#the man with the twisted lip 1986

[jazzandpizazz]

sherlock listening closely to john’s deductions

[jjjeremybrett]

JEREMY BRETT & EDWARD HARDWICKE as SHERLOCK HOLMES & DR JOHN WATSON in THE MAN WITH THE TWISTED LIP (1986)

[oldmanpeace]

My favorite album from each year, 1960+.

1960. Blues & Roots - Charles Mingus 1961. Blue Hawaii - Elvis Presley 1962. Jazz Samba - Stan Getz with Charlie Byrd 1963. The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan - Bob Dylan 1964. The Times They Are A-Changin' - Bob Dylan 1965. Bringing It All Back Home - Bob Dylan 1966. Blonde on Blonde - Bob Dylan. 1967. Are You Experienced - Jimi Hendrix 1968. Beggars Banquet - The Rolling Stones 1969. Let It Bleed - The Rolling Stones 1970. Bridge Over Troubled Water - Simon & Garfunkel 1971. Led Zeppelin IV - Led Zeppelin 1972. Harvest - Neil Young 1973. Pronounced - Lynyrd Skynyrd 1974. Pretzel Logic - Steely Dan 1975. Born To Run - Bruce Springsteen 1976. Turnstiles - Billy Joel 1977. Rumours - Fleetwood Mac 1978. Excitable Boy - Warren Zevon 1979. Rust Never Sleeps - Neil Young 1980. Heartattack And Vine - Tom Waits 1981. Moving Pictures - Rush 1982. The Number of the Beast - Iron Maiden 1983. Kill 'Em All - Metallica 1984. Purple Rain - Prince 1985. Hounds of Love - Kate Bush 1986. Graceland - Paul Simon 1987. Appetite For Destruction - Guns N' Roses 1988. ...And Justice For All - Metallica 1989. Doolittle - Pixies 1990. People's Instinctive Travels and the Paths of Rhythm - A Tribe Called Quest 1991. Nevermind - Nirvana 1992. Rage Against the Machine - Rage Against the Machine 1993. Enter The Wu-Tang - Wu-Tang Clan 1994. Weezer (The Blue Album) - Weezer 1995. Jagged Little Pill - Alanis Morissette 1996. Beautiful Freak - Eels 1997. Either/Or - Elliott Smith 1998. Mezzanine - Massive Attack 1999. Californication - Red Hot Chili Peppers 2000. Heartbreaker - Ryan Adams 2001. Toxicity - System of a Down 2002. Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots - The Flaming Lips 2003. Deja Entendu - Brand New 2004. Hot Fuss - The Killers 2005. Takk... - Sigur Rós 2006. One-X - Three Days Grace 2007. Oracular Spectacular - MGMT 2008. 808s & Heartbreak - Kanye West 2009. Man On The Moon: The End of Day - Kid Cudi 2010. My Beautiful Dark Twisted Fantasy - Kanye West 2011. Watch The Throne - Jay-Z 2012. Born To Die - Lana Del Rey 2013. Pure Heroine - Lorde 2014. Ultraviolence - Lana Del Rey 2015. To Pimp A Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar 2016. Puberty 2 - Mitski 2017. Cult Drugs - Blood Command 2018. Goodbye & Good Riddance - Juice WRLD 2019. Norman Fucking Rockwell! - Lana Del Rey 2020. The New Abnormal - The Strokes 2021. The Horses and the Hounds - James McMurtry 2022. It's Almost Dry - Pusha T 2023. World Music Radio - Jon Batiste 2024. The Past Is Still Alive - Hurray For The Riff Raff

[film-in-my-soul]

Future fic- Steddie?!

I had a lot of fun with this :3

.⋆｡°✩ 2015. The time has come. ✩°｡⋆.

At a few years off from fifty, Steve Harrington thinks he should be well and truly through with feeling anxiety so strong it threatens to take him out at the knees. Demogorgans, demodogs, Vecna, seventh graders... he should be over it. And yet, he's thankful he's sitting because his joints are feeling a bit like jelly, and he's been compulsively twisting the ring on his third finger over and over again, the metal warm under his fingers from how long he's been spinning it.

Realistically, Steve knows he's got nothing to worry about. Nancy's been on top of things since he'd asked for her help six months prior, and Robin's been on the warpath since that morning, arms loaded with coffee boxes from Dunkin' and a gaggle of adults Steve still sees as snotnosed little shit-heads in tow. Everything is going fine.

And yet he's expecting a dozen different things happening that will mess it all up, including but not limited to the Upside Down rearing its ugly head and ripping a portal through the middle of the Byers-Hopper's backyard, a shady government worker descending on the ceremony to say "Actually, there's been a mistake," or even Eddie finally deciding after close to three decades he can do better. All highly unlikely, but they run marathon loops through Steve's brain as he sits, knee jumping up and down, twinging on every third repetition.

It's only mid-afternoon; he's still got an hour before he needs to be downstairs. Each second that drips by, slow as molasses, Steve regrets losing the 'who has to walk down the aisle' coin toss. He's about to make a break for the window, just to get out of the room that Robin had locked him in once he'd started pacing, when the sound of the door knob jiggling catches his attention and draws his eyes.

Steve watches, blinking and a bit dumbfounded, as the lock clicks over twice and the door creeps open at a snail's pace. It makes sense why the motion brings to mind someone sneaking in because they are. Emerging from the other side of the door, Eddie in a half crouch, butter knife still held up to the knob he'd just jimmied open, beams at him. His hair, just as long as it was in 1986 but streaked through with silver-gray, is pulled off his shoulders in an artfully messy bun; he's not wearing his suit jacket or tie, barefoot in his dark red undershirt and black slacks.

He's gorgeous.

He's also in so much fucking trouble.

"Are you crazy?" Steve whisper-yells, leaning forward almost so far he topples off the end of the bed. Eddie winks at him, holds a finger to his lips, and closes the door behind him as he frogsteps forward as quietly as he can, only answering Steve's rhetorical question when he reaches his legs.

"Crazy about you, maybe." He's smirking, hands on Steve's knees to keep himself balanced, obviously pleased with himself. Steve is almost exasperated enough to push him over. Instead, he smiles despite the cheesy line and huffs a fond sigh, eyes closing as his forehead meets Eddie's when he bends to lean against the other man.

"Nancy is going to murder you."

"Only if I get caught."

Steve shakes his head and sits back up, one eyebrow cocked.

"You think she's not going to realize one of the grooms has gone missing?"

Eddie's smirk widens, and Steve wants to kiss him so badly that he aches for it (still, even after all these years).

"Not when she's fighting with Mrs. Byers over how the catering needs to be arranged." He sounds amused at having used an opportunity to sneak away, but Steve winces. Between the two women, it's a toss-up who will win, but if he had to put money on it, it's Joyce all the way.

Steve is brought back into the moment as Eddie reaches forward, teetering just a little in his squat, taking Steve's hand, the same one with the ring that Steve's been playing with.

"It's gonna be weird, replacing this." Eddie traces over the raised surface of the black skull ring he'd placed on Steve's finger back in 1992, a promise they're finally fulfilling roughly twenty-three years later.

"I told you," Steve says, turning his hand to tangle his and Eddie's fingers together, "I don't care if we do it with this or ring pops, just that we do it." And he can admit, having a semi-traditional band in place of the heavy jewelry he's worn for so long will be strange.

The expression that takes over Eddie's face can only be described as gooey, and Steve can't stop himself from dipping back in and pressing his mouth to the corner of Eddie's lips. The kiss doesn't stray away from chaste, mostly because even though Eddie isn't dressed yet, Steve is, and if he has to have Max do up his bowtie again, he's going to die of mortification.

"I promised," Eddie says, soft and low, bringing his free hand up to Steve's jaw, tracing the apple of his cheek with his thumb, "I was gonna do right by you, Harrington."

Steve smiles. He turns his head into Eddie's hand and kisses the curve of his palm.

Then he pushes Eddie away and bites back a smile when he falls right onto his ass with a loud thump that will no doubt be heard from the floor below.

"Then get downstairs and help so you can make me an honest man faster."

Eddie's grin is wicked, even as he stands and rubs at what no doubt will be a bruise.

"You're gonna be kissing that better later." He says, just as a call of "Edward Wayne Munson, you get your sewer-rat ass down here right now!" floats through the floorboards.

"Promise, now go. I don't have a lot of interest in marrying a corpse."

Eddie laughs, ducks back in, steals a kiss, and then, far too spry for his age and shit lungs, races back out of the room. Steve watches him, relaxes back against the bed, and finds that all his previous worries have been stolen, too.

Ficlet Bingo! (Still Squares Left!)

[britany1997]

Fate Yields For No One

Chapter Three

Hey besties! I hope y’all enjoy the next installment of this series!!! This one is gonna have a lot more lore, and plot developing so I hope you like learning a bit more of how things work in this AU:) Thanks for all y’all’s support on this fic!

Poly Lost Boys x Fem Vampire Reader

Reblog to support my writing, and comment to tell me you’d like to be added to my Taglist for this fic, or my main Taglist!

Prologue, Chapter One, Chapter Two

California, 1986

Paul’s eyes widened as he realized who you were to him. You wished you could have stopped the word that fell from his lips.

“Mine.”

No.

‘This can’t be happening,’ you thought to yourself as you fought your instincts to keep the same word Paul has uttered to you from bursting out of your own mouth.

Even if you could ignore the fact that this man had been hitting on Maria not five seconds ago, this wasn’t what you wanted for your life.

All the big choices in your unlife had been largely dictated by some dude with a god complex. How could this guy be any different?

You refused to trade one captor for another.

The handsome blond man stared at you in shock, seemingly surprised as you were at the sudden twist of fate that had brought you two together.

Though as his shock wore off his lips seemed to curve into a smile and his hand moved to touch your cheek.

You panicked.

You recoiled sharply from his outstretched palm “Oh my god I totally forgot I have to go stock things in the back, so nice to meet you, bye!” you rambled quickly as you raced to escape from behind the desk.

“What?” Paul’s brow furrowed in confusion. He moved to stand in front of the swinging door, your only escape from behind the desk.

You glared at him, “you’re in my way…”

“What?!” he repeated with more frustration than confusion, “but we’re…I mean we-”

“I know what we are,” you told him, “and I don’t care. So can you please move aside so I can do my job.”

Paul’s jaw dropped.

You sighed and pushed passed him.

“Hey!” he called after you.

You ignored him and kept walking, desperate to be anywhere but next to him.

“This isn’t over you know,” he promised you.

You scoffed as you pulled at the door to the back room, “seems like it is.”

You slid in, slamming the door behind you and pinching the bridge of your nose between your thumb and forefinger.

Despite what you’d said to Paul, you knew you hadn't seen the last of him.

You were determined not to breathe a word to Max about anything that had transpired that night.

He’d never really told you anything about mates, you suspected because he’d never found his own. You couldn't predict how he'd react, and you wouldn’t let him force you into anything else.

Which meant you'd have to figure this out on your own.

As the sun rose and Max went to bed for the day, you scoured the shelves of his home library for anything that could give you more information.

You slunk away to your bedroom with a mountain of books. You secured your black out curtains, preparing to stay up all day researching.

What you found terrified you.

Humans swooned over the idea of soulmates, they spent their lives searching for someone who’d complete them, one person who was perfectly suited for them.

But this wasn’t an original human creation. They’d stolen the idea of soulmates from vampires.

Many scholars thought when a human transformed into a vampire, they lost their soul.

From what you could gather, this was a myth. Instead, when a human became a vampire, their soul wasn’t taken from them, but tethered to another of their kind.

You read this was a facet of vampirism that had developed over time out of a necessity for more vampires. Great.

You’d also read that, as bats had multiple partners, vampires could have more than one mate. You didn’t even want to think about that possibility.

When you’d read the first text from cover to cover, you picked up a new one.

You found that the mates aspect of vampirism was inherently instinctual, which is why Paul had called you his, and why you’d almost done the same. He couldn’t help it.

You read, to your dismay, that your soul was intimately tied to his in a way that could never be severed. Your entire beings belonged to each other.

This was bad.

You continued to the next book, cringing as you read that from this point on every denial of your connection would only hurt you. Without Paul, a part of you would always feel empty.

Now that you knew you were “meant for each other,” every moment without him would hurt just a little bit. You could not exist the same way without him. He was yours, you were his.

Fuck that shit.

You didn’t need anyone to give your life meaning. You belonged to yourself and no one else.

You pushed the stack of books aside in a huff. They tumbled to the ground but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

You would fight to be the master of your own fate, whatever it took.

You were apprehensive to return for your shift the next day for fear that you'd be confronted by the persistent blond vampire.

However after two days with no sign of Paul, you began to relax. And after two weeks had passed without a trace, you had pushed the whole ordeal out of your mind entirely.

Instead, you turned your focus to Maria.

The two of you were constantly scheduled together as Max could never find anyone else to work the night shifts. You spent almost every waking minute with the girl that had quickly become very important to you.

And once Max had seen you'd connected with Maria, he felt the urge to supervise you less and less. It wasn't long before you were permitted to work your shifts without his imposing presence.

But work was a term used pretty loosely as you always seemed to do more talking than working. It wasn't like you had tons of customers, who even needed to rent movies at three AM anyway?

Besides, you were all too eager to spend each night hearing every seemingly insignificant detail of Maria's life.

Every good grade she'd gotten at school, every party she attended on the weekends, every fight she had with one of her siblings that always ultimately ended in apologies and hugs, you wanted to know it all. You were content to listen to the sound of her voice ramble on for hours.

She was just as eager to know you, and though you couldn't tell her everything, you could tell her enough.

Maria listened intently, wide eyed and hanging on every word as you related stories from your time in New York city.

Five siblings meant Maria's family didn’t get to travel much. You gasped when she admitted she'd never even ventured from the state of California.

"We'll go together one day," you promised her, "I'll take you everywhere, I know the city like the back of my hand!"

Her laugh rang through the store, prompting your lips to turn up into a bright smile, her joy was contagious. "What a dream that would be," she sighed wistfully, you could almost see the stars in her eyes.

"I mean it," you said seriously, "you and me, together in New York."

Her smile grew, "you and me."

As the work week came to a close, you shoved the last VHS back into place, moving to wipe down the counters as Maria flipped the switch to turn off the neon "OPEN" sign that hung on the front of the store.

You checked your watch as it flashed 6:00AM, sunrise was fast approaching and you were cutting it close.

"Damn you're working late," you realized as you wiped down the counters, "I thought I was by myself tonight."

Maria smiled sheepishly and you barely caught sight of the blush that rose to her cheeks, "you were."

Your eyes widened, "you stayed late for me? you didn't have to do that..."

"I wanted to," she replied as she bit her lip.

You dropped the rag and spray bottle, walking to stand in front of her from across the counter, "why?"

She blushed once more before her eyes fell to the ground, "I don't know, I just..." she looked up, "I like being around you."

As you stared into the eyes of the beautiful woman before you, you were presented with an opportunity. An opportunity to choose for yourself, to take control of your own destiny.

You didn't choose to be cursed with an eternity of seperation from the souls of your family, you didn't choose to be a vampire, you didn't choose Paul and you certainly didn't chose Max. But you could choose Maria.

"Maria," you whispered, leaning in till your noses were almost touching, "can I kiss you?"

She beamed before caressing your cheek with the back of her hand, "I thought you'd never ask."

You leaned in and her soft lips met yours.

