading, pacing and imagining the sweet images of the Hightowers demise. You found that the days spent in your chambers had made you grown more bitter and resentful of them.

How much longer would you hide away in your chambers? How much longer would you cower? Are you not the blood of the mighty House Targaryen? Are not not the blood of Old Valyria? You paced as you worked yourself up.

Approaching your door, you asked the Knight of the Kings Guard stationed outside to summon the maids to prepare for you for dinner. No more hiding, you chastised yourself.

Once Aella arrived first, you asked her to send word to your mother and father that you would be joining them to sup for the evening and not soon after, Saria arrived to tidy your appearance, re-braiding your hair and helping you to put your shoes on.

The sun's last rays shone through your window, casting a soft warmth into your chambers. The fire was lit and crackled softly into the room. The air felt cool on your skin, and you were thankful for the long sleeved gown.

As Saria and Aella began to tidy your room, you dismissed them, asking for them to be back in your chambers later in the evening to ready you for bed.

Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon's chambers were not far from yours, sitting in the same wing of the Red Keep as you. As you walked you thought of the chambers. You had grown up in them and spent much of your time there. You wondered if Alicent had changed them to spite your mother or if it would be untouched like yours.

Once you arrived, your mothers knight announced your arrival to the room as you entered. As you looked about, you noticed the room was the same as before, unchanged by time or petty grievances, and was still how you remembered it as a child.

The furnishings were worn, deep reds, yellows and oranges adorning the decor. A large fireplace sat in the front of the room, its fire crackling loudly into the space, flames licking at the wood inside.

The windows and balcony were all open, letting a cool breeze pass through the room, the white curtains blowing softly with each caress of the wind.

The chambers layout was similar to yours. Sitting room at the fire, chaise and armchairs with a small table sat in front of the heat, an intimate dining table further back into the space, then towards the very end of the room was the bed, large closets on each side and towering art upon all the walls.

Your mother was sitting on a chaise, Joffrey on her lap whilst young Aegon III and Viserys II silver hair shone on the floor. Both of your younger brothers seemed to have fallen asleep whilst your mother had been reading to them.

Looking up at you, Rhaenyra gave you a wide and warm smile. Gently she placed Joffrey next to her and stood, walking towards you to hold you in her arms.

“My sweet girl, how are you fairing?” She asked, holding you at arms length looking you up and down, gently leaning in to kiss your cheek thrice.

“Far better than I was before, I found I've spent most of my days sleeping.” You kissed her cheeks as she began to slowly walk you over to the chaise.

Two of your mothers maids walked into the chambers and Rhaenyra asked them to put your younger brothers to bed in the conjoined room.

Scooping the two sleeping babes, the maids quietly walked them to their bedroom, whilst Joffrey kissed your mother goodnight and gave you a rough hug. Joffrey had always been a little shy, but his love for his family was shown in his actions rather than words.

“Come sit, there is much to discuss.” You mother spoke, patting the spot beside her.

“Prince Daemon should be here soon. He has been hovering around the King all day.” She chuckled, sitting gently against the plush pillows pulling you to sit next to her.

“I know Grandsire has missed father, you could see his eyes light up when the Prince entered the room. For all their faults, their bond is unbreakable.” You spoke gently. You knew the tension between the King and the Rogue Prince has been a long one, but deep down, they both loved each other dearly.

You observed your mother. Her dress was a deep black this evening, with yellow embroidery on the sleeves and hems. Her hair was more relaxed today than her usual tight braids, instead opting to have it flow down her shoulder with two simple braids pulling some hair to the back.

“Yes, well, faults not of our own….” She trailed off, thinking before continuing, “It is strange to be home at the Red Keep," She paused, "I am not even sure I can call it that anymore. Everything has changed. A once warm Keep is now cold. Even the air around us has changed.”

“My chambers have not changed too much, it has been kept mostly the same. I was expecting to enter and have the entire walls and ceiling painted green for my enjoyment.” You sarcastically hummed.

“I would like to think that it was the Queen's kindness that left our little pieces of home the same, but I feel as though it was most likely done out of cowardice, or lack of care.” Shaking her head your mother looked at you a bit more seriously, deeply sighing at you.

“How are your feet?” She asked, voice unwavering and stern.

“My feet? Mother, th-" Your heart started to race in your chest.

“Do you think I am stupid?” She interrupted gently, her head cocked to the side.

“Of course not mother, I am j-“

“I know my daughter, and I can see when she is hurt. Although the Greens may not have caught on at breakfast, I certainly did. Then to have Jacaerys come to me concerned...” She trailed off, shaking her head before she reached forward, placing a gentle hand on your knee looking at you.

“You cannot lie to me. I did not come to you sooner as Jacaerys swore to me it was not serious.” She gave a soft smile, “Tell me this, was it Aemond who harmed you?” Tone serious again.

“No, of course not mother.” You lied, “He is nothing but empty threats. I broke a glass, and cut my feet the evening of our dinner. I had far too much wine, and was likely in the same state as Aegon.”

Your explanation was stiff and felt rehearsed, “I promise you mother, he did not touch a hair on my head, lest he feel the wrath of father.” You smiled.

“He should be more worried about me rather than his uncle Daemon. You however, would do best to avoid your uncle.”

“I have been in my room for days, mother, I am not seeking him out.” You argued, your patience waned.

“Yes, but much like your father, you do goad him. Do not poke the beast my sweet, lest you feel his fangs. I suspect Alicent is still holding onto some twisted notion of justice for his eye.”

“I thought I saw that you were both trying to make amends?” You steered the conversation away from Aemond.

“I will admit, I have missed how we used to be when we were younger, but she is not the same girl. I fear the Hightower’s carry blood that is easily tainted.”

Clearly wishing to change the conversation, you steered away from talks of the Queen and her son. You asked her how your siblings have been without you, and if she had been on dragon back around the Red Keep. She insisted you take Lucerys out to fly with Sȳndor, and you swore that you would.

Your father joined you shortly after, not announcing himself as he snuck into the room through the back of a painting near your mothers bed. You nearly shrieked when you heard him behind you.

People would often say that your father moved like smoke, quietly, quickly and then gone without a trace.

Prince Daemon placed a soft kiss atop your head, murmuring 'daughter', before coming to kiss your mothers face. The Rogue Prince continued on, walking to the dining table where he poured himself a large goblet of wine, gazing at you both as he sipped deeply before pouring another, handing it to you.

“Prince Jacaerys has been hysterical these past days without you y/n.” He drawled, gracefully sitting in a large red armchair opposite the chaise you and your mother sat.

“With the way he behaved, one would think that something terrible had happened.” He raised one brow at you and sipped at his goblet, “Dont tell me my drunken cunt of a nephew has been harassing your chambers?”

Your mother snorted. Shaking your head he continued,

“No? Then what about the one eyed wretch?”

Shaking your head once more you spoke “Neither father, Jacaerys is just overly protective.”

He hummed, speaking as though he was almost uninterested, “Regardless of what your uncles did or didn't do, my brother has been complacent, letting them grow into whining cunts like their mother. Aegon is a coward, but Aemond is emboldened in his treason knowing he has that green cunt of a whore standing behind him, whilst she feeds my brother full of milk of the poppy."

You stiffen. Daemon paused, took an angry sip of his wine, then continued, "Put that boy in his place, or take his other eye.”

“Daemon.” Your mother growled.

Your father held one hand up in surrender, changing the subject to tell you both of how the King's health continued to deteriorate.

“I would not be surprised if the Hightower cunts are slowly poisoning him.”

“That would be treason.” You suggested.

“Indeed, but never have I witnessed my brother so weak of mind and body. They keep him complacent on the Milk of the Poppy, making decisions for him, ruling the Kingdoms in his name.”

You sniffed. You had been given milk of the poppy every evening. Did the Hightower's know? Were they keeping you complacent? Was this Aemond showing his hand? You knew from that moment on, you would refuse milk of the poppy, lest you become like the King.

“Have you been rotting in your chambers all this time Princess?”

You give your father a dirty look, “I have been ill.”

He huffs out a small laugh. He sees straight through you.

“So you say, but Sȳndor has missed you greatly. His temper has been almost unmanageable,” A beat, “quite like yours.” He added teasing you.

“Oh, and I am sure it is not from seeing your great, ugly face, hovering around him daily, father.” You teased back.

You knew the Prince had a deep love for Sȳndor, much like his love for you. Your father would have been checking him daily whilst you were healing.

Putting a hand on his chest, “You wound me daughter, after all I have done for you. Perhaps I will marry you off.”

“You two are insufferable.” Your mother added.

Maids began to bring in your dinner and you all went to be seated. You three sat and ate, speaking lazily of the day's events, your parents catching you up on the days passed.

Your father asked you to join him in the future to read in the library. There were many books you had no access to read for years, and you both planned to do some revision. Your father asked about your mother and Alicent spending time together.

“And what of Alicent? You two have been cozy as of late.” Your father mocked, swirling his cup, and brushing silver strands behind his ears. “Anyone would think that you have made amends.”

“We have not made amends,” She spoke in exacerbation, “but I can see that she is trying… In her own way. Only a fool would continue to irk her and her kin,” she sharply looked to you, then back to your father,

“She has my father wrapped around her finger.”

“Yes well, it’s unfortunate that it’s not the finger on the arm that he lost.” Daemon replied, his sarcasm ever present, despite all knowing the grief he has seeing his brother so ill.

“Do not jest. We all know that the whispers at court come from her. That she is not so secretive of her disdain for us. They all still question our sons' blood. She still declares war on us daily! Do you not see the castle is donned in Hightower Greens instead of Targaryen Red?” And for the first time in your life, your mother looked nervous.

“I fear she may question Jace, Luc and Joffrey's legitimacy. Even yours y/n. Aegon and Aemond openly call them bastards because their Dowager Queen mother does. This is something we should all be concerned about.”

“My Lady Wife, as long as there is still air in my lungs, and blood in my veins, no harm will come to you or our children. As useless as he is now, my brother will not allow those righteous cunts to question anything. We are safe.”

“For now.” Your mother says grimly. “That is why I must stay close to the Queen, attempt to mend what has been broken. I see no other way.”

“Then it must be done, by any means.” Your father added, eyes sliding over to you.

Thanks so much for reading along with me, if you wish to be added to the tag list please let me know :) Likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated ! Enjoy <3

Tag List:

@izzicle @ej-shitchats @may-machin @alegria1580 @witchy-jadda @videovampire @inkdelicious @queteimporta39

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bullet-prooflove · 25 days

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For Remy Scott FBI Most wanted request please

No. 30 - We cry tears of mascara in the bathroom

TIA

Companion piece to:

Interruptions (NSFW) - Remy hates being interrupted.

Million Reasons - Remy realises he can't give you what you deserve.

When Remy learns the truth about his brother Michael it breaks his heart. He thinks he feels it literally fracture in his chest. He picks up his phone to call you but then he remembers…

He broke up with you last month. He hasn’t spoken to you in weeks.

That agony in his chest, it stabs at him all over again because you are the one person he would go to with this kind of thing, the only person he trusts to talk out his thoughts and his feelings.

He’s in the bathroom when the tears come, in the shower with his eyes closed. All he can think about is the time that’s been wasted, that poor man in prison wasting away from cancer, dying before he can see his exoneration. Remy had been cruel to him at their last meeting, he things he’d said…

He can never take those back.

You’re waiting for him in the kitchen when he steps out of the bathroom, dressed in soft navy blue robe. You push a freshly made cup of tea towards him and something inside of him just aches so God damn badly. Despite the fact he’s ended things, despite the fact he’s hurt you you’re still here checking in on him.

“I heard about Michael, about his case.” You say softly. “I wanted to make sure you’re ok?”

“No.” He says quietly, his voice breaking a little. “I’m not.”

