#I'm only half joking. but this has happened to me twice already!

[kashilascorner]

You'll be listening to some metal band and suddenly boom anti-abortion song comes up

[lovebugism]

📼  ; ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY | 1/2

summary: by the summer of 1987, eddie munson has mastered the art of dying and coming back to life again. but worse than that: he can't seem to stop running into the pretty lifeguard from hawkins community pool. the grumpy ol' vampire slowly learns to love sunshine in the afterlife. (23k)

pairing: vampire!eddie munson / ditzy!sunshine!reader

contents: fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme canon divergence (most of the events of st3 and st4 still happen but starcourt is still standing, some people aren't dead, etc.) (i'm just here to have fun, honestly) cw for mentions of grief and ptsd, mentions of blood

( best listened with headphones, full fic playlist here )

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          she lives in the place in the side of our lives

          where nothing is ever put straight . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Being a vampire sucks.

No pun intended.

Eddie Munson’s too tired for puns. He’s too tired for most things, really.

That’s what they don’t tell you about being a vampire — it’s not nearly as cool as The Lost Boys make it seem. He isn’t any stronger now than he was the night he died. He isn’t any faster, either. And if he’s capable of shape-shifting into a bat, he hasn’t tried because the thought of becoming the thing that killed him feels like more of a purgatory than what he’s been doomed to already. 

He didn’t even get a cool cape out of it, which is more of a bite than anything, honestly. 

No pun intended.

All Eddie’s got to show for his death are the patches of marred skin on his stomach to prove it. And a couple of pointy teeth — which, so far, have only tasted his own flesh because he’s bitten his lip with them more times than he can count. And, yeah, maybe he’s got a heightened sense or two, but that’s it. It’s not nearly as cool as it sounds, either. Enhanced hearing and sense of smell are just code for being constantly overstimulated.

Eddie misses being alive. He misses not knowing what blood tastes like. He misses forgetting to eat all day and accidentally having ice cream for a first meal — which he’d then scarf down like a man starved until it inevitably made him sick, so that he could then complain about how sick he felt. 

He misses the consequences of humanhood because now he’s half-corpse, half-god — a dizzying mixture for a boy who used to just be somebody’s kid.

And what does Eddie do to cope with it all? He gets his weekly mint-chip cone at Scoops Ahoy.

Steve passes the ice cream over the counter with a kinder smile than Eddie’s used to. His skin is freckled and golden against the dark navy of his uniform. So full of life. The child’s sailor outfit hasn’t stopped being funny, but Eddie scowls at him ‘cause he’s jealous. He’s never been anything but pale, even before death, but he can’t exactly catch a tan now, can he?

“You look good,” Steve Harrington observes, distant but meaningful. 

The wild-haired boy ahead of him doesn’t seem nearly as poorly as he did a day or so ago, when he looked somehow more like death than the day he actually died. He’s got his usual color back now. A telltale sign of a recent feeding.

Eddie flashes the boy a dubious, brown-eyed glance. “Are you flirting with me?” he jokes with his ringed fingers curled around the waffle cone, too monotoned to sound as playful as he means.

Steve’s face screws. “No.”

“Damn.”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about!” the brunette proclaims proudly, waving an accusatory finger in the other boy’s direction. “Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have made that joke. Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have said anything, actually.”

“Well, Eddie From Yesterday, hadn’t eaten in two weeks,” the boy deadpans. (He isn’t talking about food, either). “And Eddie From Yesterday was so exhausted and filled with an inhuman rage that death was funnier than making stupid jokes.”

Steve tries not to cower at his faux-seriousness. “Touché,” he nods.

Eddie hands the boy the last bill in his wallet. Steve makes out his change and, like a total idiot, dumps a dime onto his palm. The silver hits his skin like a drop of acid rain or molten lava. Eddie winces at the burn, hissing through his teeth as he jerks his singed hand back. 

“Why are you giving me dimes, man?!” he shouts over the sound of clattering coins.

“Shit!” Steve grimaces. “Sorry, dude— I forgot.”

“Oh, you forgot?” Eddie bites in a mocking tone.

“Yeah! Sorry if I can’t remember everything about—” Steve pauses his rant to peer around the shop with cautious eyes. He quietens. “—Vampires, alright? Sue me.”

Eddie watches the boy scramble to gather scattered coins –– coth hat askew on his head, scarlet tie in his way. The sight alone makes him laugh. A sharp exhale through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless. “You know what? How ‘bout just keep the change?”

“You keep the damn change,” Steve grumbles under his breath.

“Nice one.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie takes a big bite from his fresh scoop. He lets the sharp peppermint and deep chocolate concoction melt in his mouth. The strange combination was always the best distraction from the coppery tang of blood lingering on his tongue. 

Distracts because the metallic taste never quite leaves him, no matter how often he washes his mouth out. The taste of death always persists. Not in a poetic way, though. It’s more like a mouthful of old pennies.

Only problem is, he can’t really taste it now — the tart mint-chip or the pint of blood he’d choked down yesterday afternoon. The sensuous scent of hibiscus lilts along an otherwise still breeze, sudden and very overwhelming. It’s powdery and floral, rich and fruity. A fragrance sweet enough to make him ill, and it’s accompanied by the rhythmic flip-flop, flip-flop of rubber sandals.

Eddie glances mindlessly over his shoulder, then nearly breaks his neck at the force of his double-take. The candied scent, he finds, belongs undoubtedly to the pretty face behind him.

You saunter into the ice cream shop like a rolling summer cloud — with a walk that’s as soft and delicate as you look. There’s something thaumaturgical in the honeyed atmosphere that follows you in, still unceremoniously punctuated by the flip-flop, flip-flop sound of your shoes against the linoleum.

You are, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the raspberry, marshmallow, lily-of-the-valley scent radiating from your sunkissed skin. There is much of it on display now, and what little is covered is hardly left to the imagination.

Straight from a shift at Hawkins Community Pool, your mandated uniform clings perfectly to your torso — a pretty, scarlet one-piece that scoops deeply at the chest. Stamped on the center is a pool floatie and two surfboards that make a more summery skull-and-crossbones shape. ‘Lifeguard’ is written just beneath it, right over the swell of your breasts.

You wear a pleated skirt on your lower half to match. The bouncy fabric rests scandalously, and perhaps unintentionally, low on your hips. A faint sliver of your skin is showcased in a way that drives him hopelessly wild. And you’ve paired it all with a pair of too-big sunglasses on your head and a cherry sucker in your mouth. 

Effortless. A total cakewalk of perfection.

Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have never known much about either. 

The latter is still trying to dump change into the tip jar when he goes to greet you. Your eyes link, the words get stuck in his throat, and the coins scatter to the laminate all over again. Steve tries to catch them at first before realizing how utterly uncool he must look. He makes a bigger fool of himself by just letting them fall.

“Hey. Hi. Wel—Welcome to Scoops Ahoy,” the brunette clears his throat. He props his hands along the countertop and feels a rogue penny stick to his clammy palm. “You’re not lost, are you?”

Steve forces a lopsided smile at his sorry excuse for a joke. Eddie rolls his eyes. You blink at him and pluck the cherry sucker from your mouth — which has left your lips softly swollen and tinted a rosier shade.

“This is where pretty boys in tiny sailor outfits sell ice cream, right?”

Your deadpan expression makes it difficult to gauge whether or not you’re joking. Steve’s face glows red at the sort-of compliment. He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah— Yeah, it— It is, actually.”

You smile at him, tightlipped and warm. It fills the windowless shop with glittering sunbeams. “Then can I have a scoop of rainbow sherbet, please?”

Steve raps his knuckles against the counter and nods again. “Yep. Coming right up.”

Eddie takes another hearty bite of his ice cream while you linger at his side — a couple of feet away but feeling much closer than that. As the minty chocolate melts slow on his tongue, all he can taste is the fruity-floral scent of you. 

It makes his head go all swimmy because he knows your blood must taste the same. Like velvet. Or an expensive red wine people spend half a fortune on. He can hear the soft wooshing of your heart, too. Soft and unhurried. Gentle like an ebbing and flowing tide.

He shouldn’t be thinking this way, he knows. He fed yesterday; he should be feeling halfway normal by now. But your scent is dizzying still, and much stronger than Eddie figures it should be. If he’d met you a day or more ago, when the need for a feeding was quite literally eating him alive, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to contain himself.

He doesn’t think he would’ve hurt you, per se — because he hasn’t actually hurt anyone yet. Not in this stage of his afterlife, anyway. But it would’ve taken all the waning strength left in him to stop himself from doing something unthinkable. And that thought alone is somehow more terrifying than death.

Neither, however, is as scary as your gaze meeting his. 

Your eyes lock, and only then does Eddie realize how long he’s been staring. His blood runs cold. Cold-er. An eon blinks as he tries to recover from his hopeless leering. (He’s just as useless as Steve The Hair Harrington, turns out).

“Hi…” he murmurs through a mouthful of mint-chip once he realizes he’s got nothing else to say. How’s a freak like him meant to talk to someone like you? A walking fairytale of ethereal chaos?

You move the cherry sucker to the pocket of your cheek with your tongue. Through it, you mumble, “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Eddie laughs before he means to. His pink lips curl into a smile, and the inside of the delicate skin scrapes the fangs threatening to poke through his gums. They fit just perfectly over his canines, typically veiled by his gums until it’s time to feed. Or until he’s faced with a pretty girl who smells like Heaven and looks just the same, apparently.

He hides his grin behind his fist and scoffs a breathy laugh.

Your face twists in a delicate look of confusion. “Why’s that funny?” you question once you’ve plucked the piece of candy from your mouth.

His smile ebbs instantly. “Oh. It’s… It’s not— It’s not funny, actually,” he stammers, chocolate eyes wide and round like a pair of buttons.

Your frown deepens. “So you don’t think I’m funny?”

“No, it’s— it’s not that I don’t think you’re funny, I just— I think that—” Eddie stumbles over himself trying to get the words out. He inhales deeply through his nose and swallows hard. “I’m a little confused, honestly…”

There’s a brief moment of silence that passes like minutes. 

There’s something distinctly wild in your unwavering stare. It possesses a sort of magnetism that makes it impossible to look away from — though Eddie desperately, desperately wishes he could. But because he can’t take his eyes off you or the fire swimming laps in your irises, he catches a flicker in your gaze. A flame. A spark.

A smile quirks at the very corner of your mouth before a brighter beam blooms there. A sunshine sort of giggle sputters past your lips. “Oh, gosh— You should see your face right now,” you manage through a fit of laughter, swatting his shoulder with your free hand (a little harder than he thinks you mean to.) “I’m just kidding! Seriously. You can laugh now. It’s okay.”

Eddie doesn’t find it all that funny anymore, but your gaze is pretty and expectant, so he forces out a faint laugh just to appease you. He gapes in confusion the second you look away.

You’re a strange thing. Pretty, yes. But still very, very strange.

When Steve passes you a rainbow scoop on a waffle cone, you fish a crumbled bill from the chest of your swimsuit. The boy takes it with a trembling hand — like touching the cash is touching you in some way — and struggles to recall basic arithmetic when he makes out your change. 

Eddie watches you savor one last taste of your diminishing sucker, lips curled around the lolly before popping audibly off of it. “Is there a trashcan—” you ask and glance around the shop.

“There’s one back here,” Steve offers mindlessly. “I can chuck it.”

Your hands brush when he takes the paper stick between careful fingers. Silky sunkissed skin sweeping against silky sunkissed skin. 

Eddie’s almost jealous. He wishes he could touch you in such an innocent, accidental way — or anyone, really. But his blood stopped circulating about a year or so ago, and he’s had a glacial disposition about him ever since. Sometimes, when he’s just freshly fed, he feels sort of warm. Sort of normal. But that only lasts about an hour or so before his skin goes wintry and grey again.

“Thanks,” you lilt with a kind grin, sandals squeaking as you step back from the counter. You arch a brow, and the sweet smile turns suddenly mischievous. “And don’t worry about the change. I’d hate for you to make a bigger mess.”

You tilt your head and take a kitten lick of your scoop, fighting back a giggle when the sailor boy gapes at you. You spin around and flip-flop, flip-flop out of the ice cream shop — back to whatever fairytale you came from.

The scent of ripe fruit and freshly-cut flowers leaves with you, along with the lavender haze Eddie had been swimming in since he saw you. Drowning in, more like.

Steve laughs at your sort-of joke until the mist passes. Only then does he seem to notice the coins still scattered across the countertop and the half-eaten sucker in his hand. His fluffy brows pinch together in a very evident confusion — like he’s just woken up from a dream.

“…What the hell was that?” he muses after a few long moments.

Eddie shrugs and takes another bite of his half-gone scoop, tasting it for the very first time now that you’re gone. “No idea,” he answers through the mouthful.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          once you get it, you never wanna quit (no, no)

          after you've had it, you're in an awful fix. . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Eddie finds you again several minutes later. Not between the pages of a fantasy book, but on a lone bench by the bus stop. 

You finish your rainbow sherbet in silence, people-watching behind a big pair of Sharon Tate-style sunglasses. The sight of you alone makes him trip over his feet, like you’ve got your own gravitational pull that makes him stumble on thin air just to be closer to you.

“Oh—” The huff spills accidentally from his mouth when his sneakers scuff the pavement.

It garners your attention accordingly as you turn slowly towards him. You lift your sunglasses to your head again, just to squint at the vividity of the golden hour. You flash the boy an ice-cream-stained smile, tight-lipped and warmer than the setting sun — like he’s one of your old friends who deserves to be looked at so kindly. (He’s neither.)

“Hello!” you greet brightly as you lift the waffle cone to your mouth. You take another bite and add through the mouthful. “Again.”

“You’re still here?” Eddie squints, ‘cause he’s not sure what else to say.

“I’m on lunch—” you answer, slightly slurred through the melting ice cream on your tongue. A milky drop of pink and orange falls to the side of your thumb, and you lick it away mid-sentence. “—Late shift.”

Eddie hums with a slow nod, squinting one eye to block the sun. 

His pale skin buzzes, even under his leather jacket and dark thrifted tee. It isn’t because he’s hot, though. He hasn’t broken a sweat — not even swaddled in the ninety-degree evening — because he lost the ability to somewhere between getting eaten alive and rising from the dead. 

The sunlight just makes him feel a bit weaker than usual. Hungrier, too. And he hates being hungry because it makes him feel viciously ravenous. Like a total barbarian. Cruel and angry and inhuman. So he tries to stay out of the sun when he can.

He knows he should start plotting his way out now, but talking to you is like getting caught in a spider’s web. He gets all tangled in his words, netted in his want to impress you. He ends up superglued in a trap he isn’t totally sure he wants to get out of.

“Must be a slow day then, huh?” Eddie jokes dryly.

Your face twists. “Hm?” you wonder wordlessly as your tongue darts to the corner of your mouth.

“I just meant that— You’re a lifeguard and everything, right? And you— You’re dry, so… There must not have been a ton of lives to save today,” the boy explains, gesturing wildly with ringed hands. He laughs at himself and sticks the trembling limbs into his jacket pockets. “That’s… That’s what I meant.”

You don’t seem to notice his sudden floundering, or the way he can hardly make out an intelligible sentence when you’re looking directly at him. He can’t tell if you’re just kind enough to ignore it or if you’re just totally aloof. He hopes for the latter.

“It’s a lot less swimming than you’d expect, honestly,” you confess as you analyze the melting cone in your hand. You twist your wrist with your face pinched in concentration — like deciding whether to bite into the pink, green, or orange bit is that intense. “It’s just a lot of, like, blowing whistles... And walking around…”

You choose the raspberry pink side in the end, crunching as you bite into the waffle cone.

Eddie nods in response — not because he’s really heard you, but because he feels like he sort of understands you in some way now. You were sweet raspberry in the flesh. The color pink incarnate. Gold and glittering, like the sunset was fashioned in your likeness.

But then you smile up at him, with crispy wafer crumbs clinging to the raspberry-lime-orange concoction on your mouth, and the moment feels a lot less poetic than that.

“Sometimes I just wanna be like, ‘Jeez— Can’t one of you fuckers at least try to drown or something? God,” you mock in an accent that’s hardly your own, giggling at yourself halfway through. 

You flash Eddie another expectant smile. Grinning with all your teeth as you wait for him to laugh with you.

It takes him a second too long to force another chuckle — still trying to gauge how serious you are — but you don’t seem to mind. “Right. Well, uh… Here’s hoping, right?” Eddie quips with a crooked smile, lifting his right hand to flash his crossed fingers.

You giggle louder at that. Laughing with him, and not at him, for the first time since he started making a fool of himself in front of you. 

His chest swells like he’s still got a functioning heart hiding there. It’s sparkling and warm, full of pride, almost like he’s alive again. Truly alive. He realizes, then, that he never wants to stop making you laugh.

When your giggling ceases, you hum a contented sigh and take another sloppy bite of your ice cream cone.

Eddie watches you — unblinking, like a total freak — and tries to figure out if he made you up in his head. 

You were like a fairy-tale princess come to life. An enchanted form of imagination, slightly childlike and effortlessly romantic in a way. You were the kind of girl who held butterflies on the tip of her finger, who reached out to touch the stars at night, who shared her secrets with the moon when no one else would listen.

You’re the kind of thing that only exists in dreams. You have no real sense of reality, accordingly, which Eddie thinks only proves his point.

With sunshine glittering in the strands of your hair, your eyes flit back to his. Eddie averts his gaze suddenly (and very obviously) from yours, but if you’re perturbed by his leering, you don’t show it.

Instead, you look at him the same way you’ve been looking at him this whole time — like you’ve got a world of magic secrets hidden in your eyes. Like you want him to come searching for every single one of them.

“Did you— Did you walk here, or…?” the boy trails off, eyes falling to your rubber sandals. 

He hopes you hadn’t. It’s far too hot, and the pool is quite a few blocks from here. From what little he’s learned about you, though, he figures you’re probably crazy enough not to care.

“Bus,” you answer plainly, pausing mid-bite.

