I finished my fan fiction 🥰🥰🥰 For anyone who wants to read it, I'll post links so they can do it in order/more easily. Obviously, it's a work forbidden to minors, and I strongly advise against reading it. I'm not a native speaker, so please be patient...
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 3 🔁 1 ❤️ 5 · and now... my idea (I was supposed to write it tomorrow but the plans
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 0 🔁 1 ❤️ 4 · Episode 10
Henry wakes up and starts wondering if you were chosen for
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 11 🔁 1 ❤️ 3 · Part 18 ( 2) The same applies as in the first part of today's post. S
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 3 🔁 1 ❤️ 8 · Part 28 explicit sex scenes. 🔞🔞🔞🔞
You've never slept so well after se
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 5 🔁 1 ❤️ 6 · Part 35 violence typical of the canon , explicit sex🔞🔞🔞
You wake up e
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 0 · Post by @cristalbeesnow · 1 image · 💬 2 🔁 1 ❤️ 2 · Part 43 Soft descriptions of childbirth. Soft. But it's not for minors
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As soon as you get in the car, you barely have time to dry your tears before Orwen plants his eyes on you. "Are you okay, y/n? Is there a problem?" He ask uncertainly. You look at him seriously. So he came to pick you up, not Brenner. But the doctor will have other things to do than escort you. "Nothing to worry about. I just got another bad grade in Latin." A half-truth. You suck at Latin, but you've never cried over a bad grade. "Okay," Orwens says, then looks away, decidedly uncomfortable. It's time to ask Brenner's colleague a few questions. "Did you know? That Brenner used hallucinogens on me?" you ask sharply. Orwen finds it very interesting to watch the road. "No. I know that drugs are used, obviously, but I know nothing about hallucinogens. Besides, I'm not entrusted to your case. Brenner will take care of you, I have other patients," he says sharply, but you realize that it's not the truth. Not entirely, at least. "Lose your patience" It just so happens that I spoke to nothing in the bathroom! I thought a friend of mine was there but there was no one. And I was seen while I was talking to the void. Luckily a friend saw me, but what if another teacher saw me? Or a student? And don't come talking to me about the side effects of some medication because I don't buy it" Orwen seems discouraged "You'll have to talk to Brenner about it. I'm not following your case. I'm just your companion. That's all. The complaints are made to my colleague" you crosses your arms over your chest "I will, don't worry" and you do everything to make it sound like a threat. Because it is.
When you get out of the car, you enter the hospital, anticipating Orwen, who looks at you almost fearfully, fearing that you might cause a disturbance. But you simply walk in front of him indifferently, but inside you're furious. How dare Brenner drug you so disrespectfully, as if you weren't even a person but a guinea pig? Hasn't your life been ruined enough already? When you arrive in front of his office, you throw open the door after a quick knock, and there he is.he barely lifts his head from his diligently placed documentswhere yours are surely also. For a moment you wish you could get your hands on it and see what this man wrote about you, if the other doctors reported the same things or something else. But you can't. "Hello, y/n. Everything okay? How's campus?" Brenner asks you. You look at him with cold anger. "You dared to drug me," you accuse him. Then before he can answer, you stop him. "Without my consent. I should be told what medications I'm being given." Brenner places an old-fashioned pen on the documents then looks at you sneeringly. "Not if the medical procedure doesn't deem it necessary." You take a threatening step forward. You only ask to hit him, but you never will. You're not that stupid. After all, he's an established doctor, and you're already in trouble for what happened that night. You don't need a criminal record. "This is me we're talking about! I was hallucinating and talking to an imaginary friend who was only in my head! What if someone saw me? I would have been locked up here. When you told me that Professor Creel vouched for me" you falter at his name. He doesn't feel the same way you do. He don't love you. Brenner still looks at you with that slap-in-the-face look." It must have been some side effect. We'll adjust the medication dosage after the blood tests. In any case, this argument is closed. At least for me. Oh, go change, y/n, then we'll start your tests. For now, individual therapy."