Note: I promise the next chapter is going to be focused on all the boys, thanks for being patient I promise it’ll be worth it😌

FYFNO Taglist❤️:

@6lostgirl6 @misslavenderlady @bloodywickedvamp @pixielostboy @solobagginses @anna1306 @dwaynedelight @flower-crowned-lady @feardot-com @its-freaking-bats @kurt-nightcrawler @ria-coolgirl @vampirefilmlover @vampirefruitpunch @vxarak @arbesa-mind @lostboys1987girl @dwaynesluscioushair @gothamslostboy @arenpath @people-are-strange-87 @peachpixiesstuff @consuming-karma @mickkmaiden333 @bitchyexpertprincess @welcome-to-the-hole @warrior-616 @softchonk @simplyreading96 @fraudfrog @blenna3967 @pookiesnatcher @rynsfandomsfun @walmartfairy69 @jamie-poopoo @sad-ghost-of-garbage @mad-is-sad @christinesdemoness1958 @memphiscity69 @buzzybee-26 @simpingforthe80s @itsyoboysparkel @smut-religiously777 @dragonsrequiem @ilikechocolatemilkh @cocopuffs1450 @sarcastic-sourwolf @drascilla @the-lonely-abyss @jezabella8 @kristel1990

[how-serene]

Next To You

Pairing - Darryl x Fem!Reader

Summary - Fed up with your parents' constantly arguing, you confide in Darryl.

Word Count - 1k

Warnings - heavy angst, comfort, reader and darryl are teens, established friendship, darryl being a sweetheart, mentions of an unhealthy marriage, reader just venting, no use of y/n, mother and daughter dynamics

April, 1986

The slam of the front door reverberated throughout the apartment building, shaking the paper thin walls. Your stomps echoed down the stairwell, following you outside. Brooklyn’s humidity stuck to your skin, the dense air almost suffocating. The spring moon hung high in the sky, illuminating down on you. A street lamp flickered, bugs hovering around its dim glow. 

You sat on the front steps, bringing your knees together. Above you, the sounds of your parents' voices spilled through the open window, a series of curses being the only thing you could make out. Embarrassment creeped up your neck, knowing you weren’t the only one who heard them. It felt as if someone had dug their fingers in your heart, splitting it open. 

Your home felt warped, like walking through a fun maze. Mirrors twisted and warped familiar faces, while doors led to inky black spaces that stretched on forever. It was dizzying, knowing every turn you made and door you opened was wrong. The bitter arguments between your parents, where spit and threats would fly, was draining. Yet your mother claimed somewhere beneath all the rubble she loved him. She always had her hands clasped together when she said it, as if it were a prayer. You wondered sometimes, if she was lying. 

But when the kitchen light would get caught on her tears, you knew it was the truth. Despite it all, it was the fucking truth. 

A pair of black loafers appeared beside you, nudging the side of your foot. 

“I heard your door slam…

His voice wormed its way into your head, pulling you back into focus. Darryl sat beside you, his knee knocking against yours. The wool fabric of his coat itched against your bare arm, amplifying the closeness between you two. 

“I just had to get out of there.” You muttered, picking at your nails. 

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. You two settled in a comfortable silence, as you stared off in the street. A stray dog made its way past, walking along the curb and weaving its way through the silver trash cans. Its shaggy fur was matted, either with dirt build-up or blood. It trotted off, in search of food and a warm corner to rest in. 

“I just…” you trailed off, trying to find the words. “I just hate them sometimes, when they get like this. All the constant screaming matches, and anger, every single day.” 

“You shouldn’t say you hate them-

“But I do!” You snapped, looking over at him. Darryl leaned back, flinching from your sudden outburst. You could feel him shifting away from you, the little sliver of distance growing. Shame creeped up your neck, anchoring you to the stone steps. The flicker of anger in you quickly died, replaced by a disgust so deep it waded in your stomach. 

“I’m so sorry, Darryl.” You whispered, a sob working its way up your throat. Tears welled up in your eyes, before overflowing. You could taste their saltiness on the corners of your lips. 

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” Darryl reassured, reaching for your hand. The gloves he wore were warm as they cradled your wrist. You wished he took them off, so you could feel the lines in his palm pressed against yours. 

“I don’t want to be like them.” You confessed, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. “I’m so scared I am, though, that my future is going to be like theirs. Settled with a dead-beat man, no career, while finding every excuse to stay.” 

Tears dribbled down your cheek, blurring your vision. The realization that you might be like your mother was nauseating. Perhaps this was every daughter's fate, to realize their body was never their own, but their mother’s. Every-time you looked in the mirror, the smallest feature was a reminder of her. You wondered, if you peeled back your skin, would you find her underneath? 

Darryl tugged at your hand, a silent plea for you to look at him. His wide doe eyes shimmered, as he reached up and swiped at your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You clutched onto his wrist, bottom lip quivering as you bit back a cry. 

“You’re not like them.” He stated, the gravity of his words stalling your racing thoughts. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because…” He stalled, licking his lips. “You’re too good to ever be like them. You don’t hurt others just for the sake of hurting them. God, I wish you could see yourself through my eyes. You're wonderful, I wish you believed that.” 

“I yelled at you though, just like they do all the time.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t yell at me, though. You were just upset about your parents.” 

You sighed, feeling the fight leave your body. His words echoed in your mind, but you weren’t sure if you believed them. The shattered remnants of your mother were still inside you, as with every daughter. It waded inside you, stirring the core of your stomach. 

“I wish I could just pack up and leave.” You said, leaning into his side. Darryl placed his arm over your shoulders, pressing you into the crook of his neck. You could smell the cologne on the collar of his coat, mint with rosemary. 

“You will, one day.” He promised, placing his chin on the top of your head. “I’ll be there with you, when you finally do.” 

“I don’t know how much longer I can wait for one day, Darryl.” You said, the words carrying an unknown weight in your mouth. With each passing day, you felt your soul splinter more and more. 

Darryl must have sensed it, his fingers faintly dug into your arm, keeping you beside him. The threat of you suddenly up and disappearing was too close. 

“Hold on a bit longer, for me.” He pleaded, voice shaking. 

The warm night air ruffled the back of your hair, and for a moment, you allowed yourself to believe you were anywhere else. 

[shares-a-vest]

@flufftober Spring Edition Day 7: Giving someone a present

wc: 886 | Rated: T for Canon-Typical swearing, some suggestive language | cw: None

Tags: Pre-Birthday, Eddie Munson is a Menace, Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Cuddling, Spoiling Presents, Wayne Munson Takes a Pottery Class (it's only a throwaway line, but it's a headcanon I have rotting my brain rn)

Note: I just want to shout out the lovely comment @withacapitalp left on my ficlet from yesterday. It definitely influenced today's fic, as Steve reflects on the life he has in this AU. Thank youuu so much Liam for recognising an underlying theme/nuance in this universe.

‘The Best Present of All’

“What’s got you all giddy?” Steve asks, watching Eddie practically strut across their bedroom as he heads for his side of the bed.

He looks ridiculous – like a headbanging, scruffy chicken. Eddie pauses by the side of the bed and rips off his loose, cut-off Black Sabbath shirt. He hurls it halfway across the room, the discarded almost-terrycloth fluttering to the floor as he jumps on the bed and lounges across Steve’s legs.

“It’s your birthday tomorrow, precious,” he coos, rolling awkwardly on his back and grimacing.

He brushes it off as if Steve doesn’t know the telltale signs of his partner twinging his back – never one to exactly take it easy after almost dying in the Spring of 1986. Eddie puffs out a breath to blow hair from his face and giggles.

“I bought you the best present,” he continues, looking at the ceiling.

“That so?” Steve teases, knowing all too well that whatever said material item is, it will be nothing compared to the mischief Eddie surely has cooked up.

And Steve is going to love every minute of it. He loves every birthday he gets to have with Eddie by his side – and that’s something that can’t be bought.

Eddie turns his head and grins.

“I’m going to gift-give so hard,” he quips, scrunching his nose and clenching his jaw.

Steve supposes it is meant to come off, well... seductive, or something – but Eddie simply looks like an utter lovesick dork with those glee-filled eyes peeking out from under his unruly bangs.

“Did you help Joanie with something, at least?” Steve chuckles.

“Of course,” Eddie says, tenting his fingers together, “Prepare for a macaroni-encrusted card and the wobbliest, most unusable coffee mug in human existence.”

“Wow,” he laughs and swipes at his partner with his pillow. Eddie splutters away, spitting like a cranky kitten as Steve chides, “You cannot keep a secret.”

“I blame Wayne for the mug idea.”

“Stop making fun.”

He tugs on Eddie’s bare arm – if he has the man shirtless in bed, he at least wants to cuddle (and stop his legs from being crushed). Eddie goes limp, forcing Steve to all but pull his dead weight upright and into his arms, mussing and twisting their oft-abused bedding into a crumple – the blue patterned lines now a wavy swish.

“But the old man is taking a goddamn pottery class like he’s Demi fucking Moore,” Eddie cackles into his chest.

Steve shushes him and presses a kiss to the top of his head just to be safe. He holds Eddie close, breathing in the smell of fruity shampoo. Feeling the warmth of his skin against his own – the touch of flesh under his fingers.

He shifts on the spot and bites his lip.

“Eds?”

“Mmmhmm?” Eddie hums and Steve can feel his mischievous smirk.

“Since you’re spoiling presents…” he wonders aloud, removing his hand from his partner’s shoulder so he can attempt to flick back the blankets, “What if I got one of my presents now?”

Eddie untangles himself and bolts upright, scrambling with the bedding instead.

“Thought you’d never ask, sweetheart.”

They make quick work of slipping under the covers, righting their bedding as much as possible – even if it all somehow ends up on a forty-five-degree angle in their haste. But once they get settled, all cozy and warm and impossibly close as they roll into each other’s embrace on instinct, Steve feels his heart skip a beat.

“Eddie…” he whispers, letting his partner’s name linger on his tongue.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers back, his big brown eyes glistening from the reflection of the light on the nightstand.

Steve shuffles closer, closing the already tiny gap between them and loops his arms around Eddie’s middle. He simply holds his partner for a moment, looking into those beautiful eyes – watching as Eddie breathes in and out and blinks. He leans in and presses a kiss to his lips, clinging to Eddie tight as he begins to kiss back. It deepens almost instantly and Steve hums, stifling a gasp as tears begin to prickle up.

Over the years, he has turned into a total sap, the waterworks turning on so easily sometimes that it worries him.

But he just feels so much – so much love – with his family. With their silly cats, first in Chicago in their tiny apartment, then in their slightly bigger but nonetheless cramped apartment and now in their home. A four-bedroom house with plenty of room to live and build. A house with a yard, a garden and a garage big enough for Eddie to jam with Freak on weekends.

The best gift life could have given him.

He used to be scared that he’d be stuck in Hawkins forever, working for his father and trying to please his mother all the while failing and remaining lonely.

But all that changed with Eddie. Even if it first started during that awful Spring Break back when he thought they might not even survive long enough to see where things could go.

“I love you,” he whispers when they break apart and come up for air, “Love you and Joanie so much.”

“I love you too, Stevie,” Eddie says, wiping a stray tear from his cheek, “Happy birthday.”

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — blind spot.

JANUARY 11, 1986

The key turns in the front door, the winter chill rushing into the house. A moment later, the hall light turns on.

“Mom? You awake?” 

Sylvia smiles at the sound of her son’s voice, putting down her crochet things on the end table.  

“We’re in here, Georgie!” 

Carefully, she stands, easing her grandson’s head off her lap and tucking a pillow underneath. She’s pretty sure the kid must’ve been an acrobat in another life; there’s no way he’d be able to sleep all twisted up like a pretzel otherwise. She readjusts the blanket she’d put over him, smoothing down his hair, before meeting her son and daughter-in-law halfway.

“Well, how was the party?” she asks, leaning up against the breakfast bar as George and Lorraine hang up their coats. “You two crazy kids have fun hobnobbin’ with the head honchos at Simon & Schuster?” 

“It was nice, Mom, thanks,” George answers, way too dismissively for a party he’d been talking about for weeks, full of editors and publishers and everything he’d always dreamed of, “but–”

“How was Marty?” Lorraine interrupts, urgently.

Here we go. Finally, some answers.

“Lorrie, honey, you know Artie and I always love bein’ with the kids,” Sylvia begins, and she meant it, even though Artie had called it a night about three hours ago and was now snoring loud enough to shake the walls, “but seventeen goin’ on eighteen’s a little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, we’ve just been so worried about him, Sylvia,” Lorraine pleads, eyes wide. “We… we didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone.” 

“For the last few months,” George elaborates, wrapping an arm around his wife and holding her close, “he hasn’t been himself. He doesn’t sleep, he’s been having nightmares… he’s been having memory problems, too, and I know he’s a teenager, but sometimes he’ll get in his own head and it’s like… he’s not even here, like he goes somewhere else instead.”

“He’ll get so confused,” Lorraine agrees, “and-and he used to love thunderstorms but now he’s just so afraid of them and... other things… sometimes it even feels like he's afraid of us…” She bites her lip and buries herself into George. 

It breaks Sylvia’s heart to see them like this; in mourning for the boy who’s alive and breathing and fast asleep on the couch. Just a few hours ago her and Marty were singing along to the radio while making dinner and laughing until they cried trying to play games on his Nintendo while eating Lucky Charms by the bowlful.

“We must’ve missed something,” George murmurs, “something must’ve happened to him and we missed it somehow.”

“We’ve just been so busy,” Lorraine laments, “too busy. I-I thought it was the stress… with college applications and everything changing… but even Jennifer and Doctor Brown don’t know what’s wrong.”  

Sylvia isn’t quite sure she buys that. 

She may not know a lot of things, but she does know that Carl Sagan from 1931 certainly doesn’t look like that nice young man on PBS from a couple years back but did look a whole lot like that whiz kid Emmett and even more like her grandson’s best friend, that nice Doctor Brown, that Emmett grew up to be. 

She also knows that Sonny Crockett (who is pretty much all they talked about at dinner tonight) is from one of Marty’s favorite shows, not that kid from 1931 with her grandson’s sweet blue eyes and a fake mustache.

She even remembers George begging her and Artie to help him get all dolled up for some dance at the last minute and talking all about how he wasn’t going with a date but he was going to meet up with his new friend Marty there.

Not to mention the date on that Bubble Bobble game of his is two years from now.

When you grow up around liars and cheats, you get to be really good at noticing things. 

“So how was he tonight?” George asks again. “Really?”

“Georgie, sweetheart, he was fine,” Sylvia emphasizes. “We had a great time. As for the other stuff… Remember what you were like when you were his age? I sure do. Any time your dad and I got near ya we’d have to promise we weren’t tryin’ to look in your journals. Even if we were just givin’ you a hug!”

They crack a smile at this, George at least having the decency to look sheepish.

“Whatever’s going on with Marty,” she continues, “he’ll tell ya when he’s good and ready. And remember: you’re great parents. He loves you. He’d do anything for you. Just be there for him until then and let him know that you love him too. No matter what.”

Sylvia looks over her shoulder at her sleeping grandson, a fond smile and a mischievous look in her eye.

We got a lot to talk about, kiddo. I’m ready when you are.

[magnoliabutters]

• THE SPIDER QUEEN •

pairing: kas!vamp eddie munson x (she/her) reader

summary: munson and henderson have a good o’talk...

warning: 18+ content, mdni, adult language; enemies to lovers trope, canon divergence, fluffy-wuff, season 4 spoliers, switching povs, moody boy kas, grief, y/n count: 1, moody boy dusty buns, violence, death/killing, character death, etc.

word count: 11.6k

reblogs & thoughtsy-watsies are appreciated!

• stories of eddie munson • season two • previous part •

note: potential need for tissues, not to toot my own horn or anything hehe, also highly highly encourage noting the dates & time to stay on track (i be bouncing)

grazi grazi grazi to my sweet ladies, ziggy (@trashmouth-richie, one of my fav authors) & miss nack (@nackrosor, loml) for spending the time to beta read & share your incredible thoughts and wisdom! also, doubly credit to nacky-nack because some of these words came straight from her extravagant brain & i love her so much.

i have never been so proud of the stories i’ve been creating and that’s cause of these two extraordinary writers. thank you, thank you for helping me grow! now, on to my longest post yet…

April 7th, 1986. 10:46pm.