Eddie blinks. “The buses stopped running a half hour ago… You know that, right?”

You freeze. Melted ice cream pools at the edges of your mouth. A very loud answer, even in its silence. 

There’s a very audible crunch-ing sound as you chew through the too-big bite. You bring your palm to your chin to catch rogue crumbs and blink up at Eddie with wide eyes. 

“…What?” you wonder pitifully in response. Though, with your mouth still full, it sounds more like a deep, muffled, and utterly pathetic, “Wah—?”

“They stop running here at six-thirty.”

You swallow, face screwed.“Why?”

Eddie shrugs. “Beats me.”

You turn away — staring far off at the parking lot but looking at nothing, really. Eddie feels like he can finally breathe now, without your eyes strangling him.

He watches you go deep in thought and wishes he could see what the inside of your mind looks like. He imagines it’s full of confetti. Wild, glittering thoughts and a handful of sparkling confetti.

“Well…” you huff after a few moments, a deep and whimsical sigh. You look down at the melting cone in your fist and try to find a silver lining in the swirls of pastel colors. “‘Least the ice cream’s good.”

“Are you gonna walk?” Eddie wonders aloud as his chest pinches with misplaced worry. He crosses his leather-clad arms over himself in a feeble attempt to soothe the ache there — to smother his palpable empathy, which makes him feel like your burden is his to carry. 

He doesn’t have to. Carry it, that is. It’s not like you’re not asking him to. But he can’t ignore the overwhelming urge to help you — this strange, elven princess who needs rescue by a lowly bard way out of his element. It’s an instinct that borders on primal.

“Do I have a choice?” you respond rhetorically. Eddie shrugs and you shrug back, unfazed. “I can walk. The sunset’s pretty… And there’s a dog park on the way there, so… That’ll be fun, I guess.”

Eddie’s dark eyes flit to the sky, where the sun’s slow descent paints the wispy clouds in vivid colors of blush and honey. He understands the simple beauty of it but rarely ever gives it a passing glance.

He spends most of his sunsets inside, hiding from the pretty golden hour behind closed curtains. He cowers under his blankets like a child (‘cause his tiny square window is west-facing, painfully so) and tries to tell himself that he’s not as hungry as he feels.

That he’s not hungry at all.

That he’s still normal.

Eddie looks back to you a moment later, features twisted with uncertainty. “I’m pretty sure the park’s gated after sunset…”

You don’t ask him how he knows that, and he’s grateful. He figures you must assume that he’s got a dog of his own, which is a lie he’s happy to stick to. 

It’s better than admitting that Jim Hopper nearly caught him dealing a couple years back and had to make a quick escape through the park — where he then had to hop a locked fence he didn’t know was there. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if he hadn’t rolled directly into dog shit when he fell to the ground. That’s a secret he’ll take to the grave. 

If the Chief takes mercy on him, anyway.

“Well… The sunset’s still pretty,” you conclude with another sigh, because at least that can’t be taken from you. 

Eddie watches you take another bite and makes a very pointed decision not to tell you that that’ll be gone soon, too. By the time you walk back to work, the sky will be a muddy mixture of orange and lilac and navy. Hardly a thing worth looking at.

He lets you revel in your little nothings anyway.

“I should— I should probably go. I have a… thing to get to, so…” he trails off, chuckling at his own hopelessness. His worn sneakers scuff the pavement when he steps back from you. He scratches at the small curls twisted at the nape of his neck and tries to find the words to say goodbye. “Uh— Have a good rest of your shift, I guess. Hope it’s more… eventful.”

You smile at his stammering and his poor excuse for a joke. 

“Thanks,” you nod. “Have fun with your… thing.”

Eddie nods once. His smile wavers only slightly when he turns away. His cheeks puff as he exhales a deep breath — which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now. 

He stops short at the edge of the sidewalk. Doesn’t even make it off the fucking curb before his guilty conscience catches up with him. It stops him like a force field and weighs heavy on his chest with a similar strength.

He turns quickly again, curls whipping around his face. “Do you… Do you want a ride?” he blurts with a squint in his deep chocolate eyes. 

The offer is hardly from the kindness of his unbeating heart. He just wants to make himself feel better, if he’s honest. He wants you to decline, actually — so then he’d be alone, and his conscience would still be clear.

Your eyes widen softly at his offer. You shift on the hard bench. It squeaks quietly under your weight. 

“Well, I— I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t wanna intrude,” you tell him, stumbling over your words for the first time in front of him.

Something about it, how shy you’ve suddenly gone, makes you feel a bit more human compared to the glittering creature Eddie made of you in his head.

The boy shrugs. “You wouldn’t be.”

“No?”

“No. It’s just… on the way…” Eddie insists, sighing to himself, because Hawkins Pool most definitely is out of his way. “So, you know… It’s no problem.”

There is a beat of fleeting silence, filled only by a whispering summer breeze and muddled conversation from distant mall-goers. Eddie’s eyes dart over your features, twisted softly with a faraway look of worry. 

The anticipation has his heart in his throat. He isn’t sure now what answer he wants to hear. Both might equally break his heart. A double-edged sword.

Your chest deflates with a dramatic sigh of relief. A lazy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna be, like, too eager, you know? But that would be… super duper nice.”

“Good thing I’m a super duper nice person then, huh?” Eddie jokes with a tightlipped smile, which ebbs into a scowl the moment he turns away from you. 

He becomes a storm cloud of annoyance as he stalks across the parking lot. Less so because of you and more so because of his deep-rooted sensitivity, where everyone else’s emotions demand to be felt by him and him alone.

It’s a very strange thing, indeed: to be dead and yet still carry the crushing empathy of a person with a bleeding heart.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         real to real is living rarity, people stop and stare at me

          we just walk on by, we just keep on dreaming . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Eddie doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following him. He knows you are. He can tell by your lingering strawberry-vanilla scent, and your rhythmic footsteps in rubber sandals that trail just behind him. The incessant flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop quickens as you rush to keep up with his longer strides, trying hopelessly to finish your ice cream and talk at the same time.

“Adam— my manager— he’s such a hardass. Like, if I was late today, he definitely would’ve fired me,” you ramble and crunch hard into your cone. “Well… maybe not fire me… ‘Cause we’re kinda short-staffed right now— But he definitely would’ve given me a lecture! Like, dude, just because your dad owns the joint, doesn’t mean you have any actual authority over me, you know?”

You giggle loudly at yourself. Eddie just nods in response, barely listening, and not bothering to glance back at you.

You continue anyway, through a mouthful, no less. “Except, he kinda does have some authority, I guess. Since, you know, he’s the one who signs my checks and everything, but… You know what I mean.”

The boy ahead of you stops suddenly in place. Your sandals scuff the pavement to keep from running into the back of him. He turns to face you, brunette curls flouncing, and your heart skips at the proximity. He’s much too pretty for anything else.

You can smell the cologne spritzed on his neck from here. A high-pitched and very boyish cedarwood that makes him somehow more endearing. There’s something floral in it, too — perhaps from the conditioner making his hair all shiny. And the subtle powdery scent, you figure, comes from his old Back Sabbath tee. An evident hand-me-down of some sort. 

You can see more of him like this without having to ogle like a creep. His brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black, but you can see flecks of gold in them, too. His pronounced nose is dotted with pores and faint freckles you think you could count if he let you. There are a couple of spots on his jaw, too — some still red, others already scared over — that make his scowling face more youthful.

He’s got a couple of dark circles under his eyes, which you think means he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should. He’s got a pair of perpetual smile lines beside his mouth, too, which must mean he laughs a lot (even if he isn’t now). And he’s got a subtle furrow between his bushy brows ‘cause he’s totally the quiet, observant type.

You’d like to think you’re taking a closer look at him than anyone else in Hawkins ever has. Where they see a freak with crazy hair and a dangerous attitude, you see an old soul with young eyes and a wild mind.

“Is this you?” you wonder aloud, with ice cream clinging to the corners of your mouth.

Eddie lifts his hand and taps the key fob twice. The rusted tin can behind him unlocks with a hearty ca-chunk. He fakes a tight-lipped smile, “Yep.”

You rush around the hood then, hurrying for the passenger seat and struggling to finish the rest of your ice cream. Eddie eyes you expectantly as he lifts himself onto the chipped pleather of the driver’s side. His deadpan face twists with amusement as you inhale the remaining bits of your ice cream.

Your eyes go wide when you catch him staring, cheeks jutted like a chipmunk’s. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then swipe your palms together. “Sorry— Sorry, I didn’t—” you swallow hard and try not to choke. “I didn’t wanna get ice cream all over your van.”

A laugh sputters from Eddie’s mouth, a more boyish sound than you thought he was capable of, and he hurries to cover his mouth with his fist. He can feel the sharp stinging of his fangs as they stab slowly through his gums, more prominent now that you’re so close to him — smelling as sweet as you look.

“Well, this isn’t exactly a sports car,” he scoffs. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

You swallow down the rest and hop in beside him. The faux leather of the passenger seat has grown distressed with time, sticking to your sunkissed thighs where your skirt doesn’t reach and poking you in places. The smell of his cologne stains the interior, along with a more subtle, skunkier scent.

You have to tug extra hard on the seatbelt — once, twice, and then a third time — before it gives.

Eddie sticks the key into the ignition and twists. A heavy metal guitar solo blares suddenly through the speakers, rattling the old van and making both of you lurch with a momentary panic. 

“Shit!” the boy curses as he reaches for the blasting radio. He turns down the volume with pale, lanky fingers, wide eyes flitting from the console to the pavement as he peels out of the Starcourt lot. “Shit… Sorry.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “It’s okay. I listen to my music loud, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve blown out the headphones to at least two Walkmans by now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums with a lazy smile. “What kinda stuff stuff do you listen to?”

You purse your lips to the side and avert your gaze as you ponder the question. “Van Halen, definitely… Dio and Def Leppard occasionally— oh, and don’t even get me started on Ozzy Osbourne.”

Eddie feels like his heart’s in his throat. It settles there and makes it hard to breathe while his anxious hands fidget on the steering wheel.

You can’t be this pretty and like all the music he likes. It’s just not fair. It’s like the universe is trying to kill him. (Even though it kinda already did that once.)

“Are you joking?” he wonders aloud, laughing with furrowed brows. His chocolate eyes dart from you, to the winding road before him, and back again. The soft smile on your lips blossoms into a more mischievous thing, and he nods slowly to himself. “You’re… You’re joking, right?”

“I might’ve been looking at your cassettes, yeah.”

Eddie’s gaze flits downward to where he keeps his tapes stacked in a cubby beneath the console. His chest aches with a distant embarrassment. “Right…” he huffs.

“Real answer?” you offer with a twinkle in your eye, spinning in the seat to face him more. You tuck your feet beneath you and count each name on your fingers. “Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, ABBA, and Blondie. That’s my top four— Not in that order, though! I love them all equally.”

“That makes… a lot more sense.”

“Do you have any of their tapes we could listen to?”

Eddie scoffs a faint laugh until he realizes you’re being serious. His tightlipped smile ebbs as he answers, “I can’t say that I do. No.”

“That’s too bad,” you huff and slouch further in the passenger seat. You gaze out the window with a faraway look in your eyes and start rambling before you mean to.

“I’ll let you bum one of mine, if you want. You can borrow my copy of Arrival, that’s one of my favorites! My most favorites. Or Super Trouper, maybe. I love that one, too...” You deflate with a heavy sigh. “Shit. I can’t decide— Which one do you prefer?”

Eddie stammers for an answer. He feels like you’re barely speaking his language.

“Screw it. I’ll just make you a mixtape,” you decide firmly. “It’s impossible to pick just one.”

Eddie nods wordlessly to himself, unconvinced that he’ll ever actually see you again — like this, anyway. With you making a home in the passenger seat of his van, which has never known a pretty girl like you before now.

“You could always swing by the pool if you want,” you offer with a hopeful grin. “Adam lets me man the radio sometimes.”

“Does he?” Eddie hums indifferently.

“When I wear my bikini, yeah.”

His face screws at the thought of someone taking advantage of you in that way, with you perhaps too gullible to understand. “Well, Adam sounds like a dickwad,” he grumbles and shifts his grip on the steering wheel.

“A massive dickwad,” you giggle like it’s your first time ever using the phrase. “One time, I played my Billy Joel tape, and he called it pedestrian. Pedestrian! Not only is that, like, totally sacrilegious or whatever, but it’s also extremely pretentious. Just call it lame or something, you sound arrogant.”

When your rambling ceases, you can hear Eddie laughing. Really laughing. Not just that weird breathy sound he keeps making. It spills from his mouth like sunshine, though he tries to stifle it with a fist pressed to his mouth. And even though you don’t remember saying anything particularly funny, you laugh alongside him.

“Why do you cover your smile when you laugh?” 

“Why do I do what?”

“You always put your hand over your mouth when you smile,” you observe with a curious squint. “Did you know that?”

Eddie’s tongue darts over his protruding fangs, which peek in faint slivers from his pink gums now. You would only see them if you checked his mouth like a dog, but he gets self-conscious about it, anyway.

“No. I didn’t. Must be an old habit, I guess,” he stammers, lying through his teeth as he turns into the parking lot of Hawkins Community Pool. 

The crowd there has seemingly ebbed with the setting sun, which he’s grateful for. He stays on the far edges of the property still, lest he draw any unwanted attention. ‘Cause the only thing more recognizable than his wild hair is the tin can he rides around in.

His ringed hands curl around the gear stick. The van jerks softly when he puts it in park. Eddie clears his throat. “We’re, uh— We’re here.”

You get distracted easily, and he’s grateful for that, too. You drop the conversation entirely as you reach for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks when you unfasten it. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you chirp with a pretty smile.

His head snaps in your direction with enough force to give him whiplash. His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he gapes at you. He struggles to find the words to say. He thinks he’d rather face a hundred demobats (again) than have this conversation.

“You…” he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “You know my name?”

You shrug, oblivious to his otherwise very palpable fear. “‘Course I do.”

His heart would stop if he weren’t already dead. He thinks the force of his current shock could jolt it into beating all over again. Though, he figures he has no right to be so surprised. He is Eddie Munson, after all — the town freak who didn’t murder Chrissy Cunningham but left her to die instead. 

No one knows that she’d been long in the dying before Eddie ran like a coward. No one knows that there was nothing he could do to stop the dark wizard from killing her. No one knows that he died trying to avenge her death despite all that. And no one ever will — save for the handful of teenagers who saved Hawkins alongside him. 

Eddie knew, from the moment he rose from the dead and made it out of that godforsaken hellscape, that he would never be seen as the hero. He didn’t want to be. He just wanted to be a kid.

But here he is now. A half-dead and hated thing. A creature not worth loving.

And here you are, smiling at him like you intend to love him back to life.

“So… So you know what happened with… With the…” He talks with his hands and struggles to make the words out. He always has. He always will.

You nod before he has to. “Yeah. I think I just… I figured that wasn’t something you wanted to talk about with strangers—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he insists.

“Then me not bringing it up was a good thing, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but—”

“Well, I’m hearing a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t want to talk about it,” you mock, not totally unkind, just a little bit strange. 

Eddie almost laughs at that. “I’m just— I’m confused.”

“About what?”

Now, he really lets himself laugh because the answer’s rather obvious. 

“Because most people are scared of me!” Eddie blurts with a cynical chuckle, gesturing wildly with his pale, ringed hands. “Everyone thinks I’m some— psycho-killing murderous freak.”

“Well, I don’t,” you insist, all pretty in your way, as you shift on the worn pleather seat beside him. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You unlatch the glove box ahead of you and help yourself to its contents. The junk inside clatters together while you search very obviously through it, rambling mindlessly to yourself as you do so. 

“You like mint-chip ice cream cones smothered in sprinkles. And your initials are sewn onto the waistband of your jeans— like you’re gonna lose them or something. And… there’s a Blondie tape hiding in here.” You giggle to yourself and flash him the cassette.

Eddie blinks at you like an owl. “That’s not mine.”

“Secret girlfriend?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Secret tape,” he confesses before plucking it suddenly from your fingertips. 

There’s a whole story behind it that he’d tell you if he could. About how he couldn’t leave the house for some weeks after he came back to life and how his friends brought him things to pass the time. Robin Buckley had an elaborate assortment of board games that bordered on concerning, and Dustin Henderson had brought an entire library to his trailer. 

The rest of them put together a selection of tapes for him to listen to. He can’t be sure now if Nancy Wheeler really gave up her prized Blondie cassette or if Mike Wheeler did it without her knowing.

You struggle to bite back your laughter as you sort through the center console next. 

“See! That doesn’t exactly read psycho-killing murderous freak to me, Eds. Honestly, it kinda reads as someone who’s never hurt anyone in their whole life, who probably wants everyone else to stop hurting them—” You cut yourself off with a gasp. “Ah! Here it is.”

You dig a rogue ink pen from the depths of the console. A bright smile tugs at the edges of your lips. Eddie’s still struggling to breathe when you reach for him. “Can I have your hand?”

“Why?” he wonders with pinched brows.

“You’ll see,” you lilt mischievously and take his ringed hand in your smaller one. 

He worries, briefly, that you might comment on how cold he is for the middle of summer. But if you notice it at all, you don’t mention it as you scribble your number onto the back of his hand.

Eddie grimaces when the tip presses hard into his pale skin. “Ow…”

“See? You’re just a big baby,” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. You click the pen with your thumb as you part from him. “There. Now you have my number.”

Eddie flashes you a dubious glance, unsure of what he ever needed your number for.

You answer his silent question like it’s obvious. “So I can give you the mixtape.”

“Right,” he hums with a slow nod.

“Well, I’m gonna go clock back in before I get a total earful from Adam,” you sigh and reach for the metal door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie.”

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs nonchalantly as you slide out of the van. The back of your pleated skirt rises softly in the process, flashing a glimpse of your ass. He swallows hard and stammers. “Just— Just, like, be safe, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you mock with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Well, this is a crazy world we live in, haven’t you heard?” Eddie jokes to cover up his blunder. He tilts his wild head to his shoulder as a pink smile forms crooked on his mouth. “I hear psycho-killing murderous freaks are roaming the streets these days.”

