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girlystories · 11 months

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L'appel du vide (The call of the void)

— pairings: Henry Bowers + Patrick Hockstetter x female/daughter of a cop/new student reader

Summary: after your parents divorce (because your mom is kinda crazy) you move to your dads hometown, back to Derry, and your cousin richie. Additional warnings: swearing, depictions of child abuse. Words: 3.5k

previous part here

Chapter 3: Everywhere

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑'𝐒 front windows were rolled down, filling it once again with a satisfying breeze. The tired girl resisted the urge to lay her legs on the dashboard, knowing her dad wouldn't let that slide. He had just finished his pack, holding his last cigarette while driving.

[Name]'s bored eyes stared at the road. "Whose idea was it to have a barbecue at fall?"

Her dad shook his head. "Come on. Why do you have to be so down in the dumps all the time?"

"What does that even mean?"

"Just try and act happy when we arrive. It's the least you can do."

She scratched above her eye, in an effort to calm herself. It was like he viewed her as a nuisance. "Why did you want me to come with you in the first place? Don't you want to catch up with your old friend alone?", she took off her shoes and wrapped her arms around her knees, before adding, "since I bother you so much."

He sighed irritably at the comment, glancing at her. "Now why do you have to do that? You know that's not what I meant."

She stayed silent for a moment, still looking out the window. "So who is this friend?"

He didn't answer at first, wanting to resolve the small argument that began since this morning but also not wanting to bother at the moment as well. "He's a colleague of mine and an old classmate."

She leaned forward and turned the music up from the radio but her dad turned it off right after.

"[Name]," he said sternly. "Please."

She forced herself to look at him, groaning under her breath.

"I don't want to argue with you. I just want to adjust here after what happened...", he sighed. "I know you need it too."

[Name]'s eyes softened when she noticed his expression. She didn't know exactly why she woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day. Maybe it was because of the new environment or maybe the sudden lack of direction.

"Yeah, I guess so..."

They didn't say much on the rest of the ride, only asking why Richie and her uncles didn't come with them, which was answered by a rather half-assed excuse from Richie that he'd hang out with his friends.

She noticed that whoever's house they were going to was just out of Derry, being more noticeable by the sudden switch to a dirt road. She looked confused behind her, seeing the town fade a little in the distance. Trees passed them as they drove towards a rather large house. What was more noticeable was the farm house and the variety of animals roaming around. She didn't question it however, and got out the car just as they came to a stop.

She held a plastic container with some homade brownies for a simple yet enjoyable gift. They couldn't go there empty handed, so last night instead of doing nothing she thought it'd be a great idea to make a good first impression.

She took her time looking around the place, seeing the chickens and cows eating the grass. As she looked over at the house she felt an unnerving aura from it, and she hoped she was just being stupidly paranoid. It wasn't at all inviting in a way she couldn't describe. She ran after her dad when she noticed she was left behind.

She hid slightly behind him as he knocked the door. It was opened after a few moments by a middle-aged man.

"[Father name]," he said enthusiastically, greeting the both inside as he moved to the side. "Come on in."

The house was rather... glum and dark, looking completely different from the white appearance it had from outside, but it still had that stange vibe. The wall's cracks somehow revealed a hidden story behind it, as well at the holes that weren't as apparent behind the ripped wallpaper. She didn't want to judge in any way, but by the looks of the way someone "tidied" the place made it seem that no woman lived there, or set foot in that building to be exact.

"Sir, we've bring you some brownies. I hope you like them," [Name] said.

It was as if he hadn't noticed her at first by the surprised look on his face. "That's kind of you. You must be [Name], right?"

She nodded. "That's me."

"This is my daughter I told you about," her dad said proudly, placing a hand on her shoulder. "[Name], this is Butch. We were inseparable during our school years."

Butch laughed. "I have to tell you stories during that time. That reminds me, I think I remember you," he told her.

"You do?"

"Yeah, when you were about this tall," he said laughing, depicting a much shorter [Name] with his palm. "I can't believe you've grown so much. You're like a flower that has just bloomed. So beautifully too."

The smile he had when he said that ran a chill down her spine and she chuckled nervously. "Thank you."

His smile faded suddenly. "[Father name]. The thing is that I don't believe today is a good day for barbecue."

The said man rose a brow. "Oh? Why's that?"

He groaned in annoyance as he recalled something. "My stupid son forgot we have guests today and didn't prepare the meat. I should've known. He never does anything right."

"It's alright, I don't mind. We could just go out and eat somewhere in town. I'm sure your son must have been busy."

"Thanks for being understanding," he turned his attention back at [Name]. "Could you go call my son from upstairs? I don't know what's taking him so damn long."

"Sure. Um, where do I put this?", she asked and motioned at the brownies still in her hands.

"I'll take that," he did just as he said, "now go and tell him if he doesn't get down right now I'll have to drag him myself."

She didn't question it and made her way to the second floor. She felt kind of bad for the guy, but she didn't want to jump into any conclusions. As she passed the living room – which was full of empty beer bottles that weren't hidden well – she held back the need to gag at the terrible smell of nicotine.

Upstairs, she passed the bathroom and stopped at what she assumed was the guy's bedroom. She knocked the door, "hey, your dad said to come downstairs."