Kas never thought he would respect a man in an open white blazer with a bright blue undershirt and yet, here he is - ready to follow him into battle if necessary. He is invested in this “Miami Vice” show. God, even the name sounds stupid, but he finds himself thankful that you had found a channel dedicated to it. A blissful escape from this shitty old thing called life. 

There he sits with feet kicked up on the coffee table. A fresh stove-top cooked popcorn on his lap. The beautiful girl he loves sleeping soundly against his shoulder. He could die right here and be absolutely fulfilled. A twisted little smile sprawls on his lips as you curl your arm across his waist. The way your soft hair rests upon his shoulder and down to his bicep makes his heart explode and rebuild in a million puzzle-like pieces. 

Who needs a working heart anyway? 

Kas’ eyes are glued to the TV screen, desperately trying to erase the presence of the curly haired betrayal of a boy in his peripherals. He may have had trouble accepting the idea of Dustin at first, but now he’s just a nuisance at the bottom right of his eyeline. He will happily admit that he likes it better when the boy’s unconscious. 

Although, he refuses to share how the curls of Dustin’s hair bring him back to each and every time Eddie ruffled them up with the palm of his hand. He is reminded of the happiness he felt in seeing the boy every day in school. The nostalgia floods his brain anytime Dustin’s yawning catches his attention. 

Relief, another feeling that explodes within his chest. Relief in knowing that Hellfire would have yet another fearless leader once Eddie finally graduated - class of ‘86. 

The excitement, unbridled and innocent excitement that followed their party’s adventures flying off the table and becoming a tangible reality. Right before everything got way too real... 

The cracks of Crockett’s pistol blasts through the air. A shoot out. Miami’s finest detectives dive behind a brick wall as the fugitive sprays ricocheting bullets. 

Kas jumps, startled by the noise, before rushing to find the remote. In his attempts, everything goes beautifully wrong. “Fuck, shit!” The popcorn flies and spills all over your beautiful sleeping body. An accidental kick of his feet and the unfinished beer bottles fall, spilling all over the table and onto the orange tinged carpet below. 

In reaching for the remote, he about falls onto his stomach, spread across the floor, before finally hitting mute. With a deep exhale pumped full of exhaustion, he turns over onto his back, spreading his arms out across the carpet. He reluctantly raises his eyes to yours, only to catch you baring holes into his face. A tight lipped smile curls upon his lips as he mouths, “sorry” with nervous bouncing brows. 

Another thing he didn’t expect was that the loud noise blaring from the TV would cause Dustin to begin rolling around with fluttering eyelids. The boy mumbles behind him, causing Kas’ eyes to open to extreme widths. He straightens his spine and turns before crawling his way back towards you. His torso flush against the hardened bottom frame of the couch. He bumps your right leg with his elbow, desperate to get your attention. 

Thoughts begin to spiral in his mind, his lip quivers - terrified of what may happen once Dustin utters a word. Mortified by the thought of what he will say. It intensifies the frequency of his bumps on your leg. 

Kas may not remember the whole story, but he can physically feel how his heart reaches for the boy. He recognizes that Dustin is the closest Eddie ever got to being a big brother. He feels the remnants of pride that regularly overcame him whenever he looked down on the boy. The thought of what he had and who he could become.

Eddie only knew him for less than the school year, but Dustin was so much more than some random freshie who barely learned the true art of Dungeons and Dragons. No, this boy was a pro - just like he was at that age. The only difference being that Dustin had friends, a party to play with before high school. 

Henderson was his heir, the fucking prodigy. And fuck, does it hurt when the prodigy betrays the teacher! 

Kas watches as your body perks up once realizing Dustin was slowly returning to the land of the living. You quickly stand and crash land upon your knees beside him. He really wished you hadn’t. He selfishly wanted you by his side, to help him not lose his marbles and destroy everything in his sight. 

His teeth begin to grind as he watches you care for the boy. Your hands are delicate and soft as you try to help him wake. You care for him despite knowing that he left Eddie behind, the one person you claim to love the most in this world. Some loyalty. 

He struggles to pull his eyes away, to keep himself from turning into a red hot ball of rage. Deep breaths have helped keep his mind at a leveled state, but hearing your comforting words crushes him to his core.   

Kas returns his gaze upon you two when hearing your voice. “Dustin,” you say as you lightly push a curl behind his ear. He rolls his eyes with a scoff and comically stuffs another fistful of popcorn in his mouth from the thin layer that still rests inside the container. Apparently, you do that move with everyone - brushing hair behind one’s ear. The loving action he cherished so dearly. It feels wrong, undeniably wrong, to see you do that with someone else - let alone with him.

Dustin mumbles something, something that leads you to ask, “what?” so softly. Kas hums a growl at the thought of having to even process the words from his mouth, but he swore to you that he would try. Little did he know it would be this fucking hard. 

The fire in his belly is difficult to describe and truly painful. He wishes he could be supportive, to be fully invested in the responsibility you have decided for yourself - to care for this boy. He just doesn't know how to look at you and your serene actions without feeling a sliver of treachery. 

This boy is the reason Eddie died and turned into the monster that Kas is: a heinous demon that destroys everything in his wake while wearing the face of an angel.

Why couldn't he just have a few more minutes of paradise with you? To hold you in his arms, to feel you sink deeper into his chest. The sleep he craved beside your supple body was divine. All he wanted to do was grab your hand and rush you back up to that bed. To jump onto it and float the waves with you by his side. To forget there ever was an Eddie, a y/n, a Kas, a darlin’. To forget it all and start again. A new life filled with your sweet smile and endless laughter. 

Alas, no. You were reminded of who Kas truly is before any extraordinary, amnesic life could begin. All because of him. Dustin Henderson did this, and he needs to pay.

Abruptly, Dustin staggers with fearful eyes as he pulls from you. Kas could tell that you were startled by the way your chin went several inches back into your throat. He knows that expression of yours very well. He revisits the sight on the backs of his eyelids any time he tries to fall asleep. How much horror he must have caused you while he was figuring it all out. The very same horror he forces you to relive each day. He will regret it all his life. 

As an instinctual response to your worry, Kas stands with tightening fists, ready to pummel anything and anyone who troubles you. Your eyes fall upon him in such a way that he immediately disarms. Your gentle hand reaches towards him with a slightly cocked head. “It’s okay, Kas,” you say in a whisper. He sucks his tongue to the roof of his mouth as he shifts his eyes between you and the boy. He lets out a sharp breath from his nostrils before crashing back onto the couch carelessly. 

Dustin looks his way with that same annoying terror on his face. It screams, “I’m about to pee my pants.” He had no reason to worry, as long as he listened to you. However, the terror persisting any time they make eye contact is becoming more and more difficult for Kas to bear. He’s positive Dustin never looked at Eddie this way. He’d be lying if he didn’t acknowledge the sadness that envelopes his chest at the thought.  

"W-What is this?" Dustin asks while turning back to face you. His movements are hesitant and slow. Kas scoffs, kicking his feet back onto the table as he lazily reaches for a fallen kernel resting on a nearby cushion. He is almost offended that the boy couldn’t sustain the gaze in spite of his tangible fear. 

"You're safe," you comfort, placing a hand on his shoulder but he pulls away harshly, making Kas sit straight up once again. It’s never too late to learn manners. 

"No," he states. "What the hell happened?" You turn back to look at Kas, almost for support, but he gives you nothing. Why would he? You messed the bed, make it yourself. 

"Maybe I should introduce you two?" you suggest, nodding back to Kas. Dustin's lip pulls up in a mixture of confusion and disgust. It’s clear he isn’t very fond of you. Kas loves the idea of being an outcast alongside you. 

Dustin peers back at him with caution, yet eager and watering eyes before clearing his throat and returning to you. That look - jesus fuck, Kas hated that look. An inspirited gaze with raising brows before crashing down into a furrow and welling eyes. It has been some time since you have looked at him with such hope. The ogling stare that searches for something, or more accurately someone behind his muddy eyes. It is usually followed by a depressing combination of shock and hurt once the individual realizes what they were searching for no longer exists. 

Dustin searches for Eddie, just like you used to. Apologies to the traitor. Eddie no longer exists. 

"This is Kas," you introduce with softness to your voice. Your intonation comes off as though you were entertaining the name. Kas tries his best to remind himself that you had understood. You know that Eddie was gone, but the undeniable anger filling him is indisputable. It leads to the clenching of his teeth, the straightening of his back, and the flaring of his nostrils. 

Dustin attempts to say the name, stuttering and stumbling like a child at the unfamiliar word. He continues, desperately trying to understand. “Kas, like - like Kas, the Bloody Handed? Kas, the Destroyer? Kas, Vecna’s most trusted lieutenant?” 

Kas could see you wince at the words. You are desperate to keep the conversation calm and avoid all his triggers. But the boy clearly has his own annoying way of processing the information, blurting the sound of his immediate enemy as a result.

He growls as his jaw slightly shakes with how hard his teeth grind against each other. “How about Kas, the man whose aboutta break your nose if you keep yapping?” he spits out. Dustin quickly turns his way at the sound. He shudders in his seat, preparing for another altercation. 

In an attempt to deescalate the situation, you slowly answer Dustin’s inquiries. “I’m not sure about all that,” you start, speaking directly to the boy. “But Kas, he’s - he’s different.” He looks at you with one raising brow and forward leaning chin, egging you on to continue.

“He may look like Eddie, talk like him, walk like him, even hug like him - if you’re lucky,” you quickly correct. “But he’s not Eddie.” You pause, dropping your eyes to the hands intertwined upon your lap. “I really need you to understand this, Dustin. Kas is not Eddie. They are two different people.”

As you spoke, Kas slowly moved his attention onto your chapped, pouty lips. Your inflection changed as your words continued. His ears are perked as he struggles to understand how you were feeling. How to help. Your solemn expression sets off a multitude of alarm systems in his mind.

His first thought is to scoop you off your feet, carefully supporting your neck and the back of your knees with his arms. He wishes to take you away from this place, to any reminder of the past and what you have lost.

His second thought, however, fuels the anger and resentment within him. The thought that your sadness, that your pain, is caused by Dustin and his aggravating need to know the truth. Finally, you take a breath as those tears you’ve been holding finally dive off your lashes. 

“Eddie is dead…” 

“… So please. If we can move on from this - if you can accept that Eddie is g-gone,” your voice hitches, leading you to take a slow breath before continuing. “Then we won’t have to worry about what happened earlier.”

Kas’ head tilts curiously as he observes your behavior. The words are falling easier and easier for your pretty lips, but the heartbreak resonating throughout your body is crystal clear and constant.

He wishes he could revel in the excitement, to celebrate the happiness that followed your understanding that Eddie is gone. The acceptance that has allowed Kas to live without being under his shadow. But how could he ever be happy when you were so sad? 

Upon hearing your words, he is reminded of the detrimental actions that ripped the perfect morning with you from his hands. The precious morning and slumber that you both deserved. He wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through your freshly washed hair and watch as you fell asleep in his arms.

Kas fiercely avoids acknowledging the thought that he, too, is responsible for taking that away from you. That maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t all Dustin’s fault.

April 7th, 1986. 8:12am.

Kas had an uneasy feeling as he took slow and hesitant steps down the stairs. Who could possibly be here? The knock seemed hurried, yet forceful. His first guess would be the cops, that maybe Rick got out of jail again and they’ve come to bring him back. Or what if it was a neighbor? One that saw some movement in the desolate house and called 9-1-1? Either way, a conversation between the police and Kas, Hawkin’s latest serial killer, is not going to end well. 

He considers calling you down. A fresh, pretty face that can woo the police away. One that can lie and pretend that she has every right to be in Reefer Rick’s abandoned lake house.

No, he could never do that to you. He wouldn’t dare ruin the incredible image in his head of you resting, naked beneath the warm sheets waiting for his return. He couldn’t wait to drop these sweatpants and curl up next to you. 

Nah, man. There’s no way he’s dragging you out of that bed. Plus, he knew, without a doubt, that you would be too busy dry heaving at the thought of lying to the cops to even try. A smile rips across his face. Shit, how he loves you with every fiber of his being. 

As he finally hits that last step, Kas dramatically slumps his entire body upon realizing Reefer Dicky Dick Rick doesn’t have a god damned peephole. He’s convinced that peering through the windows like an idiot would be way worse than just opening the door.

With a sharp inhale and roll of his eyes, Kas flings the door open. The wind wafts in, flying his curls back with the intensity of his speed. All to begrudgingly land his eyes on …

“Eddie?”

Kas’ entire body runs cold as his breath is stalled in his chest. The eyes, the hazel innocent eyes before him. Irises bight and clear as day when flush against the pink of his tearing eye. A reddish plump to his nose and cheeks. The trembling lip that slowly whispers a second “Eddie” that Kas is too astonished to notice. 

Dustin Henderson. The two comrades, friends of war, partners, brothers were left stunned at the sight of each other. 

Several minutes pass and the boy is the first to break the silence. “Ed-,” he starts, but Kas is quick to stop him in his tracks.

“Don’t call me that,” Kas spits out with a deadpan expression. He could feel his entire body shutting down, one muscle at a time. His breath is completely ripped from his lungs as he desperately seeks dissociation, any method of escape from who he must face. 

Pain strikes Dustin’s whole, causing the slightest twinge of his brow. He takes a step back with fluttering eyelids as he struggles to comprehend the situation.

Kas, however, is too busy wishing he could disappear to notice. Wishing that he could turn back time, tell you to hide so that you both could giggle under the fresh sheets until the knocking dissipated. 

Lost in his thoughts, Kas didn’t see the boy’s extending hand before it was gently placed against his forearm. “Don’t!” he yells, raising his tainted arm as he stumbles back into the living room.

Dustin follows him inside with worried floating hands, prepared to catch if needed. He kicks the door closed with helpful intentions. But the slamming door causes Kas to stop dead in his tracks, which in turn causes Dustin to crash against his torso. 

Without a second passing, Kas slams his hands against the mop head’s shoulders. He digs the weak boy into the wall beside the door. Dustin yelps in pain as his hips thrash forcefully back onto a side table. A sharp sound snaps through the air as a glass bowl shatters and keys scatter across the carpet.

“Don’t touch me,” Kas demands sternly. “And don’t call me that,” he adds with a heavy exhale, as though the words have become routine. “I - I won’t,” Dustin blurts out with a fast sucking breath. 

Kas slowly nods with fluttering lashes as he stumbles back. Tears well in his eyes as he struggles to discern reality and memory. Dustin Henderson, Dustin. Dustin. The name floods his body with a volatile mixture of Eddie's and his own emotions.

Is he ecstatic? Is he worried for his friend? Why was he crying? Why did he push him against the wall? That must have really been scary. Maybe he should apologize? Apologize?! For what? Dustin left him to die, rotting away in front of his family’s trailer. 

“They wished you death …. They watched as you were torn apart.”

Vecna’s chilling voice plays on repeat in his head. It’s all - It’s too much. His head spins despite the debilitating feeling of his skull being crushed. Tears roll down his cheeks like cinder blocks. He cannot control them, cannot stop them even if he tried.

He has never felt pain such as this. A pain so shocking that all bodily systems are stalled. His chest begins to heave just as his sight becomes blurry. Any memories tied to you and your anxiety attacks have rapidly been erased. He has nothing, nothing to help him. No one to support him in this unbearable situation. His heart pulses like the clacking of a horse’s hooves, while also freezing every five beats. 

Kas instinctually bends over, falling into a kneel. His chest struggles to rise and fall with each breath taken. His brain is overloaded, cutting all ties with consciousness. 

Dustin rushes to his side with a light and comforting touch upon his best friend’s back. He is very careful not to touch the pink scars ripping across his waist and ribs when catching him. “Eddie,” he calls out softly.