He expects you to laugh, but you grow strangely serious instead, furrowing your brows as you mumble to yourself. “Crazy World... That’s a good song, actually. I should put that on the mixtape—”

You forget to say a proper goodbye as you close the door behind you. The rusted metal hinges screech before slamming shut. You walk off towards the pool house without another word, flip-flopping the entire way to the front gate. Eddie watches you go with his features twisted in a subtle mixture of shock and awe.

Steve Harrington was right. What the hell was that?

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         oh, how could i ever refuse?

          i feel like i win when i lose . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Three days pass before Eddie sees you again. Not that he’s counting, anyway. He debates, however, calling you on the second one — but by then, your number had long disappeared from his hand. He decided, then, to count his losses and pretend he wasn’t as boyishly heartbroken as he felt. 

Missing you was a double-edged sword. He never wanted to see you again, but he mourned for you always. He prayed he’d never run into you like before but searched for you in all the faces he met. It was agony. 

When he drops Dustin off at Scoops Ahoy after a long afternoon of campaigning, Eddie tells himself it’s not with intent to run into you there. He tells himself it wouldn’t be the worst thing, but not to get his hopes too high. That he’d only make a fool of himself. That it’d be better if he didn’t see you at all.

He’s left grieving anyway when he doesn’t immediately spot your face in the dwindling crowd of the ice cream shop.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Robin lilts from where she sits at one of the tables, obviously on her break and eating from a bowl of the rainbow gummy bears they use as toppings.

“You dweebs talking about me?” Eddie scoffs as he shoves Dustin light-heartedly ahead of him. 

As soon as he crosses the threshold of the small shop, you come very suddenly into view. You sit ahead of Robin, in your usual uniform, and with your usual rainbow sherbet cone. You steal a few rogue gummy bears from her cup and dip them into your ice cream, which has started to melt with your distraction. 

He stills in place, struck with a bolt of blue. Your pretty, summer scent hits him full force, then — slaps him in the face and demands to be noticed. You flash him a small smile, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“Not at all,” Robin answers with a knowing smirk.

Steve scoffs from where he wipes down the counter, tendons flexing in his golden arm. “Only for ten straight minutes.”

“We were talking about how I gave you my number. And how you never called,” you explain to the poleaxed boy, tilting your chin to your shoulder to peer at him from beneath your lashes. A mischievous smirk hints at the corners of your lips. “A girl could start to wonder, you know?” you tease, only partially playful.

Eddie stammers for an explanation. He feels like his heart’s in his throat, like it’s closing on him, and like he can’t really breathe.

He blinks rapidly as his head starts to swim. He zeroes in on your heartbeat, though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s a soft and rhythmic whoosh, whoosh, whooshing — like that of an excitable baby deer. His hands ball into fists until his dull nails leave crescent shapes in his palms.

Dustin gapes at the sight of you. “You’re real?” the strange, curly-haired boy blurts.

“Me?” you ask with pinched brows, motioning to yourself with the ice cream cone.

“Dustin!” Eddie scolds, nudging him pointedly on the shoulder.

The boy cowers. “Sorry. It’s just… I thought you were, like, an imaginary person Eddie made up or something,” he admits, squinting his hazel eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You flash him a dubious look until he elaborates obliviously. “‘Cause Gareth was making fun of him for not having any friends outside of Hellfire and stuff—”

“Hey,” Eddie snaps to get the rambling boy’s attention, tapping the brim of his Thinking Cap. “Shut up.”

“What’s Hellfire?” you wonder aloud.

“Book club,” Eddie lies.

You grin with furrowed brows. “You talk about me at book club?” 

“I mentioned you. Once. ‘Cause Gareth asked— And I didn’t call because the pen smudged,” Eddie answers all at once, swallowing hard when he feels bile building in his throat. He can’t get your heartbeat out of his ears. Or your scent out of his nose. It’s suffocating, all of it. “Does that clear everything up, or…?”

Steve hisses through his teeth. Robin scoffs. You blink at him with wide eyes, hardly expecting him to be so short with you. “Uh-huh,” you nod with a forced smile.

Eddie would apologize for it if he didn’t feel so sick. But now he teeters on the knife’s edge of nausea, unsure if he’s going to faint or vomit or both. So he fakes his own smile and inches towards the exit. “Great. I’m gonna— I think I’m gonna go—”

“And leave us with babysitting duty?” Steve scoffs. “How nice of you.”

Dustin frowns and flashes the makeshift sailor his middle finger.

Eddie fumbles to come up with an excuse. “I just remembered, uh— Wayne wanted me to record Cheers tonight, and I totally forgot. The ol’ geezer’ll kill me if he misses an episode, so… I gotta run.”

He ducks out without another word, grimacing at himself because he’s usually a much better liar than that. The others can surely see right through him. They know that he’s unwell — that he’s just hungry and impossibly overstimulated. 

But you don’t. You don’t know him at all, and maybe that’s exactly why you rush out of Scoops behind him.

Eddie shoves the glass exit of Starcourt Mall with trembling hands. The summer breeze rushes over him immediately, billowing through his hair and clothes. He takes his first good breath and the swimmy feeling of nausea starts to fade.

The hunger remains even still. The ravenous thoughts remain, too — of your heart between his teeth, beating on his tongue, and your blood tasting of sweet red wine.

When he starts to scare himself, his mind tells him that he’d never hurt you. That he hasn’t yet, and that he never will. But still, the thoughts are there, and they hardly ever leave.

Your fresh berry scent covers him like a shroud as he rushes to his casket (his van, really, but the symbolism fits.) You struggle to keep up with his longer strides, pleated skirt flouncing as you hurry behind him — a kicked puppy who doesn’t know when to stay back. 

“I don’t mean to annoy you, you know?” you call after him.

Eddie stills and spins sharply around to face you. You stumble back on rubber sandals to keep from running into him, trying not to cower when he towers suddenly over you.

“What?” he asks with his features swirled in confusion and distant suffering.

Your wide eyes dart over his pallid features, more sallow than you remember. You forget everything you were going to say as concern drips from your pretty features. “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel— fine,” he stammers, less than convincingly.

“Okay…” you nod, unconvinced, then repeat yourself. “I don’t mean to annoy you, by the way.”

Eddie shrugs. “What makes you think you annoy me?”

“I dunno,” you answers, sheepish in a way he hasn’t seen you before. You shift your weight on your scarlet sandals and talk wildly with your hands, looking everywhere but at him. “I kinda talked your face off a few days ago, and then I made that stupid joke about you not calling, and I just… I realized you don’t know me all that well. And that I can be kind of a lot sometimes. Or, you know, a lot of the time. But it’s not like I mean to be, you know? I don’t mean to be a burden or to—”

“You’re not a burden,” Eddie blurts.

Your breath catches as you blink at him with wild, glassy eyes. He gets the feeling no one’s ever said that to you before and tries to ignore the stinging in his chest.

“No?” you echo in a mousy voice.

“Not even a little bit,” he answers instantly.

You inhale a shaky breath that leaves through your mouth in a sigh of relief. “So you’re not upset with me?”

“No,” Eddie scoffs. “You haven’t done anything to upset me. So far, anyway.”

You nod to yourself at the reassurance. “Okay. Good. I just— I thought you ran off in such a hurry ‘cause you didn’t wanna be around me or something.”

You chuckle to yourself, feeling silly about it now. 

Eddie shifts awkwardly ahead of you ‘cause you’re not too far off.

“Do you… Do you want a ride?” he offers despite himself — despite his overwhelming feelings for you and despite the fact the buses are still running for another fifteen minutes. 

He chucks his thumb over his shoulder and flashes you a sheepish look. Because he isn’t sure of what to say now, or if he wants to leave you at all.

You duck your chin and scrunch your nose, too pretty for your own good. “If it’s not too much trouble?” you lilt.

Eddie only grins. “Who says I don’t like a little bit of trouble?”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         under those white street lamps,

         there is a little chance they may see . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

He survives the golden hour, but just barely. Eddie hides from the setting sun underneath the covers, writhing on the thin mattress as he waits for the ravenous feeling of insatiable hunger to pass. It never does.

Instead, he feels the absence of you most ardently. He withers away as he grieves for you, like a wilting flower craving sunlight. But he’s nothing but a pale, gray, and exhausted thing now — an unloveable creature aching for a feeding. 

“Wayne…” Eddie grumbles tiredly, half muffled into his pillow. When he receives no response from his uncle, he musters the strength to shout. “Wayne!”

Footsteps trudge down the hall, bulky work shoes heavy on thin carpet. His bedroom door creaks slowly open, and his uncle stands beneath the frame of it — wearing the thick navy coveralls that has his name sewn in cursive on the chest. His weathered hands work at the buttons below the collar.

“What is it, Ed?” Wayne wonders in a gravelly drawl.

Eddie takes in a rattling breath, peeking one eye open to look at his uncle. His vision’s too swimmy for anything else. “Can you call Hopper?” he slurs like a sick child.

Wayne’s graying brows furrow in worry. He squints at his nephew across the bedroom, languishing beneath his covers and growing more waxen by the second. He’s typically only this miserable when he hasn’t fed in weeks.

“You hungry again? It’s only been a couple days.”

“I know,” the boy grumbles, squirming on the mattress like he can’t get comfortable. “I just don’t feel good...”

Wayne can see that much from here, so he doesn’t put up any more of a fight about it. He fastens the cuffs of his sleeves with wise and suddenly anxious hands. “I’ll give him a call before I head to work… You gonna be alright without me?”

Eddie nods against the pillow, curls frizzing around his head. He responds in jumbled slurs, “Mhm. ‘M alright. ‘M just… real tired…”

“I’ll call Hopper,” Wayne repeats, firmer this time, before shutting the door behind him.

Eddie spends the next half hour rotting away in the lonely trailer. 

Jim doesn’t bother to knock when he arrives, but it’s not like he needs to. He makes enough deliveries of the riboflavin kind to Forest Hills that he deserves his own key.

Besides, Eddie could smell him when he pulled into the driveway — the pint of blood he carried with him, more so. It’s a deep, rich, and powdery scent. Nowhere near as sweet as you. But then again, he doesn’t think anything could be.

“What’s the special this time, Chief?” Eddie jokes with a small huff as Hopper helps prop him against the headboard. 

The mustached man is still clad in his khaki work uniform, gold badge glinting in the lamplight. His hardened face remains in its usual deadpan frown, though his bushy brows furrow in a subtle confusion. “Do you really wanna know?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then sighs. “No…”

Jim opens the brown paper bag sitting on the nightstand. He pulls out a plain styrofoam cup topped with a lid typically used for coffee. The thing looks innocent enough, save for a few drops of crimson staining the white of it, likely from an overfill. 

There was a time when Eddie could do it himself. Where he could puncture the blood bag Hopper delivered and pour it into one of the mugs he and Wayne have been collecting for years.

He stopped being strong enough for that a while ago, though. The sight of blood makes him queasy now, which is ironic for very obvious reasons.

The chief does most of it for him now, though Eddie thinks Hopper likes it best that way. 

“Here you go, kid,” Jim says as he passes the boy his cup of liquid scarlet. He holds the lid of it in his other hand, face screwed at the coopery smell engulfing the small bedroom. “Try not to think about it too much, alright?”

Eddie takes the cup in a trembling fist and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see its contents. He forces himself to down it in one go — equal parts because it’s easiest that way and because he doesn’t want to be too much of a baby in front of the chief. 

The blood tastes like a strawberry milkshake as he swallows it down, but that’s always the easiest part. It’s the after that’s so ruthless. After the overwhelming bout of starvation passes. After he’s half normal again. That’s when the blood starts to taste like blood — all metallic, like a bunch of old pennies. That’s when he feels like a monster.

Eddie groans when the cup is fully drained. He passes it back to Hopper with his eyes still shut. The man takes it with one hand and pats him on the shoulder with the other. “Good job, kid,” he mumbles, dropping the empty cup back into the bag. 

The boy relaxes against the pillows with a shuddering breath.

Jim waits until then to interrogate him. 

“What happened between now and four days ago?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest, towering over the boy’s bedside. “This is the first time you’ve needed to feed more than once a week. Hell, it took Wayne and me almost a year to convince you to feed more than once a month.” 

Eddie shrugs lazily, lips jutted and eyes lidded. “Nothing happened.”

“I need to know, kid. So I can keep you safe.”

And so I can keep everyone else safe, too, but he doesn’t say that part.

“It’s just— This girl,” Eddie confesses, then grumbles with a sigh. “I don’t know, alright. It doesn’t even matter.”

Hopper squints. “What girl?”

“No one,” Eddie insists, then cowers under the man’s glacial stare. “Fine. Some-one. She just— makes me go all weird or whatever. I don’t know.”

Jim hums, nodding softly to himself and trying not to be too amused at the thought of Munson having a crush. He scratches at the coarse hair underneath his chin. “And is… staying away from this girl an option, or…?”

Eddie ponders the question for a moment, then exhales a chest-deflating sigh. Just like he did when questioning the origins of the blood in his cup. You were a lot of the same in that way — a thing he needed to survive but wasn’t strong enough to face.

“No… I don’t think it is…”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Hawkins Community Pool is strangely liminal after dark. The property itself is illuminated by only a few amber streetlamps, with most of its light coming from within — from inside the wooden pool house and beneath the sparkling cerulean water. 

Eddie parks his van on the darkened edges of the parking lot and tries to find the courage to leave it. The crowd is minimal now, having lessened significantly since he dropped you off some hours ago.

There are only a few stragglers left, most of them teenagers soaking in the last few minutes before closing. He’s grateful for that much. The fewer eyes on him, the better.

If he wasn’t being ogled at with gazes hardened with disgust or softened with pity, people weren’t looking at him at all. Their attempts to keep from staring were perhaps more blatant than they realized.

Maybe they didn’t want to be rude, or maybe they wanted to pretend he wasn’t there at all. It made Eddie hyper-aware of himself either way, which is why he often preferred to stay hidden.

He idles by the chain-link fence, swaddled in the humid summer air that smells overwhelmingly of chlorine and dewy grass. It takes several agonizing moments to catch your attention.

You dance softly in place and mouth the lyrics to a song Eddie can only make out vaguely from here, while the girl beside you stands perfectly and unenthusiastically still. 

You freeze when you catch Eddie’s gaze. Confused at first, then surprised. It takes a matter of seconds for both emotions to mix together and leave you a bumbling ball of excitement. 

The boy raises a ringed hand in a curt wave, which you reciprocate with a much more enthusiastic one. You turn to your co-worker and mouth something Eddie can’t hear before rushing to the parking lot to meet him. The flip-flopping of your rubber sandals grows as you make your way to him, along with the rustling of the windbreaker you wear over your bikini.

It’s a modest scarlet two-piece, with a high waist and a halter neckline — but much more of your skin is on display than Eddie’s used to. (If there was any time he needed to be grateful for a recent feeding, it was now.)

“Hi…” you greet, panting heavily as you stand before him.

“Hiya,” Eddie grins cheekily.

“I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t either, honestly.”

“Did you, uh— Did you and Wayne get to watch Cheers?”

It takes Eddie a moment or more to recall his earlier lie. He nods rapidly in response, perhaps too quickly to be truthful, but you don’t seem to notice. “Uh, no. Not yet. He’ll watch it when he gets back from the graveyard shift.”

“Okay. Cool,” you beam, eyes sparkling as they dart over his features — which have seemed to gain a bit of their life back. He’s still pale, but his eyes are less sunken in than they were. The dark chocolate of his irises swim with a melted honey color. “You look a lot better, by the way. Than you did when I left, I mean. I was scared you were getting sick.”

“Nah, I just… Needed a breather, I guess,” Eddie admits with a breathy chuckle. “I was with Hellfire all day, and… Babysitting’s a tough gig, turns out.”

You laugh alongside him, noticeably less forced. “No, I get it. I basically spend all day babysitting, so…”

“Right. I shouldn’t be complaining.” Eddie scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck and grimaces when his rings get caught in his hair. It takes a very noticeable moment for him to gain the courage to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. “Can, uh— Can I see your hand real quick?”

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” he lilts with the same mischievous smile you used on him some days ago now.

He holds a ringed hand expectantly out for you. Your gaze glimmers with intrigue as you put your fingers in his paler, colder ones. You watch him dig in his jacket pockets for a moment before pulling out the same ink pen you’d rescued from the depths of junk in his center console. He clicks it with his thumb, and you jerk your hand out of his.

“Wait!” you blurt. 

Eddie flinches, feeling like he’s done something wrong, like he must’ve hurt you in some way. 

Your features screw in a pinched look of concentration as you stick your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker. “I’m pretty sure I have a marker in here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!” You’re smiling all over again when you pass him the black Sharpie. “So it won’t wash off before I get to call you.”

“Right,” Eddie hums with a slow nod, taking the marker from you. He bites back a smile when he catches you shoving a pack of sparkly stickers back into your pockets. “What are those?”

“Stickers,” you answer, then grimace when you realize that much was obvious. You rush to elaborate. “For the younger kids that have older siblings. They usually get dragged here, and nine times outta ten, they haven’t learned how to swim yet, so… I try to make ‘em feel better with sparkly things.”

The grin Eddie tries to hide blooms very suddenly across the expanse of his pink lips. His chest swirls with a warmer feeling because you’re sort of his sparkly thing, in a way. A bright and glittering thing that makes him feel whole without trying.

You offer him your hand again, shier now. He wraps it in his larger one with fingertips that border on glacial. You fight back a shiver while Eddie uncaps the marker with his teeth. He mumbles through it while he scribbles his number on your wrist.

“Don’t let this scrub off before you get to call me like other idiots do, alright?” he jokes, flashing you a sparkling stare beneath his lashes.

“I’ll call you the second I get home,” you promise with a firm nod. “I’ll write it down, too, so I won’t forget.”