In the future, if everything goes well, we could opt for group therapy. It helps a lot in your specific case. "You look at him with hatred." "What if I don't want to do it?" Brenner looks at you like you're a child throwing a tantrum. "It's not up to you to decide it . I'm your doctor. I studied medicine, girl, and I know what's best for you. Now go change. In the hospital, you have to respect the dress code. Having rules is the first step to recovery. Then we'll talk about how things are going on campus, but now... go! Go change. Orwen? He takes Y/N to her room. "Brenner's colleague join you. "Let's do as he says," and that's not advice. You storm off. You wish you had the power to demolish that place stone by stone. But some things don't exist except in fantasy.
You enter the room assigned to you and notice that the bed has been perfectly made and your gray tracksuit is already waiting for you. You angrily undress, cursing Brenner, the hospital, the drugs, and that stupid night that led you to this. Then you leave and Thomas is already waiting for you at the door. "Come on, girl, let's go. Brenner is not a patient man." He now sounds like a broken record. You follow him without replying, ignoring all the other patients. You soon arrive in a white room with a small table and two chairs. There are no posters on the walls. It's a cold, white room. Suffocating. In front of you, Brenner is waiting for you. You join him and sit down stiffly. "So?" you ask, annoyed. Brenner writes a few lines on a piece of paper you can't see. "Let's start off in a more civilized manner, Y/N. How are you? Everything okay on campus? How are things going with your friends? With your studies? With the various professors?" You look at him neutrally, "as if you didn't already know everything," but this rebellious attitude doesn't seem to please the man in front of you. "Moderate yourself, y/n, or I'll write to the rector that your condition has worsened and you'll have to remain hospitalized in the facility for an indefinite period. You know I have the power to do so. So I advise you to be a little more civil." You look at him with hatred. "Everything's very fine, thanks. I have friends. I go out. I get along with my roommates and I get good grades except for Latin and math. In fact, I should do my homework. Potter and Tanner won't forgive me because I'm bad at their subject." Brenner smiles at you. "I know. I've already talked to Professor Creel about it, so then y/n you will do those absurd assignments. You never know, you'll fall behind. I don't want to hear the complaints of those two... mummies," Brenner says contemptuously, referring to your teachers. Then he continues, "I know you have problems with a certain Billy. How does that make you feel? Uncomfortable? Scared? Excited?" at those words you look at him as if he had gone crazy
"Not excited at all. Angry. Disgusted. Uncomfortable. But not excited. How could I?" Brenner looks at you carefully. "You read a certain type of literature, if you can call that garbage that. And the line between consensual and non-consensual is very thin. So you might be confused since you're still immature compared to girls your age." You look at him uncomfortably, shocked and overwhelmed. You have no experience in anything and you know it. "I... I know what's right and what's wrong and I don't like Billy as a person. He irritates me." Brenner leans towards you until you smell his cologne. "But Professor Creel is everything to you. I think he's anything for you but he isn't indifferent." At those words you freeze. "I... he's just my teacher." You reply neutrally. But Brenner is not an idiot. He looks at you with an irritating smile.
"I know you like him. For you, he's not like other teachers. Don't say anything, girl. I'm a grown man as well as a doctor. I notice these things, I wasn't born yesterday. Now do you know, y/n, that a relationship between a student and a teacher is forbidden? My son would risk prison. Your situation is already very precarious. You already know that this is your last chance. Then the judge's sentence comes into play." You know it . You're not stupid. You know that you've been pardoned. Just as you know that with the first misstep, your life is ruined. But it's the first time Brenner has been so direct. "I know. I was there at the trial," you say softly. Confused. In pieces. Innocent in the end. But you were there. Because you were found guilty even if you have extenuating circumstances. "So a relationship with your teacher would be the first nail in your coffin," your head spins. Brenner offers you some water, but you don't take it. "He doesn't want me. In fact, he specifically told me to erase any feelings I have for him." At that point, Brenner seems taken aback. "Did he really say that?" You lower your face. "I didn't make it up. He doesn't want me. Billy had misunderstood, he thought the feeling was mutual and there was a clandestine relationship. But that's not the case." Brenner studies you carefully. Interesting developments. Now, Y/N, let's put my son aside. Now you're going to get some blood tests to see your values and agree on the dosage of the medications you'll have to take. No cheating or games. There are medications to take."Wasn't the therapy over? I don't have panic attacks anymore," you say harshly. Brenner looks at you indifferently. "Therapies should always be maintained, at least for a while. Now let's go. I suggest something lighter than the drugs of the past." Then he makes you leave his office without you being able to reply.