“Eddie…”

“…Eddie”

“Eddie?”

“EDDIE!”

“Oh god! Oh god, Eddie,” Dustin cries as he lands his knees harshly against the cold floor. He pulls his idol’s body onto his lap. Tears stream down his face, dropping onto Eddie’s cheeks below.

Eddie’s entire body was on fire. So much pain but all he cared about was that he finally proved to himself that he was no coward. By the look of Dustin’s blubbering crying face and the fact that he couldn’t feel his toes, he knew that this was it. Time to go out like a rockstar.

“Bad huh?” Eddie coughs up. He could taste the familiar metal on his tongue. It wasn’t the first time blood was in his mouth. 

“No, no,” Dustin starts. “You’re going to be fine. Just gotta get you to the hospital, okay?” His voice keeps hitching. The boy brushes hair from his cheek with a cold breath on his face. 

Eddie nods his head in a desperate attempt to make his little brother feel better, but the blood keeps coming up. He gags on it before muttering, “I think …” The pain shoots up his body in pulsating electrical bursts. “Common,” he utters, trying to hype himself up. He had only a few more words to say before he was done, before he could rest. 

“I think I just … I think I just need a second, okay?” He whispers. He struggles to keep his eyes open, slowly becoming more tired as the minutes pass.

He gets flashes of your smile burning bright. Your laugh, how you cock back your head with each giggle. Your fingers intertwined with his, always such warm hands. A loving smile spreads across his devilish cheeks. “Okay,” Dustin whimpers out in between sobs. 

“I didn’t run away this time, right?” Eddie blurts out with a bit of a chuckle. “No, no, no, no,” Dustin weakly smiles, letting out a bundle of spit with a stifled cry. “You didn’t run.” A cough rips from his throat again. The blood drains from the side of his mouth. 

Happiness fills his aching chest as the thought of Dustin as President of Hellfire plays in his head once again. A thought he fantasizes about often. His eyes close as he sees the light behind the boy’s curly head. “You’re going to have to take care of those sheep for me, okay?”

Dustin lets out a soft whale as he struggles to speak. “No, you’re going to do that yourself,” he whispers stubbornly. Eddie’s brows furrow at the words. He uses all of his might to crash his palm against Dustin’s forearm. 

“Nah, man,” Eddie grumbles. He hated when the boy second guessed himself. Dustin never saw his potential, never felt the confidence he could easily have. Hey, that was the same shit you would say about Eddie all the time. Funny, full circle.

“Say, ‘I’m gonna look after them,” he demands. “Say it.” He wanted the words to come out harsh and strict, bringing the good old dungeon master voice back out for one last ride. He didn’t expect the coughing fit that would erupt from his attempt. 

“I’m… I’m gonna look after…” Dustin starts as the words fall into a jumble of sobs. “Good,” Eddie answers with another harsh cough. 

A smile spreads across his face, the smirk that is clearly copyrighted by the Munson family. “Good, cause I’m actually gonna graduate,” Eddie starts. His smile grows deeper and deeper as he remembers those pretty little eyes of yours. “And I’m gonna marry my Lolly. I think it’s my year, Henderson.” His heart warms - he likes to think it’s because of his incredible future with you, instead of the blood pooling in his lungs. “I think it’s finally my year…”

“...I love you man.”

“I love you too.” 

“… Eddie”

“Eddie …”

“Eddie!”

Kas moves with a body strictly set on autopilot. His mind is screaming, screaming his name. His heart races, beating thickly in his ears. He could still feel Dustin’s tears falling onto his cheeks. He feels the boy leaving. How his pillow, his knees, quickly fall from beneath him. Dustin’s weeping voice as he is pulled away and Eddie is left behind in the Upside Down. 

Before he could stop himself, Kas grabs Dustin’s hands off of his body. He wraps his calloused fingers around his wrists, slamming them harshly against the wall. “What the hell are you doing here?!” He screams into the adversary’s pathetically whimpering face. 

“I-It’s me,” Dustin stutters out, but each word that leaves his lips peaks his anger. Kas yells out a grunt as he digs his fist thick into his collar. He lifts the small boy up and throws him against the floor. Henderson went flying across the living room, sliding upon the carpet. 

Everything became red. A smashing of his knuckles across Dustin’s cheekbones. It hurt, but not as much as when his supposed friend left him behind. This makes Kas feel a whole lot better.

April 7th, 1986. 11:12pm.

Looking back, Kas definitely needed that 14-hour cool down period. He scans over your crushed frame, but your eyes are fixed upon Dustin’s face. His nostrils flare as fluttering lashes drop a tear. He roughly brushes it away with a single finger against his red cheeks.

With a sniffle, Dustin whispers, “O-Okay, hi Kas. I’m Dustin.” His hand shakes awkwardly as he tries to stand. Your arms reach for him, careful not to let him fall. Despite your unfortunate patient, Kas has always adored your caring soul. The dutiful World War Two nurse tending to his eternal wounds. He loves you, not only due to your very beautiful body, but everything within its gorgeous shell - not that you’d ever believe him. 

Dustin looks down at his wavering hands and ripped shirt. His fingertips press against his cheeks. He winces in anticipation of a pain that never comes. “How did I,” he stutters, a gulp thick in his throat. “W-what is this?” Kas finally stands - it was his time to shine. He peers down at Dustin through his cheeks with a lifted chin. The boy stumbles back at his movement, afraid of what may come next. 

Just how Kas likes it: seeing his prey shaking with barely contained fear before him. At least they know the truth - that he’s a monster in sheep’s clothing. 

“I healed you,” Kas starts with a scoff. “Me, I did that,” he points to Dustin’s weak body. His smirk and bouncing brow shoots your way, making sure you acknowledge his selfless act. That annoyed, deadpanned face of yours returned, it’s one of his favorites. 

Dustin looks to you for clarification, some sort of understanding of what the hell happened to his fallen friend. Kas hated it, hated that he looked at you instead of him. Like every word falling from his mouth needed to be fact checked by you.

“Hey, Henderson,” Kas calls out, a whistle to follow. “Eyes over here. Daddy’s telling a story.” 

Kas stalls when he sees both your eyes pop out of their sockets. Dustin’s nostrils are flared as he takes a slow inhale. You quickly drop your gaze to your feet, while stifling a cry. What the hell? Why did the world come to a grinding halt? 

“Vecna saved me,” he continues hesitantly. The words slowly drop from his mouth, each elongated word. “You know, after you left me to rot.”

The boy’s neck extends as shock fills him to his very core. Fire burns true in his little hazel eyes. Something Kas, nor Eddie, has seen outside of the D&D table. 

Oh hello Nog, the Artificer - it’s been a while. 

“Who left you?” Dustin challenges with a finger addressed to the man before him. It makes Kas laugh, enjoying the fire burning within him just like the good arsonist that he is. “‘Cause it sure as shit wasn’t me.”

He steps forward in a way that, involuntarily, spreads shivers down Kas’ spine. A shiver not formed due to fear, shock, nor worry. A shiver that inadvertently fills his body with admiration and respect. “Steve had to pull me away from you,” he says sternly, dangerously entering the other's space. 

Kas’ left brow raises as a smile sprawls across his face. A slow chuckle erupts from within that could scare away Vecna himself. He is callous and cold. His eyes reddening as each word is spoken. “You’re a fucking liar, Henderson,” a cold stern tone to his voice. Kas takes a step towards Dustin, egging him on. “You don’t want to know what I do to liars.” 

Dustin scoffs, suddenly taking the interaction lightly. “Why don’t you start off by telling me exactly who said that I left you?” he asks with rigid eyes. Kas scoffs too, rolling his own, as his lip pulls up on his left side. “Oh,” the boy snickers, making Kas’ entire care-free persona develop into fuel lit fire. “Let me guess, Vecna told you that? Just like how he told you he saved you?” 

“Watch your fucking tongue,” Kas spits through gritted teeth. He could barely see your hands or hear your voice as you attempt to calm the situation. All he could see was red. The resilient, fascinatingly familiar color flushing across his sight. He just needed one good reason to wreck that pretty little face of his. 

“I watched you die and I was there until the very end,” Dustin yells, completely matching his opponent’s energy. “I would have never left you behind.” 

“But you did!” Kas screams into his face. His shoulders raise as he puffs his chest, entirely prepared to destroy the small being. But, fortunately for the boy, you are a sneaky one. A slow palm to his chest, resting with just the right amount of pressure on his sternum. He could feel another hand pressing into his lower back. And somehow he could breathe again. The red slowly dissipating from his mind. All his senses return with lightning speed. It all hit a bit too hard as he struggles to process the next words from his mouth.

“No, I fucking didn’t!” Dustin spit outs with disdain. Your hand still glued to Kas’ hot skin, the only thing keeping the other alive. “Steve ripped me from you, I hated him for weeks…” He loses track of his words as though the memories shot through his precious thinking cap. 

“No, no,” Kas mumbles but the flashes ring true. Dustin cried onto his dying body. He screamed, pleading for Eddie as he was dragged away by Harrington. He didn’t want to go, but Steve was following through on his promise - to protect Henderson. They loved Eddie. His friends would never have left him behind. 

“No!” Kas shouts, pushing the boy back, but he persists, taking a step forward to show his older brother that he meant every single world. 

“It took me so long to see that he was saving my life,” Dustin utters before powerfully pushing two hands against his chest. “I was ready to die with you in front of that trailer!”

Kas bounces back, rocking on his heels with minimal physical damage but holy shit did that fuck over his brain and everything he’s come to know as true so far.

“I should have!” the boy shrieks. Tears stream down his cheeks in a way that breaks Kas’ unbeating heart, in a way he’ll never admit - maybe not even to you. Kas coughs, clearing his throat before plopping back onto the couch. The room is silent until Tobbs calls out to his fellow detective. 

Kas clings onto the TV as a tool for his dissociation. A small voice in his head begins to beg for forgiveness. Regret encapsulates his chest cavity as he acknowledges the pain he caused to not only his prodigy, but to you. The betrayal was his own.

He should have remembered, should have corrected Vecna, but he had nothing. Not a single clue as to what was happening. He was lost, alone. He knew his memories were not his own, but he didn’t care. Anger is easier than loneliness. It wasn’t until he saw you and the graceful flash of your smile that he second guessed those thoughts. 

All he has now is Eddie’s memories from before. He would only need one hand to count how many he’s got, but that’s no excuse. He should’ve remembered. He had an inkling, some part deep deep within him that immediately rejected the idea of Henderson leaving him behind but he didn’t listen.

Why didn’t he listen? How could the idea that everyone would leave him behind be so believable? That he wasn’t worthy of true friendship? What could he have done to deserve that? 

Kas squints before applying pressure from his thumb between his brows. He could feel the beginning of a headache scraping against his forehead. Muffled voices wrack through the air as he struggles to recollect what is true and what he was told.

You and Dustin begin talking about Eddie and his last moments. He now finds distraction from his own thoughts in your conversation.

He, barely, tries to not eavesdrop as you nervously ask, “Did - did he have any message or - or, um, did he say something about me?” His ears perk for an answer that never came. He looks up to see Dustin shaking his head, which forces his heart to sink in his chest. 

Kas instinctually seeks your gaze, knowing without a doubt that this answer would completely destroy you. He watches as your face pales and your body stills. He struggles to deny every fiber in his being that screams for him to hold you. As much as they pleaded and as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t manage to move from his seat. His own body betrays him in the midst of all this new found information.

“Tell us the story.” Your mouth barely moves despite the power of the words that fall from your lips. Kas cannot deny the excitement he feels upon being reminded of your undeniable strength. You were easily the strongest woman he has ever met, even if he did remember all the women in his life. He turns towards Dustin, awaiting the story that even he is curious to hear. 

The boy, however, tucks his hands beneath his pits and crosses his arms over his torso. “What’s going to keep him from punching my face in again?” he spits out. Again, he looks right at you as though you were the handler to the rabid dog that Kas was. 

“He won’t hurt you,” you say through grinding teeth. It was enough to make Kas smile and tilt his chin back and forth, like a giddy girl. He sits back, completely relaxed, knowing that you have his back. 

Dustin takes a breath, lowering his eyes before him, but not before cracking his neck to the side. “Eddie was dealing with Chrissy,” he starts. 

You quickly interject, “Yeah, he had a date set with her.” Your eyes fall as you think further. “It - It was a Friday, right?” 

The boy nods his head as he tightens his arms upon his chest. “Vecna killed Chrissy right in front of Eddie.”

The veins in your neck tighten as you clench your teeth. Eyelashes flutter back tears. Kas cannot help but want to protect you. “Are you sure you want to hear this?” he asks in a low tone. The act surprises Dustin. His eyes flash between you two as he realizes the connection you have. 

You take a deep sigh before walking over to the couch beside him. You crash down, hooking your arm around his bicep. You lean into the meat of his arm as your eyes close. “Keep going, Dustin.” 

Kas pulls you in, holding you closer than he thought possible. He would do anything to spare you from this hurt, but he also knows whole heartedly that you needed to hear it - just as he does. “After that, Eddie went into hiding. Cops obviously pinned it on him… and Max, well, she saw him leave the trailer in a hurry-” 

Your head raises upon hearing the name. Kas turns to you for guidance as it remains unfamiliar. “Wait, Max was a part of this?” you ask in disbelief. 

Dustin stalls before answering. He swallows a huge gulp as he squeezes his hands into a fist. “Yes.” Your brain wracks with ideas, struggling to understand exactly who else was involved in this dangerous ruse. “We went searching for Eddie and it led us back to here,” he mutters as he takes a quick glance around. 

“We found out Vecna’s past and how to fight him, and we were ready,” he slows down his words. “We had a plan and we were going to stop him.” His bottom lip begins to quiver. A hand catches his balance upon the back of the recliner. “Something went wrong, and we needed more time.” 

His eyes suddenly bare holes into yours. You could see the tears welling within them as he struggles to let out the next few words. “He went back,” he swallows, “We would’ve lost so many people if not for him, but by the time I could get back…” He drops his head, shaking it as those fists crash against the tops of his thighs. 

Kas observes every inch of Dustin’s face, of his body language. He understood his words to be true, his feelings to be true. He is distraught. Dustin may have made it out of there alive, but a piece of him still rests on that road right beside Eddie. Dead and hollow. A piece he may never recover.

He rallies the courage from within to finish their interwoven story from his blurred recollection. “I-” he starts. The pronoun explodes a combination of familiarity and disorientation. “I died in his arms.” 

Kas could see your head immediately shooting his way. It made a small smile burst from his lips and shortly take it away. “But after you left, I heard someone. I thought it was you,” he turns your way with a weak grin. Tears flow from the ducts of your eyes, a steady current. “I don’t think it was.”

His voice hitches before he clears it and attempts to continue. “I died a fucking hero,” his eyes raise forward as he is flooded by the reminiscent feeling of bravery and pride. “I wasn’t a coward - no, not anymore.” 

You bite your lip as your arms wrap around his neck. His own tears begin to fall as you pull him into your chest. “You were always a hero, baby,” you whisper into his red, hot ears. "You saved me before any of this happened."

His sobs destroy the very fabric of your being. A sound that will forever haunt your dreams. You take it in waves, all of his pain without regret. Your face slowly becoming stone cold, tears ceasing to exist as you tighten your hold of him. 

Kas clears his throat, slowly pulling away from your soaked shirt. Your hands slowly float to his knees. He looks back at Dustin, his close friend, without anger or resentment. “Vecna brought me back. He told me to kill you,” he mutters while shaking his head. “I came back different.” Another frog is stuck in his throat as he struggles to take in breaths without falling into another sobbing fit. His eyes drop to the hands in his lap. “I wasn’t a killer before, but I am now.” 