“Can I…” You trail off before clearing your throat and starting again. “Can I hug you?”

“Please.” He whispers because he needs to feel something other than this anguish, this guilt that dogs his soul. “I just need to know that there’s someone that gives a shit right now.”

Your arms wrap around him, holding him close and he buries his face into the curve of your throat because you, you’ve always been his shelter from the storm, you’re the person he feels safe with, the one he trusts to always have his back.

“I’ve got you.” You tell him, your lips brushing over his hairline. “I promise you, I do.”

Big Fan of Remy?! Get added to his tag list!

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

Tagging: @kmc1989 @whateversomethingbruh @skyesthebomb @@narcoticluke20 @bubblesmaketheworldgoround-blog @luannysousa @ratcatcher2world @scorpio-1357 @madvic08 @littleone65 @@ipromiseidk @secretsquirrelinc @atomic-art-dragon @keyweegirlie @readingislife @anime-weeb-4-life @yezzyyae @kj77@xmjthewitchx @@kieravanrenvie @yannekees @sca3a @ohhsheet-blog-blog@mrsrusso11 @too-strong-to-lose @@mah2101 @@crazymads1 @jeje1414 @@amylou0456 @goldengypsy7 @@yv84452 @@alannahhex @hopeonfire @@alixw22x @delightfull999 @evee87 @hearthockey @hellokitty71976 @@englishchic39 @gemstone-roses @satansfaviorite666 @glimmerglittergirl @foster-kirstyrose04 @sierravansoffthewalls @spookyboogyuniverse @thebeckyjolene @86laura11 @rosaliedepp @buckysteveloki-me

#remy scott #remy scott x reader #remy scott x you #fbi most wanted

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nonbinaryaubrey · 1 year

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pretty muuch everyone in the cast has some minor inconsistencies between their artbook cover artwork, ingame art work, and sprites. (this is INCREDIBLY nitpicky i do not care thaat much.. but still. wanna point it out. also i am DEFINITELY missing things i am not going too in depth here i am soo eepy)

some small examples:

sunny:

in sunny's official artwork, and all of his in game artwork, his vest is completely black, the only time this isnt consistent is in his actual pixel sprite

Omori:

he has a preeetty simple design? so his never gets too inconsistent. but at times his sock length are changed.

(socks higher up)

(socks lower than the knees)

Kel:

Obviously, DW!Kels shirt changes constantly between artworks. cant even be annoyed at this one that shirt looks like agony to draw, altho his sprite loses the more pastel coloration.. altho i think this is just kind of a consistent thing with the dw sprites, so i wont point it out much with them.

RW Kel doesnt have.. anything suuuper noticeable ?as far as i can tell. but his sprite and actual artwork definitely have.. inconsistencies (skin tone, along with the stripe on his pants)

Aubrey:

DW Aubrey doesnt have anything suuper inconsistent i believe? so i wont bring her up. and we have already talked about RW Aubrey. her outfit is. WILLDLY inconsistent between artworks, even in the game itself. (im NOT getting into other official artworks here but . her shoes too i believe tend to not stick too one design)

Hero:

for DW Hero, just inconsistencies with the stripe thickness, the collar part of his pajamas, and.. whatever the part near the hands are called being either solid white, solid blue, or striped

for RW Hero.. oh boy. His shirt collar

Official artwork (and tag photos) it looks like this ^

in his talk sprite, its still a vneck but with a white stripe

when he saves you from drowning, it looks like this

even his pixel sprites have inconsistencies between eachother

(normal)

(hospital)

good fucking lord man .!!!

Mari:

not too much with her actually!! main thing is. inconsistencies with her having shoes or not. (if u want a bit in non-in game comparisons, some official art has her dw self wearing socks when in game i dont think shes ever shown wearing them?)

Basil:

and to end it all off, lets move onto Basil. !!!

(going to point this out first, in a LOT of both RW in DW Basil's actual artwork, he has 2 little tufts of hair at the top of his head, but in both his talk sprites and overworld sprites, its missing)

for DW Basil there is.. 2 things i think?

1: the flower crown. it varies.. a LOT between artwork. kind of obvious.

aaand. 2. his shirt . in most artwork ^ like shown above, it has a rounded tshirt neck. but in one specific artwork, it shows it being a collared shirt with a button

for RW Basil.. i dont think theres much?

kiiind of the same issue as sunny? tho less obvious ig. his shirt is shown as dark green in the official artwork, but as a muuch lighter green in the sprite.

also in his battle sprite, he loses that... little part between the vest and the collar of his shirt? idk what to call it.

i beliiieeeve thats.. it for them all? i think i am missing things apologies .but i dont feel like looking thru the wiki anymore . and i have no space left for imgs pretty much

#sorry for weird format for some images. it was because image limit #omori #<- I GET TO MAINTAG IT THIS TOOK FOREVER TO WRITE OUT #aubrey.txt #omori spoilers

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skyloftian-nutcase · 1 year

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Final Hour (Linked Universe fanfic)

(@artisticgamer, @ludoluck sorry I keep forgetting to tag you guys for my writing)

Inspired by @kikker-oma's amazing Fierce Deity art. Love your talent and your creativity, Oma! <3

Summary: When everything goes horribly wrong, Time desperately attempts everything in his power to fix it. Wind instead chooses to be the self sacrificing Hero, but the end result isn't what Time expected it to be.

(AO3 link)

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Zelda standing in front of him, sad and beautiful and aged beyond her years, just like him. He saw her morose smile, the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, her steady resolve despite it all. He saw her play the ocarina as she grew ever smaller and farther away while his hand reached out desperately for her.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw her. He saw Malon smiling sweetly at him, bright and beautiful and innocent, like how he used to be. He saw the freckles on her cheeks pull as she giggled and called him by that nickname she’d made up a lifetime ago. He saw her eyes grow fierce with a desire for adventure as she worked with an unruly mare. He saw her twirl as they danced together.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw Anju and Kafei’s love and desperation and acceptance in their eyes as they held each other, as she said they’d greet the morning together while his hand held hers in a white knuckled grip. He saw them tremble as he turned and ran outside.

The clocktower tolled.

He saw them. He saw the Heroes of Hyrule, how they were all young, experienced, hurt, filled with power and hope and light. He saw how they emanated a strength that couldn’t be quantified, an inherent resolve and determination to their core that shone through and resonated between each and every one of them, a shared bond and unbreakable spirit. He saw their uniqueness, their wonder, their gifts and quirks.

And he saw them fall, one by one.

The clocktower tolled.

They’d been wounded. They’d been weak. They’d just fought multiple hordes and had been desperately trying to get to the nearest village. They’d known it hadn’t been far, from the forest they could hear the bells of a clocktower in a nearby town.

There had been a split in the path. Time had chosen the route.

The clocktower tolled.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. It couldn’t happen.

The black blooded dragon roared again, held at bay by the few still standing. He heard a scream, and a body collapse on the ground. He couldn’t even tell who was still standing anymore; he’d been one of the last to fall. Nearly everyone had stilled, no longer writhing in agony or sheer force of will.

Except for Wind.

The sailor groaned as he desperately crawled forward, reaching above Time, whose hand was overhead as he’d been grabbing desperately at one of his items when he fell, as he’d been willing to throw his life, sanity, everything away in a frantic attempt to fix this.

The wooden mask barely was within his grasp, propped by a finger.

Despite the severity of the situation, despite the cold silence of his companions, despite the clocktower ringing in his ears, a reminder of time after time of facing death and life and everything in between as his entire journey flashed before his eyes, he wanted to save Wind from this. The mask was too dangerous for anyone else. What good would such a victory do if the child was lost to the darkness?

“Please, Wind… no.”

He had other methods he could call on.

He had other items he could use.

The Hero of Time was nothing if not relentless. He never gave up. Never. Not even now, not even when he was bleeding to death, when the world around him blurred and dulled, when his mind was screaming and running into the past rather than focusing on the present. Not even now. He’d spent a lifetime perfecting three days over and over and over until he could get everything right and save everyone. He refused to let this be any different.

“You said…” Wind pleaded desperately, his voice trembling, tears and blood and phlegm rolling down his face from what little of it Time could see. With a hiccup, he continued, “You said it’s for emergencies, right? It’s okay, I’ll save you!”

I’ll save you. A last, desperate, pleading promise. The others couldn’t be saved, but Time was still here.

Time’s hands fumbled around his belt, desperately searching for the item he needed.

The clocktower tolled. The dragon roared again, any obstacle between it and the last pair of heroes long gone.

The mask slipped from Time’s finger, a rough disappearance as if it had been pulled.

“Sailor,” he tried again, his voice barely above a whisper, his world spinning and fading fast. He had to move.

Wind screamed.

The noise jolted Time out of his stupor, adrenaline feebly trying to awaken what little life essence he had left in him. He had enough energy to look up and see a figure towering over him where Wind originally had been crawling.

The monster bore Wind’s curls, bleached white. It bore Time’s armor, with a decorative fairy pendant dangling in the breeze as it stood stock still. Wind’s face was older, chiseled, once-chubby cheeks pulled taught over cheekbones that shouldn’t be so developed. Its eyes glowed, contrasting the purple and blue markings that cut across its face.

The Fierce Deity.

Time let out a desperate breath, unable to speak anymore, and watched helplessly as the cursed mask made Wind’s possessed body march across the field towards the dragon that awaited him. He couldn’t see the fight, but he could hear it. He heard the grunts, deeper than they should be, the fierce battle cries, the screeches from the dragon as its opponent landed cut after cut. He breathed hastily, feeling his heart quicken, feeling his body begin to grow numb, and he again searched desperately on his belt for the one thing that could change everything.

Warriors was gone. Sky was gone. Four was gone. Legend was gone. Hyrule was gone. Wild was gone.

Twilight was gone.

Time was going to be damned if he would let Wind fall in the worst way possible.

The clocktower tolled.

The dragon screamed, and the earth shook.

And then everything grew silent.

Time gasped for air, trying to raise his head, wanting to call for the young sailor, for the brightest ray of sunshine in the group, for the one last surviving member.

He couldn’t move.

So this is how I meet death? He wondered. On the verge of tears, an utter failure to all who depended on me?

He remembered the people of Termina. He remembered how they all faced death in their own ways. He thought of Cremia and Romani, of Anju and Kafei.

Goddesses. He missed Malon so desperately right now.

Heavy footsteps approached him, and he blinked, the world coming back into focus long enough for his body to scream that he couldn’t take any more of this. A blurry image hovered over him, and he squinted, confused, until his mind registered who he was staring at, and his hands finally found the item they’d been searching for.

The Fierce Deity knelt down slowly, eyes fixed on him. When his knees sank into the ground, he reached slowly, sliding a hand behind Time and pulling him into a seated position. Time cried out in pain with the motion, and the cursed deity paused only a moment before reaching his other hand towards the Hero of Time’s fumbling hands, pulling the ocarina from their grasp. Time tried to protest, tried to fight against his possessed successor’s hold, but he was too weak to do anything. Then amethyst rose into his periphery, and he looked down to see the Ocarina of Time hovering in front of his lips.

“Play, Link,” the Fierce Deity said, Wind’s higher voice pitched into a deeper timber and holding power and energy the boy didn’t usually possess. “Save them, as you always do.”

Time stared at the deity, his fears and thoughts stolen away. The pair was frozen for a moment, the world pausing around them, time itself holding its breath in anticipation. A gentleness fell over the cursed deity’s face, and Time felt the thumb behind his back caress him once, ever so softly. Understanding slid between the two, a heavy, bone deep realization that dug into Time’s mind more than he could fathom in the moment, a certainty and safety and assurance and comfort that he'd somehow always felt but always ignored. He let out a shaky exhale and, with trembling hands, took the ocarina from the Fierce Deity.

And he played.