No answer. A few seconds passed and she knocked again.

"We're going out to eat. I don't know where but I hope somewhere good," she added jokingly. Still no answer. She hesitantly turned the handle, opening it and stepping inside. "Are you sleeping or something?"

It didn't take her long to realize the room was empty. Well, except the countless thrown clothes on the floor. The bed was unmade, but no one was laying on it. She rubbed the back of her head, confused.

She peeked her head out the door and yelled out: "He's not here!"

"What? Where the hell is that–", Butch's yell came from downstairs, continuing with a murmur while [Name] took a look around.

She approached the room, which had posters of Metallica, Megadeath and other metal bands she didn't know of, and some of women wearing inappropriate clothes in various poses, making anyone question the limit of the flexibility of the common person. There were some pictures on the selves, and upon inspection, as she grabbed one, was a group of young boys – four to be exact, having toothy grins on their faces. All except one, who instead showed the smallest smile, but not in a shy way as one might believe. She was about to look at another picture but another sound make her stop.

A loud snarky voice came from downstairs after the snap of someone shoving the door open, though not a yell but still loud. Quickly and loudly the person walked upstairs, which made [Name] almost jump by the speed when he barreled towards the room, only stopping when she was seen standing in the center. They were clearly hot happy with their visitors.

The boy's surprised expression lasted for a split second when his brows furrowed deeply, and he grabbed the picture frame from her.

"What the hell are you doing here?", he snapped.

Her legs froze on the wooden floor. She knew all well those blue eyes and stupid ashy hair. That goddamn ugly mullet.

It was Henry.

Henry-motherfucking-Bowers.

He was covered in sweat and a brown gooey substance that she hoped in God was only mud. He wore overalls this time that were tucked inside his muddy boots. Underneath he wore a tight black shirt. His sleeves were tucked above his elbows once again, but something told [Name] that this time it wasn't because of his usual fashion choice.

She crossed her arms, in a way not to show her also shocked reaction on how things turned up, "turns out my dad knows yours."

"Great, fucking great," his nostrils flared. "Another new piece of shit in this town."

She scoffed. That was uncalled for. "Oh, poor you. Like I wanted this. I would prefer to stay home rather than spend the day with you."

His anger increased, but instead he held a snakry grin. "Oh? So you already know of me?"

"Word travels fast it seems, Bowers."

She couldn't lie that she didn't keep asking her cousin and Jamie and Evelyn – and slightly Aiden, but he didn't reveal much – about him and the rest of the gang. She found out pretty quick about their acts around town and that her bleach blonde classmate wasn't how he seemed when they first met. During school he didn't dare get in trouble, but later in the afternoon he was a completely different person. The larger guy from the rest was considered the most chill of the group, despite the incident that happened the day before in the cafeteria. She was told that the other two were the most feared, Bowers and Hockstetter, even though she didn't know much about the dark heared member.

Henry's grin widened at the use of his name. He was about to say something when another shout came from downstairs.

"Don't take your sweet fucking time, Henry! We have to go!"

He flinched just meekly that it would take someone to pay close attention to notice it. He grabbed her wrist and forcefully shoved her out of his room, obviously not too happy with her in his property.

"Ow! Hey!", she yelled.

He didn't care about her almost tripping and slammed the door at her face.

In the end it was agreed they'd drive in one car instead of two, which happened to be the one [Name]'s dad was driving, resulting in a rather awkward ride between the duo of teens in the back seat. The fathers didn't seem to notice the hostility around them, chatting and laughing loudly.

She couldn't help but glance at the angsty blonde on her right every now and then, who was glued to the door, looking out the window with crossed arms. He had changed into a pair of jeans and he wore the same denim jacket. He still had that angry look on his face, as if it was set on default while his mullet was way messier than yesterday.

She was humming alongside the lyrics of Fleetwood Mac from the radio when she heard someone call her name.

"Don't be rude. Butch is talking to you," her dad said.

"Oh, sorry... Could you repeat that?", she swore she caught a glimpse of Henry rolling his eyes.

"I was just telling you about the day I met this piece of treasure here," he let out a laugh and patted her dad on the shoulder, who also laughed in response. "One time I was driving home, you know on the dirt road after Witcham Street. Yeah well, I was driving home – I was about twenty-four or five at that time – and I saw a fallen motorcycle – it was a BSA Gold Star I think. Shame, it was a beauty! Well anyway, there was a unconscious man laying next to in, and, of course, I had to check on 'im. How do you know! – it was none other than [Father name] over here!"

The girl's eyes widened, "What?!"

He laughed, smacking his knee, "I will never forget that day. This peace of shit almost gave me a heart attack,"

the other man cleared his throat, interrupting him.

"Sorry, sorry... so anyway, I rushed to the nearest hospital – and as you know we didn't have a hospital back then in Derry, so I had to drive for twenty minutes. In the end he survived with only a broken leg and he was out after five days. Your father here is made out of steel!"

She leaned from her seat, grabbing both front seats to get a closer look at her dad. "Dad, is that true?"

"Yeah, well...", he chuckled awkwardly, rubbing his nose with his thumb. "That's why you're never getting a motorcycle."