Eddie caps the marker with a lopsided grin sitting lazily on his mouth. “And it’s only for emergencies, alright? Like, if you need a ride or… A spare Blondie cassette that I may or may not have in my glove box.”

You nod again, this time with a giddy and very poorly hidden smile. “Emergenicies,” you parrot, so he knows you really heard him.

(You call him the second you’re back from your shift, though Eddie expected nothing less from you. The emergency in question? You missed him too much.)

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          this is stranger than i thought,

          six different ways inside my heart  . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

You decide to visit him that weekend, unannounced and unexpected — which is basically how you entered his life in the first place.

You’re a smiling thing on his doorstep. A rival to the early morning sun beaming in rays behind you. Eddie squints one eye and grimaces at the brightness of each.

“Morning!” you chirp like a songbird.

“What are you doing here? How’d you even find me?” Eddie grumbles tiredly, rubbing his sleep-swollen eye with his fist. He wears his slumber all over — in the wild curls, and in the wrinkled shirt that used to be Wayne’s, and in the baggy plaid pants sitting low on his waist. 

The complete and utter opposite of you: an angel kissed with the summer season.

The sun sparkles in your hair. The warm breeze billows in your clothes. The scent of something sweet clings to your skin — of fresh cherries, vanilla cake, and swathes of dewy grass. Each is tantamount to your bone-crushing beauty, which borders on whimsical and intimidating now.

It’s weird seeing you out of your uniform. A strange, but welcomed sight. You’ve traded the mandated bathing suit for a flouncier dress. The thin cotton fabric clings to your torso and drapes over your thighs like summer rain. It’s a scarlet number, gingham-patterned, with two white bows for sleeves. 

Eddie’s tired eyes rake over your pretty form despite himself. He gapes when he finds the raging scrapes you wear on both knees, a bright crimson color to match your strawberry aura. “Jesus Chr— Are you okay?!”

You follow his gaze, bending softly at the waist to peer down at your legs. You press the skirt of your dress down with your palms, and your chest pinches at the sight of your raw knees.

Your eyes flit from the fresh scratches to the concerned boy ahead of you. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” you wonder with wide, sheepish eyes.

Eddie repeats, firmer now, “Are you okay?”

“I’m totally fine,” you shrug with a beaming smile before rambling an explanation, talking absentmindedly with your hands. “I decided to buy a bike after I got my paycheck, but I don’t really know how to ride it yet, so I’m trying to teach myself, and I… kinda accidentally swerved into a ditch on the way here.”

Eddie’s chest flares with a primal feeling. He can’t stand the thought of you hurt — can’t stand the thought of you hurt and him not being there to help you. “Okay…” he wavers with his face still screwed.

“I wasn’t stalking you, by the way! Scout’s honor!” you blurt, holding up four fingers instead of three. “I just knew you lived at Forest Hill’s, and, I mean, the van is a dead giveaway, Eds.”

“Fair enough,” he huffs.

“Besides, I really wanted to bring you something, and I couldn’t wait until I saw you at Scoops because the anticipation was driving me crazy—” You lose yourself in thought and slide past him in the doorway without thinking. 

Eddie just blinks and shuts the door behind you. “And… What is it… Exactly?” he wonders cautiously, only partially fearful of the answer.

It takes you a moment too long to answer him, as you get lost in the sights around you. The trailer was bigger than it appeared on the outside, not messy by any means, but very lived in. 

There’s a folded cot in the corner beside the recliner and a small square TV across from it playing morning cartoons. Vintage baseball caps line one wall, and a collection of mugs line the other. Everything feels like a self-portrait of the Munson family.

“The mixtape I promised,” you answer finally, spinning around to face him again. You pull a plastic cassette from the pocket of your dress and gesture with it in a nervous hand. “I was starin’ at this thing all night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you— about giving it to you, I mean.” You correct yourself with a nervous laugh and rush to move on. “I’ve always been super bad with gifts— I can’t keep ‘em a secret to save my life. I’m good for, maybe, five seconds, and then I’m just like, gosh, I can’t wait anymore, you know?”

You realize you’re rambling and trail slowly off. You swallow hard, muster a wavering smile, and motion for Eddie to take the cassette. You watch as he studies it with a careful hand — pale and lanky and devoid of his silver rings.

“You made this for me?” he mumbles after a few moments.

“Well, I told you I would.”

“Yeah, but… You made this? For me?” he repeats, with a different inflection. ‘Cause he doesn’t know who else to put it. Doesn’t know how to tell you he doesn’t feel half deserving of anything you could give him.

You giggle in response. “You said you didn’t own anything ABBA. Or Madonna. Or Cyndi Lauper— so obviously, I had to make you an entire compilation of their discography. I’m not an asshole,” you laugh. “And I put a few of my favorite songs on there, too…. And songs that made me think of you and stuff…”

Eddie smiles before he means to. It’s a strange thing, he finds, to be thought of in such an innocent way — to be looked for in the places where he couldn’t physically be. He ducks his chin and peers at you with glimmering eyes. “Yeah? Like what?” he humors.

You don’t miss a beat. “He’s so shy!”

Eddie flinches at your singing — the volume of it, more so. Your voice rings across the quiet trailer, and a laugh sputters past his lips.  “Yeah. Alright.”

“That sweet little boy who caught my eye!” you continue and reach out for him, digging your fingers into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His skin is milky white, smooth, cold to the touch.

“Okay!” he chuckles and swats you away with a playful hand. “I get it!”

“It’s the Pointer Sisters,” you grin.

“I’ll take your word for it.” 

His chocolate eyes dart back and forth between both of yours, momentarily lost in the way you’re looking at him — with your eyes all squishy around the edges. He’s not used to being looked at so softly. Or being noticed at all. 

He swallows hard and averts his gaze. Your scrapped knees enter his vision again, weeping a bright scarlet that threatens to drip down your shins. He ignores any instinct of hunger. 

“You’re bleeding pretty bad, by the way.”

You only feel the ache when you’re reminded of it. Your stomach gets all swirly at the sight of your bruised knees, rubbed raw and stained with the grass that partially cushioned your fall.

“Gosh…” you mumble to yourself, clutching the skirt of your dress in your fists. You flash Eddie a sheepish look and a wavering smile. “Any chance I could bum a bandaid?” 

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The bathroom is a tight fight, but you make it work.

You sit on the counter, per Eddie’s instruction, while he retrieves the first aid kit collecting dust in the medicine cabinet.  He sits on the edge of the bathtub across from you, way out of his element (in more ways than one), as he cleans your cuts with trembling hands.

His throat is tight with nausea. His head swims with it, too. White stars speckle his vision that he tries hard to blink away. The sight of your blood, diluted and pink on the white tissue, makes him weak.

He isn’t sure if it’s instinct or desire that makes him want to swallow you whole, but the primal urge to consume you is there — in the figurative sense, of course; to bury his teeth in your neck and have a piece of you forever. 

Being between your legs in such close confines is ample enough distraction, though.

You push the skirt of your pretty gingham dress up the expanse of your thighs to give him space to work. You sit with them slightly spread, too — enough to reveal a sliver of your underwear, he thinks. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, so he fights the boyish urge to catch a glimpse of the most private part of you.

“Jesus…” he huffs and chucks the napkin into the bin. With the blood and the grass stains now wiped away, he can see the scratches more clearly. Your delicate skin is abraded and raging with it. Like you fell and kept on falling. “Did you get mauled by a bear or something?”

“In the knees?” you quip.

“Looks like it.”

“I just wanted to match my dress,” you shrug. “That’s all.”

Eddie opens an alcohol swab with his teeth, then meets your pretty smile with a scowl. “You’re hurt. It’s not funny,” he deadpans after spitting the package from between his teeth.

“It is a little bit, though,” you argue just to argue, scrunching the bridge of your nose. He presses the damp wipe to your knee, and you flinch at the sudden stinging feeling. “Ow!”

He smiles at your pouting. “Maybe a little,” he concurs.

“That was mean!”

“You told me to distract you, so I distracted you. Sue me,” the boy shrugs, feigning innocence, as he reaches to toss the swab in the trashcan beside the counter. 

The sight of wadded tissue, all stained with your ruby-colored blood, makes his breath catch in his throat. The ground starts to sway beneath his feet. His eyes go lidded and heavy. His mouth waters with need.

Eddie shakes his wild head in a feeble attempt to remove the ravenous thoughts from his brain, but all it does is make him dizzier.

He blinks wildly as he reaches for a bandaid in the opened container beside him. It slips from his clammy, tremoring hands. He fumbles to grab it again and slaps it to the counter beside you.

“You okay?” he hears you ask, sitting right in front of him but sounding much further than that.

He sits up again and clears his throat, gaze dim and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah, just— Just give me a second…” He breathes hard through his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut. Knuckles going white around the edges of the ceramic tub. 

You watch with a wide, inquisitive stare as you smooth the bandages over your knees yourself. Your concerned gaze flits from the pallid boy ahead of you, to the plasters on your skin, and back to him again. 

“If blood makes you queasy, you coulda just said,” you joke, trying to make him smile, ‘cause you hate seeing him so ill. “You didn’t have to torture yourself just to help me.”

“Blood doesn’t make me queasy,” Eddie tells you, though he’s still slurring his words.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?” 

His glazed-over eyes are slow to open. “That’s just my face,” he deadpans.

“No. You have a pretty face, Eddie,” you insist as your giggling swells like sunshine in the tiny bathroom. “It’s just all scrunched together, like you’re gonna be sick or something— like this.”

You swirl your features in a manufactured look of drama and pain. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, mouth snarled. Eddie chuckles before he can help it. The sick feeling still lingers, though not as obvious now. 

“You are bizarre. Did you know that?”

“I did, actually,” you giggle. 

Your entwining laughter fills the bathroom’s close quarters. The glittering noise echoes through the small trailer and finds Wayne at the doorstep. He toes off his work boots and pauses at the sound of giggling — one familiar and lower in pitch, the other foreign and sparkling. 

His socked feet pad down the length of the carpeted ground until he finds the door between Eddie’s bedroom and the kitchen’s edge, already ajar. It creaks loudly under the man’s calloused palm when he pushes it slowly open.

His tired eyes widen at the sight before him — a pretty girl on the sink with a pair of scrapped knees, and Eddie sitting on the tub ahead of her with bloodied tissue in the bin beside him.

Wayne’s heart falls to ass like a steep drop on a rollercoaster.

You smile brightly at the strange man. “Hello!” you greet with an enthusiastic wave.

He blinks slowly at you for a moment, then nods politely. “Hi there,” Wayne says in a deep and gritty drawl before turning to his nephew. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” Eddie blurts, all wide-eyed and fidgeting. He struggles to be casual as he swipes his clammy hands over his thighs. “We were just, you know, hanging out…”

“Everythin’ alright?”

Eddie nods quickly, then stops when it makes him queasy. “Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Yeah, she just— fell on her bike on the way over, and—”

He flinches when you gasp. 

“Wait! You’re Wayne!” you shout with a sudden recollection.

The man tries not to recoil at the volume of your voice — much too loud for so early in the day, like a chirping bird outside his window. He forces a tightlipped smile and nods again. “I am,” he tells you.

You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “You have Eddie’s nose!”

Wayne laughs, a single scoffed breath. “What can I say? Big noses run in the family.”

“Well, I happen to like ‘em that way,” you insist with a casual shrug, kicking your feet back and forth from where you’re perched on the counter. Your heels meet the cabinet in several rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunks.

When you look down at your bandaged knees, Wayne and Eddie share a look without you.

The older man raises his greying brows. This girl is bizarre, Eddie can hear him saying. 

He nods wordlessly at his uncle’s silent observation, as though to say: I know she is, and I happen to like her that way.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          i guess you’re just what i needed,

          i needed someone to bleed  . . .

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The plastic case of the cassette you made him clatters on the dashboard of his van, filling a silence that would otherwise be occupied by you. 

Eddie’s passenger seat, cracked and worn with age, feels strikingly empty without you in it. Which is strange, ‘cause your presence used to frighten him once. It does, still, he thinks — but now he mourns the haunt like an old, empty house. 

He drives his rattling tin can across town to Hawkins Community Pool, with a cup of rainbow sherbet rattling in the holder at his side, like an offering for a ghost he no longer wants to exorcise from the home behind his ribcage.

“It’s gonna melt before you get it to her,” Robin remarked with a smirk as she scooped ice cream with an expert hand. “You know that, right?”

Eddie bowed his head and tried to hide behind his curls. “Not if I run real fast,” he joked sheepishly.

The pastel sherbet softens quickly in the summer heat. (Not even the van’s middling A.C., pointed right in its direction, could keep it sufficiently cool.) The muted hues of pink, green, and orange begin to swirl together as the milky concoction undulates in his ringed fist. He hopes you don’t mind and prays you see past his feeble attempt to be kind.

“Well, well, well…” Billy Hargrove lilts with a pretty pink smirk at the sight of Eddie Munson’s familiar face. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his mulleted curls and rests his magazine on his lap. “The dead has risen…”

The poor boy sticks out without trying, despite his desperate attempts to stay hidden — all but swimming in his leather jacket, baggy jeans, and wild hair. He’s a pale, death-touched thing floating in a sea of golden life. 

But, unlike the contemptuous leers from the other patrons, (some who are still certain Eddie killed Chrissy, and others who have always seemed to look at him that way), Billy Hargrove only smiles. A fake, sardonic grin that shows none of his teeth and shines mostly in his eyes. 

His squinted ocean gaze glimmers like he knows all of Eddie’s secrets — which is only half-true. Billy knows what the end of the world did to him, because it almost killed him too, once upon a time.

So, no. He doesn’t know all of Eddie’s secrets. 

Just the biggest one, maybe. 

Despite being largely immune to the summer heat, Eddie still feels the burn of embarrassment stinging his chest. Clawing behind his ribcage like a thousand ravaging demobats. The hot-cold aching of wishing he were dead ebbs when you turn to look at him over your shoulder — when your wide eyes of sparkling hope lock with his darker, dead-er ones.

There’s an undeniable spark of delight in your irises, though Eddie doesn’t know what for. No one’s been this happy to see him in a year. No one’s been this happy to see him ever.

Something about it makes his stomach hurt. Or maybe it’s just the way you and Hargrove are sitting behind the front counter together, like a couple of old friends, with glowing sunkissed skin hugged tight in scarlet bathing suits. 

In that split second, Eddie feels like he’s in high school again — a loser, not yet dead, pining for the pretty girl way out of his league and praying the basketball jock doesn’t shove him into the bleachers.

If you notice the momentary fear in his eyes, you don’t show it.

And if you care that he’s a loser, you don’t show that, either.

“Eddie! Hi!” you greet, giggling as you push yourself off the countertop. Your pleated skirt swishes around your thighs as you rush to him. Your matching sandals pad rhythmically along the stone floor. The flip-flop, flip-fop sound echoes through the shaded breezeway.

Eddie doesn’t know how wide he’s smiling when you’re finally standing ahead of him, but he can feel it burning in the apples of his cheeks.

“You haven’t been around for lunch,” he says in place of a greeting, fidgeting with the cup of melting ice cream in his fist. “I was scared that you keeled over or somethin’.”

“You were worried about me?” you wonder aloud, voice a few octaves higher than he’s used to. You purse your smile to the side of your mouth and scrunch your nose. “Aww…” you croon and dig two fingers into the junction of his neck.

Your touch is soft and warm and less than gentle.

Eddie cringes, effectively set aflame by the electricity of you. He shrinks back with a wavering smile and finds himself grateful that he’s too dead to blush these days — or else you’d see how hopeless he is. 

You ramble an explanation while his skin buzzes.

“I’m a little slow on my bike, turns out, and I couldn’t make it back here in time,” you tell him, which rests his anxieties a little.

Eddie’s been worried about you ever since he patched you up in his bathroom. Everyone’s been worried about you, in truth, ‘cause it’s a well-known fact that you’re a total klutz.

“And after being late for the third time, Adam got kinda mad at me…” you continue, shifting on your feet. “He got really mad at me, actually. I wore his favorite bikini, and he still threatened to fire me. I was, like, oh shit, I’m actually in trouble—”

You giggle to yourself, but Eddie feels like there’s a knife between his ribcage. A sharp, burning, and pulsing urge to get you away from all of these assholes. To get you out of this town. God knows it doesn’t deserve you.

He swallows hard and tries to joke. “Must’ve been real bad then, huh?”

You exhale a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, so… I’m kinda trying to get back on his good side and everything. It’s easier to just stay here. I would’ve called, but I— I didn’t think you cared that much.”

“I care!” Eddie scoffs, pale face swirled with offense.

“You’re the one that said emergencies only!” you mock through another pretty giggle.

“Abandoning me for a week is an emergency.”

You light up like a goddamn Christmas tree at that. 

“See! I knew you were worried about me!”

Eddie scoffs again and looks away. He focuses on the crowd bustling outside the breezeway because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. Until one of them catches his gaze and flashes him a leery look, anyway. Then he feels like he might puke. 

“Not at all,” he answers in a playful deadpan, clearing his throat when his voice shakes. “That’s definitely not why I decided to bring you a… half-melted cup of rainbow sherbet.”

His chocolate eyes avert to the plastic container in his fist, swirling the milky pastels again for good measure. When he looks at you again, it’s through his lashes and with his head bowed sheepishly.

You smile with your lips curled under your teeth — obviously giddy and trying hopelessly to hide it.

“I thought it was for me, but I didn’t wanna assume,” you admit quietly, cheek squished into your shoulder.

“It’s basically a milkshake now,” Eddie mumbles and extends his arm. His voice shakes as much as his hand does. “Sorry…”

You beam at the pinched look of worry on his face. “I like milkshakes, too, silly,” you giggle and take the cup of melted ice cream from him. 

Your fingers are gentle and strikingly warm as they brush his colder, paler ones. Warm like dragonfire, or an old house bathed in candlelight, or a freshly sharpened blade through the heart.

Eddie bleeds out on the pebbled concrete as you turn away. 