The world turned white.

Time felt warmth engulf him, like an embrace from tender arms. Magic sparkled inside his mind and heart, a familiar friend, singing and resonating with his song like fairies humming together, a melody entwined in mystery and grace. His horizon shifted, and he was on his feet, set there gently as if floating through the air. The warmth spread from his core to his extremities, the numbness in his fingers dissipating, the stabbing pain of his own armor piercing his gut dulling into nothingness. The blood on him washed away with invisible waters, and an airless breeze blew the dirt off his body. He continued to play, the melody growing steadier as his strength returned, his determination steeling him, tightening his weakened muscles and bringing an assurance that he hadn’t felt since Termina.

Save them, as you always do.

Oh, the countless times he’d played this hymn, this spell, this prayer. Oh, the countless times he’d clung to it desperately as he tried again, the numerous times he’d played it in tears at his failure, the many times he’d nearly belted it in fortitude as he prepared with renewed hope and a plan in place.

Save them, Link.

“Really, old man? You’re playing your ocarina right now? We have wounded, we need to get moving.”

Time’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Legend’s voice.

They were all there, tired and hurt but alive. Sky was leaning against Hyrule, eyes half closed but body stiff with stubbornness, while Hyrule held him with a fierce protectiveness. Legend was watching him impatiently, scraped and bruised but relatively unharmed and clearly anxious to get help for the others. Four and Warriors were bringing up the rear, watching everyone’s backs and growing ever more confused by the turn of events. Wind hovered with some distress between Sky and Wild, who was the other most injured member of the group, though the champion was well looked after in Twilight’s hold as the rancher carried him on his back.

Twilight.

Time stared at him too long, meriting a worried expression from the rancher. “You alright?”

Blinking the oncoming tears away, the eldest Link took a deep breath and nodded. “Let’s keep going.”

“That’s what I said,” Legend grumbled, turning back towards the road ahead.

“Yeah, but which way?” Twilight asked, staring at the fork in the road.

The clocktower tolled.

Time pointed left.

“But I can hear the bells to the east of here,” Hyrule noted as he steadied Sky a little. “Shouldn’t we take the path on the right?”

“We’re taking this one,” Time said firmly, brooking no argument. The group followed him silently as he tried to reorient and move ahead like nothing had happened.

His hand slipped into his adventure pouch subconsciously as they walked, and the group started to talk amongst themselves, their voices the most beautiful things he’d ever heard. His heart rate began to normalize, and he closed his eyes, basking in the safety of seeing and hearing everyone alive again.

His fingers brushed against wood in his pouch, and they tingled with warm energy that climbed all the way up his arm, through his shoulder, and into his core. He took another steadying breath, clutching the mask tenderly as an entirely different set of emotions nearly knocked him to the ground, confusion and relief and hope and fear and curiosity above all else.

Another time. Today he tread ahead cautiously and protected his family.

Today he saved them, as he always would.

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alexanderlightweight · 1 year

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*Wednesday is subjective and can last up to 36 hours due to insomnia. Wednesday starts on Wednesday and ends when the author passes out sometime later.

The Rules + Notes

Only Malec prompts accepted

It’s okay to prompt another chapter for an existing fic, even the oneshots. There is a chance i won’t be able to or want to fill it, but i’m always willing to consider. Just be polite.

I write a lot of dark stuff, so feel free to specify if you want to avoid something or want something specific.

I really do enjoy just the fun of building a fic from a single word, but I’m also happy to try and tackle any longer and more complex prompts.

If your prompt isn’t filled the week it’s sent it, I’m still going to write it. I always respond to an ask to explain why I won’t fill it if I’m not going to.

If I can’t/wont fill a prompt, I’ll post it and explain and say it’s okay to send another.

prompts are only open on writing wednesdays or if i specify otherwise (this was changed because of how many prompts i get easy wednesday and thats the specific prompt day)

feel free to ask me if i've got your prompt but please know it sometimes takes time to get to all of them and I write verses based on the mood I’m in

I don’t post all of my fic fills to ao3 but I do try to do about half of them. Posting takes a lot of spoons and I generally end up adding more to the fics when I post them so it takes a bit.

I want it very clear that I do this because it’s fun and healthy for me and everyone who prompts is super sweet and I don’t do it to get feedback from prompters (but I always enjoy it)! It's really just worth it to me for the expression of shared art. Because I wouldn’t write half of the fun stories I love creating and exploring without the prompts from others to tickle my thoughts.

However, my partner and I are very protective about my mental health and I have social anxiety to the degree that I sometimes still need my handheld after strangers talk to me so I don't go rolling into a blanketball and scream.

If you are rude, I will sic my boyfriend @saeths (who is an asshole) on you and they will happily come down like a blistering gust of burning wind from an out of control wildfire. Seriously, they think it’s fun to fuck with people and they’re very protective. {i have npd and a lack of acceptable targets -saeth}

They would enjoy it, except the part where it made me upset.

So don’t make me upset and I won’t set saeth on anyone.

Also saeth and i tend to flirt in posts on our blogs back and forth. so if you don’t want to see that because you’re here for fics and want to avoid it the tag is always ‘saeth & kitten’

- Lumine

The Author likes to write

darkly!soft romance

magical realism & magical flora and fauna

Dead Dove: Do Not Eat (3DNE)

Magnus/Cat/Ragnor friendship

Exploring the eldritch and angelic natures of nephilim and the fallen divinity of greater demons

Alec’s Institute and shadowhunters being competent

creature!character fics

soulmates

The Author won't write

non-con/rape

cheating

major character death

hurt no comfort

sad endings

any main pairing besides malec

mpreg/kidfic

camille centric fics

non-magical mundane/shadowhunters inverted au’s

Verse List (under cut)

this eldritch delight – soft-horror malec (Alec is the Trueblood heir, Addams Inspired)

star eater – sentient!shadow Alec Trueblood au

the agony of living – chronic!pain alec

Elysiums Tears – Alec is cursed with visions of the future(s)

all your cracks I’ll paint gold – deruned Alec

the bonds i'd break – all your cracks i'll paint gold au

in his wake, petals fall – Alec loves flowers and Magnus loves indulging him

cider verse – Alec and Magnus are in a secret relationship since before canon

pray to the hunters – Alec worships dead shadowhunters instead of Raziel

the price of lust – Manipulative dark Magnus

a stolen blade – assassin!alec au soulmates

dressed to kill – mob!wife Alec

flames of triumph – Phoenix Magnus & unicorn Alec

ripples of magic – Sentient Institute & wards

in the light of the night – Alec hunts circle members to feed the angelic core

the core of me belongs to you – Alec is the institute

rituals & souls – Magnus summons an alec for himself after meeting the possibility of him

to find, to yield – power imbalance, dominion magic

the frost of fury – competent Alec takes no shit in his institute

to break with fate – the circle wins

all my fears forgotten – alec has amnesia

like real people do – dragon!alec

saint & sinners – shadowhunter!magnus & mentor/mentee

hoarfrost kiss on lips aflame – nephilim are more eldritch than mundane and it presents in the most chilling of ways

heartbeat like fire – sentinel!magnus & guide!alec

spoils of war – Alec is a political hostage disguised as a groom

devotion across worlds – Alec Trueblood (sentient shadows) is summoned to another universe and mistaken as an angel

marriage of inconvenience – Magnus marries Alec to save him from marrying Clary

running from my dreams – alec has to work through past trauma when the Institute is poisoned

walls of adoration, claws of desperation – Magnus and Alec are pre-canon secret relationship. alec is older in this fic, he's 7 years older than izzy and was raised by trueblood grandparents

bleed for desire – Magnus is king of the east coast and happily steps in to take care of newly born vampire Alec

art of obsession – au of bleed for desire (instead alec ends up falling into Edom and Magnus decides to keep him there for a bit and go on vacation for a bit)

your heart is full of jewels – alec is mistaken by mundanes as a sugar baby

an extension of you – alec is known as belonging to magnus' and that means something for downworlders

not all that glitters is gold – dragon!magnus with a lot of kink and monsterfucking

for you the world will burn – maryse isn't a good person, but she is a good mother and that is sometimes the more dangerous combinations

finders keepers – alec ends up in another universe and that magnus decides to keep him

feral sweetness, like honeycomb – incompetent shadowhunter and Alec deals with them and Magnus is there watching *its how they meet

soulfire – magnus summons another magnus bane to help him save his soulmate. magnus/alec/magnus

flames so cold they shatter – alec gets the lightwood family gift and remains the lightwood heir... and the only lightwood left

to tremble from your gaze – BDSM verse, dom!magnus and sub!alec

the craft of adoration– alec manipulates his way into magnus' arms

the most fragile of poisons – magnus pretends to be a damsel in distress, aka enjoying overprotective alec

undertow – kelpie!alec au with accidental courtship and BDSM

the treasure of kings – alec and magnus aren't impressed to find that lilith's son takes after his mother (aka wants to bang a lightwood)

the same sky – malec time travel to back a few years before canon, both of them

a warlock's hoard – a/b/o universe, omega/omega malec

to be or knot to be – a/b/o universe, alpha/alpha malec (look it was punny, i couldn't knot use it)

the worth of a life – asmodeus asks for the parabatai bond instead of magnus' magic to save jace

the desecration of souls – lilith has a claim to alec as her son thanks to valentine's experiments

the bonds i'd break – au of 'all your cracks i'll paint gold' where alec takes a chance and steal leaves nephilim/shadowhunter society but keeps his runes

guided by my unchained heart – alec resigns from the institute when jace is made hoti and goes to magnus

the taste of his magic – dragon!alec and magnus (he can shift into a cat) meet because alec can't keep his claws off of magnus' garden

(i'm trying to add some stuff but saeth will come back and fix it!)

#malec #shadowhunters #prompt request #writing wednesday #long post #request rules #art by saeth #lumine writes #lumine rants about words #writing wednesdays

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ladytanithia · 2 months

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Writing WIP Wednesday (3/13)

I don't have an art WIP this week, because I haven't made any progress on any previous WIPs, and the recent pix I've done are complete and I'll be posting them on my art blog (@tanithias-art-blog) shortly. I haven't done any more on Miranja's original story lately, either, because I've been collaborating on some little side stories with @lillxart and her OC, Snow White! So this week's WIP is a couple of paragraphs from the sequel I've been writing to the story she wrote for me.

Tagging @dirty-bosmer @gwilin-stay-winnin @skyrim-forever @thequeenofthewinter - I feel like my friends are falling away, but they're off living their best lives, so more power to them!

Without further ado:

Snow had begun weeping as she spoke of Ondolemar. They’d wanted to marry, she said, but through her own misguided choices, he had died before they ever could. That was when she learned the pain of losing love, losing a loved one. And Miranja felt that pain right along with her. The women cried together with great, gasping sobs, even wails. Snow let go of her own arms and clung to Miranja, who turned to wrap both her arms around the smaller woman. Snow White had had her time to grieve and scream and curse and cry, but even so, she still felt the need from time to time, and retelling it had overcome her, despite her best efforts. Miranja, on the other hand, had yet to fully mourn Talvas. She’d never been alone long enough, and when she’d been with people, she’d been afraid of making them too uncomfortable by expressing her raw emotions. But here, alone with Snow, who was already crazy as a bedbug, she didn’t have to hold back. She could release her heart’s agony and wash a large part of the pain away with her cleansing tears, scream at the Divines or the Daedra – whoever was responsible for the turn of events that had ripped Talvas from her arms. They cried for different men, but they cried together in solidarity, and sharing the pain was comforting to both of them.