She pouted her cheeks. "Why? That's not fair."

He laughed again, this time in a teasing way. "We'll see. That all depends on your grades, missy."

"You wan' a bike? Not really ladylike," Butch informed. As if reminded of his existence [Name] sat back in her seat, her knee accidentally brushing the guy's next to her.

"I'm sure she would be fine, Butch."

The man shrugged, forgetting the subject. "Anyway, good times, good times... Nothing can rewind time unfortunately," he sighed loudly. "Enough about that, I'm sure you remember living in Derry, right? This town is anything but unmemorable."

"Uhm, hmm," she placed her forefinger on her bottom lip. "I guess a little. Maybe middle school... and me playing in the backyard..." A core memory suddenly popped into her mind. Of her mom. But she didn't want to think about her at the moment. "I also remember riding my bike, that was fun."

"That's it? I swear you used to hang with Henry over here," he revealed, looking at his son with a neutral look she couldn't describe. "Don't you remember, son?"

There was a pause of silence that lasted longer than expected. Too long, that she couldn't make out what he was thinking. Now that she thought about it more, she recalled vague memories playing in a large yard. No... it was a farm. She also remembered the animals. She chased after them too. The thing she didn't remember, though, was playing with Henry. She would surely remember a cruel bratty little devil bothering or bullying her. The other thing she remembered was a woman living there with her child that had long blonde hair and a big toothy smile, while the dad was usually absent.

"No," he finally answered, bringing her out of her thoughts.

"Huh," Butch turned his head back forward, "Maybe it was another girl."

The diner was pretty small, but also chill and welcome, not at all fancy. Perfect for hangout between dads, but not so suited for two kids that didn't get on a good start. It wasn't because of the way he bumped onto [Name], but because of what she heard. She wasn't the type of person to believe in rumors, but there must have been a reason everyone fucking hated their guts. They even bullied her cousin. That's a good and reasonable reason. Also his attitude was really getting on her nerves. He could at least act nice, especially in front of his dad.

He was behaving like a bratty kid, seating in the same way he sat in the car: crossed arms and leaned back, manspreading. He was opposite from them and next to his dad.

[Name] leaned her head on her palm, playing with her food, or in better words, her leftover crumbles. The two fathers kept talking and talking, making her zone out on most of it. They kept saying old stories and whatever new stuff happened in Derry.

She glanced over at Henry, who didn't touch his fries one bit. He was glaring at her, which she couldn't take seriously and found honestly pretty funny. She rose a brow, in a way asking him, *what are you looking at?*

This made his breathing quickler, as if trying to calm himself down. Before she did anything to make him any more mad, his dad spoke.

"Eat your food. I didn't pay this for nothing," he said, his tone completely shifted from the one previously.

Henry froze again, not daring to look at him. Instead looking down. After what felt like hours, he said, "I'm going out."

He got up and left quickly, while also not making any eyecontact with anyone. Butch's head followed after him, until he had completely gone out of the diner. The sound of the bell above, then the shut of the door followed. Butch's eyes made chills run down [Name]'s spine.

Butch parted his lips in order to grumble another snarky remark, but [Name] got up suddenly.

"Uh, I, um, gotta go out too," she stumpered out before thinking. "Gotta hang out with some friends from school."

"You made friends already? Who?", her dad asked.

"Uh, Aiden." She said, whoever came to her mind at the moment. "Yeah, sorry. I totally forgot about that."

He sighed, "Okay, fine. You can go."

"Okay, talk to you later," she said and was about to leave, before turning back around. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Butch."

Just as she departed the diner her dad thought out loud, "wait, I thought I told you to cancel any- Ah, what the heck."

She didn't realize it before but it was literally freezing outside. October came like bitch. It was obvious it'd snow any minute now.

She immediately looked around, looking for Henry, which she did, since he kicked a dumpster over, sending all the trash flying. That made her regret her decision instantly.

She stayed outside of the diner, hugging herself and shivering, staring at his back, not knowing what to do.

Then he started leaving.

Fuck.

She quickly followed after, her fast but short legs trying to catch up after him.

What the hell was she doing?

Whatever she thought before clearly didn't really matter to her anymore, but she had to find somewhere warm to go. It'd be super embarrassing to go back at the diner. The two men would probably think she was a loser and got stood up or something.

But what was happening right now would probably also be considered embarrassing, if not more.

Maybe she should just follow him secretly and learn more about his secret wicked ways? Find some sort of secret to blackmail him into not bullying Richie anymore.

Or just go home. Which was kinda far, so she'd probably freeze until then.

Her breathing became heavier from both the cold and her lazy body suddenly having to walk so quickly. Just then Henry stopped. She also stopped. She quickly realized he was at a bus stop and he took out a cigarette, lightning it up and inhaling it. He shifted on one leg and placed a hand inside his denim jacket, shivering ever so lightly. He wasn't dressed properly for the weather, yet he refused to feel any cold. He looked to the right as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

It took her a minute to realize he had noticed her.

Shit.

"The fuck you lookin' at?"

She didn't know what else to do but to walk up to him, awkwardly sitting down at the wooden seat.

"Oh, hi," she tried to act casual, but obviously failing. "Cold weather we're having, huh."