You rush back to the counter you leapt from, balancing the container in one palm as you bend over the top of it. A satiny summer breeze rolls through the shaded shack and billows through the pleats of your skirt, lifting the thin fabric to reveal the thong of your one-piece — a sliver of soft scarlet running between your thighs.

Eddie’s undead heart lurches into his throat. He turns his gaze to the ceiling until the wind passes.

Billy looks up from his magazine to smile at you with his teeth. “This your boyfriend, sweet thing?” he asks as you pluck your straw from the styrofoam cup you were just drinking from.

The nickname floats on the humid air and strangles Eddie accordingly. Your mouth curls around the end of the bendy straw before you give him a proper answer. You blow hard to dispel the remnants of room-temperature water before sticking the plastic into the milky concoction in your fist.

“Yes,” you answer plainly, then take a long sip of the softened ice cream. You shrug with the raspberry-orange taste on your tongue. “He’s a boy. And he’s my friend,” you lilt. “Jealous?”

Billy laughs. Loud. 

“Of Munson?” 

You nod quietly, straw caged between your teeth.

He laughs louder and slouches in his swivel chair. The golden muscles of his toned chest flex as he flashes you a quieter smile — one that might say he knows a lot more than you do if you cared enough to read the signals.

“I can’t say that I am, no,” Billy hums, faux sympathetically.

“Well, maybe if you were a little nicer, he’d be bringing you food, too,” you tell him, very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, as you spin on the heel of your rubber flip-flop and saunter away. 

Eddie grimaces when you’re ahead of him again. “Please tell me this isn’t the only thing you’ve had today.”

Your face screws as you take another sip. “No,” you answer with a firm shake of your head, though the word comes out garbled from the fruity concoction in your mouth. You swallow it down and confess, “I had half a Poptart for breakfast, so…”

“That’s… not breakfast,” the boy monotones, then motions his wild head to the cup cradled in your right hand. “And this isn’t lunch.”

“Well, I told you I don’t have time to get lunch,” you argue like a child, soft and sheepish, head bowed to avoid his unwavering stare. You stab at the softened ice cream with the plastic straw, leaving holes in the pastel swirls, as you mutter to yourself, “And I can’t make it for myself, either. I’m not adult enough for that yet.”

Eddie feels it again. The sting of empathy in his chest. The primitive need to help you that makes it hard to breathe most days.

He shrugs his leather-clad shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling hands under his armpits.

“Well— Maybe— Maybe I can, you know, bring you something?” Eddie offers, stumbling over himself the entire way through. He shifts on his feet and swallows through the frog in his throat. “Like, when I have the time, or whatever.”

He doesn’t tell you that he always has the time. (‘Cause he only works nights at The Hideout now, and spends the rest of the day’s many hours rotting in bed.)

Your face pinches into a girlish pout. Something soft, but sterner than he thinks he’s ever seen you before. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Eddie argues. “And I’m not doing it outta the kindness of my own heart, either— It’d just make me feel better to know you’re not totally withering away whenever I’m not here.”

You try hard to keep your scowl. But then your chest starts to glitter like a thousand sparklers in July, and you’re beaming before you can stop it. Eddie watches the pretty smile curl slowly on your lips despite your futile attempt to hide it.

“What’s that look for?” he cautions.

“Nothin’,” you shrug, smiling with the straw between your teeth. “I just like you.”

Eddie forgets to breathe and dies all over again, right at your feet.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         only boys who save their pennies

         make my rainy day!

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Most Tuesdays, some Wednesdays, and every Friday — (the mornings after his late night shifts at The Hideout) — Eddie Munson buys you lunch. 

He stands at the counter of Benny’s Burgers and pays with the rogue quarters and crumpled bills he finds in random pockets of his jacket. The bearded man looks on in slow-blinking bemusement while the boy counts out the $4.89 your sandwich costs.

Benny ends up throwing in free fries for the effort.

It takes Eddie an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were sneaking money into his pockets every time he visited you, even though he told you not to pay him back. Even though you swore you wouldn’t. (He’ll never believe another one of your stupid Scout’s Honor promises again).

Saturday comes, and Eddie’s cleaned out ’til his next shift on Monday. 

He thinks he’s handling it pretty well — the very palpable lack of you — but the contrary is written all over his face.

He’s sprawled out on the sunken-in couch in the living room with the headphones of his Walkman around his neck. Madonna plays muffledly (and far too happily) as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to make constellations of your face from the cracks and water stains.

Dustin watches his best friend grieve from the other side of the coffee table and sighs. “It’s the sandwiches, right? You guys hate the sandwiches?” he wonders aloud, but to no one in particular. “God, I knew I put too much jelly in them—”

“The sandwiches are amazing, Dusty-Bun,” Robin insists from Wayne’s recliner, with a mouthful of PB&J jutting out her freckled cheek. Her chipping maroon nails are stained with crumbs as they flash an ‘ok’ symbol in his direction.

With grape jelly on the corner of his mouth, Steve mumbles from the floor in front of her, “Doesn’t explain why Eddie’s still sulking over there, though.”

“Exactly!” Dustin huffs, flailing his arms.

Eddie rolls his eyes. He exhales a heavy breath that makes his chest deflate, then turns to face the eyes staring back at him. “I’m not sulking,” he grumbles like a rain cloud.

“Yeah. It’s the pouting that’s so convincing,” Max scoffs from Dustin’s other side, blinking at him from behind her glasses as she fakes a tight-lipped grin. 

Eddie just squints at her. She’s not nearly as menacing as she used to be. Not when her ocean eyes are bugged out from such thick lenses, anyway. Now he finds her sort of adorable, in a subtly intimidating way — like a kitten holding a pocketknife.

“I’m not pouting, either,” the wild-haired boy retorts, features scrunched in a soft pout.

Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He just misses Barbie,” the boy croons playfully.

Eddie blinks at him with a flat face. “Barbie?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice high. “Barbie.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is, or…?”

“Oh, you know who she is,” Lucas nods with a boyish chuckle. “Very well.”

He keeps on laughing about it until Max elbows him hard in the shoulder. Steve misses the silent cue as he tears off a piece of bread crust, snickering to himself at the inside joke.

He pops it into his mouth and meets Eddie’s gaze, emotionless and expectant. His eyes widen as he stammers for a response.

“The girl— Your girl— She was at Jazzercise the other day,” Steve explains, then swallows hard. “She was with that pretty lifeguard, too. What’s her name again?”

He looks instinctively up at Robin for an answer. Eddie beats her to the punch. 

“Billy Hargrove?” he monotones.

“Ha-ha.”

“Heather Holloway,” Robin tells him.

“Heather!” Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers. “I’m pretty sure I dated her freshman year, actually… Or was that Heather Hart?”

The boy loses focus quickly as he goes deep in thought. Fluffy brows pinched, honey eyes squinted. A heavy silence lulls over the crowded living room, and Madonna’s muffled voice grows louder. ‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl!—

Before Eddie has time to be embarrassed, Steve shrugs at himself. 

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway. She was at Jazzercise with Heather just, like, dripping in pink. Pink leg warmers, pink leotard, pink tights…” Steve trails off again, stare glazing over like he's imagining you all over again. “It was crazy…”

Eddie’s face swirls in disgust. Not at the thought of you, of course, but at the notion that your beauty is perceptible to others. That he isn’t the only one who can see you, admire you. He is not the only one you’ve threatened to kill with your piercing stare, and the thought alone makes his stomach twist.

“You’re such a boy,” Eddie scoffs.

Robin leans forward, freckled face solemn and serious. She rests her elbows on her denim-clad knees and slowly shakes her head. “No… It was crazy,” she echoes more earnestly.

It sounds different coming from her. It means something different coming from her, too. Eddie’s brows raise and disappear beneath his curly bangs. “Oh, yeah?” he hums with bated breath.

“Yeah,” Robin answers with a disbelieving sigh.

“Hence, the nickname,” Lucas nods, seemingly missing the meaning ‘cause the only other girl he’s cared to notice besides Pheobe Cates is the redhead sitting beside him.

The girl with magnifying glasses over her eyes and legs that don’t work as well as they used to. Despite the circumstances (involving dark wizards and a certain death), Max hasn’t changed at all. And neither has the way Lucas’ teenage boy heart beats for her.

Eddie scoffs a tired laugh. He turns back to the ceiling and throws an elbow over his eyes. “I’m gonna tell her you guys call her that behind her back, by the way.”

“It’s a compliment!” Dustin defends, a few octaves higher than normal.

“Or you could tell her to her face,” Max offers with an absentminded shrug, folding her napkin into a weird shape in her lap — only ‘cause she’s fidgeting, of course, not because Dr. Owens said it would help ease the stiffness in her fingers. (Being dead might’ve taught her some things, but listening to figures of authority is not one of them.)

“She’s working today. Billy said so.”

Eddie peeks at her, flat-faced. “Did he?”

“Yeah. Means you can go visit your girlfriend instead of bitching and moaning about how much you miss her all weekend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mayfield.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“No. That is entirely the point,” Eddie argues, laughing more sincerely now. “Other than the fact that the sun will literally kill me.”

Max’s light eyes narrow into thin slits behind her clunky glasses. She says the hard thing out loud, without blinking. that the rest of them are already thinking, anyway.

“You’re already dead, Munson.”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

          hey, you, with the pretty face,

         welcome to the human race!

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

No wonder the streets seemed so apocalyptically empty, Eddie thinks to himself as he walks through the front gates of Hawkins Community Pool. Because every goddamn person in town has chosen to spend their Saturday here.

Benny from the diner sits by the kiddie pool next to the entrance, watching his daughter wade in the shallow water. He looks like a different person without his grease-stained apron on. His swim trunks are bright red and slightly too short for him, his Hawaiian shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his beer belly, and his face is burnt everywhere but under his sunglasses. 

Jason, Andy, and all the rest of their goons hog the picnic tables while pretty girls sit on the tops of them — wearing their expensive bikinis and basking in the sun like it’s shining just for them. The boys laugh and shove at one another, trying to pretend like they’re far too cool for it all.

Familiar faces fill the blue water, but it’s hard to make them out in the crowd. Everyone’s swimming and splashing and stuffed within the chain-linked fence like cattle. They all go blurry, like a bunch of indistinct shapes before a backdrop of bright colors. Like a Claud Monet painting, if he ever cared enough to paint uninspiring Midwestern towns.

It’s far too packed to feel self-conscious ‘cause this is the kind of horde you drown in. But that just means it’s catastrophically overstimulating. For Eddie, most of all, who’s sorely out of place in his leather jacket and baggy jeans and dirty sneakers.

The boy cranes his neck to search for you, dark eyes flitting wildly over the crowd — once, twice, and then a third time.

You’re nowhere to be found, and he knows this because your face is far too pretty and not easily missed. Your sweet hibiscus scent is equally absent, drowned out by the overwhelming smell of chlorine, sunblock, and sweat.

If you were around, he’d know it.

“She’s not even here!” Eddie huffs, lifting his arms only to drop them dramatically at his sides. Any arguments about his pouting are surely moot now. Even he can feel the petulant scowl pinching his features.

Max, equally confused, stands at his side and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Billy said she was working today. I heard him on the phone. He definitely said it,” she observes, mostly to herself, ‘cause she can’t stomach being wrong. “Well… He said he was opening with the two prettiest girls in town, so I figured one was probably Heather and the other was—”

“Barbie?” Eddie finishes flatly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, she’s obviously not here, so… Let’s just go back home and do— literally anything else.” 

Eddie spins on the heel of his worn sneaker with the intention of going back the way he came. His van is parked crooked, anyhow. Steve complained as much when he parked his shiny new BMW right beside him. He figures he should probably get back before someone slashes his tires. Again.

He nearly runs into someone the second he turns around. Someone standing far too close for comfort, in a bright red bathing suit and matching skirt, with too big sunglasses on the top of her head.

“Who’s not working today?!” the person shouts loudly in his face, with the evident intent to scare him.

Eddie stumbles back into Steve, who promptly shoves him forward again. It takes him approximately that long to realize it’s you.

You guffaw when the rest of them jump in fright — a loud and heavenly sound that refuses to be drowned out by the droning of a million different conversations.

“I totally got you guys!” you exclaim, giggling so hard your head tilts back. 

Eddie laughs with you, mostly in shock, as he clutches his chest where his heart isn’t beating.

“Admit it! I got you a little?” you say, pinching your thumb and forefinger and squinting through the sliver of space between them.

“Yeah,” the boy huffs a forced laugh. “Yeah, a— a little bit.”

Visibly delighted by his words, you beam brighter than the golden hour sun.

“I knew it!” you grin before your eyes flit over his shoulder, to the group of friends gaping wordlessly behind him. You scrunch your nose sympathetically. “Sorry… You guys were just collateral.”

“You know I have a bad heart,” Steve complains for the sake of complaining, clutching his chest over his short-sleeved button-up. He flashes you a stern look and gripes, “That shit’ll kill me.”

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You’re twenty-one years old, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And being around you ages me five years.”

“Well, then, I guess we’re gonna have a very long, very happy life together. Aren’t we, Stevie?” you retort with a sickly sweet smile that Steve meets with a scruffy-faced scowl. 

Eddie watches the brunette boy roll his eyes like he wasn’t getting half-hard at the thought of you at Jazzercise an hour ago. It makes him only partly jealous.

He could never dream of being so casual around you. ‘Cause when your eyes find his again, it feels like his stomach’s doing backflips. It’s like he blinks, and he forgets how to speak.

“So!” you chirp. “Family trip?”

Eddie opens his mouth and doesn’t realize until that moment that every word in the English language has left his brain. Robin shoves him hard in the back to put his head back on straight. The words fly from his mouth like a pull-string doll.

“I didn’t wanna bother you, but these idiots forced me into it.”

“Good. You need to get out of the house from time to time, Eds— You’re getting so pale,” you ramble and reach suddenly for his face. Eddie freezes when you take his chin by your thumb and forefinger. The warmth of your velvety touch sets his skin aflame; more so when you look directly into his wide-eyed gape and say, “There’s nothin’ wrong with needing a little sunshine, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Weird,” Max muses with a sarcastic lilt. “That is exactly what we’ve been trying to tell him, too.”

Eddie shoots her a glare — the best he can, anyway, with your hand still cradling his jaw. He can only see the redhead from the corner of his eye, but the smug smirk on her freckled face doesn’t go missed.

Your fingers slip from his face, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He feels strangely empty, still, without you touching him — like he’s starving, or like he’s never been touched before now. Sometimes, it feels like both are true.

He wonders if that’s just the price he has to pay. If being near you means feeling like he’s dying and coming to life all at once. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that tells him he’ll pay it, with your pretty fingers strangling his neck and all.

“You’re MADMAX, right?” you wonder aloud to the girl with auburn plaits draping her freckled shoulders.

She’s mostly a stranger to you now, but you think she must mean a great deal to the rest of them. They talk a whole lot about the redhead with chunky glasses who acts like she’s way too cool for it all but defends her Dig Dug high score like her life depends on it. 

The girl nods and crosses her pale arms across her chest, flashing you a suspicious, tightlipped smile. “Yeah. Which means you must be Barbie?”

“Barbie?” you echo.

Eddie chimes in then. “That’s what these freaks call you when you’re not around,” he says, nodding his wild head to the group of aforementioned freaks behind him.

Your face twists as you bring your hand to the center of your chest. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me before,” you respond, strangely sincere.

Lucas smiles from over Max’s shoulder, nodding like he’s proud. “You’re welcome,” he tells you.

Dustin stands just beside him with a conspicuous paper bag under his arm. You squint past Eddie and over to the curly-haired boy. “What’s that?” you blurt.

It takes him a second too long to answer. “Oh. Uh. A sandwich—” he stammers vaguely, extending his arm towards you. You take the sack from him without thinking twice and rifle blindly through its contents.

“PB&J?” you guess with an inquisitive arch to your brow. Dustin nods, looking pleased by your assumption. Your arm stills suddenly within the crinkling brown sack, and your eyes narrow into thin slits. “With the crust cut off?”

“Uh… no.”

“Good. That’s obviously the best part of the whole sandwich,” you respond, almost to yourself, as you pluck the snack from the bag. 

You unwrap it from its plastic seal and take a hefty bite in one fell swoop. Your eyes flutter shut like it’s something gourmet, and not just something Dustin slapped together on his kitchen step stool at home.

“Thank you for this,” you mumble through the wad of food in your cheek. “You’re officially my new best friend, Dusty-Bun.”

“Rude,” Eddie scoffs.

You swallow hard and fight back a smile, like you were hoping for that exact response. “And who said you were my best friend in the first place, hm?” you argue playfully, waving the half-eaten peanut butter jelly sandwich in his face. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Your pleated skirt flutters at your hips when you spin on the heel of your plastic sandal. You flip flop, flip flop out of the shaded shack and towards the sunshine and unadulterated chaos. The rest of them follow behind you — save for Dustin, who migrates to Eddie’s side with a far-off gaze.

“Sure she’s not your girlfriend?” the kid wonders, never once taking his eyes off the back of you.

Eddie looks down at him with a flat face. “I’m sure,” he monotones.

Dustin grins wide, likely forgetting that other people can see it, too. “Good,” he hums to himself.

“Don’t get any ideas, Henderson,” the older boy blurts before he means to, then tries not to cower under the expectant glance he gets. “You’re obviously way out of her league.”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The group fits in pretty well despite being the self-proclaimed outcasts of Hawkins, Indiana.

Steve most of all, but that usually goes without saying. He looks like small-town royalty in his brand-name polo and too-expensive navy swim shorts. He’s lost his touch since high school, though, as he tries and fails to flirt with Carol Perkins’ sister.

“So, Amber— What’d you say you were studying again?” you hear him ask as he lingers awkwardly by the longue chairs.

“My name is Autumn,” she corrects in a drawl that’d give a valley girl a run for her money.

Steve, oblivious to his blunder, only smiles. “Oh, cool. That’s, like, definitely in my top four favorite seasons—”

Robin, in a strange turn of events, is much more casual in her flirting than her co-worker-slash-best-friend. She spotted Vicki the second she walked in, sitting with a few girls from yearbook and rubbing sunscreen onto her supple skin.