Dustin looks your way in a panic, desperately wanting to know more. “He didn’t make me, you know? He taught me how and I just kept it up.” Kas calmly nods as he feels the blood drain from his face. “Eleven people,” his voice hitches as he meets the boy’s innocent eyes. 

“Tammy Thompson, Ryan Trent, Andy Johnson, Carol Carver, Dave McKinney, Paul Richardson, Justine Hutch, Dick Newman, Kristie Peterson, Olivia Wilson, and Vickie McNulty.” 

Kas keeps his head down. Not a single part of him wants to see the terror on either one of your faces. The silence floods the air like a stuffy smoke. It’s almost palpable, almost as though you could feel it weighing down on your defenseless body.

“Vickie.” Dustin slices through the smoke, a wavering tone to his voice. “Vickie from marching band?”

Kas nods his head ever so slightly while struggling to swallow the biggest gulp stuck in his throat. 

He didn’t want to raise his eyes, no not at first. He could remember her screams, particularly hers as they sounded like they were perfectly extracted from Jason Voorhees’ machete. The red of her hair mixed beautifully with the crimson that drenched her clothes.

He would be lying if he said he had any remorse in the kill. He just saw someone he knew. A poor girl smudged with dirt and muck as she struggled to get out from under the library’s debris. He scared her, just a little, to get that blood pumping quickly into his mouth.

“Yes,” Kas finally answers. “Vickie from marching band.” 

Dustin almost collapses backwards, but swiftly rushes to land onto the chair before him. A completely new pain strikes Kas’ heart as he realizes that Vickie meant something to him. Your hand squeezes at the sides of his thigh as you, too, hesitantly land your head against his shoulder. Comforting him, even though you are shocked by his doings.

“I think I need a break,” Dustin mutters. Kas raises his eyes to see that the boy had turned a shade of green. He runs out the front door and vomits off the side of Rick’s porch. A solid tear runs down Kas’ cheek. What has he done? 

While the two are inside, Dustin struggles to keep himself upright. His entire torso is flush against the wooden porch. His eyes almost bulging with each retch.

Robin has been searching for weeks to find Vickie. She’s grown so close to the McNulty family, determined to find her across the Upside Down. She refuses to acknowledge the possibility of her death, the possibility of not being able to save her through all the party's efforts and losses. 

How is he going to tell her about this? 

But amongst the sadness, he cannot deny the feeling of relief in his belly. Eddie is back. Even if it’s some weird, murderous version of him, he can still see him - talk to him. He doesn’t have to pretend to speak to the mist over Lover’s Lake anymore. He doesn’t have to think of a world that Eddie Munson isn’t a part of. 

Sure, his mentor looks different. Much more shirtless than usual. Dustin never thought he would see him in anything but ripped jeans. His hair is longer, smooth and less matted. The contrast between his dark locks and skin reveals how much paler he’s become. Red eyes are a nice touch that he can appreciate when they aren’t paired with a beating.

When Kas speaks, the boy swears he could see sharpened canines. Were those the very knives that dug into his skin before he passed out? 

Regardless, Dustin has his brother back and the happiness that consumes him is undeniable. He would accept him with open arms in any condition. 

A tenacious brotherhood built on fantasy, triumphs, and defeats. A deep connection between a Master Inventor and his Dungeon Master. He wishes he could go back, back to when the worst thing that happened was that D&D got canceled because Corroded Coffin finally got a gig. 

All he can do is wish. 

September 16th, 1985. 8:43pm.

“Yeah, well Mike’s got a girlfriend cross country,” Lucas shares, desperately running away from the attention placed on his and Max’s relationship. 

“What the hell,” Mike gripes as Gareth places a firm hand at the back of his neck. He shakes it while releasing a hellish laughter. “Alright Mike, where’d you meet her? I only slightly think she’s made up.” 

The group laughs as Eddie watches them from his Dungeon Master’s throne. His foot hangs off the edge with a knee to his chest, hands playing with a small ripped paper. 

He is known for his transparency. Whatever he feels is perfectly displayed upon his face. The mood for today is an abundance of annoyance, clear in how he lifts the side of his lips and his eyes roll with each passing second. 

“I met her here actually, she just moved away,” Mike shares. “Her name’s-” 

Eddie slams his hand down onto the table with a force that shakes the auditorium floor. “Why are we talking about maidens?” he asks with a booming voice as he stands from his seat. “We should be talking about how the party’s going to fight Lolth tomorrow,” he hints. 

Dustin’s eyes widen as he slowly asks, “What are you talking about?” He peers around the room, seeing the entire party with mixed expressions of shock and gaping mouths.

Eddie huffs in response, rolling his eyes in annoyance, as he grabs his books and map. “No jerking off tonight, boys. You’re gonna need your throwing hand.” 

The party begins to pack up after a rather rough section of the campaign. Only Lucas, Jeff, and Dustin survived, while the rest await their rebirth. Dustin’s brows pull as he watches his fearless leader. The man who is always moving is now perfectly still. He takes heavy breaths as he grips tightly against the top of his chair. 

“You coming?” Lucas calls out as he and Mike begin to walk down the stage’s stairs. 

“I’ll just meet you there,” Dustin says, waving his hand for the two to leave. He has been trying to find an opportunity to buddy up with the President of Hellfire, maybe this was his chance. “So, Eddie, do you have a sec?” he asks sheepishly. 

Eddie now had his forehead plastered upon the chair as his fingers nervously tap on its sides. He groans as his way of replying to the youngling. Dustin lets out a soft chuckle as he nervously asks, “You okay?” 

Eddie slowly raises his head as a smile lifts to the right of his cheek. “Yeah, I’m good,” he says with squinting eyes. “Hangovers don’t feel like they used to.” He raises his arms to stretch them before rolling his neck.

“I was wondering if, uh, I could get your advice on something?”

Eddie’s eyes perk as he drops his arms and slides into his chair like a snake. “Why yes, the doctor’s in,” he beams with his smile. 

Dustin laughs while pulling a chair out and plopping into the seat. “It’s about girls - uh, maidens,” he starts. 

Eddie nods furiously, gesturing with his hands for him to continue. “What is her name?” he inquires. Dustin drops his head nervously, “Susie.” 

Eddie’s eyes close as he smiles. “Ah, Susie,”  he whispers in acknowledgement. He leans back into his seat, taking a big whiff of the young love in the air.

“Yeah, she, uh, she’s the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen. I met her back in camp about a year ago and she lives in Utah, but I, uh, I think I love her and I’ve never said that to someone before,” Dustin rambles.

Humming, Eddie sinks back into his chair. His expression is happy and proud of his little freshman. “Well, little man, it sounds like we’re in the exact same situation. If you figure it out, you let me know,” he dismisses with a chuckle. 

Dustin is taken aback. A king like Eddie having trouble with girls, uh - maidens? He’s a rockstar for christ’s sake, what kind of problems could he have? “What’s her name?” he asks, just as plainly as Eddie did before. He snickers beneath his grin as he rests a chin upon his fist. 

“Let’s just call her Lolly,” Eddie lets out with a breathless chuckle. A coy smile sprawls across his lips. 

Dustin’s brow raises with curiosity as he dives in more information. “Lolly, like … Lolth?” he asks, tucking his chin into his neck in excitement. His eyes widen as he lovingly awaits his DM’s answer. 

Eddie blows out a raspberry before sinking even further into the throne. He shakes his head while creasing his eyebrows. “Did you nickname her after our next boss?” Dustin laughs out incredulously. 

“Maybe,” Eddie retorts in a sing-songy voice. He scoffs, throwing his head back. “Go ahead, honestly, tell me that Lolth isn’t a smokin’ hot babe.” 

Henderson smiles, enjoying his mentor’s flustered face. He shrugs, nodding his head - knowing it isn’t wrong. “She must be a badass,” he utters. 

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it,” Eddie adds, running his tongue over the front of his teeth. “She’s my spider queen,” he hisses with excitement.  

Dustin giggles alongside Eddie. Their smiles fill the room with a rose tinted ambience flooded with nostalgia and happiness between old souled friends. The connection between them was palpable, undeniable. Eddie noticed it the second he laid eyes on the small fella. He knew there was something special about him, and he has yet to be proven wrong. 

“In all seriousness, Henderson,” Eddie says lightly, coming down from his laughing fest. “You should tell her. It’s a risk, yeah, but love isn’t really something you can hold onto. Trust me, it eats away at you more than you can imagine. It physically hurts not to say it,” he takes a deep breath. “You’re lucky you don’t have to see her every day.” 

His words peak Dustin’s interest. Who is this maiden? Has he seen her before? Does she go to Hawkins High? He’s never seen his DM so vulnerable, and he revels within the precious moment.

“You can tell her too, Eddie,” he whispers, careful not to upset him. The President raises his eyes and stares behind his curly chocolate bangs. “What if she loves you too?” 

Eddie’s keen smile pulls to one side as he shakes his head. “She doesn’t even know me,” he mutters, leaning back into his chair. 

“Then let her get to know you, man,” Dustin encourages. With a smile, he starts, “A wise man once told me that love was risky but it’s not something you can hold onto-” 

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Screw you, Henderson,” he mutters with a low hummed chuckle. His head cocks to the side as an idea forms in his mind. He leans his elbows onto the table as he locks eyes with the boy. “Let’s make a pact, right here and right now.” Dustin encouragingly nods. “You tell Susie and I - I’ll tell Lolly,” the words start to lose their muster as he continues. 

“You got yourself a deal, Munson,” Dustin slams his hand against Eddie’s, giving him a good shake. A contract that would build the very foundation of their friendship. 

April 7th, 1986. 12:11am.

Your mind feels like a dead plane about to crash into the ocean. A slow spiral as you fall from the heavens and dive into the horror show below. First row, VIP ticket. Guess that’s what happens when you fall in love with a true killer.

Without noticing, your hand slowly slips from his arm. Fingers hook onto your chin as you struggle hard to process the information. To make sense of something that just shouldn’t make sense. 

“You didn’t know who she was,” you start. Your closed eyes tickle lashes against your cheek. “You - you didn’t.”

Kas’ soft, calm voice breaks through the mist, bringing you back down to that ocean floor. “I did,” he murmurs. “I killed her, and I did it because I knew her.” 

You turn to him with tears flooding your vision. The breath is sucked from your lungs, unable to take in more. You finally hit the water - it’s time to sink. “Tell me, just,” you gulp, shaking your head out as your mind screams for you to run. “Make me understand, please.” You turn to him, heaving sobs as you do. “Why did you do this?” 

He drops his gaze, not wanting another second of your crying face to be burned into his mind. He hurt you, again. Regret, again. All for an unneeded kill he made so carelessly. 

Vickie’s red hair bobbed so effortlessly in the mucky mist of the New World. He immediately recognized her from that unfortunate junior year that he had to take band for his elective. Despite the tragedy, she still was perky and determined to get out. 

And that’s why. She had hope, and all he wanted to do was crush it. 

Kas hesitantly reaches for you, wanting to comfort you and distance himself from the situation. The very act shakes you to your core, causing you to cower to the other side of the couch. “Don’t,” you say plainly. He drops his eyes while clenching his jaw in pain. 

Who did he have to blame this time? It’s not like Henderson was the one who brought up their names. It certainly wasn’t you. You knew he had a list, a list of people who died the way you should have, but he knew you would never want to know who. 

And yet, he gave you just that. It breaks any perception that you had of him. The person who took care of you upstairs, who loves you - yeah, that’s a serial killer. Vecna took everything from you. He could care less about how his kills affect other people.

Chrissy died and Eddie became a “serial killer.” Eddie died and … Kas became the serial killer. 

“I don’t,” you start but quickly take in a shaky breath. You pinch your brows together, trying so hard to see any future with him beyond this but everything comes up blank. 

“I killed because I didn’t know any better,” Kas whispers. His gaze stuck on his hands as they rested between his legs. “I was taught to torture, told that every person in Hawkins would rather see me dead than alive.” 

He abruptly stands, practically jumping off the couch. “I had doubts. I - I tested it, you know?” He begins his pacing, desperately trying to stop his heart from exploding his chest with each beat. 

“With Kristie and Dick, I saw them. They were under struggling to get out of town hall. I helped them get out,” he slows his movements. “They were so happy to see me. And that made me happy, a-and I thought - ‘yes, he was wrong!’ But they were just happy until I got them out,” he says softly. 

“They ran from me, called me an ‘asshole’ and a ‘killer,’” Kas mutters as he stands still before you. “I showed them they were right.”

A wave crashes over you. Weak electricity shoots through your body, tingles that make you feel light headed. Your face falls into your hands as you ponder the thought.  

“But then I met you, darlin’,” he says as he crashes onto his knees before you. His big, warm hands pull your palms from your cheeks. “You showed me that there was another way. And - and I don’t want to go back to that.” 

Kas takes a sharp breath before clearing his throat. His quivering voice continues, “I still hear their screams.” You slowly raise your eyes to his. His face contorted and solemn as he struggles to hold back heaving sobs.

“I wish you were there,” he drops his head onto your lap. The tears curl around your face. You cannot help the gentle hand that brushes through his hair. “I wish I died in your arms,” he cries. “If I did, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be in fucking Valhalla or some shit, but I wouldn’t be back here as this monster!”

He sobs into your bare thighs. Your chin quivers as you try to be strong but fail every other second. You feel empty. No worry or remorse toward him or yourself. Just a body floating slowly into the ocean’s depth. 

After some time, you whisper coldly, “You are not a monster.” He raises his swollen eyes to you, the innocent chocolate button eyes bow beneath all this façade. “A monster wouldn’t have regrets. Wouldn’t be crying with the person he tried to kill.” 

After one last swoop of his soft curly hair, your hand rests at his cheek. Kas leans in as he always does. Those innocent eyes flick up to your hardened gaze. “You are not a monster. Not anymore.” He takes in a shaky inhale through his nose. 

“You are going to work hard, harder than you ever have, to make up for what you did.” You gently place your fingers to the side of his chin, squeezing as you guide him to your eyes. Ensuring you are both locked in before finishing your thought.

“But you will never make up for those eleven lives. You will carry them in your heart until you die. And that does not mean you stop fighting to make it right. Do you hear me, Kas?” 

His lashes flutter as he unsuccessfully attempts to hold back his tears. He could see the strength within you. The power you hold that has barely scratched the surface. He couldn’t be more in love with you despite the horror of the words that fell from your supple lips. 

Kas knows, in this moment, that he will happily die for you a million times. He is crazy about you, completely unhinged and dedicated to your smile. He may never make up for what he’s done, but he will put all his power into trying until the day he dies - not just for you, but him as well. It’s not easy living with a guilty conscience, maybe this will make it a bit lighter. 

Regardless his determination is set, your broken heart is more than enough to fuel his intentions. 

“I hear you, darlin’,” Kas utters. His hands delicately reach for yours, intertwining your fingers as they should have been from the very start. “I promise you I will try my absolute hardest to make up for what I’ve done.” He pulls your interlocked hands to his lips. A sweet peck with eyes fixed onto you. “I promise you I will work my damned best to be the man you deserve.” 

His words pull you right out of your spell. Those worried wrinkled lines between your brow completely smooth out. Eyes fall straight down to your hands. A promise you would never expect from Kas, and one you could count on from Eddie. But one and two are not the same, and fear still encapsulates you. 

You want to trust him. To know that he’s that beautiful man who held you in the shower earlier that day. The man who carried you away from danger. The man who saved you from the dangerous, psychotic being he is scared of most in this world. 

But he is also the man who took Vickie and all those people from their families. The man who left you in a ocean of your own tears, naked and afraid in that fucked up version of Hawkins. The man who stalked you, hunted you. The man who almost drank you dry to please his own murderer. 

“Please don’t break it.” The words fall from your lips involuntarily. You aren’t even sure if “it” is referring to his promise, or your heart. “Please,” you finally raise your eyes to him. 