"Are you fucked, Trashmouth no. 2?"

"Jeez, why are you always so fucking angry?"

"None of your fucking business, Missy," he snapped, using the nickname her father gave her, but sounding it way differently. "Why the hell did you follow me, you weirdo. Are you that pathetic you follow random people around just so they would talk to you?"

"No... I was just bored," she shrugged, her leg bouncing nervously. "Are you that egotistical, Bowers?"

And she used his name again.

If it were another day he'd definitely mess with her in a more fucked up way, she wouldn't dare approach him ever again, but now he wasn't really feeling it.

"Then why not just ask your old man to give you a ride home? Would make this shit all easier for me"

"Huh? Why?"

He threw his cigarette at the concrete, stepping on it with his heel.

"'Cuz I'm bored out my fuckin' mind, that's why. I wanna go back at the farm."

"Why not ask your dad for a ride then?", she placed her hands inside her pockets as a wind went past them.

He shot her a glare, yet said nothing. After a few minutes she thought to say something. Unfortunately, whatever she chose upon was too late as a bus had stopped.

Henry got on in without saying a word. Moments later she sat the alone, shivering, confused and with regret. She shouldn't have left the stupid diner.

She walked back home. Fortunately, she had brought her keys with her.

#:ssnowville #:snowville #[🌸]#it fanfiction #it x reader #bowers gang #bowers gang x reader #henry bowers x reader #patrick hocksetter x reader #henry bowers #patrick hockstetter #Spotify

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erostheartist · 4 months

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& i'm back with #ofmd #mermay ! day 27 was the chain! of course i had to draw our favourite rat boy and black pete as THAT iconic album cover by fleetwood mac. also, #happypridemonth🌈 ! there'll be many more #queer creations from me this month. stay safe & stay fabulous!

p.s. commissions and pre-made wallpapers are available on my #kofipage.

linktr.ee

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deceptive-daydreams · 1 year

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The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

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The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm. That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford. Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off. The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it. The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost. And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall. A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses. A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra. Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom. 4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground. With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay. Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify. Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink. You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog. Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids. Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs. Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it. “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place. The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is. His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes. “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got. You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point. The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown. It was mid September. Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands. Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak. Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store. Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers. Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows. The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots. The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers. Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her. Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily. One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest. She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee. Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you. “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine. “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh. Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand. Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin. Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone. Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does. “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances. Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black. “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over. “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.

“Well what about him? He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow. You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine. “What happened to me, Socks? I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.” Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked. The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up. It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles. They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins? Been there, done that, this is my only option." He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.

“Pretzels, Steve? Really?” you taunt. “How bland of you.” you deadpan. He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout. “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident. “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest. “...was mean.” he sasses. “But probably true.” he finishes. “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time. “I’m off in like fifteen!” Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing. Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor. The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc. And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much. Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time. The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa. You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design. She’d been practicing for weeks with no success. “Dammit! Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee. You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat. “It is now.”

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin. “Another one? Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee. Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around. She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers. The clock on the register currently reads 5:20. Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.

“What?” you demand. Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup. A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge. “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.

“Yeah, Steve. What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup. “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea. She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister. The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall. Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case. She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well. A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf. Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions. You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat. Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window. It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles. Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down. He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat. You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry, you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before. The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet. Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should. Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face. He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully. “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window. This provokes you to look back outside. Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet. Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer. Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door. “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular. Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue. Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter. “Ouch. That make you feel better, sweetheart?” Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues. “Make you feel all big and bad? Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands.

A cocky look takes over his features. “Well what if I’m a paying customer?”

“I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter. “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in. His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back. A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand. Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you. Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework. Your eternal hell. Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape. Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time. He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe. “You could have warned me! I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something! So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly. Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks. I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee. “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony. Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides. Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off.

“I don’t wanna hear it. You don’t talk unless it's about work. I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.

He laughs before replying. “You’d like that wouldn’t you? Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly. “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples. “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact. “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you. His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder. “This is work. We work here. Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you. You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly. He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost. It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose. The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face. There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics. You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him. Poking your arm, he tries again. “Socks. I got things to do.” he continues. “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him. Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience. You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does. It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest. Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow. Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag. Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.” he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left. He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out. You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit. Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining. Just my luck. Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you. Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home. It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you. You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core. “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.

You huff before responding. “No. I don’t need anything from you. Get the hell out of here.” You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that. Ever. Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining. I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work. You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you. “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up. Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off. You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games. Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it. After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way. The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings. You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night. It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home. A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you. Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can. A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work. In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them. The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed. Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite. The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment. The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see. Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom. It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there. You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day. In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it. Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

Next ->

Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x you #eddie x you #eddie x fem reader #eddie x female reader #eddie x reader #eddie munson angst #barista!eddie #eddie munson fic #eddie fic #eddie munson smut #stranger things fic #eddie munson fluff #the under ground

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corpseofthemonth · 3 months

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˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ᥕᥱᥣᥴ᥆꧑ᥱ t᥆ ꧑ᥡ bᥣ᥆g꒱ ₊˚ˑ༄