She pretended she didn’t, though, which only made it that much more obvious that she had. Vicki waved at her once, then again to invite her over, and Robin was far too awkward to decline. 

Now, she sits gracelessly with a bunch of half-strangers and her biggest crush, looking only slightly out of place in her frayed shorts and Steve’s baggy tee. She nods politely in conversation and thanks the universe for making it so damn hot today. At least now she can blame her burning freckled face on the golden setting sun.

Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, stuff their faces with ice cream sandwiches in a feeble attempt to consume them before they melt. The softened vanilla leaves messes on their fingers and faces, making them look somehow more boyish than their respective Spiderman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle swim trunks.

Max sits off to the side of them in her own chair, partly overstimulated, and trying to let the piercing sunbeams ground her again.

Eddie Munson, however, in his attempt to blend in, only draws more attention to himself.

He sits beside your post, shaded beneath a wide umbrella, in the same attire you’d see him in on any other day. The baggy jeans, and the thick leather jacket, and the Corroded Coffin merch. He’s dripping in black and silver but hasn’t yet broken a sweat. You don’t know how, though. ‘Cause you’re hot just looking at him.

You pluck your plastic whistle from your mouth to ask, “Are you sure you’re not burning up over there?”

Eddie laughs before he means to because the answer’s obvious to him. 

The last time he felt an ounce of heat was when he was bleeding out on the dirt floor of an alternate universe — when crimson blood ran warm over the mangled skin of his chest and ribs. He’s been colder than ice ever since. And he keeps forgetting you don’t know about any of that.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” he answers, angling his head to face yours.

There’s a white cast on his grey face from sunscreen deliberately not rubbed in. It feels like a shield in some way. Not in the warm-blooded human kind of way, of course, but in the vampiric curse kind. The kind that would otherwise make him debilitatingly weak sitting outside like this. Now, he feels somewhat normal.

The golden hour sun sits like a halo behind your head. He squints one eye to see you better. “If you wanna see me shirtless, you can just say that,” he jokes. “Instead of beating around the bush and everything—”

“I wanna see you shirtless,” you blurt in a strange monotone that makes it hard to tell if you’re joking or not.

The boy falters. Tries not to choke on his own spit. There isn’t a world where he can flirt with you where you don’t immediately snatch the upper hand. It’s like you’re immune to that sort of diffidence. Eddie wishes he was, too.

“Wow,” he scoffs after the few long moments it takes him to recover. “Way to be blunt, sweetheart.”

“You told me to say it!”

You give him a lazy shrug and a lazier smile as you swap the bright red lifeguard buoy to your other arm. Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as though physically affected by the way you look at him, and the plastic pool chair makes a weird squeaking noise beneath him.

“Yeah, well, most people tend to be more subtle about it.”

“I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.”

You turn back around to scan the busy pool, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. A laugh rattles through his tight chest as he quips, “I’m starting to realize that about you, actually—”

“God. Stop flirting,” Max groans from your other side, who has otherwise been so silent that Eddie was starting to forget she was there. She doesn’t turn to look at either of you from where she lazes on the lounge chair. “Sitting with Steve would be more bearable than this.”

“Yeah, Eddie. Stop flirting with me,” you grouse, obviously playful, and without missing a single beat. You glare at the boy over your mostly bare shoulder and try hard not to smile. (He can’t see it in your eyes, anyway, though.) “I’m trying to talk to my new friend MADMAX. Gosh—”

You spin on the heel of your plastic red sandal, and your matching skirt twirls with you. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the back of you. He forgets how to blink when the fabric swishes to give him a brief glimpse of your ass.

He’s always hated the sun, but he loves the way it kisses your skin — leaving you glistening and mouthwateringly supple. 

His fangs threaten to make an appearance when a warm breeze carries your cotton candy cloud scent to him. His gums start to burn with the sharp ache.

“—Hi, MADMAX,” you singsong to the scowling girl, grinning with your cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You can just call me Max,” she deadpans. “You know that, right?”

“But MADMAX is so much cooler. And it suits you way better.”

“Does it?” MADMAX wonders with an unenthusiastic hum.

“Yeah. Maxine is a name for an old woman. Or, like, one of those ridiculously expensive French poodles,” you ramble and turn back to the pool again, head bobbing as you scan the crowd. “But MADMAX? Now, that is a name for a badass with really cool hair and a sick pair of reading glasses.”

There’s a beat of silence, filled only by the sound of splashing water and the buzzing of a thousand distant conversations, as Max tries to bite back a laugh. It sputters past her anxiety-bitten lips before she can stop it — a strangely airy giggle from such an intimidating girl. 

She shakes her head, still, to pretend she’s above the childish giddiness.

Your face screws in feigned offense. “Don’t laugh!” you scold.

Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.

Eddie lifts his head, finally taking his eyes off you to gape at the redhead across the aisle, who hasn’t laughed like this since the world ended. 

It must be something strange you alone bring out of them, he realizes. Something special in you that the end of the world didn’t steal like it did everyone else.

“These guys bothering you, newbie?” you hear your manager call to you, only partially drowned out by the surrounding laughter and shouting from the bustling crowd.

His voice is annoyingly distinct. It’s deep and articulate in a way that makes him seem smart. You don’t know if he really is, but you do know that he’s really a raging asshole. 

Adam stands before you, gold and glittering under the setting sun like God’s first creation himself. He’s got veins up and down the length of his muscular arms, and a bulging chest that he waxes every two weeks like clockwork. He’s Steve The Hair Harrington pretty without an ounce of the charm.

“Huh?” you call back, brows raised and eyes wide, just to make him repeat himself.

“I asked if these guys were bothering you,” Adam repeats, flicking his cleft chin back to get the blonde curls out of his eyes. “You look distracted.”

“What guys?” you wonder with an innocent furrow to your brows.

The man’s emerald eyes flit instinctively over your shoulder at Eddie, who everyone has been trying and failing not to stare at this whole time. 

You wonder if Eddie notices it, too — if he’s gotten immune to the constant leering or if he’s bone-crushingly aware of it all. Either way, no one deserves to be ogled at like that. Like some kinda zoo animal. 

Everyone always walks on eggshells around him, refusing to look him in the eye out of fear he might bite. But you know he doesn’t have the teeth for it.

Despite that, you look at Eddie over your shoulder like he’s a stranger. His eyes are wide and swimming with apprehension as the chocolates of them dart between you and the man made out of chiseled marble. 

Adam knows that you know him. You know he knows it, too. Which makes lying to him all the more fun.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” you shrug.

Adam squints and crosses his too-big arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s loitering. Along with the rest of these kids—” He looks around him with a visible disgust. 

Max pretends he isn’t there. Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, forget to be casual as they cower under his stare with their ice-cream-stained faces.

“It’s a public pool, Adam. Everyone's loitering. Duh.”

You turn away and stick your whistle back in your mouth. You chew absentmindedly at the plastic and scan the pool for any reason to use it.

Adam’s neck twitches. An angry sort of tic he didn’t know he had until he met you. “You’re still on the clock, newbie. If I see you gettin’ distracted again, I’ll—”

You blow the whistle. Loud. And for far longer than you probably need to. 

The high-pitched chirping rings in Adam’s ears from the close proximity. He flinches away accordingly.

“No running, please!” you shout sweetly to the pudgy middle school-aged boy on the other side of the pool. (His babysitter always brings him here so she can sunbathe, and he’s always roughhousing in the deep end. Billy’s developed a personal vendetta with him over the summer.) 

The suddenly quiet pool returns to its deafening chaos a second later.

You flash Adam a cheeky smile. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that I’ll take it out of your paycheck,” the man bites, angled jaw clenched tight. “You’re already on thin ice. Understand?”

Your lip juts in a feigned pout. You nod slowly, eyes wide like a puppy he’s just kicked.

“One more strike, and you’re cleaning toilets, newbie.”

“Ah, I knew that’s what this was all about…” you lilt seductively, lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “You just want to see me bending over—”

You lean closer toward him until your spearmint breath fans across his chiseled jaw. Your bottom juts out in Eddie’s direction, until he can see the very bottom of your ass from beneath your pleated skirt. It makes him as flustered as Adam the Asshole, who stalks off on long legs quickly after, sufficiently embarrassed.

You laugh at the back of him until he disappears into the crowd again. The bubbly sound ceases the moment he’s out of earshot, and your smile ebbs into a girlish pout. “Dickwad,” you mumble under your breath.

You recover from it all rather quickly while Eddie struggles to remind himself to breathe. His mind reels as he, for the first time ever, grapples with the very real possibility that he might actually be in love with you. Or that you’re not real at all, and that this is just Vecna’s doing — long gone but still putting visions in his head somehow.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

         oh, what a strange magic!

         oh, it’s a strange magic!

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The golden-orange sky turns a milky pink and lavender. Eddie’s friends, sunburnt and sufficiently pruned, don’t leave until the first star blinks faintly in the sky. The rest of the crowd goes with them, bustling bodies spilling out in a swarm.

It takes the rest of the gang several long moments to realize Eddie isn’t behind them. (You told him you forgot your sunglasses, and he offered to get them for you, ‘cause he’s nice like that and everything.)

(He doesn’t know the sunglasses are currently hiding in the pocket of your windbreaker.)

“What, where’s Eddie?” Dustin wonders aloud to the rest of the group, head flitting wildly in search of the misplaced metalhead.

“He went to the bathroom, I think,” you blurt the first lie you can think of. “He was talking about a nervous tummy or something. I don’t know.”

Steve scoffs like he senses a non-truth. “So, he’s leaving me with babysitting duty again?” he quips with a cynical, lopsided smile. “How predictable.”

“You say that like we’re the spawn of Satan or something,” Lucas jokes.

“You aren’t?” the oldest boy deadpans.

Dustin flips him off with a chubby finger and a flat face.

They bid their leave tangled in mindless arguments and lanky limbs. You watch them leave with the understanding that Steve’s 733i will be a tighter fit than it should be, crammed with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys. You feel sorry for Max and Robin most of all. 

Steve’s car peels out of the parking lot one moment, and Eddie returns the next.

“I couldn’t find your sunglasses anywhere,” he confesses sheepishly, face twisted like a puppy’s as he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I think some asshole might’ve stolen ‘em—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shrug with a tightlipped smile. “I found them in the, uh— In the lost-and-found bin.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Eddie stammers, nodding slowly, just before a smile tugs at his lips. You watch from beneath your lashes as the subtle realization curls on his face. “You had ‘em the entire time, didn’t you?” the boy wonders in a low voice that makes your stomach do whirl.

“Yes,” you squeak in a mousy voice, then ramble before you can stop it. “But only ‘cause I wanted everyone else to leave! You know, so we can have a real date and everything…”

“As opposed to the fake ones we’ve been having?” he jokes with pinched brows.

“Exactly,” you nod, strikingly sincere. ‘Cause the constant carpooling and melted rainbow sherbet dropoffs had to have meant something. 

“As tempting as that sounds, sweet thing,” he humors, scrunching the bridge of his nose. “I do think I might be actually coming down with sunstroke.”

You turn your head wordlessly to the entryway of the shack. There’s only a sliver of the night sky visible from here, but it’s navy blue and sparkling with so many little stars. You look back to Eddie with a dubious glint in your eye. “The sunset twenty minutes ago, Eds.”

“Yeah, but… I’m still sick.”

He removes his hand from the pocket of his leather jacket and balls it into a fist over his mouth. He coughs once, trying hard to make it believable ‘cause he hasn’t been truly sick since the winter of ’84.

That’s perhaps the only cool thing about being a vampire — he’s basically got Superman’s immune system now.

“Well, I actually learned how to treat sunstroke while I was in training,” you lilt with an air of mischief in your voice as you take a daring step closer. The scent of sunscreen and cheap musky cologne clings to his skin. Something about the combination of the two is maddening.

You’re filled suddenly with the primal urge to bite into him like an apple. But you refrain, lest you scare him off.

Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma, but with perhaps realer consequences than that. Your natural marshmallow-passionfruit scent suffocates him like a pillow to the face. His fangs threaten to force their way through his gums as his head starts to swim.

He ignores every vampiric instinct swirling in his mind and focuses, instead, on the pretty smile curling at your lips.

“Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “No, I— I don’t think you ever told me that,” he stammers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. He puts both hands back in his jacket pocket, balling them into fists until his nails bite into his palms.

“First, you gotta take off your clothes—”

“You’ve been trying to get in my pants all day,” the boy laughs. “You realize that, right?”

“—And then you gotta cool off in a very luxurious community pool.”

Eddie gets what you’re playing at, then. His smile ebbs almost instantly. “No,” he dismisses with a stern shake of his head. His deep chestnut curls, frizzed with the late-summer humidity, sway around his jaw. “No. No way.”

“Oh, c’mon! Please,” you whine. “The pool closes in, like, half an hour— Then it’ll just be us! We can swim together!”

“I don’t know how,” Eddie whines back, head tossed and face screwed. “Seriously. I grew up in a trailer park. No one ever taught me how to swim, alright? I’ll drown.”

Something about that seems to please you, as your pout curls slowly into another smile. You meet the boy’s wet brown eyes with a gaze that glitters something wicked.

Eddie can see your head spinning with a thousand bad ideas from here. His heart would race at the thought of getting into trouble with you if it was beating still. 

You’ll bring him back to life yet.

“Don’t worry, Eds,” you shrug with a sure grin. “I’d give you mouth-to-mouth in a heartbeat.”

                            ꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The pool glows a vibrant sapphire color. It makes the surrounding amber streetlamps seem dull in comparison. The water is as blue and crystalline as an early summer sky. Eddie figures you must be the sun, swimming in the center of it all. 

You wait patiently in the shallow end — out of both your windbreaker and pleated skirt for the first time in front of him — and swipe your hands over the water, letting it drip like liquid diamonds from your fingers. You hum quietly to the slow song playing on the boombox across the way, which now houses the mixtape you made that Eddie seems to take with him everywhere. 

The boy shifts uncomfortably at the head of the pool, feeling awkward in the pair of swim trunks you found for him in the break room.

You’ve never seen so much of him before. His paper-white legs are a lot longer than you expected, ‘cause his baggy jeans hardly do him any favors. And his arms are a lot muscular, too — likely from moving band equipment and bussing tables.

He’s already so pretty to begin with. You don’t know what he’s got to be such a Nervous Nelly about.

Eddie knows he’s making it harder for himself. It’d be a lot less awkward for the both of you if he just took his shirt off and jumped in the water. But he’s paralyzed by the misplaced panic that strikes that lightning in his chest. And by you, ogling at him like he’s a pretty thing that deserves to be ogled at.

“Stop staring,” he calls to you, pretending to be playful but meaning every bit of it. “It’s makin’ me nervous.”

“Would it make you feel better if I closed my eyes?”

“Much.”

You put your hands over your eyes, to make him feel better and all. Though, you can’t help but peek between the slivers of your fingers as he strips himself of his Corroded Coffin tee.

His torso is as long and lean as you imagined, with sprinkles of hair on his chest and the pudge of his tummy that trails into his borrowed trunks. You try very hard not to stare too long at the gray scars embedded in his pale skin.

Everything seems to come easier to him when you’re not looking at him. He slides the black fabric off his pale, pale torso, tosses it to his feet, and hurries to hide in the water in one fell swoop.

The chlorine makes his nose burn, but the water feels like satin on his skin. It’s soft and warm and smooth against the cold, sharp edges of him.

“You can open your eyes now,” Eddie scoffs when he notices your hands still over your eyes. He can see you blinking at him through the slits in your fingers. “I know you’re peeking.”

“I was not!” you gasp, mouth agape with a playful offense.

“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it, sweet thing.”

“These are very nefarious accusations you’re making, Eddie Munson…” you scold with arched brows and wide eyes. The water ripples faintly around you as you stalk towards him like a predator to prey, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “Are you prepared to back them up?”

The boy cowers slightly under your unwavering stare. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me right now—”

And he was right not to. ‘Cause you’re lunging suddenly towards him in a flash.

The water splashes violently around you as you wrap both arms around his neck and sweep him off his feet. Literally. You kick his legs out from underneath him, then catch him before he can fall completely backward. Both his downfall and his savior, ironically.

“Ha!” you shout in his face, the tip of your nose brushing his.

“Jesus!” Eddie gasps in response, still heart lurching in his chest.

“I asked if you were prepared!” you defend like you’re innocent, like you aren’t still cradling him in your arms — the only thing keeping him from going under.

“Not for this!” he yells back. 

Only then is he able to take a good breath in. He can smell the velvety scent of your blood from the achingly close proximity. He can feel your heart beating in his own chest from where you’re pressed so intently against him. It makes him instantly dizzy.

He fights back the primal urges that would otherwise drive him mad.

“Jeez…” he huffs, fangs burning. “You’re a lifeguard— You’re supposed to stop people from drowning.”

“Yeah, but no one ever needs saving,” you whine. “It’s so boring.”

His chocolate button eyes flit back and forth between both of yours. “You tryin’ to save me, sweet thing?” he jokes.

You squint. “Is it working?”

“Yeah, actually… If you let me up now, at least.”

He’s grateful when you do, though he mourns the lack of you when you step back a few paces.

His damp hair sticks to his skin when he rises to full height. He shakes his head like a dog, and you giggle when a few rogue droplets fly your way.

“You have freckles on your shoulder,” you observe distantly, eyes darting across the faint amber spots on his pale skin as you try to make constellations out of them. “I didn’t know that ’til now.”

Eddie’s lips jut downward as he peers at his arm from the corner of his eye. “Not really,” he shrugs.

“You do!” you insist. “There’s not many, though. I could probably count ‘em if I wanted.”

“Maybe on our second date.”

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo here, either—” You poke him in the chest, a little harder than you probably mean to. 

Eddie winces and rubs his palm over the fading black widow under his collarbone. “Well, you don’t know everything about me,” he quips. “I like it that way. It keeps you on your toes.”

Your face pinches into a girlish pout. “Only ‘cause you never tell me anything.”