While you're being tested for blood, Brenner is studying you. You're there, sulking but scared of the needles as you undergo totally useless tests. You won't be sedated anymore. But Brenner needs you to believe it for his purposes. And so his son lied to you.He told you he doesn't love you. That he has no feelings for you. Which is absurd. Why did Henry do it? To keep up appearances? To protect a fragile person like you? Out of a martyr's spirit? Brenner is more than determined to get to the bottom of this. In any case, it's a very interesting twist...
Thanks for the moral support I received after yesterday's episode ❤️🌹🫂. Anyway, thanks everyone!
A reminder for anyone who feels like criticizing without reason or in a rude manner: If you don't like something, ignore this work. If you don't like the story, the writing, the layout, the characters, the themes, or Henry Creel in general, leave without a trace. In any case, I will delete any unwelcome comments and block anyone who doesn't please me.
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Hello, I wanted to ask If you were able to make a fic where Henry Creel comforts the reader who struggles with Selfhrm, I understand If your not comfortable to make a fic about a serious topic. I have no idea what rules you have about requests but yeah! Xx
Title: Dread
Pairing: Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader || Stranger Things
Warning: request, hurt/comfort
˚₊⊹ masterlist: Dread ✧ Tumblr ₊⊹˚
word count: 1.7k
"Sweetheart? Oh… Oh, sweetheart. No. No…"
Henry's chest tightened.
At first, the feeling was an eerie chill that turned into a sinking sensation, a bleak void that opened into his chest, sucking in every feeling other than that sinking sensation. It morphed then, to his limbs, his arms and legs, a tingling that bordered on numbness. Within him, the realisation struck first with the intensity that shook his core. And then, from the initial pain and fright, the feeling that engulfed him turned different. It became a sliver of anger, not at you, but at himself for not having seen the signs sooner.
His arms by his side were weak. They hung by the fabric of his suit almost at an uncomfortable angle. The sight of you like that had drained from him all thoughts about his stance.
Henry was frozen in the doorway for a few long seconds. He knew time was relative, but never before did he feel a few agonising seconds expand to such lengths, to what felt like an endless aeon of all dreadful sentiments at once. The words he spoke came off his lips without much of his mind's effect, but solely as the instinctive call upon seeing you in such a state.
At first, it was the shock and its aftermath, the effects upon him, but the aftershock was greater. He forced his feet to work, and he walked in the room, finding himself by your side without registering the length of the short distance.
He knelt by the edge of the bed, hands on your knees, his pupils scrambling behind his glasses to study your face. But each glimpse of that pained look, the tears from your cheek, the red soreness of your eyes and the pained panting all made his heart turn in on itself.
Scrunching harrowingly at the sight.
"Sweetheart?"
You were avoiding his eyes, and Henry tried fruitlessly to catch yours. All he got to see was the pain inscribed, etched into your face rather than the look in your eyes. He had glimpsed only for a moment before, enough to see the physicality of them, but not to glance past them into your heart.
"You didn't tell me…" Henry stated, his hands anchoring themselves on your knees. The size of his palms and fingers left a warm imprint underneath them as they rested on your legs. His thumbs started to move, in a slow motion intended to soothe you and perhaps himself. His words had been a statement that, upon being spoken out loud - be it in a quiet voice - had reflected back to you the severity of what you had been doing.
When one is harming themselves, their world narrows upon that soothing pain, the desire to replace the ache of one's heart with something feasible. With a marking on one's body that can be seen and accounted for. Something raw and visible against the unheard ache within. When that would happen, it would become a distant thought what the actions themselves amounted to, how it would be seen outside the flimsy circle of one's comfort. Perhaps the temporary pain was so, a comfort to one's soul, but from outside, someone would so easily see how this was but a warning, a neon warning of how pained one was.
"Have you?…" the question that came from Henry sounded accusatory, but not toward you. Toward himself. He worried that you had left him signs, clues, that he had failed to see as he focused on his own plans. So much so that he didn't notice your pain, one that he, of all, should have understood best.