Dustin opens the door, walking into a quiet room. He closes it behind him, locking the deadbolt before landing his back against the wood. It pulls both your attentions, causing Kas to stand and let go of your hand. Your body aches for him, wishing the boy stayed outside just a little bit longer. 

“I lied,” he starts. His hands crash at his hips, letting go of a huge breath of relief. “He said something about you when he was …” 

It was your turn to release a breath of relief. You are confident, fully confident in the love that you and Eddie shared. Doubt wracked your brain when Dustin told you that he didn’t say anything about you in his last words. For whatever reason, the boy held the information from you. The only way you would get it is if you wait, painfully and patiently. “What did he say?” 

Dustin takes a quick look at Kas before returning to you. “He wanted to marry you, after graduation.” You smile with a trembling lip, both taken aback and not surprised at all. The thought of you across from Eddie in a cheesy tux at city hall. It may not be Chicago, or Paris, but being Mrs. Eddie Munson would be an absolute dream that you would choose over the world. 

He laughs as he finishes his thought. “I didn’t know who he was talking about before, but, yeah, it’s pretty clear he was talking about you.” The tears hit him again, a tickle at the back of his throat. He tenses his face to hold it all in. “He nicknamed you Lolth, or Lolly,” another breathy chuckle drops. “Pretty badass D&D character, honestly pretty comparable to Kas.” 

Your heart warms in a way that turns your body into cotton candy. A sensation you haven’t felt since you last laid your eyes on Eddie. It is almost like he is here. You place your hand upon your chest as you sink into the feeling. “Thank you,” you say with a feverish nod. 

Kas watches the woman he loves turn into a rare aurora of orange twinged happiness. He is thankful for the boy, grateful for his honesty. He seeks his eyes to mouth “thank you” himself. 

Dustin nods, but quickly looks away as he is too worried to hold the gaze. He brushes a hand through his hair while uttering, “I don’t know what I’m going to tell the others.” Your ears perk up, causing you to jump up and rush towards him. Your hands firmly grabbing onto his. He pulls away, but hones in on your intensity. 

“You can’t tell anyone.” Your gaze locked on his hazel brown. Your body becomes a mixture of hot white and cold. You just got him back. No one will take you away from him. No one will hurt him. No. No. No! “They don’t need to know.”

Dustin steps back from you with disgust. His hands are harsh as they rip from yours. It is enough to make Kas take a step forward and let out a thick, heated breath. “They need to know,” he starts pointing to Kas. “He is the last person to see Vecna alive. We need to know everything so we can put that asshole into the ground.”

You turn back to Kas, a slow glance over your left shoulder. His attention is pulled upon seeing your movement. Your brows raise at their tips, trying to discern what he is thinking. A slow smile gradually pulls across his lips. An encouraging nod shoots your way. 

The relief filling your chest finally allows you to take a deep breath. You extend your arm backwards with a hopeful expression. He happily reaches for your hand, resting his warm palm against you.

Kas stands beside you, in front of Dustin. In this moment, you realize that he and you are forever. It may not be perfect, it may not be Eddie, but you are in it - for the long haul. Protecting each other against any potential harm. His fight is your fight, just as it should have been with Eddie. There’s no way you’re backing down. 

You shake out your hair, taking in a slow breath for confidence and neutrality. “Who are ‘we?’” you ask. One simple question to determine the safety of the journey forward. Dustin looks to Kas, seeking the answer within him. How did this boy not get it yet? He shakes his head. He doesn’t know every thing. 

Dustin turns to you, clenching his jaw. “Steve, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, Lucas, Erica, Mike, El, and Will.” The names float in the air, almost each one recognizable to you. These are the people you see in the hallways. The people in the cafeteria. The people who run the school newspaper. The people in the band. The popular kids. God, how the hell are they all mixed up in this? The only name missing being … 

“Max,” you call out. “You said Max knew what was going on. What - Why isn’t she going to be there?” You rake his face, desperate for an answer, only to see him grow solemn. Kas knew that Henderson’s face undoubtedly meant bad news. He squeezes your hand, letting you know that he is here for you. 

The silence feels unbearable. Your skin is on fire and about to implode. “J-Just tell me,” you start before taking a deep inhale. “Is she dead?” 

“No,” Dustin states. Your heart skips a beat as you gasp in happiness. Max is far too young, far too young to be gone… “But she’s hurt and it’s bad.” 

Your body stills as your breath escapes you once again. “What do you mean?” you utter quickly. Another squeeze to your hand. 

“She’s in the hospital,” the boy utters under his breath. 

You push past him, reaching for the door knob. You don’t even know where you’re going but you are going.

Kas is the one who’s calm hand rests on your forearm, causing you to pause. He models a breath with you before flicking his eyes to Henderson. “Tell the party we’re meeting at Harrington’s at 8. You pick us up at 6 and bring us to Max, then to the party,” he states without a second of hesitancy. Your eyes light up before turning to see Dustin’s reaction. 

“Done,” the boy promises. 

“Dustin!” 

All three of you drop, closer to the ground. The voice comes from outside. You can hear heavy boots onto the steps of the porch before crashing his knuckles against the wood. “Dustin, your mom called.” He groans before knocking again. “Common, I know you’re in there - I can see the light on.”

Steve Harrintgon’s timbre is incredibly clear. He is here, a simple door away to finding out the truth. 

Your heart races faster than it ever has, faster than when you thought you were going to die. You panic, thinking what would happen if Kas and Steve come face to face in such an abrupt manner.

When you whip your head to Kas, his face is calm and unbothered. It gives you strength - a chance to take a breath. 

“Henderson, please. It’s already midnight and Robin’s in the car. If you don’t come out soon, she’s gonna start holding down on the horn,” Steve says with an exhausted tone. A huge yawn follows his words.

Dustin shoots his eyes towards Kas. He gestures for you both to move, to make your way to the kitchen. Kas nods, and guides you over with your intertwined hands.

“Just wait a damn second, Harrington,” Dustin spits out. “I’m getting my shit.” Kas leads you behind the fridge, squeezing your hand in repetitive pulses until you both are safely hidden. 

Dustin swings the door open and steps outside, pushing his way through Steve’s burgundy sweater. “Dude, you gotta stop coming here,” he scolds as the boy closes the door behind him. “How did you even get in?” The voices trail off, but you remain silent, still, and pressed against the fridge. 

Upon hearing Steve’s car pull away, you let out a breath of relief. You instinctually let go of Kas’ hand, stretching your arms and cracking your knuckles to release the tensing pressure. “That was close,” you whisper under your breath. 

Kas slowly wraps his arms around your waist, digging your hips against his. “It was,” he says as his eyes rake over your features. One hand releases to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. It is almost as though he is lovingly adoring everything but your eyes, leaving them for last. 

“Should we finally get that rest now?” he suggests with a smirk. 

Your eyes fall on him as though this was your first time ever truly seeing him. The way his lips part when he looks at you. Those eyes that stop your heart every time they land on you. The way his curled locks land right on his collar bones. His alabaster skin, soft and sensual. The spider tattoo on his peck that you love so much. 

Before you knew it, your hand was trailing across his torso. Peck to peck, before sliding down his sternum and onto his belly. Your eyes were locked, as though they were in a trance, completely intoxicated by his incredible body. Almost as though an alarm went off, your head perks and returns back to hold his gaze. “I would like that.”

Kas smiles as he leads you back into the living room, back up the stairs, and back into the room that will forever, now, be deemed as yours. He lands back onto the mattress, floating upon its waves, as he guides you down beside him.

Your head rests where it belongs, on your favorite spider tattoo and just above his heart. His arm wraps around the small of your back. A hand lightly tracing dancing fingers against your upper arm as you pull closer into his chest. 

A sleep you have been waiting for. A sleep you deserve - you both deserve. 

“Good night, Kas,” you whisper against his skin. “Good night, darlin’,” he whispers back. 

“I love you.” 

note: people really need to stop bothering lolly and kas during their vacation stay at reefer rick's! also, i am physically cringing at the thought of kas meeting the party. I oh so very scared and idk what's gonna happen. get ready y'all.

season two finale • coming soon •

comment or reblog to join the taglist! [join our kas cult]

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• nav • no-no plagiarism • series • requests open •

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

breakfast at tiffanys

pairing: eleven x fem byers!reader (family)

summary: enjoying a cosy audrey hepburn movie.

A/N: i actually got to visit the six-story tiffany store in new york and its beautiful!!!!! also this one is hella hella short, like blink and your done.

series masterlist

previous chapter next chapter

January 13, 1986

“Why hasn’t he said it back?”

A look to your left with a furrow on your brows at El’s abrupt question. Eyes peeking back to the movie that was playing on the living room TV, an Audrey Hepburn movie where she looks stunning as usual and her male interest is declaring his love for her.

“Why doesn’t who say what back?” Turning the volume down a notch so she knows all your attention is on her and this important question.

El sighed and twisted the cuff of her long-sleeved shirt, legs adjusting to a crisscross position. She peeked shyly over at you and spoke low, “Why hasn’t Mike said I love you back?”

“Oh! Um… well…” You didn’t know why he hadn't said anything along those lines to her. He seems very much infatuated with their relationship. “Well, he’s a guy. A boy, El. They are idiots and don’t know how to express their feelings straight.”

A pout came to her lips, “But Steve says it all the time to you. And Jonathan has said he loves Nancy. So why is it hard for Mike?” Her hands dropped to pick at the fabric of her pajama pants.

You rolled your lips as you shuffled closer to her and threw an arm over her shoulder to pull her into your chest. “I don’t know, sweetheart. Might be due to his parents or he might not know that he’s in love, not understanding his feelings at this age. He’ll say it eventually though, I know it.”

“Do you- Do you love Steve?” Another question but one you easily had the answer to. “Of course I love him. I never thought I would get a chance to wholeheartedly display my love for him, but it’s even better than I imagined.”

El didn’t say anything in reply, no question or retort. She just snuggled in close to your hold as the both of you returned your attention to Audrey and her man of the hour.

-

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[in-death-we-fall]

Wham, Glam, Thank You Mam…

Kerrang 910, June 29 2002

The unmasked Joey Jordison’s Murderdolls are not Slipknot Mark II. Can you imagine the Clown wearing make-up and stack-heels?...

Oh Kerrang, we absolutely can... but that's not the point here

Words: Joshua Sindell Photos: P R Brown, Lisa Johnson

(drive link)

In a dimly lit room at the Sunset Marquis hotel, five heavily mascara’d men in black leather, each with immaculately back-combed hair, pose and purse their lips for a photographer’s lens. Only a single white curtain against the window protects their pale skin from the outside sun’s piercing rays. Last night’s expedition to famed strip club Crazy Girls has left some of them feeling bleary and achy, but, as the band Junkyard once sang so sagely, ‘That’s life in Hollywood’. Yes, this is LA, the home of all things tawdry and torrid, where giants in spandex so famously used to stride down the Strip. But this is not 1986. These events are happening in June of 2002. And one of these pouting prima donnas happens to be a member of Slipknot.

Murderdolls are the new baby of Joey Jordison – Slipknot’s diminutive drummer – but in stark contrast to his unrelentingly intense day job, their music is a trashy pastiche of glam-rock, New York punk circa 1977, schlock-horror, and heavy metal. Jordison has swapped his mask for make-up and his sticks for a guitar, and has created a band that embody practically everything you don’t ever hear on the radio these days. Alongside him are Static-X guitarist Tripp Eisen, singer Wednesday 13 who previously fronted the Frankenstein Drag Queens From Planet 13 and two friends of Tripp from LA – bassist Erik Griffin and appropriately-named drummer Ben Graves.

Just one listen to the Murderdolls’ debut album will be enough to have a legion of Slipknot fans chomping on their home-made boiler suits in confusion. Cheesy songs about grave robbing? Tributes to ‘The Exorcist’’s possessed devil-doll Linda Blair? Zombies? Mad scientists? Ghouls? What the hell is going on?

Jordison, barely five-foot-five even in his new stack heels, allows himself a sly smile.

“This is so far removed from Slipknot that it’s actually the best thing about it,” he says. “When we play, it’s just so fucking funny. We’re very serious about not being serious.”

To change gears from the testosterone-filled, uncontrolled anger of ‘Iowa’ to the sexually charged grind of Murderdolls is certainly something of a role-reversal. Butt Tripp Eisen, who, like Jordison, is also on shore leave from his day job, finds the turn-around almost hilarious.

“It’s kind of like being bisexual,” he jokes. “You’re doing a guy for now, but you’re not giving up on the ‘girl’ thing.”

The seeds of this project were sown years ago, in the mind and garage of Joey Jordison, under the name The Rejects. This was long before Slipknot and nu-metal’s all-conquering domination of the rock scene. The Rejects would eventually morph into Murderdolls, and to Joey, this is no mere side-project.

“I just feel that there’s no point in doing anything that’s even remotely similar to Slipknot,” he reasons, seated at a small table inside the cool, dark hotel room. “For me, it’s a chance to play guitar, which I played long before I played drums.”

Murderdolls began to become more than just a figment of Joey’s imagination three years ago when Slipknot toured with New Yorkers Dope, who had Eisen in their line-up at the time. The two bonded over a mutual love of such bands as Manowar, The Ramones and The Plasmatics.

“I had spent my whole life being kind of a glam guy, but also digging the heavy, heavy music,” says Tripp, a soft-spoken man with dreadlocks that sprout from his head like drooping asparagus. “It’s rare to find someone who can relate to both, and that’s what drew me to Joey. He’s into Slayer and Twisted Sister with equal intensity, and there’s not many people like that.”

To Tripp, there’s not all that much difference between the two. Both metal and glam are escapist and theatrical in nature, and he points out that Mötley Crüe and Slayer both used pentagrams on their albums.

Together, during the off time from their respective bands, Joey and Tripp dug up some of Joey’s old Rejects songs and dusted them off. They discovered a voice in North Carolina native Wednesday 13, and he brought several of his own songs with him. Then, after the album was finished, the band’s line-up was completed by Griffin and Graves.

The record itself is an absolute blast. Roaring guitars, skull-rattling drums and sneering, screaming vocals, all set to fast-paced tunes of terror and turmoil. Imagine the Ramones, the Misfits and the Dead Boys wearing long-haired wigs and goofing on love, lust and comic books. Add to the mix a soupçon of Marilyn Manson, plus a few screaming metal electric guitar leads, and stir. What pours out ain’t pretty, but it will certainly raise some eyebrows.

Joey couldn’t be more excited at the prospect of his Slipknot fans lending Murderdolls an ear.

“Not to take anything away from Slipknot, because I love that band and I’m still very much in it. But playing the guitar is not the same as playing the drums. Wearing make-up and trashy clothes is not the same as wearing coveralls and a mask.”

But what is to become of that famed Slipknot ‘mystique’? Won’t it forever be ruined by the fact that Joey is the first of them to go mask-less? Joey downplays the importance of his decision, saying that the internet has basically removed whatever secrecy Slipknot had tried to maintain anyway.

“We meet and talk to the kids without our masks every day,” he points out. He also says that Slipknot’s singer Corey Taylor and guitarist Jim Root will soon be performing sans masks in their own side-project, Stone Sour.

“I’ve said this a million times before, but wearing the masks is what the music ‘made’ us do,” says Joey. “It was not to just hide our faces. After knowing what Kiss looked like without their make-up for so many years, when I went to see them on their reunion tour, I didn’t give a fuck if I knew what they looked like under their make-up. When I saw them in make-up, I said, ‘That’s fuckin’ Kiss’.”

Scheduling the Murderdolls sessions and upcoming tour was never an issue with Slipknot either. All of the nine members decided that their loving maggots could allow them a few months’ rest, and many of them are pursuing solo projects.