“I tell you loads of things,” Eddie laughs.

Your frown deepens. “You never told me about the picture of Ozzy Osbourne you keep in your wallet.”

“…How do you know about that?”

“Dustin told me.”

“Of course he did,” Eddie huffs. “Remind me not to tell that little shit anything ever again.”

“You never told me about how you got those scars, either,” you blurt, eyes trained on his milky white torso. Beneath the clear, rippling water, you can see the parts of his supple stomach that are marred and turning pink.

You don’t realize what you’ve said until your gaze flits back to his startled one. Your eyes widen as you ramble quickly, “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to… I’m just— I’m just saying. ‘Cause, you know, Steve has the same ones… On his ribs…”

“I’m not even gonna ask how you know that,” Eddie jokes with a (mostly) feigned jealousy.

“Billy does, too. He’s got the same lookin’ scars on his chest,” you continue. “And then I started thinking, you know? I thought, since you all know each other and everything, maybe something happened to you guys. Like, in the earthquakes or something.”

Eddie swallows hard and debates on spilling his guts. 

He swallows his secrets down like bile, in the end.

“Yeah. You’re— You’re not too far off, actually,” he answers with a breathy, bitter laugh. He scratches at the back of neck, if only to busy his anxious hands, and flits his gaze to the velvety night sky.

The blinking white stars there ground him when the world starts to swim — reminds him that he’s on Earth, in Hawkins, and not in the hellscape he died in.

That was his final thought as he took his last breath that spring. How strangely fitting it was that there were no stars in the Upside Down.

“We, uh… We kinda went through hell and back, but, uh… ‘Least lived to tell the tale, right?” Eddie scoffs at himself, then remembers Chrissy — how young and full of life she was one moment, and how her wide blue eyes were sucked out of her skull the next. He recoils then, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing. “Wait. That was— That was insensitive. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What are you talkin’ about? You’re right,” you assure him with a quiet, emotionless laugh. “You guys survived. You got lucky. We all did.”

Eddie peeks at you beneath his lashes, through the wild curls sticking to his face. “Where were you?” he murmurs. “When… When everything happened?”

“Crying into my milkshake at Benny’s Burgers,” you answer without missing a beat. The memory’s far too vivid for anything else.

A laugh sputters from Eddie’s throat. He’s sure you must be joking. You blink at him like an owl, and he goes solemn all over again. “Oh. You’re… You’re serious?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I was… feeling sorry for myself over something stupid, and then the ground started shaking outta nowhere— like the universe was trying to say, ‘Hey, this could be soooo much worse, dude,’” you ramble quietly to yourself, skimming your fingers over the water’s surface. “…But then I found out people actually got hurt and everything, so I was like, ‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t make this about my stupid broken heart, actually.’”

Eddie’s tight chest deflates with a wavering exhale. He didn’t know you back then, but something about knowing you were okay makes him feel better. ‘Cause, yeah, he died and all, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of Vecna taunting you.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” the boy confesses in a honeyed whisper.

A soft smile quirks at the edges of your lips. “I’m glad you’re okay, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Your hand reaches out for him. Almost instinctively. Like he’s a whole universe with his own gravitational pull.

Your palm settles soft and warm on the outside of his torso. Your thumb grazes the marred skin over his ribs, and Eddie tenses at the foreign feeling. You jerk back instantly.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer, face twisted apologetically. “I didn’t— I should’ve asked first.”

“No. It’s— It’s okay. Seriously,” Eddie assures with a rapid nod. There’s a faraway look in his chocolate eyes, almost like he’s daydreaming. He feels like he is, anyway. ‘Cause he’s never let anyone this close before.

“I just… I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

Do it again, he says in so many words. Please, I think I might need it.

You reach for him again, more hesitant this time. Your hand settles over his scars again, and you breathe hard through your nose.

Your stomach twists with a phantom sort of ache, like you can feel every ounce of the pain he surely experienced back then. Thinking about how hurt he must’ve been makes you hurt, too.

Eddie can see it written all over your face. How much you ache for him.

He can’t stand it. 

He cups your cheeks between trembling, unsure hands. His touch is softly calloused and colder than ice. He tilts your jaw gently upward, urging you to meet his gaze once more. Your eyes are wet and glittering when they lock with his heavily lidded ones. Your mouth parts to say something, anything. But your brain doesn’t work fast enough.

‘Cause Eddie's kissing you before you can blink.

He tastes distinctly of nicotine and boyhood. Of midnight, full moons, and neon lights. You can feel every groove in his bottom lip from where he picks at it with his teeth. Every sensation is new to you, like cool sparkles of excitement in the pit of your tummy, but it’s strikingly familiar all the same. Nostalgia for something you’re experiencing for the first time warms the center of your chest.

You breathe hard through your nose. The gust of air tickles Eddie’s cupid’s bow as he parts from you, lips smacking apart in protest.

Your eyes, still yet to blink, remain wide and glazed over. “Whoa…” you sigh to yourself.

Eddie’s unsure of how to gauge your reaction. His face swirls with horror.

“What?” he mumbles, still cradling your face between worried hands. He can’t tell if your cheeks are heating or if he’s just colder than usual. Perhaps both are equally true.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly, still slightly faraway. “I just… I got a weird sense of deja vu just now…”

The boy forces a quiet laugh. “Who else have you done this with?” he quips.

“No one!” you blurt. “…But I think I might’ve dreamt about this once.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“Was it better than you expected? Or should I just see myself out now—”

You lean forward to chase his mouth. The cerulean water ripples faintly around you. Your lidded gaze never wavers from his rosy lips, which you’re realizing now are all but begging to be kissed. You don’t know how you never noticed it before.

Eddie’s smiling too wide to respond appropriately.

“Why are you laughing?” you frown.

“I’m not!” he responds through breathy chuckles.

“You are—”

Eddie leans forward in a flash, pressing another chaste kiss to your pout.

You’re all smiles again the second he pulls away, bursting at the seams with a sort of giddiness that could give the sun a run for its money. 

He knows, somewhere deep down, that he shouldn’t make you this happy. He doesn’t even deserve the chance. But here you are anyway, smiling so wide at him that your eyes are starting to crinkle at the edges — showing him that there’s still sunshine in the dark, reminding him what it means to be living.

“Does this mean we get to do this forever?” you wonder in a mousy voice.

“What?” he chuckles. “Kiss?”

You nod wordlessly, blinking up at the boy with wide, wet eyes.

Eddie nods quickly back. 

“Then yeah…” he wavers, chest aching and gums burning. 

He loves you so much he’s gone hungry for it. For you.

He longs to devour you, in every way imaginable, and you want to devour him just the same. He can tell in the way you stare at him when you think he isn’t looking — in the way you stare at him even when he is looking — and in every one of your movements that urges him closer, closer, closer.

Your gaze is debilitatingly intense. Your attitude is mind-bendingly strange. You’re ruining his life, and Eddie can’t believe there was ever a time he wasn’t kissing you.

“Yeah,” he repeats, firmer now. “As long as you want.”

if you made it this far: i love you. so sorry for making you read something so long. i'd kiss you on the forehead if i could. also pls consider reblogging! this took me so so long to write, and it really helps a lot! thank u, love u (▰˘◡˘▰)

[kangshxrtie]

ch. 26 ⤍ just chatting

you were in the middle of a laid-back "just chatting" stream when a notification popped up from yujin. she'd sent a link, asking you to check out a new video she'd posted. without thinking twice, you clicked on it—after all, it was yujin. but as soon as the video loaded, your eyes widened in disbelief.

"what is this video?!" you practically yelled, staring at the screen. there, in your room, were rei, liz, and yujin, holding up your belongings like they were running a live auction. the camera zoomed in on yujin, who was barely holding in her laughter while pretending to sell your stuff.

you leaned in closer, muttering in shock, "there is actually no way you're selling my shit."

"y/n has kindly offered to give away some of her items," rei's voice chimed in from the video.

"kindly offered my ass! they're lying," you shot back immediately, rolling your eyes at the absurd claim.

the video jumped to a clip of a phone call they'd recorded, and your voice echoed out from the speakers.

"y/n, can i get some stuff from your room while you're out?" yujin's voice played through your headphones.

"umm, yeah, definitely," past you replied, sounding totally distracted.

you immediately remembered why. kazuha had been right in front of you, casually stretching and completely taking your attention away.

with a sheepish grin, you turned to your stream and sighed. "kazuha was seducing me then. i wasn't in my right mind when i agreed to that," you tried to explain making the chat instantly blow up.

user1 oh?

user2 is there something u need to tell us

user3 kazuha?!

you realized what you said too late but you tried to shift focus back to the video, which was now over. you leaned back, still processing everything. "that video was so bad," you groaned.

"can we please get a mass report going? that would be great," you said, finally closing out of the video.

"i expected this from yujin and rei, but liz?" you said, sitting there in disbelief for a few seconds.

_yujin_an leeseo recorded

your eyes widened. "my niece?!" you exclaimed. "i actually can't trust anybody in this house." you shook your head.

"i leave for a couple of days and basically get robbed," you sighed dramatically, shaking your head.

liz.yeyo y/n u left us FOR DAYS

_yujin_an honestly, ur fault

reiinyourheart skill issue

liz.yeyo i was abandoned!

"it was only two and a half days," you waved it off dismissively.

for_everyoung10 didn't even tell us u were leaving 🙂‍↔️

eeseooes exactly!^

"in my defense, i didn't wanna wake anybody up," you said, your voice light as you tried to justify yourself. "it was late, so i just left and forgot to text y'all."

for_everyoung10 left us for a girl!

"i was hanging out with yunjin; kazuha just happened to be there," you shrugged.

jenaissante i nvr saw her again after the first night ☝🏼

for_everyoung10 le gasp

"yunjin, don't lie... you saw me at breakfast every day, and we hung out on my second day in the living room," you pointed out.

jenaissante we hung out in the living room. you and kazuha left at some point; don't rly know what happened after that.

"okay, i can't really defend myself there," you admitted.

for_everyoung10 😮🫢

user3 y/n in her taken era!

user4 okayy kazuha and y/n!

user5 everybody came in here to expose y/n!

"really can't trust anybody these days," you remarked, shaking your head.

user6 y/n's biggest opps are her roommates!

"so true. i should move out soon," you joked.

user7 is this how u announce ur moving in with kazuha?

"okay, now nobody said all of that," you replied, "i can't move out till our lease is up."

reiinyourheart pls pay ur part of the rent then!

"i already paid that; leave me alone," you shot back.

reiinyourheart lies... we're waiting on y/n still!

"i didn't appreciate rei defaming my character like this. i'm suing her for defamation once again," you declared dramatically.

user6 again?

user7 u must be new here @/user6

"anyways, i'm about to block all of my roommates from my stream and maybe yunjin too," you said, trying to regain control of the chaos.

jenaissante i did nothing!

"you were an accomplice," you replied, pointing an accusing finger.

for_everyoung10 even me?

"you'd get unblocked the fastest, but yes," you teased.

fallingin__fall what about me 🥺?

"okay, everybody but gaeul," you decided, shaking your head.

_yujin_an WE GATHER IN GAEUL'S ROOM

reiinyourheart Y/N WATCH PARTY

"do whatever you want," you sighed, rolling your eyes at their antics.

"anyways, changing the topic... kazuha and i were thinking about playing games together this weekend, and we need suggestions," you announced.

user8 HORROR!

"why don't y'all want a cute game like it takes two or unravel?" you asked, genuinely puzzled.

user9 fuck that give us scary game!

user0 zuhaxyn is trending rn!

"as we should, best couple!" you proclaimed, unable to stop the smile from coming upon your face.

hhh.e_c.v so u admit it?

"i've been saying we're a couple for months; this is nothing new," you stated.

_chaechae_1 ZUHAXYN CONFIRMED

"okay, don't trend that one; kazuha's gonna be so confused when she gets out of her shoot," you laughed, shaking your head at the thought. even though you both had talked about your feelings, the specifics of what that meant for your relationship were left unspoken. it was more like a mutual understanding that you liked each other but hadn't really talked about what was happening next.

honestly, you'd been stressing about it the whole time you were over there, but you were too scared to bring it up. and now that you were back home you didn't have time to talk with anybody about your current situation.

now, you were worried kazuha might think you were confirming a relationship she didn't even know she was in. but you'd deal with that later; for now, you had a stream to continue.

"okay, but hear me out—we play portal 2," you suggested.

user1 no, horror!

user2 listen to the people!

"i don't know why y'all think this is a democracy; i have the final say here," you replied, smirking.

user3 i bet kazuha would also suggest horror.

"she probably would, but her opinion doesn't matter right now," you shot back with a playful roll of your eyes.

user4 we would watch anything you two do together!

"see? we need more wholesome people like this in the chat!" you laughed.

zuhazana but horror...

"leave," you said, pointing dramatically to your door, trying to keep a straight face.

zuhazana but i just got here :'(

"you know what? it's fine. i'll just block the words 'horror' and 'scary' from my chat," you declared.

user6 play games that make you jump out of your seat!

"of course y'all would do that," you sighed, shaking your head.

zuhazana but i'll be there to protect you!

"no, you won't! you'll be just as scared as i am," you retorted.

zuhazana you're right, but plssss...

zuhazana it'll be fun!

you sighed, finally convinced. "can we put a time limit on it, then?"

zuhazana I DID IT

zuhazana I CONVINCED HER

"i'll play for a max of two hours, and if it goes longer, i'm dipping," you said, half-joking, but knowing kazuha would probably convince you to stay somehow.

after confirming the plans, you spent some more time chatting with your viewers. eventually, you wrapped up the stream, doing your usual outro and waving goodbye to your chat

later in the day, you were in the kitchen looking for a late-night snack when you came across some ice cream with yujin's name on it. usually, you wouldn't touch any of her stuff, but considering she tried to sell off your things earlier, you felt it was fair. plus she wasn't even home right now.

as you were finishing your—well, yujin's—ice cream, you walked into wonyoung's room, where she was currently streaming.

"hi, wife!" you greeted, still munching on yujin's ice cream.

"heey, wife!" wonyoung replied, flashing you a bright smile as she moved over to make room for you on camera.

"you want some?" you asked, holding out the spoon. wonyoung nodded eagerly, and you fed her a bite.

_yujin_an is that mine?

_yujin_an i just wanted to watch my gf while i'm on break and i see this shit!

"stealing your ice cream and your girl," you joked, wrapping an arm around wonyoung, who leaned into you with a playful grin.

_yujin_an wowwww

_yujin_an y/n, when i catch u…

“this is what happens when you leave her alone,” you said, chuckling as wonyoung just laughed at the situation.

_yujin_an it’s on sight when i get back!

“leave me and mine alone!” wonyoung declared, hugging you tighter, a smirk playing on her lips.

_yujin_an the betrayal! _yujin_an after everything we’ve been through (shake head) _yujin_an can’t trust nobody!

“i’m just better,” you shrugged.

_yujin_an i’ll see both of y’all when i get home!

“are we fighting for wonyoung or about the ice cream?” you asked.

_yujin_an both!

“welp, it’s finished,” you said, taking the last bite of the ice cream with a satisfied smile.

_yujin_an u mf!

“this seems like a perfect time to leave,” you declared dramatically. “i will be locking my door tonight. goodbye, wonyoung’s stream!” you waved before stepping out of wonyoung's room.

you headed back to the kitchen, tossing the empty ice cream container into the trash and rinsing the spoon in the sink, before heading back to your room and flopping down on your bed.

ALL CHAPTERS !!! | NEXT CH !!!

[amethystfairy1]

so. chapter 7.

THERE'S SO MUCH! AND ITS SO CHAOTIC! ive read it twice and only now am i finally beginning to understand whats going on!

allow me to ramble a bit, because GOD there is a ton to ramble about. (Except about Scar, that man is clueless as always.)

Another second passed, and then Cub opened his eyes. Grian’s breath hitched once. A sort of instinctual fear suddenly drove to his bones and fled just as fast an instant later as Cub’s hazy, half-lidded gaze bore into him. It was dark and heavy, mostly attributed to the sensory overload, but there was something else there. Something else that made his tiny wings, hidden by glamor, flick forward and puff up defensively, and his wings bristle beneath his sweater as if preparing to flee at all costs.

So, i'm reading this as Grian seeing Cub glamoring over his eyes. I'm assuming there aren't a lot of subspecies which have to glamor their eyes, and warden eyes are pretty characteristic so there's a high chance Grian picked up on who exactly Cub is. That's fine! But why the FEAR? Does Grian have some sort of trauma with warden mutants in the depths? Or are they just that feared among the general undercity folk?

Grian considered worriedly before crossing the shop to the man leaning forward on the counter, taking sharp, shallow breaths. “Joey? You…ok?”

So, Grian definitely knows Joey. Do they know each other from the undercity, or from Grian's job as a professor? If it's the second, how come they both know each others' secrets already? The fact that Cleo's school reached out to Joey to find the lost voidwalker kid makes me think he's pretty accustomed to living in the overcity, maybe even works here. He could be helping with the acclimation program from topside, like Sausage and Oli.

Hypno stared at it, and Grian meanwhile was quick to spin one of the chairs at Joe’s desk around and help Joey sit down backward on it. “Want me to see the damage?” “As if! I don’t know you that well!”

I find it funny how the TTSBC worldbuilding has gotten so detailed I can totally pick up on this being a preening-courtship rituals joke!

Grian had seen how Hypno had reacted to the creepers' hiss coming through the door. He flung himself away. That wasn’t something you’d expect from a denizen of the over-city. That coupling with how the entire shop had emptied in a terrified roar, and yet Hypno had just gotten himself shakily to his feet and kept eyes on the creeper…it all lined up pretty close with how those of the under-city were taught to deal with the terrible pests.

Again, with the WORLDBUILDING! Like someone else already said, it's so good that instead of anyone else, it was Hypno who was there.

He turned his attention onto Hypno again. “Why don’t we just all go in the back again…” “Where the creeper came from?” Hypno demanded, and Joe made a dawning noise of understanding. “Is that how that happened?” He snapped his fingers in the same sort of manner as if he’d forgotten to preheat the oven for the baked goods in the morning. He got them delivered to the shop prepped, after all.