A traveler passing near the tower heard the sobbing and wailing, and ventured closer to see who was in such distress and whether he could help. But as he neared the end of the path leading to the tower’s steps, the skeleton guards snapped their attention toward him. He gasped, blood running cold, and with eyes and mouth wide with terror, he turned on his heel and ran as if the death hounds of Coldharbour were pursuing him. If there were armed skeletons, he reasoned through his unreasonable fear, then something terrible must be happening in that tower, perhaps a Daedric ritual with a human sacrifice. A certain old drunkard at the Dead Man’s Drink would be the only one to believe him when he told his tale.

#wip wednesday #tanithia writes #miranja #snow white #skyrim #elder scrolls #tesblr #tes

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infiglo · 8 months

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Infiglo's FNAF AU Masterpost 😃

Making this in an attempt to be more organized with my AU and so that people can look at this before asking any questions I might have already answered before. It will include links to posts (explanations, references, important art), FAQ, and other details.

Brief Summary

My AU is basically just my interpretation of the FNAF story, with some changes from canon/what is largely agreed to be canon. (It does not always reflect what I actually think is canon.) I kind of think of it in 2 separate parts, one about the kids before and after they die, and another about Michael (and some other characters) after the murders, finding out what happens and dealing with the haunted animatronics of course. The first part is my main focus majority of the time, and usually follows Cassidy, Charlie, and Evan.

Important Posts

How Possession Works (About the Spirits & Agony Ghosts)

Golden Freddy Explanation

Relationship chart for the main + FNAF 4 kids (when all of them were alive)

2021 Cassidy and Evan Comic + Talking about why it's not longer accurate

Info about my Funtime animatronics

Designs/References

Humans:

Design reference for all the main kids

Cassidy's more detailed reference

Reference for Cassidy & Evan's agony ghosts merged together (Acid Van)

FNAF 4 kids designs & names (will get full body refs eventually)

Main 1985 Freddy's Employees (OCs)

WIP 1983 Michael Design

WIP Nightguard Mina design

Animatronics:

Baby and Ballora references (I'll replace it with a post of all the Funtimes when I finish them)

Nightmare and Nightmare Fredbear designs

All the versions of Chica together

As you can see, I don't currently have updated references for quite a few characters such as Michael, William, Henry, the FNAF 1 animatronics, etc. I am working on these and will have them eventually. I'll try to always keep this up to date with what I've posted.

FAQ

Are you planning on making a webcomic? - I gave a longer explanation about what I plant to do with my AU here, but the short answer is that I plan on making short comics about specific events/situations, but not one continuous comic telling the entire story.

How many games does your AU include?/Does your AU include Security Breach? - My AU only goes to UCN, so no it does not include Security Breach, Help Wanted, or Fazbear Frights if you believe those are canon. I will include some characters like Vanessa, Gregory, Cassie, Jake, and Andrew as background characters in my AU just for fun, but they are not really relevant to the story.

When did the kids die? - I'm still making sure I'm happy with the exact dates and death orders, but as of right now: Charlie dies in 1980, Elizabeth and Evan die in 1983, and the MCI is 1985.

What ages were the kids when they died? - I answered that here. Please note this is an updated version where I changed a few ages, and there might be an old inaccurate answer to this question up somewhere.

What are the FNAF 4 nightmares in the AU? - They are Evan and Cassidy's agony ghosts, or extensions of them since the only ones they themselves turn into are Nightmare Fredbear and Nightmare. Cassidy is helping Evan torment Michael because Evan agreed to help her with William. and she also thinks it's funny.

Is Andrew part of Golden Freddy in this AU? - No, I have a second, side AU where he is, but it has nothing to do with my main AU, where Andrew doesn't end up being killed.

Is Sammy in this AU? Yes, he is, and he's still Charlie's brother. I based him off of the spring bonnie kid from FNAF 4. He is also not super important though, because he moves away with his mother in 1983 after Evan dies.

What order do the events of the games happen? FNAF 4, FNAF 2, FNAF 1, Sister Location, FNAF 3, FNAF 6, UCN

Tags

I put everything relating to this au under the "main au" tag. Besides that I try to tag the names of the characters in the post, the game it relates to, and will tag "spirits" or "agony ghosts" for posts about either of those. When I make longer posts where I just explain things in detail I tag those "explanations".

I tag all the questions I respond to as "answered", although a lot of these aren't related specifically to my AU.

Other details I feel like I should mention

My FNAF 1 Nightguard is not Mike, it's actually Cassidy's cousin, Mina because I wanted them to have a bigger connection to the MCI. The events of FNAF 1 and Sister Location happen pretty close together, because Mina is at Freddy's and Michael is at Circus Baby's.

My version of the FNAF 4 Chica Bully (Raina) is Gabriel's older sister and is the nightguard that replaced Jeremy in FNAF 2.

Jeremy Fitzgerald is Susie's older brother. The two of them moved to Hurricane in 1983 (before Evan died).

The Toy animatronics are not possessed by seperate kids, although the MCI victims' agony might take control over them sometimes.

My Mrs. Afton is named Eleanora, or Nora for short.

Elizabeth and Michael were born in the UK so they do have British accents, but Evan was born in the US and doesn't really have one. (Nora is also American and was born in Hurricane.)

Charlie and her agony ghost self are much more connected than anyone else is with theirs, and her agony ghost acts a little more human because of this. They can also generally convey ideas to each other but cannot directly communicate. Usually if Charlie's agony ghost does something that doesn't relate to her goal of stopping William, it's because she's doing it for the real Charlie.

Time does not work the same for the spirits as it does in the real world.

Elizabeth is the only spirit who never has contact with any of the other spirits until she's set free.

The agony ghosts can change how people see other things, as extensions of themselves basically. This is how they make the animatronics eyes turn black, Charlie gives the puppet tears, and Elizbeth changes Baby's eye color. (What happens to William in UCN is different than this, since it's Cassidy's agony trapping him in one of his own memories and then changing it however she likes - so it all happens inside his head.)

................................................................................

I will try to update this regularly if I make anything new or change any details! Sometimes I post things on other social media but forget to post them on tumblr but I'll try to do better with that.

That being said, I also share stuff about my AU on Instagram and Twitter that might not necessarily get posted on here if it's not important enough for it's own post. I'm also just more active there, so feel free to follow those as well.

I also have a DeviantArt and Pinterest where I try to organize my FNAF art into categories, and it's also just easier to look through it all on there so I thought I'd link them.

#fnaf au #main au

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cuips-not-cute · 5 months

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20 Questions for Fic Writers!

thanks @toburnup, @numinosmoon, @pearynice, and @morningberriesao3 for tagging me, y'all are the coolest<3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

nine!! but one of them is my darling friend @lollaika's amazing fic, The Agony Of A Loving Gaze, of which i am merely the artist

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

269,805. whew.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

stranger things at the moment lmao but i've written for good omens and our flag means death before, too

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

he could be brave, blood is an aphrodisiac, honeyed affection, cyclical, and lover, be good to me.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes i do!! i'm horribly, horribly behind atm but i will catch up!! love engaging with people who like my stories, and i've made some fabulous friends thru ao3 comments, too<3

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

don't think any of mine?? big fan of happy endings

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

gosh i don't even know they all pretty much have the "and they lived happily ever after" vibe at the end i'm a sucker for sweet stuff what can i say??

8. Do you get hate on fics?

i've gotten a couple weird comments from peeps who don't know how to read tags but those go straight in the trash, good vibes only

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

me?? smut?? never!!! lmao i like it all, the kinkier the better. one of my most proudest smut scenes i've written involved some super sweet fisting. i love stuff that's fucking depraved but still with a good undercurrent of softness. love it when they're gross and in love

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i haven't!! generally can only focus on one fandom at a time so i don't know that i ever will but i love a good crossover fic

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not as far as i know!! just waiting for the day that i see my art on like pinterest or smth, tho

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no but gosh that would be SO COOL!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have not!! love beta'ing and being a soundboard for all my super cool and talented writer friends but i write so erratically that i doubt i could co-write with someone

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

...steddie. i'm so embarrassed but i love them. ineffable husbands is SUPER close behind, tho

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

hmm, had a kooky tentacle porn oneshot in the works but that always gets put on the back burner while i'm writing a multichap thing...and i seem to always be writing a multichap thing. maybe one day

16. What are your writing strengths?

oh smut, probably. my fav thing to write , too, so it makes sense. tho i've heard from multiple sources that my kiss scenes are good, but those usually lead up to the smut anyways lololol

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

hmm, scene transitions or points where i need the mood to shift dramatically. usually skip around those and write them later during the second draft

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

it's cool!! i'm lame and don't know any other written languages so i prolly never would do it for fear of mistranslating smth but it's neat to see, especially when it's the author's native language

19. First fandom you wrote for?

technically i think way back when i worte a lil thing for the gemma doyle series, did not think of it as fanfic at the time, tho

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

cyclical!! that one was a BEAST but i'm stupidly proud of her. as it is a time loop fic it was THE angstiest thing i've ever written but i had a great time making it.

honorable mention for my current wip, tho, which will be a steddie sex tape au chock full of pining and porn. hopefullyyyy the first chapter will be out soon (!!!)

tagging the lovelies: @lollaika @jhrc666 @steddielations @thefreakandthehair @phantom-organism and @wormdebut <3<3

#tag game #haven't done one in a while this was fun #cuips talking

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delaureyjournal-whump · 8 months

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Day one

Trying to start a series of how elian lost his arm. Art at the end

Tropes:

Stress positions | dislocation | knife wound | filmed |

Tag list:

@whumpifi

Taylor was mad today. He could feel it from the moment he'd opened the door, he was seething. He filled up with panic as he approached, like an insect stuck in a small glass cup. So scared, but nowhere to possibly go. Even if he did move he'd still be stuck. He daren't do anything to inflict worse upon himself. He forced himself to stay still, despite his heart beating out of his chest.

He marched down the stairs and wordlessly hoisted Elian up by the shoulder, forcing him to stand in the middle of the room. Elian let himself be moved around, posed like a doll. He was light, easy to move.

Before he knew it, his hands were tied high above him, thick rope digging into his wrists, forcing him up onto his toes, barely scraping the floor.

One arm was higher than the other. His left. He found that weird. Taylor was angry, but he was always so methodical with his work.

Taylor stepped back for a moment to take in the view, before stepping back forward. He gently pushed Elian's head to the side, taking a second to run fingers through his hair. Really soak up the fear. For a moment, he held a couple of fingers right to his pulse point, almost feeling the adrenaline run through him. He placed a strong hand on his left shoulder, watching Elian's face closely as he did.

There was a sickening crunch as he forced the joint downward, wrenching the bone out of its socket.

Elian gasped desperately, trying to control his breathing, knowing that any kind of noise that close to his captors ear would earn him a worse fate than this.

He closed his eyes tight, trying not to shake, keeping his jaw held shut tight to avoid any accidental noises. Taylor always found him the most beautiful like this, face scrunched up, breathing ragged with pure terror, cheeks already wet with tears.

As Taylor let go and stepped back for a moment, he thought he was safe.

He was taking a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself, when he felt the teeth of a serrated kitchen knife bite into him, just under the shoulder that had just come out of place.

It took everything in him not to cry out, instead biting down hard on his lip, almost drawing blood.

The cut didn't go deep. The knife retreated almost as quickly as it had arrived.

As he opened his eyes again, he saw what had been set up in front of him. A camera. It sat on a stand, red light on, looking at him.

He looked to Taylor for an answer, but was met with nothing at all. He just stood admiring his work, and then left, just as silently as he'd come in.

He tried to put his feet flat, testing if he was even able to in this position.

As he did, searing agony shot through his arm as it *ripped*. The cut deepened. He scrambled to return to his toes, absolutely horror stricken. He finally understood.

He held himself up, placing his weight on the other uninjured arm. But that would only ever last him so long, and he knew it.