"No."
"No… I… I feared so. Sweetheart…"
Henry's head bowed forward, his forehead resting on your knees as his hands slid around your knees, hugging them as his face nestled against the spot that his palms had already warmed. The man wasn't going to pry, or to accuse you or to lash out. He knew the emotional turmoil would only be worsened by a flurry of questions, so he remained quiet at first.
The sharp metal object, discarded by your side before it could've been used this time, waited. Henry turned his head, his other cheek now on your knees, and his hand reached over to take the object.
At first, your hand reached over to oppose, but it remained hanging in the air a few inches next to his, as his head left your knees to look at you as he removed the threat from next to you. He stood up, heavily, his right foot planted into the wooden floor first as he pushed himself up, taking the sharp tool aside and leaving it in a drawer, with the intention to dispose of it fully after comforting you.
Henry turned to you after the item was gone from sight, and sat by you on the edge of the bed, his hand taking yours, thumb brushing the inside of your palm with slow circular strokes.
"Were you going to do it, sweetheart?"
"…I wanted to."
Henry quieted for a moment, his hand continuing to soothe yours. Then he scooted closer to you, turning to face you, despite your attempt to look away. His eyes lingered on your cheek as you avoided him, but he was patient.
Despite his ardent desire to pull you into him and promise you the world. When at long last you faced him, it was for a second. Your eyes welled up with tears, a feeling of shame and guilt pushing you to hide from him again.
But Henry didn't let it happen. His free hand found your cheek, and he stopped you gently from turning away.
"Hey… hey…. no. No, sweetheart. Look at me, could you do that, please?" He asked, barely above a whisper, his hand sliding from your cheek to your nape, fingers lingering in your hair and gently stroking the back of your head with his nails.
When you did, sniffling, hand attempting to wipe the tears, he nodded, leaning closer and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Good. Thank you…" And after a small pause, he reinforced it again, kinder, warmer. As warm as Henry Creel could sound. "Thank you."
A look in your eyes had been enough.
Your head leaned forward, resting against his shoulder, and Henry wasted no time in guiding you onto his lap, his hand resting by your nape, massaging lightly as the other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you snug against him. You were at the height of your pain; he knew it, and equally he knew he had to let you ride that pain in his arms before he'd ask what caused them.
Oh, Lord forbid if it was someone that had caused it, another being; he'd be sure to punish them. And yet, he had to restrain himself. To not be brash. What you needed now was safety and comfort. His head leaned against yours, and the arm that coiled around your waist slowly moved to tighten the hold more. To give you a comforting pressure and feeling that he had you. That you were secured in his arms.
"Do you want to tell me about it, sweetheart?" Henry dared to ask after more minutes past of just quietness. Of him embracing you with the only sound the distant ticking of the grandfather clock and the scent of pie from the kitchen. That was how he found you, after all. He had come to let you know food was ready… and such a lucky timing it had been that his pie was done when it was. "… you're not ready?"
The soft shake of your head made him understand it was best to refrain from prying.
"I understand…" Henry assured you, "But you know you can trust me?"
"Mhm…"
"That's good, sweetheart… And… When you feel ready, will you tell me then?"
You hesitated.
Henry felt that hesitation, ceasing the stroking motion at your nape to glance down at you as he waited for your reply. Surely he could find the answer by himself in your mind; it was an easy task, and yet he promised himself that he wouldn't force his powers on you without your consent. He promised himself he would wait for you to be ready.
"I don't want to burden you with it. It's… it's dumb. It's always something dumb, and it's… making me do this, and it hurts… it hurts that I can't find a better way to…"
Henry saw you were getting worked up, and he hushed you gently with a kiss on your head.
"Sweetheart. What you feel… right here…" Henry placed a kiss on your forehead, then leaned down. He pecked the spot on your shirt above your heart, "… whatever it is, you are all I have, sweetheart, and anything you feel… I can help you. Not now…" His hand left your nape, resting on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin, feeling beneath it the pain of each tear you allowed to drip down it. "But when you feel ready."