This fall is my senior year of high school and I decided I'm going to journal the entire experience here. I'll be referring to myself & all my friends and family and even my pets by false names for privacy reasons, and also because I intend to delete this blog at the end of the year. This is a diary but I might reblog fandom stuff to chronicle my fixations. I hope melodramatic bullshit is up your guys' alleys !!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Name: Olive

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Age: 17

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Birthday: April 12th

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Sexuality: Asexual Lesbian

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Gender: agender

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Pronouns: Any! she/her is fine though

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Likes: Stevie Nicks, goth music, books about sad women in big cities, deer, teeth, pomegranates, carnivorous plants, ironic camouflage, bodies of water, hairspray, hotels, floral wallpaper, cemeteries, fainting couches, attics, taxidermy, the color green, the Muppets, stupidly large wigs, blackjack, crime procedurals, cat eye glasses, parasols, religious iconography, surf rock, having red hair, Joan Didion, my dog Bea, hand tattoos

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Dislikes: bananas, John Travolta, unnecessarily big animals, Lindsey Buckingham, birds, bad poetry, acid jazz, possums, eurocentric beauty standards, mosquito hawks, centipedes, squash, gingham

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Boundaries/Triggers: Do not get remotely sexual with me. Dms are fine, I'm up for friends! If we become close I may divulge my other social media accounts but the second you cross a line I'm blocking you. No bigotry. Basic shit, no being too graphic about traumatic experiences unless you're venting and I've given you permission. NEVER repost my photos even with credit.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Fav Musicians: David Bowie, Ethel Cain, Bauhaus, Sisters of Mercy, Fleetwood Mac, Cocteau Twins, Mazzy Star, Lou Reed, Leonard Cohen, Gardens of Livadia, Marlene Dietrich, Blondie, Joni Mitchell, Messer Chups, Fiona Apple, Talking Heads, underscores, Billie Holiday, Elliot Smith, Strawberry Switchblade, St Vincent, Norma Tanega, The Cramps, Pj Harvey, Bjork, Nick Cave&The Bad Seeds/The Birthday Party, Roxy Music, Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, Kate Bush, Black Marble, Johnny Cash, Dolly Parton, Roger Miller, Sonic Youth, Grouper, Sierra Ferrell, Bruce Springsteen, Broadcast, The Cure, Siouxsie & the Banshees, Lebanon Hanover, Joy Division, New Order, Scary Black, Vampire Beach Babes, Boy Harsher, She Wants Revenge, Depeche Mode, Clan of Xymox, The Damned, This Cold Night... way more

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Fav Movies & Tv: Archer, Bobs Burgers, What We Do In The Shadows, Brooklyn 99, Shows on Dropput, The Royal Tenenbaums, Clue, Scott Pilgrim, Practical Magic, Murderville, Killing Eve, Blue Velvet, Wild Things, Twin Peaks, Lady Bird, Past Lives, Francis Ha, But I'm A Cheerleader, Addicted to Fresno, Russian Doll

#goth #intro post #introduction #digital diary #diary blog #dear diary #my diary

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devil-doll13 · 1 year

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Wax & Wane

(Part 4)

Tw: References to past injuries/scars, kinda angsty, Abigail is thinking about murder but Ellie calms her down basically lol, also Abby is very awkward, Blood, Swearing, I think that’s it?

Ellie belongs to @rottent33th! Also thanks to her for ideas <3

Percy who is mentioned here belongs to @the-pinstriped-hood, and I also mention Ava who belongs to @slaasherslut!

To be honest I was bumbling about for most of this but I think the newfound friendship between Ellie and Abigail is really sweet. Anyway, enjoy, sorry it took so long!

Summary: Abigail is left to clean herself up after the two Sinclair brothers had attacked her, and receives an unexpected visitor who changes her mind on returning the favour.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Dividers by firefly-graphics

Hot, steaming water cascaded over her injured body and stung her freshly-stitched wounds, scorching her skin as she painfully winced in response. Ugly purple welts and thinner, more methodical slits that were permanently carved into her flesh seemed to have become angrily inflamed under the boiling spray. Her cracked ribs - the less visible of her impairments - were achingly sore and left her wheezing for every gasp of air. All in all, she was left hurt and dazed after her scuffle with the two Sinclair brothers. Wringing a hand through her stringy locks, Abigail watched glumly as rusty reddish-brown residue dribbled down her cut calves and feet where it disappeared into the steel drain.

The woman that had argued for her release - Whose name she’d garnered was Percy, short for Persephone Jones, the best-selling fucking author - had very subtly and politely hinted that she needed to clean herself, and she found herself in full agreement. Had it not been for the fact that she’d just walked right into a ghost town, fixing her hygiene would’ve been a high priority; except for the fact that evading mortal peril was.

Abigail wrenched the knob back and the steady stream of hot water ceased. She huffed and pulled the faded floral-patterned shower curtain open to step dripping onto a scratchy, worn out towel, then wound another tightly in her wet hair. The first thought of rendering herself naked and vulnerable in such hostile territory had not been an appealing one, but she admitted with some relief that her newfound cleanliness was worth it. No longer did the odorous sweat, filth and grime irritate her; replaced instead by the pleasant scent of rose-scented shampoo she’d sneakily nicked off the bathroom shelf.