#whump #whump writing #whump art #Blood #elian my beloved #Stress positions

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storiumemporium · 2 years

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Once More, With Desperation

Eddie Munson/Fem!Hargrove!Reader

Chapter 1

Series Summary — Spoilers for Vol 2 of Stranger Things! The world has become a numb abyss since the loss of every single person you ever loved, who ever loved you. Purpose has slipped away like smoke pluming from a burning building, and you simply drift, clinging to the hope that your sister will wake up someday, and that you can be there for her when it happens. But in the midst of your rising depression, a new light shines in the darkness- a simple memory, the Upside Down does not obey the laws of time. You'll save them all, no matter what, no cost is too high.

IT'S OUT, IT'S FINALLY OUT! Chapter one of the relentless agony that is my S4-VOL 2 Didn't Happen fix-it-fic.

Enjoy!

Series Tags — Angst oh my God so much angst, no seriously this fic is really painful do Not read this for immediate fluff, happy (bittersweet?) ending, some tooth rotting fluff sprinkled throughout, violence

Chapter Word Count — 10.5k (jesus fuck) Chapter Tags — This is literally nothing but angst, there's nothing happy here really, mentions of depression and suicidal thoughts, shitty parents and the such, I repeat, SPOILERS, Major Character Death

The world is made and broken by the people within it, from the smallest town to the largest city- it’s the contents within that define it.

Because people don’t survive without people. Families, friends, coworkers, acquaintances, even rivals and enemies. Ones’ entire life is defined by those that surround them, their joys made brighter by the people who celebrate with them, and their sorrows felt deeper by those that share their grief.

So, what does one become when they have no one?

All alone in the world, unmoored and unknown. Are you still a person?

Would you ever be a person again, after this?

Once upon a time you were whole, an innocent with a concept of nothing but sunlight and ocean lapping at your youthful ankles. Of learning to surf for the first time. Blonde hair and sundresses, seven foot waves.

You lost the first piece of yourself to the back of a hand- a father too brutal, whose cruelty knew few bounds, even fewer still when it came to your brother.

The second piece left with your mother, who spared you nothing more than a phone call and a half-assed apology.

The third went with your brothers’ innocence. Poor sweet Billy, how the rage had claimed him the way it did your father- Neil. Your twin had gone so far from you, had been warped by his need to survive. You knew somewhere deep inside, that sweet boy still lived- but sometimes it was so very hard to see. Clouded by recklessness and aggression- push everyone else before they could push you.

Whittled to the bone, worn down like stone to sand, you had learned complacence and quietness, the art of being meek and quiet and obedient. If you never said anything, if you never disagreed- even when it hurt- then you wouldn’t be the target. You would be safe.

But… then something wonderful and all at once horrifying happened.

Neil re-married.

And you met Maxine.

Young and stubborn and bright- your new baby sister. You knew from the moment you’d laid eyes on her- you’d do everything to protect that, to protect her. She would be different, she would not become another Hargrove, another beaten broken battered thing filled with hate and fear.

Max gave you a new sense of purpose, a reason to struggle again- because for every mile you fought was another inch you could give to her. An argument that left you with a black eye- but earned you a drivers license so that you could take Max out to the skatepark, watch her learn a new trick while you nursed your cuts and covered your bruises in makeup.

Life began to change so fast after that- a whole new town and a whole new identity to build. Hawkins Indiana. What a quaint little place after only ever knowing the starlit scream of California.

But… it was wonderful. Mostly.

Billy hated it, Billy hated change- unpredictability, it meant Neil was unpredictable. For a similar reason, Billy ‘hated’ Max. She was a new variable that he couldn’t control- and the tighter he tried to squeeze, the more Max thrashed.

But in the quiet, when it was just you and your twin, he would admit the things to you he couldn’t anybody else, even himself. He liked Max, loved her even, and Hawkins wasn’t all bad, the forests were nice at night.

If only he’d gotten to tell her that.

You met Eddie Munson the very first week you’d stepped into Hawkins High, California was always churning new personalities and Eddie Munson dressed like he’d been cut from the same silken cloth. But Eddie didn’t like being put into a box, and his personality certainly held testament to that.

Some girl by the name of Pamela Maisey had forcibly taken to chauffeuring you around school, stringy pencil like fingers finding permanent purchase against your denim-clad arm. She was a decently pretty girl with a beauty mark right above the left corner of her lip, entrancing you as it wiggled with her animated conversation. Her dark black hair was done up in a ponytail with three separate scrunchies in a green-orange-green pattern that practically vomited Hawkins’ pride, skirt clad and wearing a coveted varsity jacket with the name of what you assumed was one of the basketball players of the school.

You knew what this was, of course- she couldn’t have given less of a shit about you, which is why she didn’t even stop to let you speak those few days you’d known each other. She was a vulture, and the moment she’d smelled easy popularity oozing out of the pores of the ‘new girl from California,’ she’d clung to you like flies on shit. You had known it with every girly flick of her head, perfume and hair products assaulting your nostrils each pass. She’d have tossed you aside the moment she’d cleaned your bones.

And by that, you meant the moment she got to jump Billy’s bones.

Billy had already taken up crown in Hawkins’ High, effortlessly displacing Steve whom you hadn’t known at the time. With that came attention, all of the attention, just the way Billy liked it. You hated it, if only because it meant things like Pamela kept happening to you.

You remember being ushered into the cafeteria by Pamela, she was spinning you around every which way to point out all the best cliques and popular tables to be at, weaving you around so fast you could barely even wave at the tables you were passing by.

By the end of it, she’d just… left you there in the middle of the cafeteria, with no real idea where you were, feeling very lost and very alone. Billy wouldn’t want his baby sister hanging around him at school after all, and Max would be no more eager at that intrusion.

And then… Eddie happened.

You supposed that “lost little sheepies” sense he’d always had came to light, his fingers coming to awkwardly and gently tap you on the shoulder, and when you turned he was already smiling with his hands clasped behind his back.

“Hi there, uh…” That hair, shorter then than it would come to be, danced around his face airy and light as a feather. His head twitched around from side to side, pleasant brown eyes flitted across faces and groups, as if he were trying to sort you into a category before he’d even heard your voice. He’d looked back to you out of the corner of his eye. “You seem like you need a humble assistant.”

“Just lookin’ for a place to sit, I guess.”

His smile grew, and it had felt at the time like you’d just signed away your soul to the devil. A decision you’d never once come to regret, even when you lost him.

Eddie became your person almost immediately following that day. When he’d learned that you were the sister of the most popular guy in school but still wanted to hang out with him, when you clenched your jaw at the jeers of others, and even partook in his interests just because he was interested in them, he’d known in that moment you were too special to give up and he’d clung on as tightly as he could. He’d irrevocably tied himself to you in a way you’d never let anyone or anything take away. You ate at the same table, took the same classes. Eddie’s midnight haunts became yours, Eddie’s secrets became yours, and vice versa, the two of you were a matched set.

Even when Billy had tried to take control, tried to scare him away from you when you wouldn’t scare away from him, all it’d done is draw the two of you forever closer.

“Why the hell does he feel the need to control you so much?” Eddie’s sitting on the couch, legs kicked up and worn converse smearing against Wayne’s coffee table with a cigarette in his hand, you two were close, and you knew of his less-than-legal hobbies, but Eddie had gotten a perception of purity about you and felt dirty smoking pot or dealing drugs with you anywhere nearby.

You’d sighed and sagged further into the cushions, wiggling in your war to get the broken springs to fuck off as you tried to relax with your head in Eddie’s lap. “It’s not…”

You chewed your lip. “It’s complicated, Eddie.”

That blank, incredulous face made your cheeks heat up. “Really! It is.”

“Well I’ve got nothing but time, Highness.”

He could see you wanting to back out, but the actual distress he could see present on your face had him gently jostling your head in his lap. “No- no thinking about it, just tell me.”

You stare into his eyes, pretty and sweet, and consider that you haven’t actually known Eddie that long- he could do anything with the information you’re about to give him.

But Eddie Munson wasn’t like that, despite having every reason to be bitter and cruel he was the sweetest man you’d met, inside Hawkins and out, and did everything he could to earn your trust and comfort.

You take a heavy breath. “Billy’s just…

Trying to look out for me, Eddie. I don’t think he could give, like, less of a shit about you if I’m honest, and that’s not necessarily a compliment. You’re just- nothing to him.” You shrug, and look away from Eddie as his brows furrow, partially insulted but mostly confused.

“Neil isn’t-” you swallow a thick lump in your throat, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Eddie whose hands twitch where they rest, he’s a tactile person, but he knows you’re not and he’s afraid of trying to break down that boundary so soon. He’s just gotten you to a place where you were comfortable putting your hands on him, let alone if he abruptly tried the other way around. “Neil… is not a nice man, Eddie. He uh- look- basically, Billy makes himself scary so I don’t have to deal with the one that’s actually scary, which is our old man. Billy doesn’t hate you, but Neil would, and Billy knows I wouldn’t cut ties with you just because my dad says it, so…”

“So he’s trying to fix it before it becomes a problem?” You look at Eddie, and there’s a gravity to his gaze that is utterly unbecoming of his sweet and boyish face. You decide you hate Eddie when he’s serious, you want him to never have to stress about anything in his life- if only so that beautiful smile never leaves its place.

“Yeah… something like that. I’m sorry he keeps giving you such shit, though. You’ve not done anything wrong.”

“You either, Highness.”

Salt and pepper, Batman and Robin as Dustin would come to say.

(Eddie wouldn’t admit it, but everyone knew he was Robin.)

And when Billy died, Eddie was the one that kept you together.

A hell of a strain for a fledgling relationship, but if Eddie was ever upset at how you’d changed- never once did he show it, never once did he let you feel it.

Calling you every day, every night, never hesitating to pull you inside and hold you close when you’d show up at his trailer at 3am, exhausted and weepy with the memory of what you’d lost.

The one to visit you in the hospital after you stood up to Neil for the first and last time. To take care of your bandages and kiss your bruises after you got out. Who practically harassed the poor hospital staff with questions about your care- you suspect they didn’t mind, if the endeared smiles upon their lips were anything to go by.

It hurt to love someone so much and not be able to tell him the truth. Tell him what you’d seen.

But it didn’t matter- because it came for Eddie too in the end.

It came for Max in the end.

Everyone… it took everyone.

The only person left with any tie to who you once were was Susan. Who’d sunk so deeply into the bottle when you lost your sister that you couldn’t even call her a human being anymore. More like a husk living on the couch. You were the one paying the bills now, working the jobs, keeping things going just in case- just in case.

Why? You didn’t know why.

“Heya, Punkin’.”

The nickname tastes like ashes in this sterile hospital room, overhead a fluorescent light is flickering and it makes you grip the bars of her hospital bed tight enough to groan beneath your fists, the whole room is like that, pale and transient, people always coming and going- one way or another, coming and going. In a way, hospitals have reminded you of the Upside Down ever since you’d first tasted the frozen horror of that dimension. You’d tried to liven up the place a little, brought in some flowers and a few of Max’s things from back home, her skateboard sits in a corner and you’ve taped up some new posters she didn’t get to see, hoping she’d be excited about them when she opened her eyes again.

As it stands, Max has been in the same spot unmoving for days, marked only by the rise and fall of the unrelenting light of a Hawkins’ morning, disorienting against the frozen silhouette of your baby sisters body.

Casts on every limb and a brace that hugs her neck, so pale, even the pink flush of life that used to touch her cheekbones has gone, leaving her colorless and void aside the fiery mane of hair that always brought you joy to see, no matter what she’d decided to do with it on that given day.

It was hard to witness this, knowing Max Mayfield was a brilliant, driven, passionate girl. Stubborn and blunt and so damn clever. Always had something to say, something to feel, never could a comment get passed her without a retort that could light a fire under a grown mans’ ass. She was a powerhouse and destined for nothing but greatness at whatever she wanted in life.