"Henry…"
"No, sweetheart, I know you want to diminish the importance of what you feel, but I won't let it. There are very few things I won't give you freedom to do, and this is one of them." Henry said, slightly more stern in his tone. "Whenever you allow me… Whenever you feel ready, I can make it all go away. There won't be any need for that anymore."
His tone was akin to a scoff when he referred to that; his head turned to the drawer where the blade lay discarded by him.
"You're not alone, sweetheart. I had once been in this awfully gloomy place… My mind… it was not different from yours. But then it all changed. And… I know it will change for the better for you too. But you have to trust me…"
You nodded as he spoke, his thumb rewarding you with the soft soothing strokes on your cheek.
"Promise me…"
Henry whispered, leaning down so his forehead was resting against yours.
"That next time you feel this way… you will come to me… I won't pry, I won't push, I won't make you say anything you don't want to, sweetheart. I want to have the chance to hold you and show you that there is no reason for you to go through it all alone…"
Hello, I wanted to ask If you were able to make a fic where Henry Creel comforts the reader who struggles with Selfhrm, I understand If your not comfortable to make a fic about a serious topic. I have no idea what rules you have about requests but yeah! Xx
Title: Dread
Pairing: Henry 'Mr Whatsit' Creel x f!Reader || Stranger Things
Warning: request, hurt/comfort
˚₊⊹ masterlist: Dread ✧ Tumblr ₊⊹˚
word count: 1.7k
"Sweetheart? Oh… Oh, sweetheart. No. No…"
Henry's chest tightened.
At first, the feeling was an eerie chill that turned into a sinking sensation, a bleak void that opened into his chest, sucking in every feeling other than that sinking sensation. It morphed then, to his limbs, his arms and legs, a tingling that bordered on numbness. Within him, the realisation struck first with the intensity that shook his core. And then, from the initial pain and fright, the feeling that engulfed him turned different. It became a sliver of anger, not at you, but at himself for not having seen the signs sooner.
His arms by his side were weak. They hung by the fabric of his suit almost at an uncomfortable angle. The sight of you like that had drained from him all thoughts about his stance.
Henry was frozen in the doorway for a few long seconds. He knew time was relative, but never before did he feel a few agonising seconds expand to such lengths, to what felt like an endless aeon of all dreadful sentiments at once. The words he spoke came off his lips without much of his mind's effect, but solely as the instinctive call upon seeing you in such a state.
At first, it was the shock and its aftermath, the effects upon him, but the aftershock was greater. He forced his feet to work, and he walked in the room, finding himself by your side without registering the length of the short distance.
He knelt by the edge of the bed, hands on your knees, his pupils scrambling behind his glasses to study your face. But each glimpse of that pained look, the tears from your cheek, the red soreness of your eyes and the pained panting all made his heart turn in on itself.
Scrunching harrowingly at the sight.
"Sweetheart?"
You were avoiding his eyes, and Henry tried fruitlessly to catch yours. All he got to see was the pain inscribed, etched into your face rather than the look in your eyes. He had glimpsed only for a moment before, enough to see the physicality of them, but not to glance past them into your heart.
"You didn't tell me…" Henry stated, his hands anchoring themselves on your knees. The size of his palms and fingers left a warm imprint underneath them as they rested on your legs. His thumbs started to move, in a slow motion intended to soothe you and perhaps himself. His words had been a statement that, upon being spoken out loud - be it in a quiet voice - had reflected back to you the severity of what you had been doing.
When one is harming themselves, their world narrows upon that soothing pain, the desire to replace the ache of one's heart with something feasible. With a marking on one's body that can be seen and accounted for. Something raw and visible against the unheard ache within. When that would happen, it would become a distant thought what the actions themselves amounted to, how it would be seen outside the flimsy circle of one's comfort. Perhaps the temporary pain was so, a comfort to one's soul, but from outside, someone would so easily see how this was but a warning, a neon warning of how pained one was.
"Have you?…" the question that came from Henry sounded accusatory, but not toward you. Toward himself. He worried that you had left him signs, clues, that he had failed to see as he focused on his own plans. So much so that he didn't notice your pain, one that he, of all, should have understood best.
"No."