After she’d groggily redressed in the furtive, shuttered shade of the house’s old bedroom - for she still did not dare to fall asleep in these conditions - Abigail padded quietly down the scratchily carpeted stairs and into the ancient yellowed kitchen. She pulled open a nearby cupboard, liberating a choice mug and teaspoon from the lower drawer. Then, she switched on the old kettle and sat down on a rickety wooden chair, rather smug. See, the other thing she’d pinched on the sly was a coffee container, which she thought might serve to keep her upright and conscious for the time being. It was here she allowed her nerves to relent slightly, lazily slumping back in her chosen seat and ignoring the pinch in her side as she did so. She pondered for a moment, closely observing the peeling wallpaper and behind it; the gradual buildup of mould festering there. Still, she had roomed in significantly filthier and sleazier boarding houses and motels. How sad was it that this place was actually rather inviting in comparison?

This once empty, abandoned home - which despite sitting dusty and neglected, mysteriously still had working electricity and plumbing - Percy had offered to Abigail as a sort of consolation gift. She narrowed her eyes sharply in thought. It seemed to her a strange act of charity, considering how dangerously close she was to holding the bespectacled writer hostage and using her as a bullet sponge; against her own devil of a lover no less.

…Which was exactly why she suspected she had ulterior motives. She knew this was a kind of soft imprisonment; Abigail was under house arrest until further notice deemed her fit to leave again. Or perhaps she would never leave at all; perhaps they all wanted her dull and drowsy so the moment she let her guard down, Bo would finish the job. A cold, spiteful resentment churning in her gut urged her to take advantage of this lull in their little murder operation to set up a counterattack of her own. It would be remiss to not acknowledge she was as prolific a killer as the Sinclairs were, after all, and they had severely injured a witch’s pride.

Abigail scowled. She would absolutely love to cruelly slaughter them all once she recovered in false docility; that seemed only fair and proper after that leering mechanic Bo had forced her into such an awkward arrangement… But despite her raw indignation at the fact, she had no way to get ahold of her invaluable grimoire, seeing as he so jealously guarded her car. Evidently he hoped to keep her within arms’ reach should his beloved decide she was no longer off limits for him to kill.

("Go’on, git’, before I try an' make Percy change her mind..." A sharp warning flashed in his icy blue eyes, though he carelessly snorted)

But more than that, it truly horrified her that she still couldn’t help but feel comforted by Percy’s gentle care and maternal aura. She radiated a sort of familial affection that Abigail had long wished for but never been truly allowed. That, and the fact that, despite Abigail’s behaviour, she had still been offered nothing but kindness from Percy. This elicited within her something akin to guilt; a foreign sensation that felt hard and rotten in her heart. Guilt, perhaps, that she had acted hastily against an unknown, that just moments ago she’d had thoughts of murdering her. It would normally be so easy to wash her blood off her hands and move on, but this time things were… different. It would actually be more terrifying if Percy was being genuine, that would mean she could cut right through her protective shell. She wasn’t ready to become that helpless and vulnerable again, but it was such a tempting warmth that Percy offered…

Abigail shook her head to dispel the notion. She’d sworn off emotional weakness of any sort since her resurrection; yet she still had those stupid yearnings inside of her that she desperately needed to be rid of. That would be the only way she would find peace and acceptance in who she was; what she was.

She’s using manipulation tactics and you’ve fallen right into her trap… You know better than that by now, Abigail, surely?

Better to be distant and detached than have those unrealistic hopes crushed again.

The rattling kettle puffed to a halt, and Abigail stood up wearily to pour heated water into her mug and stir. For a moment she focused solely on the satisfying clink of the teaspoon against ceramic as the aromatic brew began to turn a dark, swarthy brown. It would’ve been perfect if she had a tin of cinnamon on hand, but beggars couldn’t exactly be choosers, now could they?

Abruptly, she picked up the sound of the door being opened in the entrance hallway and bristled like a disturbed feline.

Is it Bo, come to rub salt in the wound? Vincent, so he can stand there silently, waiting for rebellion? Percy, so I’ll have to confront myself far too soon?

Instead the visitor was decidedly more unknown; a young woman who had appeared by the kitchen threshold with a swish of lavender tulle.

“Oh,” she wrinkled her nose delicately. “It’s kind of dusty in here…”

She had a soft, almost cherubic face, heart-shaped lips and uniquely multi-coloured eyes in which Abigail could detect no underlying malice or deceit; though she had instinctively been searching for it. She was certain they had never met before, but at once the woman seemed strangely familiar.

The light of realisation dawned on her then. She looks exactly like the beautiful woman I saw in Vincent’s portrait earlier…

“Hi!” The girl chirped amiably. “You’re the new arrival here, right? I’m Ellie!”

New arrival…?

Ellie beamed at her with a smile bright enough to rival the sun. Abigail almost squinted at this radiance, finding her almost as difficult to look at.

“…Oh.” She faltered for a moment, placing her teaspoon down gently. Abigail wasn’t quite sure how to react to this. Hadn’t she just moments earlier been fighting for her life? Well, perhaps it was just that she’d never had such a jovial welcome before.

Ellie was kind enough to ignore her slow response, and not discouraged in the slightest, extended a slightly paint-stained hand for her to shake.