“It was a mutual decision,” says Joey, “It wasn’t like we all needed the time away from one another. I told them that I felt that this stuff was worthy of being put out on a record. I think that it’s worthy for people to see it live as well. I’ve been spinning upside-down on a drum riser for the past 10 months, and now I’m going to go jam with this other band for a while, and they were totally cool with that. They knew from the start, even before the first Slipknot record, that I was going to do this, so it was no surprise to them.”

As for the other members, this much is known. Tripp Eisen says he’s still very much a part of Static-X, who are just about ready to wrap up their touring scenario for 2002 and will immediately begin writing their third album. Singer Wednesday 13, recruited to replace Rejects singer Dizzy, is an aficionado of ‘80s glam acts like Pretty Boy Gloyd and Tuff, and claims, quite horrifically, to have the soundtrack albums to every one of Sylvester Stalone’s movies – including ‘Over The Top’ and ‘Rhinestone’. Wednesday, who speaks in a warm southern drawl, plays a big role in the band’s theme and sound. He explains the song ‘Dawn Of The Dead’.

“I’ve always loved that movie,” he says, “and I thought, ‘How great would it be to have a Quiet Riot, ‘Cum On Feel Tha Noize’-type chorus for a song like that?’.” The singer described the sound of Murderdolls as a “Frankenstein monster we stitched together.”

The two newest members are Ben and Erik, friends of Tripp’s from LA. They do not play on the record, and both were struggling musicians who felt left out by the onslaught of post-grunge blandness and down-tuned rap-rock. Secretly, they wished they’d get hired to play just this kind of balls-out rock that just didn’t seem to exist outside of their old CD collections. They were working in shops on trendy Melrose Avenue when Tripp gave them a call.

“Once we all agreed that Nikki Sixx was God, we knew they were the right guys,” observes Wednesday.

Joey is loath to describe the band’s sound as metal or punk, though clearly it has elements of both, as well as some of the more frenzied moments of Marilyn Manson’s catalogue. In particular, ‘Dead In Hollywood’ truly sounds as if the God Of Fuck was somewhere in the mix, lending a helping shout. As it turns out, Joey asked the man himself to contribute, but not on any of the songs that have turned up on the record.

“Marilyn’s a friend of mine and we’ve always helped each other out,” says Joey. “I played some guitar for him and hooked him up with a remix, which he just recently used on the ‘Resident Evil’ soundtrack. He said that he’s going to sing on one of our songs now.” Unfortunately, what with his own deadline looming shortly, Manson’s tracks – either ‘People Hate Me’ or ‘Nineteen Seventy 666’ – may have to wait until after the release of the new Manson disc.

If all this sleaze and disorderly conduct sounds a little backward thinking, it is no accident. Even Trip agrees that the ‘Dolls pay tribute to a bygone time.

“I feel that kids today don’t know about what we grew up on, and I think that we’re trying to bring the whole package to them. The Union Underground and Sinisstar are similar in the respect that they’re bringing trashy rock back, but we just feel like we can do it better.”

Wednesday speaks with an endearing confidence that borders on pride.

“Nobody’s done it to the extent that we will,” he brags. “There were bands like Buckcherry and Beautiful Creatures who were doing the whole Guns N’Roses rock thing, but nobody’s done it at the level that we’re going to.”

Without too much Slipknot business to attend to, aside from the upcoming Reading and Leeds appearances this summer, Joey is clearly basking in his new-found freedom. Returning from the bathroom after applying his make-up, he jokes that posing for photos in Slipknot is so much easier than this current Murderdolls shoot. “You just throw on a mask and make hand gestures!”

Joey says that he’s looking forward to sharing his band with the world, and playing guitar live.

“I think that we’re original, but we’re not trying to reinvent the wheel,” he muses. “I think that in Slipknot, we broke down a lot of doors. I’m very proud of that, and I’m very fulfilled there. This is just another way to keep the glass full.”

Murderdolls release their debut album, ‘Beneath (sic) The Valley Of The Murderdolls’, on August 19 via Roadrunner.

Doll Parts

Joey Jordison’s guide to his new bandmates…

Ben Graves Joey: “Again, Tripp found him. Does he look like Twiggy Ramirez? Absolutely no comment.”

Wednesday 13 Joey: “He and I wrote all the music and the lyrics together. It’s fun when we’re singing about grave robbing. It’s much more tongue-in-cheek than anything Slipknot’s ever done.”

Erik Griffin Joey: “Tripp brought him into the band. I saw a video that Tripp did of them jamming, and he looked right for the band.”

Tripp Eisen Joey: “When we met, we instantly knew that we had the same taste in music. I really love his leads on the album. Live he’s great, and he’s a great friend.”

[jazzandpizazz]

Jeremy Brett and Edward Hardwicke in Sherlock Holmes (ITV Granada) “The Man With the Twisted Lip” (1986)

[lexie-squirrel]

The Man with the Twisted Lip (1986)

Здесь пришлось немного переделать начало рассказа, потому что там несчастная жена Айзы Уитни пришла за сочувствием к жене Уотсона, а в гранадовском рассказе Уотсон еще не женат (да и не будет, никогда). Поэтому она приходит к Уотсону прямо домой, на Бейкер-стрит, в то время, как Холмс “бесследно исчез”. Впрочем, по чистой случайности Уотсон приходит за Айзой Уитни в тот же опиумный притон, где сидит замаскированный Холмс. Не представляю, какие мысли пронеслись в голове у Уотсона, когда он увидел там Холмса, пусть и с фальшивым носом и бородой. Кстати, здесь, в отличии от рассказа, Холмс опиум немножко все-таки курнул, для конспирации. А когда Холмс по дороге рассказывал про исчезновение мистера Сент-Клэра, Уотсон проворчал, что что-то, мол, нынче постоянно все мужья пропадают. Холмсу тут вообще не особо пришлось побегать, вся работа мысли пришлась на раннее утро, когда канонично сидел на куче подушек и курил. Забавный момент - маленькая дочка Сент-Клэра заглянула к гостям в спальню, и Холмс улыбнулся. Он вообще лучше относиться к детям, чем ко взрослым, и давление со стороны жены пропавшего даже не стояло рядом с тем давлением, которое на него оказала улыбчивая хорошенькая девчушка с ангельским личиком. Далее была милая сцена с зеркалом, умыванием и хлопком в ладоши (зеркало отмывать потом не ему, ага). А дальше - еще более милая сцена пробуждения Уотсона путем щекотания его за пятку. Бедолага Уотсон, заснув только в четыре часа утра, сумел проспать только до шести и поэтому по пробуждению не особо чего соображал, кроме желания еще поспать и отвязаться с бодрого и полностью одетого Холмса, который предлагает куда-то ехать и что-то делать. Ну а дальше все было по канону - умывали уже бродягу Буна. Холмс, кстати, был крайне недоволен, каким страданиям Сент-Клэр подверг свою жену, так что это был довольно строг.

[hrshl-hlms]

The Vatican Cameos (1986 DOS game) CASEBOOK

Original link

CHAPTER THREE

Mr. Pelton, Meet Mr. Lestrade

Holmes stopped Pelton's narrative. "No murder weapon? Piedmont was, presumably, stabbed."

"Several times," responded Pelton. "In the upper chest."

"And the face disfigured with acid?"

"Yes."

"And the door locked? Is there another entrance to the room?"

"There is but a single window that looks out over the back of the house. It was bolted shut from within."

"So there is no way into the room, save through the locked door."

"Yes, and the key was found in Piedmont's pocket."

Holmes pulled on his pipe thoughtfully. "Did you hear any argument from across the hall, or other noise?"

"None. It was quiet until I went to sleep. Then, I know nothing until I was awoken."

"I see nothing in your narrative that points a finger of suspicion in your direction. Why do you fear that 'they' will take you?"

Pelton swallowed hard. "Because of the box, sir. On their search they uncovered Mr. Piedmont's brass box hidden between the mattresses. The inspector opened the box and found a personal paper with Mr. Piedmont's name on it. They believed that I had stolen the box and committed the murder."

Holmes sat back, relaxed. "Have the police addressed the problem of the locked door and all of the other concerns that you have placed before us? Or are they adamant to 'find their man' regardless of the circumstance?"

Pelton shrugged his shoulders. "They have said that I am their prime suspect, and while they did not have enough to hold me, they let me go. The moment I was set free, I came 'round to see you."

"And why here, Mr. Pelton?"

"Because of what the inspector said, sir."

"Which was what, pray tell?"

"That the case looked so strong against me that not even Sherlock Holmes could find a difficulty with it." Holmes paused for a moment, then his lips twisted into an agreeable smile. Lights sparkled across his eyes. "I trust that the inspector was one called Lestrade?"

Pelton assured him that it was.

"Ah ha, Mr. Pelton. The police are giving you a clear out in his matter by referring yourself to me! Either Lestrade believes that you are guilty and you have been sent round to challenge me, or Lestrade believes you innocent but cannot convince himself that the circumstantial evidence lies. I do so appreciate the good inspector's devices."

Holmes had just uttered the last syllables of his pronouncement when a hard rap came to our door. On opening it, inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard and two constables entered. Holmes looked up with the mildest surprise.

"You are not accustomed to refering clients to me, Lestrade! Is business at the Yard so great that you need call in others?" Lestrade snarled a response under his breath then fixed his attention on young Pelton.

"Mr. Pelton, I am arresting you in the name of the Queen for the willful murder of one Josiah Piedmont. I ask you to accompany the constables."

Pelton, much more composed, stood to allow himself into the constables care. Holmes, with a wave, turned to Lestrade. "I have not yet completed the interview with my client, Lestrade. I would appreciate five more minutes before you cart him off to Bow Street."

Lestrade thought for a minute. "Five minutes, I remain, then we all go, Mr. Holmes." Holmes nodded his agreement.

"Mr. Pelton, you stated that the alarm came at about 6 in the morning."

"Yes, that's quite correct."

"Lestrade," said Holmes turning to the inspector, "at what time do you fix the murder?"

Lestrade referred to a small notebook. "Between one and two this morning, Holmes. Best we can make out."

Holmes nodded. "While you were asleep, Mr. Pelton. Incidentally, did you hear the lock turn after Mr. Piedmont regained his room last night?"

Pelton was taken aback. "I do not believe it did turn! I recall hearing the footsteps and the unlocking, but I do not recall the door being re-locked."

Holmes nodded in satisfaction. "You are an excellent witness, Mr. Pelton. If you will kindly go with these gentlemen I will see to it that you are cleared."

Pelton flooded Holmes with thanks and great relief.

Lestrade signalled his men to come round and escort our poor Mr. Pelton out of our rooms. Lestrade, however, stayed a bit longer.

"You're convinced of his innocence, then, Holmes."

"Tell me, Lestrade - can Pelton slip through keylocks? Is it possible for a man to stab another brutally, walk across the hall and go back to sleep? Is it possible not to have left any clue in his own room of his mischief? I doubt it."

Lestrade glowered. "I have the cash box, and that is motive. I have the man living opposite, so I have opportunity. What more do I need?"

Holmes lowered his eyes and pulled deeply on his pipe. In a voice almost inaudible came his reply.

"You need the murderer, Lestrade."

"You need the murderer."

-

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE - CHAPTER FOUR

[qingxin-dream]

As the World Falls Down

a/n | this is partially inspired by one of my fav scenes in the 1986 movie labyrinth, i just really love the imagery and bowie’s song (literally the title haha). always got me daydreaming🥰 hope you enjoy!! (art credits: @/myu-chan on deviantart)

warnings | poisoning, suffocation, profanity, hallucinations, reader wears a dress, implied death, crying, vague references to scara lore, not really proofread it’s 1am

genre | angst, romance

word count | 2.6k

pairing | scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

“I found some mushrooms and berries,” you announced upon returning to camp, a hand-woven basket tucked into the nook of your elbow.

“Good. We can have fowl with it too,” stated your nonchalant traveling partner, the rogue Balladeer, who nods. His eyes were lost in the growing flames of the fire he was tending to, not caring to spare you a glance as you take seat next to him to sort through your basket.

An amusing thought crossed the puppet’s mind and past his lips with haste, “It’s not poisonous, is it?”

The crackling of the fire grew louder amid the absence of your answer, reaching up to the darkening sky in a flurry of hot ash. After flipping a log over in the campfire, Scaramouche begrudgingly looked over at you, annoyed and prepared to chew you out for ignoring him. “Hey, what are you—”

“Sc-Scara… c-can’t—” you struggled to put words together as suddenly a dense fog settled over your mind. Eyelids unbearably heavy and jaw becoming slack, your consciousness was fading rapidly.

“(Y/N)?” his voice nearly cracks out of surprise, lunging toward you to catch you as your limp body collided with the ground. A single purple mushroom tumbled away from your grasp when you collapsed, the mark of your teeth engraved on the cap of the little fungus.

Scaramouche tried to shake you out of your delirium to no avail. He cradles you closer in his arms, curses pouring over his lips in a panicked state, trying to find your pulse. “Fuck, fuck… idiot, how could you be so careless!”

His fingers against your dainty wrist did not feel a thing. You weakly rolled your head toward the frantic puppet, it seemed you were blissfully unaware of how the puppet was scrambling to save you. A glittery haze swirled ominously behind your eyes—you certainly weren’t lucid—almost as if you were admiring the man holding you tightly on your deathbed.

Grazing the back of his index finger along your neck, you were still warm to the touch. It wasn’t until Scaramouche placed an ear against your chest did he hear the faint thump of your heartbeat and feel the rise of your rib cage as you breathed slowly.

You were still alive, but who knows for how long? He cursed once more, scanning over your features frantically. You no longer fought against the wave of drowsiness crashing over you, eyelids beginning to close and the small smile disappearing from your lips.

“H-Hey! Are you listening? What the hell did you eat?” the puppet growled, lightly slapping your face awake. Your eyelashes fluttered momentarily, but it was evident you weren’t comprehending anything that was happening. “Where is it? Don’t you dare close your eyes, (Y/N), I swear.”

Scaramouche recklessly searched through your basket of foraged items, tossing aside every last godforsaken wild flower, mushroom, and berry you worked so hard to collect. Looking you over, a small sparkle caught his eye.

A violet little shroom, glimmering under the setting sun, sat half-eaten on a patch of dirt next to you. It sported a mesmerizing pattern, twisting and contorting into the strangest unrecognizable shapes. His eyes trailed them through and through, a deceptively beautiful tango that drew him closer and closer with promises of pleasure, but what lurks beneath the surface of such an alluring potion?

A comforting warmth spreads across the puppet’s cheek, snapping him from his thoughts. You were cupping his cheek, half-lidded irises glistening with the reflection of a faraway realm. Scaramouche blinked.

“Where did you go?”

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The echo of a grand piano was just within earshot, weaving a gentle melody so lovely your ears would happily weep if they could. A few string instruments join in, a sweet violin contrasted with a deeper cello sound, if only you could find them. Light laughter swirled about, amid the clink of wine glasses and romantic whispers.

Pulling the lavishly purple curtain back, you are faced with the extravagant ballroom packed with guests. Each of them exuded pristine elegance in their magnificent, jet-black suits adorned with freshly bloomed flowers. It was a sight to behold, truly, with their faces masked behind brilliantly intricate Fatui-esque designs, boasting tall feathers or shiny rhinestones.

As they led their beautiful partners draped in pastel ballroom dresses and the finest jewelry, something was familiar about them yet no one appeared to recognize you. Was it the soft white Cecilia clipped to the raven-haired musician plucking away at the harp? Or the exquisite Glaze Lily on the tall gentleman nearby whose ponytail faded to a golden caramel hue?

The ebb and flow of the dance pushed you to and fro, distracting you from your thoughts. It was difficult to weave through the crowd, you find it quite suffocating with no exit is in sight. Then, without warning, a small clearing was made as the guests silently danced around you and the lone man who stepped into your path.