"No… I… I feared so. Sweetheart…"
Henry's head bowed forward, his forehead resting on your knees as his hands slid around your knees, hugging them as his face nestled against the spot that his palms had already warmed. The man wasn't going to pry, or to accuse you or to lash out. He knew the emotional turmoil would only be worsened by a flurry of questions, so he remained quiet at first.
The sharp metal object, discarded by your side before it could've been used this time, waited. Henry turned his head, his other cheek now on your knees, and his hand reached over to take the object.
At first, your hand reached over to oppose, but it remained hanging in the air a few inches next to his, as his head left your knees to look at you as he removed the threat from next to you. He stood up, heavily, his right foot planted into the wooden floor first as he pushed himself up, taking the sharp tool aside and leaving it in a drawer, with the intention to dispose of it fully after comforting you.
Henry turned to you after the item was gone from sight, and sat by you on the edge of the bed, his hand taking yours, thumb brushing the inside of your palm with slow circular strokes.
"Were you going to do it, sweetheart?"
"…I wanted to."
Henry quieted for a moment, his hand continuing to soothe yours. Then he scooted closer to you, turning to face you, despite your attempt to look away. His eyes lingered on your cheek as you avoided him, but he was patient.
Despite his ardent desire to pull you into him and promise you the world. When at long last you faced him, it was for a second. Your eyes welled up with tears, a feeling of shame and guilt pushing you to hide from him again.
But Henry didn't let it happen. His free hand found your cheek, and he stopped you gently from turning away.
"Hey… hey…. no. No, sweetheart. Look at me, could you do that, please?" He asked, barely above a whisper, his hand sliding from your cheek to your nape, fingers lingering in your hair and gently stroking the back of your head with his nails.
When you did, sniffling, hand attempting to wipe the tears, he nodded, leaning closer and placing a kiss on your forehead. "Good. Thank you…" And after a small pause, he reinforced it again, kinder, warmer. As warm as Henry Creel could sound. "Thank you."
A look in your eyes had been enough.
Your head leaned forward, resting against his shoulder, and Henry wasted no time in guiding you onto his lap, his hand resting by your nape, massaging lightly as the other arm wrapped around your waist, keeping you snug against him. You were at the height of your pain; he knew it, and equally he knew he had to let you ride that pain in his arms before he'd ask what caused them.
Oh, Lord forbid if it was someone that had caused it, another being; he'd be sure to punish them. And yet, he had to restrain himself. To not be brash. What you needed now was safety and comfort. His head leaned against yours, and the arm that coiled around your waist slowly moved to tighten the hold more. To give you a comforting pressure and feeling that he had you. That you were secured in his arms.
"Do you want to tell me about it, sweetheart?" Henry dared to ask after more minutes past of just quietness. Of him embracing you with the only sound the distant ticking of the grandfather clock and the scent of pie from the kitchen. That was how he found you, after all. He had come to let you know food was ready… and such a lucky timing it had been that his pie was done when it was. "… you're not ready?"
The soft shake of your head made him understand it was best to refrain from prying.
"I understand…" Henry assured you, "But you know you can trust me?"
"Mhm…"
"That's good, sweetheart… And… When you feel ready, will you tell me then?"
You hesitated.
Henry felt that hesitation, ceasing the stroking motion at your nape to glance down at you as he waited for your reply. Surely he could find the answer by himself in your mind; it was an easy task, and yet he promised himself that he wouldn't force his powers on you without your consent. He promised himself he would wait for you to be ready.
"I don't want to burden you with it. It's… it's dumb. It's always something dumb, and it's… making me do this, and it hurts… it hurts that I can't find a better way to…"
Henry saw you were getting worked up, and he hushed you gently with a kiss on your head.
"Sweetheart. What you feel… right here…" Henry placed a kiss on your forehead, then leaned down. He pecked the spot on your shirt above your heart, "… whatever it is, you are all I have, sweetheart, and anything you feel… I can help you. Not now…" His hand left your nape, resting on your cheek, thumb stroking the skin, feeling beneath it the pain of each tear you allowed to drip down it. "But when you feel ready."
"Henry…"
"No, sweetheart, I know you want to diminish the importance of what you feel, but I won't let it. There are very few things I won't give you freedom to do, and this is one of them." Henry said, slightly more stern in his tone. "Whenever you allow me… Whenever you feel ready, I can make it all go away. There won't be any need for that anymore."
