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sunnynwanda · 6 days ago

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Warnings: voodoo practices, occultism, torment & control, wounds (somewhat grafic), blood, mentions of suffocation and burning, but a good ending. Based on Voodoo by Voilà.

Everything hurt.

Hero couldn't remember when was the last morning they didn't wake up to piercing pain in a part of their body - one or another. As if someone was sticking pins right through their chest, stomach, limbs, eyes. Each and every part of them. One at a time - to keep them on their toes.

It wasn't always pain, either. Sometimes, they felt like their entire body was burning, but they had no fever. They could almost smell gasoline; could almost hear the sound of the match being lit. And then their body would be consumed by insatiable fire, flaming through their being and curdling the blood in their veins.

Other times, they felt ice cold and suffocated - as if they were drowning in the air around them, their lungs aching and heart beating in their throat at the bruising vices around their chest. They would wake up with wounds all over their body, some looking like simple cuts, others more reminiscent of stabs.

They became ruthless in fights, to the point of surprising their unchanging nemesis with the newfound brutality. Villain ascribed their reactions to being exhausted or under pressure, but Hero knew it wasn't them. Not really. They did not want to hurt their favourite enemy, yet they did it anyway, pushed forward by uncontrollable bloodlust.

Hero tried playing it cool. At first. Seeing doctors and the supervisor; installing cameras in their bedroom to try and track where the wounds came from. Nothing worked. Needless to say, "playing it cool" didn't last long. They were teetering on the edge, dangerously close to a breakdown.

Then came the stigmata. Gaping wounds in the centres of their palms, bleeding over their sheets. It terrified the living lights out of Hero. The next few days after that morning were uneventful, but when the wounds on their hands had started to heal, they jolted awake again, with the old stigmata torn open again, blood gushing from their palms. It pushed them over the edge, causing a harsh landing somewhere they least expected.

Even the conversation with a priest did not provide clarity whatsoever, leaving Hero to deal with the mystery on their own. It was three days - and another excruciating morning - later that Hero ended up battling Villain.

They were in the middle of the fight, guns blazing and fists flying, when Hero failed to dodge a blow, hissing when their hand hit the wall. It must have opened up their wound because blood started seeping through their glove, staining the fabric and causing Villain to pause.

They gripped Hero's wrist with urgency, ripping the glove off them and staring wide-eyed. "What the hell is this?"

If only Hero had an idea. They gaped at Villain, inspecting their reaction.

"How long have you had this?" Villain spoke again, letting go of their wrist and reaching for the other. Hero swatted their hand away. "This too?"

A short nod was all Villain needed for confirmation. "How long?" They repeat, something unreadable flickering in their eyes.

"Couple weeks," Hero muttered, letting out a heavy sigh. "I wake up like this," they lift a palm before continuing. "In pain, burning up like I'm at a stake, suffocating like someone's choking me..."

Villain takes it all in, not interrupting as the floodgates are thrown open and Hero's pain rushes out in waves of agonizing confessions. They seem to catch themself soon, realizing they're spilling their state to the enemy. "Look, it's none-"

"Anything else?" Villain cut them off, tilting Hero's chin up to take a proper look at their face. They don't need Hero's answer - they can tell it's a resounding yes. Villain takes a moment to mentally list all of the signs they've failed to read before. "You started acting unlike yourself - against your will - about the same time as the other symptoms appeared?"

"Yes," Hero inhales sharply, bracing themself before voicing their question, though it sounds more like a statement. "You know what it is?"

"I think I do," Villain confirms their suspicion, letting go of Hero's chin, a sheen of sweat covering their forehead at the realization. "Follow me."

Hero has no chance to protest, and quite frankly, they're in no position to. They allow Villain to take the lead - soon finding themself in Villain's secret apartment.

"There's food in the fridge and the spare towels are in the cabinet across the sink," Villain instructs, walking through the apartment in search of certain things. Once they locate a leather-bound folio, they turn to face Hero. "Stay inside, I'll be back soon."

"What is that for?" Hero's attention shifts to the book that reminds them of... "You think it's witchcraft?!" Their eyes widen, an involuntary gasp leaving their lips.