She may not have been blood, but you were so damn proud of her.

Your baby sister.

The guilt of your unrelenting failure came to haunt you every time you were left alone- which was quite often these days.

It should have been me.

“M’gonna be graduating here in a couple days.” You force yourself into a tone that’s something like casual. Hands folding over themselves again and again in your lap, the dying refuse of your attempt at self-soothing. “I have… no idea what I’m going to do with myself, afterward.

I honestly— I spent so much time thinking of graduating with-” you start to sound whiny as you try to force through, “with Eddie that I- didn’t consider what was next. Y’know? Plus- plus I’d have you, y’know? I’d still be taking care of you. I’d never leave you.”

Sniffles, and fat wet tears that collect on your still-bruised hands. “You’d call me stupid for that, huh? Getting all caught up on boys and being a big sister instead of finding out what I want.”

The room is so fucking quiet.

“I want you to know-” voice reaching higher, breaking. “You saved us, you did- you did it.”

You’re nodding even though she wasn’t there to see it, not really, not anymore. “I’m so sorry- I should have been there, I was supposed to keep you safe. That’s what us big sisters do, right? We keep you little shits alive.

I’m sorry, I really take the gold for being the worst Goddamn sister in the world.”

Even more, still-sterile silence.

“Wish I could hear you call me Spice again, Punk.”

She never did get that stupid rhyme right, and by the time she was old enough to know, it just felt wrong to say it any other way.

“Wake up, Max. Please. I can’t— I’m not strong enough to do this alone. Eddie’s gone and- and- and Billy and everyone- everyone’s moving on and it’s just me, here, burning alive and so alone and I need you.

You’re so strong, spitfire. I know you can make it- please make it.”

But of course, there was no answer- there would be no answer. She was gone.

She was gone.

You nod once more to yourself, turning at an angle in your chair as you begin to rise, to leave for the day to wander as a phantom through the last standing vestiges of your own life.

“You uh… Tell Eddie hey for me when you see him again, sweetheart.”

When you leave her bedside, you leave the last piece of yourself behind.

Dusk in Hawkins was always beautiful, not in the sunny beaches-and-palm-trees way of your childhood, but in the glittering stars and the smell of pine. The trailer park loses a little of that, but the chill that rustles your jacket and whips up your hair drags some awareness back into your bones, brushing a bit of pink into the tops of your ears and against your nose. Wayne Munson’s trailer sits just across from your home, and every time you see it you remember the sight of that door swinging wide open, spread out arms and legs and theatrical proclamations of the arrival of royalty.

You remember arms that were strong, and leather and smoke, and cheap shampoo and conditioner. He always gave the best hugs, lifting you clean off the ground to dance you in a circle on his tiny front porch, squeezing you so tight that it’d stretch out the ache in your spine from hunching over a table all day. “Hello, my Lady of Lórien.”

You whisper into the damp air. “Hey, Teddy.”

The steps to your home creak forebodingly when you stomp on them, sending bits of dust and detritus puffing around your ankles and to the ground, storm door swings open, and after a moment of fumbling with your keys, warmth and the acrid smell of alcohol greets you. The trailer is dim, cozy even, but it provides no comfort when the only other person here was someone you could barely tolerate anymore- whom barely tolerated you herself.

Susan was unconscious again on the couch, half empty bottle laying on it’s side on the carpeted floor- that was going to stain. You didn’t even look at it when you picked it up, taking a hearty swig as you doused still-lit cigarettes and pulled the blinds. It was warm and tasted like shit, and you could guess it was likely some cheap gin she bought for the same reason you were stealing it off of her- anything to get drunk and forget.

You’re aware you’re making a great deal of noise as you go about unwinding the house for the night, stomping around on the squishy floor and slamming cabinets as you went scrounging for more of Susan’s ‘stash.’ You didn’t particularly care though, she was so piss-drunk she wouldn’t be waking up for awhile, and she’d be so hungover she’d just look for another bottle to fix it.

Besides, who was she to stop you? You were the reason she had a couch to waste away on, after all.

The door to your bedroom is scratched up and abused, a single hole about chest height has been patched over with pieces of paper and tape, and you hear those papers rustle slightly as you toss the door shut with a lingering agitation.

Your room is a warzone these days. The carpeted brown floor hasn’t been seen in a long time, instead you’ve elected to decorate it with dirty laundry and underwear, beer cans and takeout boxes and the scraps of homework you’d somehow managed to convince yourself to give a shit about between jobs. Once upon a time you were a neat freak with a level of organization Eddie had called neurotic. He’d even let you go through his things and organize all of it, splayed out on his bed with his guitar in hand, chatting animatedly about whatever campaign he was planning and how he was going to totally dick over his friends with this boss he has coming up.

You always noticed he’d intentionally muss it up later- just so you’d go back through and fix it for him again. Maybe he just wanted the extra time with you, maybe he liked the reminder that you cared.

There’s a few pairs of discarded jeans that made it onto your bed, they were technically dirty, but didn’t smell bad enough for you to be guilty about donning them a few more times before you forced yourself to actually be civil. You only even pay attention to the fact they exist at the moment because they start to dig uncomfortably into your back as you post yourself up against your bedroom wall, swirling the contents of Susan’s cheap gin around in it’s bottle. It’s disgustingly warm.

You plug your nose and go for it- not even stopping for the nausea that builds as you flood yourself with a cheap fix-it for your life.

It doesn’t take long, maybe fifteen or twenty minutes- shot-gunning half a bottle of hard liquor will get you pretty fucked up in record time after all, the world is starting to fuzz out blissfully in a way you wished you could carry around in your pocket. Take a big breath of it every time you had to remember that everyone was gone and you were existing just because you couldn’t muster up the energy to put an end to it yet.

Your legs bounce and wiggle, your hands swing about idly, you hum to yourself- catching up sharply when a tune is too familiar, too painful and flipping it to something more mainstream, less Eddie. Another swig, burning and harsh, and drunken exhaustion mixes with regular exhaustion. You don’t even put the bottle down, don’t crawl under the covers, don’t even turn off the light, slumping away right where you sat.

Gray.

Flashing violent red, malicious and true.

Not again.

“I think it’s my year, babe. I think it’s finally my year.” His smile is crimson, and his tears are crystal. “M’gonna graduate.”

He’s splayed out on the concrete and in your lap, voice straining to rise above the ambient noise of hundreds of demented bats writhing and screeching as they die, but he isn’t being framed by the world, no, the world is being framed by him, by the blood smearing all over your hand as you cup and cradle his face, by the deep gurgling choke he makes as he struggles through his last minutes.

“Yeah- yeah honey…” Your lips press taut in the futile attempt to quell their trembling, Eddie is limp and heavy where he rests in your arms, and the heat that’s steadily pouring out of him still manages to be scalding against the unrelenting cold of the Upside Down. His life is ebbing away, soaking your denim wet and thick, and you know he doesn’t have long. “Tell you what… tell you what Eddie-bear… When we graduate I’m takin’ you to California, okay? You’re gonna hate it.”

You laugh, wet and warbling and choking at the edges. “Everyone is so Goddamn preppy there, chasing the newest trends all the time. They’re going to think you’re fuckin’ crazy, babe.

But the sea..? And the sand? And when you go north and see the redwood forests..? It’s magical. You have to see it, just once, just for me, okay?”

“Okay… S’long as you let me take you to a Black Sabbath concert.”

You nod your head aggressively, ignoring the painful throb from getting your head slammed into the pavement, and Dustin whimpers beside you. Though it feels impossible at this moment, in this nightmare, your heart manages to hurt even more at the soul-wrenching sound.

“I love you guys, so much…”

Dustin’s heartfelt response is a hoarse whisper beside you, and it takes everything you can to work your voice just one more time. “I love you too, Eddie Munson. I’ll see you in Cali.”

You press your mouth to his and suffocated within the pervasive tang of salt and metal, you feel more than hear the rattle of Eddie’s last breath.

You wake, and immediately throw up all over your dirty laundry on the floor.

You want to say that it’s just a result of drinking so much on an empty stomach after working all day- but Eddie’s lifeless eyes are still burnt into the backs of your eyelids, and you get queasy every time you let yourself still for even a second too long. It takes you longer than it probably should to regain your bearings, scooping up the even-more-soiled contents of your closet to finally put it in the washer.

Your door is slightly more ajar than you’d left it, and the bottle that was once in your hand is now gone. Something like anger but crooked stews in the pit of your gut, and you take your clean enough laundry to the shower, you could at least rinse off if nothing else.

You had to look like you weren’t giving up- like you hadn’t already given up. You were graduating tomorrow.

The whole room is a quiet drum of excitement and anticipation. For dozens this was the next stage of life, they were finally moving on into that big wide world- they would be adults, free and eager to pursue their dreams, to flee Hawkins, to finally write their own stories.

Eddie would have been one of those people. Billy would have too.

It was surreal and sort of numbing to be here, sort of just drifting through the crowd and allowing their motions to push and pull you across the floor. Everyone was dressed up in green and orange, smiles plastered wide, families tearing up and giving hugs, squeezing shoulders and cupping faces. So proud of you was a cacophony that ached in your soul.

Robin was easy enough to pick out from the rest, her gown and cap situated somewhat awkwardly on her frame as if she’d forgotten what she was doing halfway through, entirely likely considering who she was. You swallowed around the knot in your throat, willed the numbness to creep even higher as you slid in beside her. She was rambling wildly, her mother fussing at her.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed this but I cannot walk mom, I am severely locomotively challenged- is that a word?- Okay that’s besides the point, what happens when I fall on stage, though? My last memory in this school will be ‘Robin Buckley, the girl who couldn’t walk across a wooden floor’ and I’m not sure I can survive that kind of humiliation.”

Robin’s hands are shaking around wildly, thumbs rubbing repetitively over the skin of her knuckles as she rants about the impending disaster she’s so certain will come. You feel a fondness rise for your friend, managing to crack a tired smile as you grow close enough for her to actually notice you.

“Hargrove! Listen, you have to get my diploma for me, I cannot-”

“Robin, I’m not doing that.”

Immediate disappointment, you know she’s about to utilize the puppy eyes. But before she gets her chance, you cut her off. “Hold my arm.”

“What?”

“Hold my arm. I’ll help you keep steady when we go up there.”

“And what happens in the very likely event that I fall over and just drag you with me?”

You link your arm with hers and squeeze. “Then we’ll be ‘the girls that couldn’t walk across a wooden floor.”

Everything is beginning to ramp up, and gently you start to tug her toward the stage. You wanted to help her, but in truth she was helping you too. You were terrified to take this step, because it was the first real step to saying goodbye to Eddie.

The first milestone you wouldn’t be moving across with him, the first time you wouldn’t get to celebrate together.

You squeeze Robin’s arm and she squeezes back, still muttering something nervously underneath her breath as you file in. You can feel her tense up, the stairs are right there. “C’mon, we got this Buckley. One step at a time.”

“That was a terrible joke and you should feel ashamed.”

“Who says I was joking?” You muster up a quiet laugh, and then the two of you are ascending the steps. Robin has your arm gripped so tightly you’re sure to find bruises in the morning, muttering all the while about losing all of her social credit if she screws up now.

You finally make it to flat ground, and are about to lean into Robin to whisper about how you knew she could do it, but the sight of someone among the graduates on stage saps all of the life and warmth and blood out of you. Your ability to see straight immediately impaired, your logic a candle blown out by the wind.

Jason Carver.

It turns the whole world sideways to see him standing there, mostly recovered, that stupid plastic smile on his face. Fuck you, fuck you fuck you fuck you—

Robin tugs at you gently, and when you turn to look at her you can see the concern and perhaps alarm in her eyes, you’d seized up like an ambush predator about to rip into something wildly, and she’d followed your gaze to the man that witch-hunted your wonderful Eddie until the day he died.