His tone was akin to a scoff when he referred to that; his head turned to the drawer where the blade lay discarded by him.
"You're not alone, sweetheart. I had once been in this awfully gloomy place… My mind… it was not different from yours. But then it all changed. And… I know it will change for the better for you too. But you have to trust me…"
You nodded as he spoke, his thumb rewarding you with the soft soothing strokes on your cheek.
"Promise me…"
Henry whispered, leaning down so his forehead was resting against yours.
"That next time you feel this way… you will come to me… I won't pry, I won't push, I won't make you say anything you don't want to, sweetheart. I want to have the chance to hold you and show you that there is no reason for you to go through it all alone…"
I'll point out a small thing: in my story, I sometimes put images taken with Photoshop. I specified it at the beginning, then I didn't anymore. However, I'll say it again: they are not made with AI. It's not a tool I use. Moreover, if you look carefully at the photos, you'll immediately notice that they are poorly done 🤣 and that they are poses taken from the TV show. I simply removed the background and placed Henry in random backgrounds. So... no AI. Just to be clear... 😅
the new chapter is ready, I just have to correct it but now I'm going out with one of my sisters so I'll post it later😅 anyway I'll specify under each photo that it's not AI
thoughts on an in-depth fanfic that goes deeper into the events of the first shadow? (basically everything that happens in the play scene-by-scene but more in-depth)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
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stranger things first shadow spoilers for those who still haven’t seen it
i saw the first shadow in nyc last summer and it made me even more disappointed in the finale. yes, it wouldn’t make sense to the GA who still haven’t seen it but i still would’ve liked for them to at least acknowledge the fact joyce, hopper and bob KNEW henry. AND knew that he had supernatural powers.
especially since joyce had such a big role in henry’s early life / hs career. joyce, the one who taught him it’s okay to be different and that it’s okay to reach out and ask for help. joyce, his mother figure. joyce, the one who hid his secret despite knowing it was a lethal threat because she wanted him to feel safe. that joyce. the same joyce who KILLED HIM. i want to know what she was thinking during that moment and if she was thinking about the sad sopping wet cat of a henry from hs or the vile beast in front of her.
I was also so disappointed by the ending... Joyce had always helped Henry... she had given him a chance, she had seen the good in him... It does NOT make sense that Joyce killed him like that... it makes no sense... it seems like they wanted to distance themselves from the play... except for some randomly placed sets...
I wanted to express my sincere thanks to everyone who has been there for me today, loving me, my work, and my creativity. I've been bullied online by people I didn't do anything to, and they've picked on me for trivial reasons just for the fun of it... and it was really bad. But you've all filled me with love, and thanks to you, I've found the strength to move on. Is my story banal? Okay, don't read it. Are my characters predictable? Avoid reading it. Does my layout suck? (This was the number one accusation) Okay, it's true, but there are worse things out there, and if you want a better layout, I have the same work on A03, where I can be more polished. These are the accusations leveled at me. Just these little inertia. Not my poor knowledge of English, which is why I'm working incredibly hard day after day. But for this reason. But I will write. I will write and write again. I won't give up just because there are people who criticize for the sake of it. I'll block. If you don't like Henry Creel, feel free to block my account. If my story bothers you because it sucks, feel free to block my account. If you don't want to see me go out anymore, the same rule always applies. Go ahead and block me. I'm moving on. For me. And for the people who have filled me with love and affection both privately and otherwise. I adore you all guys! 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰
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Is it about the grammar that people are being mean about? You could have a beta reader maybe? Someone who goes in and edits for you before posting? You would have to use a writing doc app and copy and paste into tumblr. I know translating is hard from Italian to English and most translation apps are not the best at doing it. :( I will be sad if you stop but i understand it is not worth being harassed.
No, at home they don't even speak Italian🤣. Let's say they were bad about the plot of the story and the graphic layout, not the translation itself. They attacked the plot (trivial), the characters (obvious), the layout (swear words), the eroticism (vulgar), but they didn't talk about the translation, I have to be honest. ❤️ anyway, yes. I rely on translation apps.