"Not witchcraft," Villain shakes their head, something dark coming to life in the depth of their eyes. "I didn't expect your supervisor to play with dolls. He's more old-school than I thought."

"What do you mean? Is he in my head?" Hero mutters, confusion colouring their expression. They glance down, noticing the small effigy in Villain's hand. Voodoo doll. "You think he's using that on me? Don't answer that-"

Villain nods, picking up a box full of pins. "He has no idea who he's dealing with. Can't outplay me on my field."

"Villain, I-" Hero tries to come up with something to say, but their voice dies down, at a loss for words.

"I can deal with him. A pin through the heart is all it takes," they squeeze Hero's shoulder for reassurance, their hand lingering for a moment too long. "Rest. I need to get your doll so we can destroy it."

"I can find it while you deal with my supervisor," Hero argues, shaking their head at the idea of resting. How can they?

"No. You don't know how to handle such a doll; I cannot let you touch it." Villain sighs, stopping them with a hand against their chest. "I promise everything will heal. Just rest, okay?"

With nothing left to say or do, Hero simply nods, stepping back. They see Villain off before walking towards the bathroom for a hopefully calming shower to help them handle the wait.

A/N: Never thought I'd be celebrating two (2!) years of writing on Tumblr. What a journey! 💫

Two years in this community, two years of your support and sweetest words, two years of feeling heard and looking forward to returning after a busy day. Needless to say, I've loved every minute of it ☀️

This community has been my safe haven. Thank you for being here, for reading, for engaging with my stories. Love you 💛

Thank you.

xo Sunny

Masterlist

Taglist: @marvellousdaisy @alltimelowing @lateuplight @surplus-of-sarcasm @betwist @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall @enemies-to-idiots-to-lovers @miaowmelodie @thatonerandomauthor @hhabaddon @burningoutlikeicarus @daemonvatis @weepingcowboywolfbat @thelazywitchphotographer @kaiwewi @soul-of-a-local-bard @pigeonwhumps @aflyingsheepnamedrose @thatneptune @ohwellthatslifesstuff @worldsfromhoney @thiefofthecrowns @crow-with-a-typewriter @qualityrabbitsoup @stargeode @villain-life @villainsblood @whumpifi @glassthedumbass @silviathebard @misskowe @ayeshaturnedtoashes4444 @m4iloblu3

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himbosandhardwear · 9 months ago

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“Max, please. We're just worried. You don't have to come out, just let me know you're alive at least and I'll leave.”

His forehead is pressed against the door, waiting for a sign. The girl is stubborn, fearless, which is great usually but in this context it's pissing him off.

He thinks about trying for a more stern tone, a real dad voice, but before he decides yes or no, someone says, “Hey, asshole.”

Steve turns just in time to see a fist flying towards his face, enough time to drop back against the door and avoid taking one on the chin. Unfortunately, the attacker didn't expect Steve to dodge so he ends up flying forward, into Steve, who catches his full weight in momentum.

And that's when Max opens the door.

They fall backwards into the living room with twin grunts of pain. Steve gets a whiff of Irish Spring and weed while the guy spralls out on top of him.

“What the fuck is going on?” Max snarls. “Get up.”

Steve receives a nudge to the ribs, which is rude. None of this is his fault. He pushes the guy over and finds none other than Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson laying next to him.

“What the hell was that, dude?!” He shoves Munson's leg off where it was still laying across his own. “Are you on coke?”

“Fuck you!” He growls back while he attempts to fix his wild hair. “I'm not the one sniffing around Freshmen girls like a pathetic creep.”

“Sniffing around-” He looks up at Max, who looks down at him, eyebrows up to her hairline. They both burst out laughing.

Munson does not appreciate this. “You know what, fuck this. This is what I get for trying to be a decent person. Never doing that again.” He goes to get up but Steve grabs his jacket sleeve.

“Dude, she's a kid! You can't really think I would-”

“I'm not a kid!” Max ruins his speech by yelling. “If you think Lucas and I never-”

Steve has to let go of Munson to slap both hands over his ears, yelling ‘La la la’s to drown out whatever horrific shit she’s trying to say.