His mask was unlike the others: an angelic shade of white that shimmered like gold under the chandelier, dotted with tiny diamonds beneath the eyes in the shape of a tear. Deep indigo locks of hair perfectly framed his face, and as your doe-like eyes took in his ethereal form you noticed his boutonnière was unique—a vibrant, wine-red dendrobium rested upon his breast pocket.

He lowered the mask, yet no one seemed to pay any mind as they swayed to the surrounding symphony. Your jaw dropped in shock, the act of revealing his identity like breaking a sacred oath. Twinkling lavender irises rested on you, drinking in your immaculate visage dolled up in an exquisite, lacy ball gown that rivaled the purest snow on Dragonspine.

You were utterly and completely awestruck, lips parted but words would never take form.

It was him—Scaramouche in the flesh.

He approached you, leaning in until he lingered but a few inches away. You swear by the Archons if someone had said he was ambrosia incarnate you would have believed them without question. It was intoxicating, the way he made your cheeks burn with warmth and searched your eyes endlessly as if it were truly the window to your soul.

His hands delicately brushed against your waist, moving to guide you into the rhythm of the crowd. Your arms wrap around his neck, just as lost in him as he was within you. The mesmerizing serenade of the orchestra drowned out any banter around you, and you felt safe in his hold.

Your voice softly broke through to him, “Who are you?”

An amused hum escapes his lips. Scaramouche gazed at you with adoration, pulling you closer against his torso like he never wanted to let you go. His husky voice answered into your ear, “Who do you think I am?”

You bit your lip. Part of you had secretly dreamed of Scaramouche returning your feelings one day. All of this felt too good to be true. Was this reality? Would he embrace you like this? Would he—

“(Y/N),” he quietly chastised, seeing you lost in thought. Strands of violet hair tickled your face when his nose brushed yours, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his lips that were so close to meeting your own. You could hear his breath hitch, a tint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Tell me what you think of me.”

“I-I don’t know what you mean,” you nervously replied, averting your eyes as the butterflies in your stomach began to become unbearable under the weight of his affectionate and alluring gaze. “And why does it matter? You never cared about what other’s think anyway.”

“You are correct, but… you aren’t like the others, now are you?” Scaramouche smirked, a glint of mischief flickering across his features before pulling away to twirl you around.

As you returned to him, dress flourishing in tandem, you flash him a sly smile. “Well, if you must know, I do think of you fondly when you are away.”

“And what of when you are here with me?” he teased, joining the two of you at the hip again. He could practically hear his heart pounding, desperate to leap out of his chest. Scaramouche tucks a loose tuft of hair behind your ear, whispering into it once more, “You are in the presence of a god, after all. It only takes three words and I am yours.”

An insatiable rush of heat flusters your face at such a proposition. Your hand cupped his cheek and you caressed it with your thumb, committing his every perfect curve and edge to memory, as if confirming he was real and not made of paper mâché. He leans into your touch lovingly, a prince hopelessly enamored by this chance encounter.

This was really Scaramouche, and he wanted you. He chose you. In what world would you possibly deny him?

The sweet sound of the string quartet marked the end of the musical piece, drawing your attention as the crowd fell to a low hush awaiting the beginning of the next song.

When you turned to answer him, he disappeared. You flicked your head around, searching the ballroom for his face, his mask, his unusual violet hair, anything that resembled his unmistakable aura—but ultimately found naught. The guests spared disapproving looks at you through their masks, though you couldn’t discern if it was pitiful or mocking.

Your adrenaline began to kick in, not caring to push through the crowd just for the opportunity to catch a fleeting glimpse of Scaramouche’s beautiful mask. The orchestra began to play faster, heightening your sense of anxiety as guests moved in tune and nearly fought against you.

Was it something you said? Was he no longer satisfied with you? Were you just a plaything to him and nothing more?

Finally, you broke through the edge of the crowd and found yourself face-to-face with a distorted mirror of the room. Your reflection curved and blurred as if the ballroom itself was contained in an iridescent bubble. You were wrong. So horribly wrong.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the electrifying stare of Scaramouche watching you from the outskirts of the crowd. Your skin crawled with goosebumps once you noticed he was sauntering toward you, mask covering his expression.

You had to find a way out of this nightmare. Grabbing a chair from a nearby table, you held it above you, prepared to burst out of this false dream.

Suddenly a firm hand gripped your wrist painfully tight and yanked you away from the mirror, causing you to fall backwards into the perpetrator. Scaramouche growled in anger through his teeth, “I won’t let you do this. You can’t abandon me!”

“You lied to me!” Wriggling under him, you attempted to pull away with the chair but he was too strong. He ripped the chair out of your hands, toppling you over on the floor helplessly. You scrambled to stand up, carelessly tearing through the frills of your dress with your heels.

Scaramouche threw the chair aside and reached for your arm again, this time pleading with you, tears pricking his pretty red-lined eyes. “(Y/N), please. I’ve turned this world upside down and I’ve done it all for you. Stay here with me. Devote yourself to me. It’s all I ask.”

You hesitate at the sound of desperation evident in his voice, looking back at him one more time. He had lost his ephemeral sheen, hair tousled and scattered messily across his pale face. He was hanging on to your every word, hoping you would reconsider an eternity in paradise with him. It hurt to see how sad of a state he was reduced to, begging you to be with him.

He was right. This was everything you wanted—an endless night in his arms as lovers, but this was not how it was meant to be.

“I’m sorry,” you hoarsely choked back tears, smashing the mirror into a million pieces.

Infinitely small shards reflected the horrified look of betrayal on Scaramouche’s face as the dream was lost to space.

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You woke to the sound of crickets and a crackling fire. A cool, wet rag sat on your forehead, contrasting the warmth of the campfire and causing you to scrunch your nose as you stirred. Your heart raced when you were squeezed by the shoulders into someone’s chest, wet drops falling on you.

“Hm?” you mumbled against the fabric of their clothes, resting your hand against the left side of their chest. After a moment, you realized this person lacked a heartbeat. Your eyes shot open. “Scara… mouche?”

Your eyes took a moment to adjust, eventually focusing on the man who was cradling you close and gently rocking you back and forth. His divine features were contorted into despair, eyelashes speckled with the glistening residue of his tears. You spoke up again, “Scaramouche, what happened?”

“I thought you fucking died, that’s what happened.”

Oh. Your memory proved to be fuzzy—you remembered foraging for dinner, picking all kinds of edible berries and mushrooms. You remember returning to camp, but trying to think of anything beyond that worsened your headache. Were you attacked?

“How long have I been out?” you asked apprehensively.

Scaramouche swallowed thickly, hollow eyes wandering up your form to meet yours. It was gut-wrenching, he was never this vulnerable—this exposed—with you. “Six hours.”

He told himself he would never allow foolish mortal feelings to defile his heart again long ago, but you had gotten under his skin more than he realized. You sunk your claws into his heart so easily, so readily, and he was complacent in it. Maybe part of him wanted to believe it would be different despite his deep-rooted cynicism.

When you passed out cold and lifeless, you might as well have gored his heart right out of his fragile puppet body.

Scaramouche wanted you to, for all of the self-hatred, regret, love, and mourning he felt over you eating a stupid purple mushroom.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered shamefully, gripping his robe in your fist. You really fucked up this time. Had he held you the whole time, wishing you would come to or saying his goodbyes? The thought welled hot tears in your eyes.

He gave you a bewildered look, appalled by your pathetic apology. “I should kill you.”

“I would understand.”

The puppet had enough. After suffering in the depths of darkness and despondency for hours thinking you had succumbed to your mortality, Scaramouche could bear it no longer. You were alive, your heart was beating, and you were breathing—you were in his grasp once more and he wouldn’t dare waste this newfound chance with you.

“To hell with it,” he swore with a hasty whisper ghosting your pink lips, cupping your cheek softly, taking in how beautiful you looked in the moonlight even as you laid ill. “I love you, (Y/N), and don’t you dare do this to me again.”

Scaramouche brushed his chapped lips, salty with the remnants of his tears, against yours, relishing in the sensation of how plush and warm you felt. He rubbed his thumb over your cheekbone and down your jaw delicately like you could break underneath him at any moment. His hand trembled slightly on your skin, prompting you to hold his palm to your face to quell his fears.

When you moved your lips and pressed further into him, reaching up to lace your fingers in his hair, he swiped his tongue to ask permission before deepening the kiss. You tenderly smiled, greeting his tongue with your own. Scaramouche treated you with the utmost reverence, dedicating himself to tasting every saccharine drop you would offer.

He poured his heart into you until you were desperate for air and had to break away, much to his dismay. You were more than addicting. Indulging in you was beyond euphoric, to feel complete and whole at last was indescribable.

Recovering your breath, you huffed out a contented laugh and sealed your fate with one more peck on his lips. “I love you too.”

For the first time in hundreds of years, the puppet genuinely smiled, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“So… what did you dream of after you ate that mushroom?”

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[writing-fanics]

i didn’t run this time

- eddie munson x powered!reader

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note: struggled to figure out where I should start this but I did say in my idea I would get to the stuff in vol 2. So I’ll start with flashbacks of their relationship from season 4 also a lot of time skips cause this girl wanna get to volume 2.

« warning: spoilers for vol 2 . angst . slight smut . blood . gore . language . lack of knowledge for d&d »

Hawkins 1986 (Skull Rock)

The group walked through the woods towards Skull Rock, “Oh, boom. Bada bing, bada boom. There she is, Henderson.” Steve said, as they arrived at Skull rock.

“Skull Rock. In your face, man. In your stupid, cocky little face.” Steve said, looking at the structure. Dustin looked down at his compass in disbelief, this couldn’t be right. “Doesn’t make sense.” Dustin said. Looking back down at his compass.

(Y/n) and the others arrived just behind them, “Yeah, yeah. Even with it staring you in the face, you can’t admit it.” Steve says.

“Can’t admit you’re wrong, you butthead.” He says.

“I concur.” Eddie says, as he jumps down behind the two startling them. “You, Dustin Henderson, are a…” He stops…

“Total butthead.” He finishes.

“Jesus, we thought you were a goner.” Dustin says, as he hugs Eddie. “Yeah, me too man.” Eddie says, patting him on the back.

“Eddie!” (Y/n) exclaimed. Running towards him and wrapping her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her holding her tightly, as she nuzzled her head into his neck.

She then pulled back and punched him on the shoulder, “Don’t you ever do that again!” She shouted. He recoiled rubbing his shoulder where it was punched.

“Yes ma’am,” He replied. A smile grew across her lips as they looked at each other, the others could tell that the two cared deeply for one another.

“How you feeling?” She asked. Pulling away. Turning and walking towards the skull like rock, “Well, now that your here a bit better.” He said, but shook his head.

“I was worried sick about you,” She says, pulling back looking up at him. “I’m sorry, Princess.” He says.

The two then pull away from each other, he walks back over towards the rock and sits. “When I got to the shore, I tried calling you guys, but, uh…” He says, as he opens the canteen and takes a sip of water.

“my walkie was busted, man.” He groans in frustration. “Drenched. So uh, I did the thing that I do now, apparently.” He smiles sarcastically.

“I ran.” He chuckled dryly.

“Do you know what time this was? The attack?” Nancy asked, looking at him. “Yeah, no.. I.. I know exactly what time it was.” He says, as he takes off his watch and tosses it towards her.

“9:27.” She says.

“Same time our flashlights went kablooey.” Robin says.

(Y/n) looked down, theses murders the way theses people died. It seemed familiar somehow. How their bones stretched and their guys turning a milky white. Bones being cracked, limbs twisted, as they floated in the air.

Those white tiled walls the prison like doors. The river of blood. Dead bodies scattered across the floor, a memory since blocked in the back of her mind. A memory she wanted to forget about long ago, slowly creeping it’s was back to haunt her.

She didn’t realize her nose was bleeding, “You alright, Princess?” Eddie asks, looking at her worriedly. She nods, wiping the blood away. She looked down at her hand catching a glimpse of a black widow spider, shaking it off and squashing it on the ground.

“Spider.” She says, looking up at the others. She’s always hated spiders been scared of them since she was little. She remembered the time when one crawled up on her head, and one of the orderly’s took it off her head and just stared at it as if fascinated by it.

“Ah..Princess your nose.” Eddie said, and she looked at him. Bringing her fingers towards her nose and feeling the red liquid running down her nose. Wiping away the blood she looked at him, “I’m fine,” She says, looking at him.

“You sure?” Max asked, and (Y/n) turned towards her and nods, “Don’t worry, I haven’t seen any grandfather clocks, no headaches, no nightmares, I’m alright.” (Y/n) says looking at him

“Just let us know,” (Y/n) nods in response. Letting out a sigh as she closed her eyes, breathing out relaxing her muscles.As the group walked towards Lover’s Lake.

(Y/n) walked besides Eddie, “I’m sorry, again for worrying you.” He says, and she looks towards him and shakes her head. “Eddie, it’s alright. At least you’re here.” She says, gently elbowing him in the arm.

He smiles as he looks at her, even to this day. He could still see that scared little girl from seven years ago. She’s grown so much. “Oh guess what?” She says, and he looks at her as they followed the others.

“Finally, learned how to play Master of Puppets.” She said. Smiling. “What?” He exclaimed.

“Yep, I learned from the best.” She smiled. Gently pushing against him, “Well, then m’lady you must show me.” He says, and she nods smiling at him. As she looks at him she gets a flash of his limp body in her arms. His face covered in blood. Blood seeping through his clothes and seeping into hers.

“I-I didn’t run this time y/n, right?” He said, as he chocked on his own blood.

“Hey, you alright?” He asked worriedly. She didn’t relaxing she was clutching the side of her head as if it were in pain.

“Y-Yeah, I’m alright.” She nodded, looking down at the ground. He looked at her and took her hand into his own, he gave her a goofy smile. Causing her to chuckle.

“Remember when my uncle took me and you to Benny’s Burger on my birthday?” He asked, and she nodded.“How could I ever forget that day,” She said, looking at him.

“I remember it like it were yesterday. I was completely disgusted how you told me you’ve never had a burger before.” He said, and she chuckled looking at him.

“But the look of wonder on your face, when you had the burger. Was better than any birthday gift. Just seeing my princess happy.” He says, and she blushes as she turned away from him.

“Yeah, and you couldn’t stop laughing at me when you saw my face covered in ketchup and mustard.” She pouts. Causing a snicker to escape Eddie.

“Wanna know what really made my day?” He said, and she looked at him curiously.

“Spending it with you.” He said, and she blushed. And leaned against him as they walked towards Lover’s Lake. “I can’t believe it’s already been almost seven years since then,” she says, looking up at him.

(Time skip)

(Y/n) grabbed, watched as the demobats completely flew past her as if on purpose and attacked her friends instead. One of them going towards Eddie, and latching onto his back.

“Fuck off!” She shouted, hitting it off him. The bats completely avoided attacking her and once again attacked her friends. After fight the bats, and running towards Nancy’s house for guns. Which weren’t there. Then going back towards Eddie’s trailer to finally arrive back in the real world.

"Those stains are, uh...” Eddie mumbles, under his breath. Eddie and (Y/n) both look at each other.

Eddie has (Y/n) startled on his lap, pressing kisses on her neck. His hands running up her shirt and underneath her bra, squeezing her breast. A soft moan escaping her lips. He continued pressing kissing against her neck, while removing the shirt from her body.

Removing each article of clothing, with each tender and passionate kiss. Until either of them had anything covering them up. Her nails digging into his back with each thrust, her moans being silenced by his kisses.

It was their first time and they wanted to cherish it.

Embarrassed. “I don’t know what those stains are." He says, and the others look knowingly at the two. But it was the safest thing to land on, and they climb up the rope and land on the mattress.

‘Y/n.’

A voice said, causing her to look up as she held the rope. It sounded too familiar all too familiar, was she falling under Vecna’s curse. Was she next since Max escaped. But she hasn’t seen a single grandfather clock yet. It has to be something else.

Right?

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