“C’mon, let’s get into line okay?” You didn’t miss the way Robin’s voice dipped down at the end of her sentence, softening with the intent to placate you- whether it was to keep you from attacking Jason, or from breaking down, you didn’t know. She smiled supportively, and when that hand squeezed your arm again it was comforting rather than afraid.

You kept your focus squarely on Robin and the Principle, but even with that and the sea of eyes staring out at all of you it was nauseating to be within his presence again- to know that he got to live on, to move on and be happy and get a bunch of cheap fucking accolades after what he’s done to Eddie, what he’s done to Max. You squeeze Robin back, working your jaw as you study the unique shapes of her face, her nose, the flattering cut of her hair. You’re trying hard to remember to be happy, and you’re happy for her, but it’s impossible to completely quell the white out rage at how unfair this all was.

Eddie should be here, he should fucking be here.

Names are called and diplomas received, cheers and tears and all the merriment of a celebratory day. It’s drawing closer and closer to you, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes you breathe hard. Robin goes before you, and you can see the anxious tension wrapping around her- but it’s not for herself, it’s for you and the overwhelming likelihood you were about to do something drastic.

You can do this, be calm, be reasonable, don’t screw this up.

But it’s being passed into your hands, papery smooth and cheap for all it was meant to represent, and the ghost of Eddie is stepping in time with you.

You turn, smile bright into the lights, and give your principle and teachers a single, shining finger.

The gasps have just barely begun to sound at your blatant insult and you’re already taking off as fast as you can, tearing your cap and gown away with such enthusiasm that they don’t touch the floor before you’ve slammed through the doors that lead into the rest of the empty school. You’re running, running and with each press of your foot into the ground it reverberates up you body, springs you forward just a little bit faster.

You’re laughing, laughing, hysterical and you can hear Eddie’s woops and hollers and ‘You actually did it! You madwoman! I knew you had it in ya!’

You’re almost out of the school, never bothering to look back, and with each step Eddie’s grows fainter, more ephemeral. By the time you burst out of the front doors, laughter has turned to full, choking, breath stealing sobs- and now you’re no longer running with Eddie, but away from every memory turned sour.

You don’t know where you’re going, can’t really see through the tears, so you just go. Straight across the street and directly into the forest, going and going until your lungs burn and you’re far enough away from the school you no longer can hear the sounds of life. You’re aching from the hips down but it’s a good sort of pain, it’s the kind that makes the pain in your head and heart feel a little less overwhelming.

You don’t know when you stop running away and start walking just to walk, letting the beautiful placidity of nature flit up around you. Even when you were falling apart, trees would continue to sway in the wind, birds would keep chirping, and deer would still graze.

In the distance you can see a breakage in the tree line, and after a good ten minutes of staggered walking you find yourself at the edge of a familiar cliff- a quarry that had been used in the ultimately futile attempt to keep Joyce Byers from finding her son.

It’s so… distant, out here. Like there wouldn’t be consequences for a single thing you did. Like a world didn’t exist outside of that watery abyss below.

You scream.

It’s bloodcurdling, and so harsh that it rips up your throat, your chest burns. You suck in a breath as sharply as you can, choking on a cough- and scream once more.

You can’t hear anything anymore, deafened by your own heartbeat and the ringing in your ears. Your hand rests over your mouth after the second time, and you double over like you need to vomit the rest of the sounds out. Nothing comes, so you just pant into your skin and allow the chills to pass.

When you right yourself, all you feel is a bone deep exhaustion, you want to go home. You didn’t even know if the prior desire to drink yourself into a stupor remained, seemingly cleared out by everything else that had run through you for the past half hour. Instead you just wanted to put on one of Eddie’s old shirts and rest. Not just sleep, but to actually be rid of the weariness for once. What you’d give for that is indescribable.

You want to be rid of this stupid diploma as well, the meaning of it bleak and shallow when you’d already experienced more in your short life than most ever would their entire lives. The only thing that kept it stuck to your hand was the weight it held for Eddie when he was still alive.

You wonder if he’d visit your dreams again tonight, you hoped that they would be pleasant for once- please- but you held no hope for that, really. If anything it would be sharper than it had in many days, brought to a head by your emotional and literal fatigue.

You’re already on your way home, following the roads instead of the dense forest, and a bit of frustration peaks at your own dramatics. Really had to run away instead of driving the car huh?

The velvet darkness of night is in full swing by the time you reach the trailer park from the quarry, your legs burning and sore from the sudden bouts of exertion you’d decided upon- not at all aided by the jog you’d taken up about halfway home when you realized just how fucked you’d actually made yourself by not driving like a reasonable person.

It has you limping slightly, and when you finally see your home you plant your sweaty hands on your knees. You resent the thought of what you’ll find inside, knowing Susan was probably stealing your original plan for the night and that the moment you stepped inside the beautiful apathy that had found its way to you would be shot down by recurring anger. Was it fair, to be angry? Perhaps not, no. But it didn’t prevent it from lingering there like a plague.

However, to your benefit and unrelenting agony, Wayne Munson was sitting at the table outside his trailer fixing you with the full and unbridled weight of his heavy eyes. When you straighten up it’s with a little more stiffness than should be there, a breath caged at the bottoms of your lungs.

You brace yourself for the conversation coming.

You’d stopped crying a long time ago, but the bright puffy red around your eyes and the wetness in your chest had not vanished and likely wouldn’t until you’d let exhaustion claim you. It was apparent that Wayne himself had not missed your state of distress, his unkempt brows drawing in concern as you approached.

“Hi there, sweetheart.”

“Hello, Mr. Munson.”

Once upon a time he’d told you to call him Wayne, once upon a time you had. But now it brought a sharp pain to your chest to speak with such familiarity, and so you’d separated yourself as you bled from your heart. You take your seat at the bench timidly, knees drawn together and diploma discarded. You refrain from a relieved sigh when the strain finally leaves your legs for the first time in hours.

There’s a certain degree of formality and conduct you inflict upon yourself the few rare times Wayne drifts into your life. Because yes, you loved Eddie, and losing him had destroyed you- but Wayne Munson had, for all intents and purposes raised Eddie and loved him as his own, and that was a type of pain you doubted you’d ever be able to fully comprehend. It felt wrong to act like some downtrodden tragedy in his presence, especially when the blame for his death fell squarely on your own shoulders.

Despite this, Wayne never looks at you with anything more than fondness and shared sorrow.

The quiet is a bit comforting, content to let it linger as Wayne takes his time gathering his thoughts. You’ve none to give yourself, the fibers of your mind whittled away by everything that had happened, today and not. Another cigarette finds it’s way into Wayne’s hands even though you can smell the lingering burn of the one he’d likely just finished as you stepped into the threshold of the trailer park.

The lighter flickers, and you recognize the skull pattern on it’s silver facade, smoke begins to curl into the twinkling stars. You nervously tug at your unkempt clothes, feeble gaze studying with reinforced interest the splintered surface of the table.

“I meant to call… congratulate ya,” he finally finds his voice to say. “Big day, whole world ahead of you.”

You smile a little bashfully, and with a slew of other emotions that turn your face into a grimace as you shoot your eyes back down to your fidgeting hands. “Thank you… I uh- I almost didn’t go.”

Wayne didn’t need to ask, and didn’t. He knew what would stop you, even if it was a blatant case of self-sabotage. “It’s good that you went. It’s what he would have wanted.”

Wayne makes a little gesture of the brow. “Speaking of, I have some… things of Eddie’s I want you to take.”

His voice is a little raw on Eddie’s name, and your eyes shoot up belatedly when it registers just what he’s saying. “Mr. Munson- I-I- can’t do that, his stuff belongs with you, Eddie was your nephew.”

“And I genuinely believe,” he begins to shift in his seat, throwing one leg over the bench. “That one day you would’ve been his wife. So I’m giving it to you, ‘cause it’s also what he would’ve wanted.”

Wayne stands before you can protest and crosses into forbidden territory, an invisible threshold you know you could physically never dare to cross ever again. The trailer. It was funny, you’d spent more days and weekends there than you could count anymore, and now the very thought of touching even that front door is enough to have you unwinding at the edges. It catches you helplessly and keeps you rooted to the bench.

He’s speaking as he steps back through the door, and the objects clasped in his hands are so familiar you want to moan with agony. You feel shot.

“I know you’ll take care of ‘em, and that’s all I ask.”

Set in front of you is a box of thick, chunky silver rings, and an immaculate electric guitar.

“You know well as I that these were his pride n’joy, nothing else on this I can think of Earth he’d fight tooth and nail for. So it’s only fitting it goes with the girl he’d do the same for.”

Wayne can hear your rattling exhale as your fingertips trace the very outline of the guitar, watches the haggard way you pull it close and tuck it into your lap, curl around it like it’s a child you need to protect from the elements. He’s been watching you for some time, since that Henderson boy informed him of Eddie’s passing, knowing full well the two of you were virtually never apart from the moment you met.

He hoped above all else that someone else was noticing how unwell you clearly still were.

Wayne would not be ashamed to say he had been taken in by your charm fast when you first met. The polite Mr. Munson and the soft, warm way you’d talk about his nephew anytime the two of you were alone. Usually when you were waiting for Eddie to come back from whatever he’d been getting himself into. Wayne had watched the two of you knit yourselves together, and the way you’d suffused your personalities.

He watched leather and metal creep into your style with fond amusement, and he’d watched Eddie come crawling out of the hole he’d hid himself in for years with absolute joy. Wayne didn’t need to see the future to know he’d be calling you Niece someday likely soon, and had been fully anticipating the happy conclusion of your stories.

So the way the life had bled out of you was obvious, the dullness to the hair and eyes, the loss of weight, of will. You were clinging on by tatters and Wayne feared that you wouldn’t find a way back up.

Maybe there was a bit of selfishness in him wanting to give you Eddie’s prized belongings- just so that he wouldn’t have to look at them anymore, but never worry about what state they were in. But… perhaps it would be the last thing to keep you alive when all else failed.

“Thank you,” you whispered, and when your fingertips traced the silver chords you could picture Eddie right there with you, his gentle encouragements and genuine excitement when you’d get something right. “I- I don’t know what to say…”

Wayne as always takes his time to respond, tired eyes stare off into the trees, but you know it’s not what he’s seeing.

“Eddie… Eddie was strugglin’ when he first came to me, all those years ago. Yknow that?”

He’d mentioned it briefly, but Eddie had always been prone to changing the subject, dismissing his own struggles with ‘my old man was hardly a Neil Hargrove, just a snake.’ You nod, though there’s a lingering guilt at being so eager to find out more. Perhaps you just wanted something new- because if you had something new, it was a tiny fraction of a moment that he was alive again.

“His father didn’t just treat him poorly, he used Eddie. Kid was learnin’ to pick locks before he ever understood his father was settin’ him up to take the fall. Kid couldn’t ride a bike but he could hotwire a car.” Wayne’s head shook, disappointment and anger written in the way his jaw worked aggressively. “His mother didn’t give a shit about him, he was an alcohol induced mistake as far as she was concerned. So in the end, Eddie was alone.

When I finally got my hands on him- and that wasn’t easy- he was beyond lost. He didn’t know who to be, or how to be. I was terrified I’d lose him to his fathers ways, if only because that was all Eddie knew. So when that boy took a shine for guitar? For- for that board game and whatever music he liked to listen to? It was a blessin’. He was becoming someone, himself, and I knew he’d be okay.”

The heavy weight of Wayne’s gaze returns to you. “I’d been so excited for him to just be alright, I never considered how it’d be to see him thrive. And when he was with you? He was. Eddie talked about you every chance he got, anythin’ that reminded him of you and to anyone who would listen- mostly me.