He looks up to check to see if she's done and finds her in her usual pose, arms crossed, scowl in place. He removes his hands but she immediately takes advantage by snapping, “Like you're such a saint. If you weren't fucking at my age I'll eat my hat.”

Steve blooms bright red, hoping Munson isn't looking. “Shut up! You're not wearing a hat.”

“Oh, yeah, Sherlock?” She snarks back.

Steve grins, so happy to be pissing her off.

She doesn't like that. “Why am I entertaining this? Get the fuck out of my house. Both of you.”

“Well excuse me for thinking you needed rescuing.” Munson turns to leave, Steve's still on the floor so he gets an eye full of a black clad ass, bandana hanging out of the left pocket.

“Like I would stoop so low,” Max says with a scoff, and it's Steve's turn to be offended.

Before he can get out more than a, ‘Hey!’ Munson's hand cuts through the air and motions, dramatically, to Steve's face.

“You're expecting me to believe you're immune to this?”

Steve blinks up at him, confused.

“Clearly you're not,” Max says, earning a dramatic gasp. “I don't date jocks,” she responds with finality, sneer well and truly in place. Her eyes cut back down to Steve. “And you can tell Lucas I said that. I don't need a babysitter.”

Steve, finally tired of being on the floor, stands up and brushes himself off. “Really, Max? I want you to think long and hard about that. Really picture his face if I actually told him that. You know the one. Sad but being so brave about it. You really want that?”

She's still trying for cold indifference, staring at the TV, but she doesn't answer either.

“Fine, I'll go. Just needed to check in, make sure you were still alive. It's not too late to go to the Sinclair’s for dinner,” he reminds her.

“Me and mom are doing Chinese.” She pushes Steve the rest of the way out the door and slams it in his face.

“Jesus. Ungrateful brat.” He tugs his jacket straight and turns to find Munson staring at him, sort of the way you would look at a weird bug you found in your bathroom. “What?”

He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Eventually he just walks away. Steve trips down the steps to follow him.

“Hey, wait!” He jogs in front and follows Munson's trajectory, skipping backwards across the street. “Seriously, I just wanna say thanks.”

That stops him. “Thanks? For what?”

“For looking out for her. She won't let anyone else do it. I'm glad she has someone making sure she's okay.” He watches Munson try to shrug it off, like what he did was nothing. “Seriously, it was really cool. For all you knew I was trying to perv on a teenager. I know my reputation doesn't help any.”

Munson snorts. “Yeah, forgive me for thinking you'd scraped the bottom of the barrel. I did think it was weird you weren't going for a Junior at least but.” He shrugs again.

He follows Munson to his trailer. For some reason he doesn't want the conversation to end.

“She's a huge pain in my ass but I love her like a sister. Which is why she can't stand me right now.”

Munson tilts his head, asking without asking. Steve huffs. It's hard to explain but he wants to talk to someone about it. Robin is his usual sounding board these days but it's hard to replace the solidity of guy friends.

Not that he wants to be friends with The Freak… But Dustin vouches for him so maybe he's not as bad as Steve remembers.

“Billy Hargrove was her stepbrother.”

Munson sucks a breath through his teeth. “Jesus H. Talk about trauma.”

“Yeah. We, uh,” he scratches at the back of his head, “we were there when it happened. She saw him die. He actually kinda helped save us at the end. So, she hated him but then redemption and death and change and now here we are. She's had it harder than the rest of us.”

Eddie stares at him, wide-eyed and sympathetic. “You were there? The fire?”

He sniffs. Eddie’s van has a key mark running the length of it. Echos of slurs passing easily from jock to jock bounce around Steve's skull.

“Yeah. I was working at Scoops. It was…crazy.” Wild understatement.

“Fuck, man. Yeah. I forgot about that.”

Steve winces. Of course. Of course Eddie Munson saw him in that stupid uniform.

“Not my proudest moment but I made a friend out of it, so…”

“Friend?” He asks, swinging himself up onto the porch and onto the dilapidated couch. Steve follows again.

“Yeah. Robin Buckley? She saved my ass like a hundred times that night.”