“I’m…” Abigail eyed the violet-tangerine splotched palm, half expecting it to produce a knife to stab her with. She tried to settle on a reply.

“…The new arrival. Yes.”

“Well, welcome to Ambrose! It’s been so long since we had a proper visitor and all.” Ellie’s hand felt slightly damp, but it was warm and soft and did not cause her pain.

I had a rather funny welcome, Ellie…

Ellie might’ve been only a smidge taller than Abigail, so it was easy for them to see each other eye-to-eye. For a moment she felt an uncomfortable silence begin to kick in as she allowed her hand to be held limply. Her focus fell onto the colourful splashes on Ellie’s wrist, unwillingly.

“Would you like some…?” Abigail gestured vaguely with her teaspoon back at her coffee. No real point hiding it now. She wanted to stop this touching.

Ellie’s expression brightened further, if that was in any way possible.

“Yes please, if that’s alright!”

Well technically I stole it from you, so…

She quickly turned away and took out another mug from the kitchen drawers - as clean as one she could find - and got to work pouring Ellie a cup of coffee as well. But the woman stopped her gently, insisting that she could do it herself, so Abigail backed off.

“I’m sorry about, um…” Ellie scrunched up her face in an apologetic grimace. “How nasty it kind of is in here, but we’ll find you somewhere nicer soon!”

Abigail concealed a small sigh. It wasn’t exactly in her plans to stay in a place where she was wanted dead; she’d been through that enough already.

Does she not know what the situation is…?

“…Most of these houses are abandoned, then?” She decided to investigate a little, evading these clear attempts to soften up her guard.

The girl’s face lit up in memory. “Yes, they are… Have been for decades, really. It’s mostly just a ghost town here now. Except for us, anyway.”

Us, as in you, Percy and the two brothers…

Abigail was mildly surprised at how honest she was being. Certainly she knew this already, but it was in great contrast to Bo, who had lied to her. Perhaps it would be a good idea to interrogate this one.

“Where do you live, then?” She pressed.

“Just in a house by the outskirts of town. It’s best for my gardens, you see. And it’s wonderfully close to the forest too.” She gave her an enthusiastic little smile. “I’ll show it to you! It’s not far from here anyway, it’s basically me and Vinny’s little retreat.”

Vinny… Abigail just about mentally blanked as she recalled the man who’d just come inches away from cutting her throat an hour earlier.

So, those two both keep their lovers here…

She took a tentative sip as she contemplated this. That nasty, twisted part of her urged to take note of this for later, since it would be oh-so-easy to map out the town for her counterattack and use this girl as a bargaining chip, just as she tried to do with Percy. Ellie seemed overly optimistic and trusting, but Abigail was already expecting that point when she would recoil away from her; it was only a matter of time. This hospitality would not last, so she had to take advantage of it.

“Ok. I’ll take you up on that offer,” she said dully.

It was fine. She could simply spare Percy.

“That’s great. Like I said, not too many visitors lately, and I’m the kind of person who thrives on being able to share things, you know?”

Abigail stared rather intently at the brown-haired girl, still trying to dissect her for clues. Strangely enough, Ellie didn’t even seem unnerved by this, as she expected her to be. She smiled back, as if this was a completely normal occurrence for her. Even after she had figured out that she was the girl in the painting, Abigail still felt like there was something persistently familiar about Ellie. It was probably just that she’d known people like this before, but never really had their approval.

A silky black cat trotted in soon after the girl did and immediately made a beeline toward Abigail, winding in between her legs with a friendly purr.

“This is Salem,” the brunette said, beaming down at the kitten. “Well, he seems to like you!”

“Most cats do…” She murmured.

Abigail couldn’t help but feel charmed by this little fellow and reached down to scratch him between the ears. He chirped a sort of happy mewl in response.

I guess I can spare you as well…

“Actually.” She heard Ellie’s voice lower to a furtive, but slightly excited whisper as she stirred her coffee.

“I know there’s something different about you…”

Abigail felt her breath hitch at this. She was more or less waiting for the other pin to drop, but would it happen so fast?

“Different?” She watched the other girl warily.

“Oh!” Ellie exclaimed. It was as if she’d taken herself by surprise. She flushed slightly. “I don’t mean it in a bad way, I just…”

Ellie scooched closer. “I know you did something really, um… Magical. At least, I think Bo was saying something like that.”

Abigail leaned back against the counter, letting Salem rub his dark furry head against her boots. She knew she had reacted a little too fast, but… She eyed Ellie dubiously.

So you know I reanimated your boyfriend’s statue?

“And you believe in magic?” She probed. It came out as more condescending than she intended.

“Yes!” Ellie said eagerly. “I actually know a bit…”

It was then. She’d lifted her hand to rearrange her hair, and Abigail caught it. That spoon was moving on its own. The coffee was stirring itself.

That’s… Actual…

“…Do you normally do spells without realising it?” She couldn’t stop herself.

Abigail now realised that feeling of strange familiarity was because she’d detected the spark in another; but this one had a far gentler power than her own.

Ellie’s brows furrowed before a moment before an expression of surprise replaced it. She looked back down at her steaming mug. “Um… Yes, that does happen sometimes.” She admitted. “I guess you caught me.”