Eddie never dreamed of the future- of becomin’ a rockstar or meetin’ his heroes, sure. But I’d never heard him talk about pursuin’ jobs or lookin’ at houses to buy until you gave him the time of day. So thank you, sweet girl, for makin’ him so happy that he actually wanted to meet his future. I just wish he’d have gotten the chance to see it for himself.”

The tears are heavy down your face, you’d stopped looking at Wayne and were gripping the box of his rings tight enough to make your knuckles and the ends of your fingers turn white. You’d grabbed it in the fear of damaging his guitar, but it only hurt worse when you could feel the rattle of the rings that hadn’t been left behind.

You two sit there in silence for a long time, cradled in the gentle sounds of life continuing on.

You don’t know how long you stand outside Dustin Henderson’s front door. Probably only minutes, but it feels closer to hours. You’ve had Eddie’s rings and guitar for a handful of days now, his prized instrument the first and last thing you see every day, and much like the metalhead himself you tell it good morning and goodnight. In your case however, it’s meant for someone else, someone you hope is listening.

In the end, you couldn’t bear to keep all of his jewelry, you loved his rings but could hardly wear any of them, and something about them sitting unused in your room had felt disrespectful- so you did the only thing you could. You gave them to the one person in the whole world you could think of that would deserve them.

The first time you knock on the door is quiet, hesitant as you will yourself to go through with this. It had been enough time since… since, but that didn’t mean much. You yourself were still bound to the crushing depths of grief, and with that came sore spots and sensitivities you couldn’t so easily relinquish just because another had good intentions with whatever was said or done. Would it be cruel of you, to do this to Dustin?

The second time you knock is harder, and that time you get a polite “just a minute!” from who you can only assume is Dustin’s mother, the door swinging open to reveal the pleasant woman in question. She has a cat dancing around her ankles, and she greets you cheerily as she ushers you inside, fond familiarity after so many times picking up and dropping off her son. “He’s in his room, dear.”

You can hear the chattering and activity of Dustin within his room as you amble toward his door, muttering madly to himself- or perhaps Suzie- and throwing things about, there are errant words about grades and upcoming tests, and you suspect he’s cheating again. Or at least, that’s the best you could discern without seeing him. You’re standing close enough to hear him clearly, hand lowering and raising a few times, before you stretch your index finger, tapping your nail against the sliding door.

“Hold on! I’m—”

“Dustin.”

With a single word he’s gone deafeningly silent.

The door slides open and Dustin is staring at you with something like guilt and burning severity. You two haven’t talked the way you used to since… since everything went wrong. It was usually reserved for quiet nights of white hot shame and anguish, needing the only other person in the entire world that could understand the exact brand of pain bubbling and blistering on your heart.

It was hard- in daylight- to even look at each other without the feelings crawling back up. A frog in your throat choking out all pretense of being okay and normal and, perhaps most heinously, that either of you were ready to try and move on.

“Uh… Hey, didn’t- didn’t expect to see you…at all.” His hand comes up behind his head, scratching at the curled nape of his neck nervously as he takes you in. You’re faring no better at the moment than he is, fidgeting here and there and looking everywhere but in Dustin’s eyes. He’s not surprised by it, he remembers watching you the moment Eddie’s struggle had ended. You weren’t exactly liable to be a social butterfly anymore. “Are you okay? Needing to talk?”

“Yeah, yeah… M’okay, sorry for dropping by uninvited, I just-”

Your chin dropped to your chest with coiling frustration, talking to Dustin didn’t used to be so hard- he was one of those kids that you could pull up any hypothetical in the world, and he’d call you an idiot but never once make you feel stupid. Mostly because he’d explain the obvious right way, rather than dismissing you outright.

Now it seemed like the only time you could speak without struggle was when all the horrors wanted to come spilling out without relent.

“Wayne talked to me… a few days ago. He gave me some stuff…”

You fish in your pockets with trembling fingers, and when you present your open palms to Dustin, the remainder of Eddie’s rings sit there glittering at him.

“I want you to have these. Most of them are too big, but it feels wrong to just have them sitting there, so…”

You can see Dustin’s chin wobbling as you gently settle the sterling fragments of Eddie’s life into his hands. He rolls them around in his hands for a moment, and with a shaking breath he puts on as many as he can- some of them are a bit too big still, but he’d grow into them, Eddie had given him the chance to do so after all. Those are immediately put on Dustin’s desk, right beneath a light where they could be on display, a show of his great pride in having known and been brothers with the Freak of Hawkins’ High.

“We shouldn’t have left him,” Dustin’s voice is a tragic whisper in his lively bedroom. “We should’ve found a way.”

“I know.”

“All I can see is his face just… Staring at us. And him just- laying there while we ran.”

You and Dustin both have gone ‘round this in circles more times than you could care to count anymore, this unrelenting tide of guilt that usually ended in tears over the phone- or perhaps even in each others arms. You didn’t talk very often anymore, but you didn’t need to talk to pick him up at two in the morning and sit together in the silence. A ratty red booth seat with a head laying on a shoulder, and a sweet milkshake that tastes like vinegar when laced with sorrow.

“Dustin, there was nothing we could do. It- it was hard enough for us to haul ourselves up that rope, we never would have been able to get Eddie through.”

Dustin makes a little micro-expression that stinks of denial, but you don’t hold it against him even as you cross your arms, you’d been in his position enough times to know he wasn’t blaming you, just himself. Eddie’s best friend and he couldn’t even save him when it counted most.

“Y’know…” you begin slowly, a little smile curling at the edges of your face. “Eddie would be so excited to see you wearing his rings.”

Dustin’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “You think?”

“Ohhhh yeah…” You nod, puckering your lips as you step a little closer. “Eddie was… God he adored you, Dustin. He loved all you kids- his sheepies- but you were something special to him. I think he thought of you as a brother, really. Anytime he’d talk about Hellfire it’d always circle back around to you, something you’d said or done- what you were wearing, what you’d said about what someone else was wearing.

He was over the moon every time you liked something he liked, or took his side on… anything really. I think he’d have lost his mind if he ever got to see you wearing his stuff.”

It dragged a little lightness into Dustin, his smile widening as he toyed with the accessories encircling his fingers. He’d always looked up to Eddie a little bit, not that he’d given a shit about how cool Eddie was or wasn’t, Dustin had already broken into secret Russian labs to fight off sapient flesh monsters made out of hundreds of dead people. But Eddie had turned himself into an impenetrable shield for the rest of the weirdos in Highschool that weren’t so impervious to the opinions of their peers.

“I think he’d be scared.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah… At this rate I’m gonna dress better than he did.”

You laughed gently, and after an affectionate pause you reached out to grab Dustin’s shoulder with a quiet ‘c’mere’ and crushing him into a hug. It was hard to let go.

With a final squeeze however, you forced yourself apart and rubbed at your face with the palms of your hands. “Okay… Okay. I’ve gotta go, work is in an hour and I really don’t need to survive the Upside Down just to be eaten by a fifty-three year old woman with a draconian understanding of how coffee works.”

“Alright,” Dustin’s hand shot up to point at you, brows raising playfully. “If you need a rescue, you know how to contact me. I’ll stage a coup and everything.”

When you stepped out the door of Dustin Henderson’s house, you felt just a touch lighter than you had going in. Like those rings had been weighing you down- but more. Like they’d been snares, trapping up some of the inky black that stirred in the waters of your soul, and when you’d gifted them it’d taken all that ink with.

There was a guilt in it, but reprieve as well- you knew Eddie would be happy to see that tiny smile that touched your lips for the first time in weeks, and that it was sincere for once.

“Are you… fucking kidding me.”

How did you manage to lose something that you really shouldn’t be losing in a place as small as this.

A Smith & Wesson that apparently she’d brandished on Steve once upon a time, gifted to you by none other than Nancy Wheeler after the second time everything went to hell and Billy died. It was still loaded, and now you couldn’t fucking find the thing. Nervousness was beginning to turn to panic, knowing full well that Susan wasn’t faring the best these days.

Some stupid argument you’d had the weekend prior. You couldn’t even remember what for- just that you’d been angry enough to storm out, and when you’d come back the car had been gone. The sourness only worsening at the sight of empty cans of beer where there hadn’t been when you took off.

You’d already checked through your whole disastrous bedroom half a dozen times by now, each pass carrying you from bargaining, ‘I probably am just not seeing it.’ To outright panic. It had to be here, you couldn’t afford any other option. Eventually your hunt bled out into the rest of the small space, checking cabinets and drawers for where you might have accidentally misplaced it.

You eventually found yourself even in Max’s room, kept pristine like some sacred space that could be contaminated by the slightest disturbance. You tried your best to keep things immaculate, but it was hard when your hands were trembling. It was bad enough you hadn’t been there for your sister, you really didn’t need to be the one to accidentally give her mom an easy way to check out.

“C’mon shithead, show yourself.” You’re looking in nooks and crannies now, places neither you nor any rational human would ever have put the weapon, either side of the fridge, in the hampers, beneath the sink- maybe Susan had found it and just moved it elsewhere one day for… whatever reason she’d do that. It didn’t matter why, it just needed to not be with Susan.

You’ve exhausted all your other unusual options, so now you’re on your knees in the living room and have your fingers jammed up underneath the couch, wishing you’d brought a flashlight to just look. Your fingers suddenly come into contact with a heavy and familiar hilt and relief is like soothing warm water on your hair. It’s a struggle to get a grip on it with so little leeway beneath the piece of furniture, but you manage to hook it on your pinkie and drag it into the blessed light.

The thing was meant for self defense, but had become more of a memento.

“Hawkins is dangerous, but… I’m sure you got that memo already.” You’d be lying if you said you weren’t captivated by Nancy Wheeler’s beautiful coy smile. She’d always had that about her, the ability to look so sweet even as she did things like lay a revolver in your hands and tell you that you were in constant peril.

“Yeah, you could say that.” Your own smile is bashful. “Thank you, Nancy. I appreciate this. I know Max likes to act like she’s invincible but—”

“They’re not, I know.” Nancy rolls her eyes playfully as she leans up against the exterior wall of her two story home, a pretty thing that oozes suburban charm you wish you could wrap yourself up in. “Mike thinks he could singlehandedly take down the US Government sometimes.”

“I mean…” you nudge her with your hip. “You kinda did exactly that, Miss Wheeler.”

You’d loved the way she’d laughed, the sound sticking with you for days.

You stare at the gun, turning it over as it glints gray against your fingers in the low light of the trailer. You remember wishing you’d brought it with you when you’d all gone to Lovers’ Lake, though Nancy had helpfully pointed out that it would’ve been rendered useless by the water anyway, much to your chagrin.

That aching wish had come back with a vengeance when you’d gone to the parallel house in suburbia, looking for Nancy’s guns in the pursuit of self-defense. It only figured that cruel bastard had the power to stop time… or… whatever the fuck it was he did.

You don’t know what it is about this night, this moment sitting on the floor with this weapon on your hand. Maybe it was the rare sobriety, or the perfect circumstances, or pure luck, or fate. Maybe it was as simple as bestowing a little piece of Eddie to wonderful, brilliant Dustin Henderson and knowing- no matter what happened to you- some part of him would survive on in that boy.

But suddenly, an epiphany struck you hard enough to have chills falling down your skin.

Time was frozen in the Upside Down.

Before Eddie, before Max, before Billy and Bob and- before everything.

You realize in a detached way that you’re shaking so hard the gun is rattling in your grip, that you threaten to drop it and so it’s placed with all the carefulness you can muster onto the table. You feel fragile like glass.

What if you could save them all?

#stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #eddie #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things x reader #max mayfield #billy stranger things #billy hargrove #max stranger things #stranger things vol 2 #dustin henderson #nancy wheeler #Eddie Fic #Eddie Angst #Angst Fic

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