“Hmm.” He pulls a pack of Camels out, offers Steve one, which he gladly takes. “Henderson seems to think you guys are set to be married.”

“That little shithead. I've told him a hundred times it's not like that between us. Thanks,” he says when Eddie lights him up. “Don't know why he can't drop it.”

“She's not your type?” He blows smoke out of his nose like a dragon, which seems like such a nerdy thing to do, but he's weirdly pulling it off. Steve really needs to stop romanticizing these fucking dweebs, it's getting ridiculous. He used to be cool.

“I mean, she's definitely cute. Super smart, really funny. It's more like I'm not her type.”

“So, what, you stick it out, see if you grow on her?”

Steve chuckles lowly. “Fat chance of that.”

Eddie doesn't respond. When Steve glances over he finds Eddie looking thoughtful.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just- Nothing. Happy she has a good friend.”

They stare at each other. Steve's not good at these types of subtle communications but he's pretty sure Eddie figured it out from the little bit that Steve has shared. If the rumors about him are true he probably won't out Robin. Hopefully. She'll kill Steve stone dead if he does.

“No reason not to be,” he says. He hopes Eddie gets what he's saying. Wants to be a good ally or whatever.

A quirk of a smile dents his cheek, which Steve takes as a win.

They don't say anything for a bit, just finish smoking in the cold. It's unseasonably warm for Thanksgiving but still, enough to make your fingers and your nose feel numb after twenty minutes.

“I gotta ask, man. How'd you end up babysitting all these fucking kids? Henderson would have me believe you two are like brothers.”

Oh, fuck, that's too much. He really hopes he doesn't start crying like a fucking idiot loser.

“I mean, we kinda are? He grows on you.”

“Like a fungus.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah. It wasn't something I was looking for, half raising a bunch of asshole kids, it just sort of happened. You know Mike, Nancy's brother.” Eddie gives him a look that conveys ‘Unfortunately.’ “Yeah, so he was just kinda around, while we were dating, and then some shit went down that Dustin roped me into, helping him and the Party. And one thing led to another and now here I am. A mother of four. Five if you count Erica.”

“Erica?”

“Lucas’s sister. You'd remember if you ever met her. She makes Sourman look like Sparkle Princess.”

Eddie stares blankly. “What the fuck is a Sour Man?”

“You know,” Steve waves, “the bad guy from your nerd books. Lord of the Rings.”

A very real smile breaks across Eddie's face, almost a grin really. “You mean Sarumon.”

“Tomato, tomahto.” Steve ignores the warmth sliding through his stomach. It's probably gas. “You having dinner with your parents?”

He cracks a laugh. “Wouldn't that be something. No, man, it's just me and my uncle and we're not cooks. I think he's getting leftovers from some chick he works with. I don't know.”

“Oh.” Weirdly, that is comforting. Steve didn't have anywhere to be today either until Dustin invited him over. “You wanna come with me to the Henderson’s? Claudia makes a mean sweet potato casserole.”

He fidgets with his lighter, not meeting Steve's eyes. “With the marshmallows on top?”

“Duh.”

“And they wouldn't care if I came?”

“Are you kidding? Dude thinks you're the coolest thing since Han Solo.”

He likes that, smiling down at his feet. “Oh yeah? Well if I'm Han you're definitely Luke. Henderson thinks you're some kinda ninja.”

Aww, fuck, he really might cry. “That's cool.” He sniffs. “If I'm Luke then Robin is Leia, cause we're, like, bonded and stuff. But you guys can't date cause, uh…”

Eddie snorts. “We're not each other's type?”

Steve stares, pulse jumping for some reason. “Yeah.”

“That's fine. Kinda always thought Han and- Uh. Nevermind.” He slaps his knees and jumps up. “If you're sure about dinner at the H’s, let's do it. I wanna see the look on his face when we show up together.”

It takes Steve another second to stop staring but he does eventually snap out of it. “Right. It's gonna be amazing. You think he'll pass out?”

“I hope so. If not, what's it all for, you know?”

#pre-S4 #different first meeting #eddie munson #to the rescue #sort of #steve harrington #ficlet #st #my writing

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