She took the teaspoon out and blew on her coffee. Abigail had little time to think on it before Ellie bursted out into an enthusiastic rant.

“Ok, ok, so I was honestly really excited, because this is the first time we’ve had another witch here in Ambrose, so I got up in the middle of painting…” She displayed her hands. “…Just to see you! You did cast a spell back there, didn’t you?”

“…In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Not a particularly nice one, though…

“See, I knew it. You definitely have a sort of… Aura, so I can tell. I’ve always been good with that.” Ellie pulled out a chair and sat down rather neatly, tucking her dress underneath herself. It was a rather grand gown she was wearing, Abigail realised. Again, she was struck by the feeling that this bright young woman felt out of place in this dingy town.

“I should’ve recognised it in you before, honestly.” Abigail bit her lip as she pulled up her own chair, and Salem hopped into her lap. “But you don’t have a nasty bone in your body, do you? I’ll admit, I haven’t as much experience with light magick spells.” She remarked, peering at Ellie’s rosy face.

Ellie blushed, as if she’d just complimented her.

“I mean, I don’t like the idea of hurting anyone with it… I mostly use it to help my garden along, grow some of the more difficult plants and use it to bake, that sort of thing.” She played with her fingers absentmindedly.

“…That’s amazing. I could never do that.” Abigail admitted, running a hand over Salem’s smooth fur. She genuinely meant it, too, despite herself.

Ellie’s face turned an even darker shade of pink.

“But I’m pretty sure those lightning bolts from earlier were yours, right? I’ve never seen someone conjure an entire storm before. Are you a powerful witch?”

Now it was Abigail’s turn to feel bashful.

“I… I can only do black magick, I’m not at all skilled in other kinds. Not like you.” She looked back to Ellie’s mug. That sort of quiet, peaceful spell was difficult for her, someone only used to harming others. But Ellie could do it effortlessly; without even thinking.

At the same time, she was astounded. This was almost an out of body experience; since when did anyone admire her disease and destruction? How was it that this girl seemed completely unperturbed by the monster sitting across from her?

Ellie reached over to clasp their hands together, and Abigail’s eyes shot open in surprise. To her own astonishment, she didn’t pull away. Salem jumped down from Abigail’s lap with a ‘mrrrp’ sound, padding out into the hallway where he disappeared.

“This is so nice. I’d love to show you everything I’ve collected over the years! I have this pretty crystal ball I’ve been trying to scry with, but I’ve taken well enough to divining tarot readings for everyone. Oh, you have to meet Ava too! Do you like art? I think I get a bit of a magic touch when painting sometimes.” It seemed Ellie was fit to burst, unable to contain her excitement, and she bounced up and down in her chair. For Abigail, it was infectious.

And who is Ava…?

“Yes, actually. What were you… Painting?” A thread of curiosity tugged at her brain and refused to stop. She thought back to her own artwork still imprisoned in her car. She imagined that Ellie’s were far less reflective of that inner wrongness; more uplifting.

“My new crocuses! See, that’s why I used a lot of purple. They really just liven up the flowerbeds, you know?” Ellie’s hands still clung to Abigail’s, still not recoiling in horror and the cold and pallor. “And purple’s kind of one of my favourite colours, so…”

“It’s one of mine, too…” She said softly.

Abigail could feel herself slipping again; in the same way she’d gotten carried away with Percy, even with Bo around. Her will to fight was slowly drained by a combination of fatigue and desperation to feel a smidge of affection. She realised the vibrant paint had rubbed off on herself, splotched on her own drab wrists. Then she realised she didn’t even mind.

I’ll have to spare Ellie, too. Or… Will I attack at all?

“Wait, I just realised. I’ve been so rude, I haven’t asked for your name!” Ellie leaned forward to fix her with an earnest gaze, and Abigail stiffened.

She was starting to doubt herself, which wasn’t good. How could she ever do that, when she alone made decisions regarding her fate? When she swore she would never relinquish that control again? She felt herself spiral as Ellie gave her a sisterly squeeze on her trembling hands. For a moment, Abigail studied Ellie’s features. No repulsion, no fear. A sort of acceptance and kinship she had never felt before.

“But don’t worry, it’s okay if you don’t want to tell me yet… Just do it in your own time.” Ellie’s voice was soothing and patient, as if she’d read her thoughts. It made her heart ache. How many times had she wished for this? Was it too good to be true?

Then, she made her decision.

(“Names have… Power. It’s not wise to give them away so freely.” Her own words echoed in her mind)

“Abigail.” She finally spoke, smiling shyly, and squeezed her warm hands back.

(Taglist: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut, @the-pinstriped-hood, @goldrose-star, @soupbabe, @bluecoolr, @flower-crowned-lady, @vincent-sinclair-deserved-better, @solmints-messyocdiary)

#the way Abigail is such a stray cat #and Ellie is just going ‘pspsps’#I don’t think Abby is someone who is fun to make friends with but Ellie is still trying go for it girl #with Abigail she’s honestly kind of evil but I can’t help but babygirlify her in situations like these #like goes from the cackling witch to a more softer human person #Abigail Williams #Abigail #Eleonora Mason #Ellie #House of Wax #fanfic #my writing #slasher oc #horror oc

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