CRACK THEORY TIME! Joe doesn't seem at all surprised that there's a literal rift to the undercity right under his coffee shop. He definitely knows, and if he does, what if it's there on purpose? The coffee shop, i mean. Maybe Joe's 'relations to the undercity' happen right through this magic hole?

And finally, if Joe IS related to the undercity, then i think it officially means him and Cleo KNOW EACH OTHER! Yay!

I always LOVE your rambles! So glad you’re enjoying the story and all the chaos within!!! Thank you as always! 💖💖💖

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 13

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1298

Masterlist

(I guess Joe's willingness to murder is more book-Joe than show-Joe, but whatever. I can't help that I'm halfway through the first book right now.)

Minor warning: masturbation is briefly mentioned.

Some things, you just can't learn about a person until you're in a relationship with them.

For example: you like to be kissed, often. Softly and sweetly, but also with intent, until you can't breathe. You smile into kisses and when I pull away, you tilt your head and the smile doesn't leave.

I live for that smile.

Also, you're not always nice. You run out of energy and you stonewall me. When you get like that there is nothing I can do to make it better, except leave. This happens most often when you've had a busy day at work, and one day soon we're probably going to have a beautiful fight about it, but for now I let you close down and shut me out. I really do try not to take it personally.

You don't care if I look at your phone. Sometimes you even ask me to check texts for you. This would make me incredibly happy, except aside from me, the only people you text in English are your coworkers.

You're more secretive about your laptop, which makes me wonder what I missed when I looked at it. I guess I didn't really do much digging. But when I do check it out again, even digging doesn't turn up anything.

Weird.

You're a bit of a slob. I knew that already, but I didn't know it would be so easy to take things from your apartment. You don't notice when items go missing, or if I move them around while you're not there. You did comment on your missing toothbrush, but you just assumed you misplaced it yourself.

“I swear, Joe, if my head wasn't attached to my body…”

All of this, I've learned over the course of two months. Two amazing months of being with you. Only it doesn’t always feel like I am with you, because you haven't told Nadia or your mother or even Grey about me, and I've been checking. After you told him you had a crush on me, he tried to find out more about me and you avoided the subject by writing to him about how much you like Angel from Buffy the vampire slayer. (If I could beat up a fictional character, I would.)

And we haven't had sex.

We've gotten close a few times, but you always pull away just when things are getting hot and heavy. Sometimes when you're alone, you masturbate several times in a row and I know you think of me, (Y/n). I can see it on your face. But when we're together, you look embarrassed and tell me you're not ready and I am patient, I am, but how can you not be ready when you are so obviously eager for it? Even dreaming about it?

I still don't like your coworkers. They are rude to you and belittle you, and they make inappropriate jokes in the groupchat. This is why I almost say no when you invite me to a company lunch, but in the end I say yes because at least you're inviting me somewhere.

“It won't be like last time,” you assure me. “No alcohol, for one.”

And you're right. It isn't like last time: it's worse.

I’m pretty sure your job is a scam, (Y/n). Nobody who works at your agency (other than you) actually needs to make money. The owner, Sam Carr, is a man in his fifties who considers this entire venture a hobby. He has two other companies, neither of which are making any money, but he doesn't need to make money because he is the kind of rich that goes back generations, to before white people even lived in America. Yet he pays you peanuts and you have to borrow money from your grandfather over and over again.

Sam's wife is Pam (which is short for Pamela, but Sam thinks it's hilarious for them to be Sam and Pam). She is only a little over half his age (thirty) and twice as smart as him, and you know this. You address her like she's the owner, and when she's around, you don't even talk to Kim, whose approval you were so eager for last time. Pam comes from old money, too, and has started several foundations throughout her life, all of which are doing well.

There's Judy Allen, who is tall and blond and keeps her lips pursed at all times. She does the same thing you do, copywriting, but her real job is being a momfluencer on Instagram, showing her kids off like accessories. Out of everyone here she is the nicest to you, but I can't tell if she means it or not and neither can you. You are nice to her, but you address her like you would a teacher, or a distant relative.

Jasper is so much worse than I remember him. He follows you around like a lost puppy and you let him. You glance at me, testing me, and I hate this side of you. I hate who you are around these people.

Surprisingly little is eaten, though there is much more on the table than even an entire orphanage could put away. You and your coworkers talk about Google and helpful content and black hat SEO and I don't understand anything any of you are saying.

At some point somebody asks me what I do. I grit out that I work in a bookstore and you look up and say: “he's being modest. He manages it” and I feel kind of proud. But then the person who asked me what I do in the first place starts asking me about the store's website and I have to admit that actually, Mooney's doesn't have one.

“I prefer things a little more old fashioned,” I try to justify, and then realize immediately how incredibly dumb I must sound to these people. “I mean, sometimes we sell a first edition on Ebay.”

You pat my leg underneath the table, which is code for 'shut up', so I do.

“You could always ask (Y/n) to help you make a website,” Jasper says, and he is looking way too intently at your chest as you reach across the table for a croissant. “She's surprisingly good at it.”

Surprisingly good? Seriously, (Y/n), I want to bash this guy’s teeth into his skull.

But you act like it's a compliment. You blush and wave him off and shake your head at me.

“You'd be better off hiring someone who actually knows how to make websites. I can write your content, though, if you want.”

I don't even want a fucking website, but I nod.

“Maybe.”

Finally, we can leave. I don't know what the point of any of that was.

In the cab, you slump against me and close your eyes, and you say: “Did you see the way Jasper kept staring at my boobs? I fucking hate that guy.”

Faith in you restored. I never should have doubted you.

“He just will not leave me alone lately,” you complain, and I wrap an arm around your shoulder and press a kiss to the side of your head. “But when I tell him off, he goes and tells Kim I'm being rude. She told me I need to be more of a team player, you know.”

But you are a team player, (Y/n). It's just that those people aren't on your team. I'm on your team.

“He's basically harassing me, and if I wanna keep my job I can't do a damn thing about it.”

“Fuck him,” I say.

And I mean it. Fuck Jasper. Fuck him and every man like him who thinks he can own a woman just because he has money and connections.

Jasper's gotta go.

[kimpossibly]

THE CHAIN -> e. roundtree PART FOUR: aurora

PAIRING: eddie roundtree x fem!reader WARNINGS: swearing, drinking, drugs, minor injuries, blood, very suggestive content, implied sex (NOTE: some warnings for this story include MAJOR spoilers for this series down the line, so I'll put those beneath the cut. If you don't want to get the story spoiled, then just ignore it ― but I did want to provide the chance for you to get an idea of how the story will go later down the line if you have any sensitive topics you'd like to avoid. please prioritize your mental wellbeing!)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HIIIIIIII HI HI HI HELLO AND WELCOME TO THE FOURTH AND FINAL INSTALLMENT OF THE CHAIN! I'm so sorry this took me ten million years to write, it was really hard both time-wise and emotionally, as you'll see later...but HERE IT IS!!!!! This little story has gotten so much love since I posted the first part and it is absolutely insane. I'm almost at 800 followers now, compared to the 300-and-something I had before. It is absolutely crazy how this little plot bunny turned into something that you all really love. I'm glad that this story has brought you guys joy, and I hope I can do that one last time. So, here you go! Part four of The Chain!

WARNINGS (SPOILERS INCLUDED): reader has a life threatening illness. Discussions about death and loss, depictions of grief, hospitals

AURORA (1977-1978)

EDDIE: It started with little things, you know? The drip before the dam breaks. She would have these moments of...of absentmindedness. She'd say "I think I'm going to wear the red sweater at tonight's gig." And I'd say, "I love that one." And she'd say. "Me too." And then she'd pause, and go back to whatever the hell she was doing ― strumming on the guitar, packing for tour ― and all of a sudden she'd say, "Oh, Ed, I'm going to wear the red sweater at the show tonight." I thought maybe she was telling a joke, but she'd look up at me, waiting for a response. So I'd say, "Baby, you just told me that." And she'd say, "I did?" And I'd say, "You did." And then she'd pause again, thinking. And then she'd shrug and just say, "Oh." Oh. Like it didn't even matter that she'd just said the same thing twice and forgotten she'd even said it in the first place. I don't blame her for it. I mean, she was like the opposite of a hypochondriac. She could stitch you up when you got hurt, but she thought she was indestructible. It was all I could do to get her to see that everyone has a breaking point. Everyone has that point that they can't come back from. And I didn't know it then, but she'd already crossed it.

KAREN: The first time it happened ― the first time we really started to realize that something was up ― was during a rehearsal. I think...I think we might've been recording, actually.

Aurora was coming along better than any of them thought it was. The songs were recorded in six days. The band was in the middle of the fourth day, mid-recording of "Kill You To Try," when the drums came to a sudden halt at the song's peak.

And Billy, whose only goal was getting the album recorded so that he and Teddy could take over on the mixing, was on the verge of losing his mind.

It took him a moment to realize the drums had faded away until they were completely gone. The rhythmic guitar faded next, next the bass, and then Billy caught up, his voice breaking off and his headphones pulled away from his ears.

He turned around, an angry knot forming between his brows. "Y/n?" he said impatiently. When there was no answer, he said it again. "Y/n."

She was staring straight forward, arms fallen limp to her sides, a blank look on her face. Her eyes fluttered rapidly, more half-blinks than full stops.

Karen, who was closest to her at the keyboard, walked over and put a hand on her shoulder. "Honey, are you all right?"

And then it stopped. Y/n blinked one last time and her eyes went still. She looked around at all of them, a crease forming between her brows. "What?" she asked, looking back at their stares. "What did I do?"

DAISY: We just...we didn't know what to say.

"You zoned out, dude." Warren replied.

"I did?" she asked. There were nods. "Oh. Sorry."

They went back to recording then, mostly at Billy's insistence, but Eddie couldn't help watching Y/n through the corner of his eye for the rest of the day. She seemed fine enough for the most part, but he couldn't get rid of the sneaking suspicion that something was very, very wrong.

"Okay...okay. Mom, go, I don't need Dr. Medina getting mad at me. I'll call you in the morning. I hope the surgery goes well. Be the best damn nurse the world has ever seen. Okay, bye. Love you."

Y/n hung up the phone and jumped over the top of the couch, lying down and laying her head in Eddie's lap. Everyone else had left the house in Laurel Canyon by now, making them its only two residents. It was quieter than it was before, sometimes unsettlingly so, but they liked it. With the band becoming more and more chaotic, they both needed the quiet. Plus, they could make out in the kitchen without worrying about anyone walking in on them. That was a definite plus.

Eddie stared off into space for a moment, absentmindedly running a hand through Y/n's hair. "You ever think about getting married?"

Y/n sat up, eyes wide. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Getting married. Out of the blue. Just like Camila and Billy."

Y/n stuttered, "Camila and Billy have been together since, like, the beginning of time. We've only been together for...we can't..."

She trailed off, and Eddie's face fell. He covered it up with a shrug. "No, it's fine."

"Eddie, hey."

"No, no it's fine, I get it," he said, getting up from the couch. Yes, it was a risky thing to say. And he hadn't exactly known what to expect, but it definitely wasn't that.

Y/n got up to gently grab his wrist, stopping him in place. "Eddie, Eddie," she said gently as he reluctantly turned. He looked somewhat dejected ― it hurt her to see, so she put on her sweetest smile as she laced her fingers behind his neck. "Camila and Billy got married at three in the morning because she got knocked up. That's not me. That's not us."

He said nothing, but his features softened just the slightest bit.

"It can't be out of the blue, okay? Call me old fashioned, but I want the planning. The pretty cathedral, the stupid vows, the white dress...I want it all. And being in a rock band doesn't really coincide with that, yeah?"

Eddie just rolled his eyes at that, but there was a slight grin on his face as he did so. "Come here," she muttered, pulling him closer and hugging him tightly. He held her back, his chin resting atop her head like she'd fly away if he didn't try hard enough.

"Give me some time. We have a world tour coming up, but after that..." she trailed off with a smile. "That sound okay?"

"Yes ma'am," Eddie responded with a shit-eating grin. Now it was Y/n's turn to roll her eyes and push him away, smiling.

"Why are you in such a rush to get tied down? Aren't rockstars pretty flighty people?"

"I'll let you know you when I see one," Eddie said, and pulled her in to kiss her.

Billy and Daisy were nowhere to be seen. Daisy Jones & The Six's World Tour of Aurora was set to begin in less than a month, and their main attraction was missing from rehearsal. The rest of the band sat around like sitting ducks, fiddling with their instruments like they had no purpose. Well, right then, it was like they didn't. Without Billy or Daisy...practice almost wasn't worth it.

And eventually, Eddie had had it. "Okay," he said, standing up, "this is bullshit. Just because Billy and Daisy aren't here, we have to sit with our thumbs up our asses?"

Warren paused. "Yeah, basically."

Eddie shook his head, giving a bitter laugh. "Yeah, fuck that. Up."

He slung his guitar over his shoulder as they all reluctantly got up, groaning in exasperation. Y/n took her seat behind the drums, Karen got behind the keys, and Warren picked up his guitar. And Eddie headed for the mic, causing a few confused glances between the other band members.

"Hey, Ed?" Y/n called. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing? We're going to rehearse."

"Yeah, but...you're not going to sing, are you?" Graham said.

Y/n threw a drumstick at him. "Dude."

Warren and Karen held back laughter. Eddie looked around the room, eyebrows raised. "Fine. Anyone else want to volunteer?" he asked. "Please, someone else take over."

No one moved to take his place. Eddie nodded. "That's what I thought. Okay, let's start with Regret Me."

"You're going to sing Daisy's part?" Y/n said, eyebrows raised.

"Nope," Eddie responded. "You are."

Y/n froze. For a moment she thought that might've been a joke.

KAREN: She looked like a deer in headlights. I knew Eddie wouldn't ask me, probably because he was still a little scared of me. But Y/n always hated being front and center. She looked like she was going to be sick.

Eddie beckoned her forward. She looked at the others for help, but all she got in return was wide-eyed looks and desperate shrugs. She looked back at Eddie. "N-No! I-I have to do the drums!"

"Teddy can play the drums. Right, Teddy?"

Caught off-guard, Teddy pressed the speaker button. "Um, sure?"

As Teddy came from the booth into the studio, Eddie walked over to where Y/n sat behind the drums. She had shrunk down as if to hide herself. She stared up at Eddie as though he were about to lead her to the slaughter. "What the fuck are you doing?" she said in a harsh whisper. "I'll kill you, you know. The second we get home, I'm taking the bat and crushing your fucking kneecaps."

Eddie just laughed as he took her hand to guide her to the mic with him. "I know you can do this," he muttered, quiet enough so that only she could hear, "I've heard you sing it."

"In the shower."

"Still counts."

She resisted the urge to slap him right then, looking around at the rest of the band. "If any one of you ever bring this up ever again―"

"Yeah, yeah, save the death threats," Warren said. "Can we all just shut up and rehearse?"

"Oh, now you have a sense of urgency." Y/n muttered.

After one final look around, Graham counted them in, and the song began. And Y/n who had no instrument to play, only stood a solid foot away from the mic, her heart beating so quickly that she could feel it in her skull. Eddie gently took her hand to pull her closer. When he opened his mouth to sing, hers stayed shut.

"You regret me and I regret you," he sang alone. "Except I don't care what you're feeling and I don't need your reprove."

He squeezed her hand, trying to encourage her with only his eyes. And then, quietly, she joined in on the next line.

"I'm a slippage in the system with a natural gift, how I move," he found himself starting to sing through a smile, "So go ahead and regret me but I'm beating you to it, dude."

The chorus was approaching, making Y/n feeling more and more like she was going to throw up. The logical part of her knew that she wouldn't burst into flame if her voice cracked. But the other part? The other part of her wanted to punch Eddie in the face for ever bringing her within a five foot radius of this mic.

"You regret me and I regret you!"

WARREN: They had that chemistry that Billy and Daisy had, but it felt more…lived in. Daisy and Billy were like two pieces of flint that you’d knock together. Sparks would fly and hey, maybe something would catch on fire. Eddie and Y/n were like a bonfire. Controlled. And, if you stood a good enough distance away, you could see how nice it was. It wasn’t as exciting, but it sure was good enough to take the place of the real thing.

She gained confidence the more that she sang. Whether it was the fact that her voice held on or the fact that she got to stand so close to Eddie, she didn't know, but she felt okay.

"Go ahead and regret me, but I'm beating you to it, dude." Y/n finished the song with a smile at Eddie, her face flushed. It took her a moment to realize that the room around her was silent.

Her smile fell. "What?"

"Nothing," Graham said. "That was great. Um...what about Honeycomb?"

Everyone nodded in agreement, going back to their instrument. Eddie pulled Y/n to his side, pressing a kiss to her head. "Told ya."

She suppressed a smile. "Shut up."

EDDIE: The lead up to the tour, I think. That was when things got really weird. She was tired all the time, no matter how much sleep she got. I mean, yeah, we were recording an album and getting ready for a world tour, but it wasn't like normal. We'd come home and she'd go straight to be, sleep until the morning, wake up, and an hour later she'd be yawning again. For a while I thought she might've just been tired of me [laughs].

"Y/n, come on. Time to get up," Eddie said quietly, crouching beside their bed to be at her eye level. Her eyes blinked open reluctantly and she groaned, rolling over.

"My head is killing me."

"I'll get you some Advil."

"No, no, I got it," she said, and then proceeded to lay in bed, eyes shut, curled under the blankets.

After a few moments, Eddie spoke. "Y/n?"

"Five more minutes."

He laughed quietly. "Come here," he said, sliding one arm under her back and one under her legs, scooping her up into his arms.

She wrapped an arm around his shoulders gratefully, burying her head in his neck. "Wow, you're so strong," she said with a little giggle.

"Yeah, yeah. I can still throw you down the stairs."

"Ooh, I'm counting on it."

They went to rehearsal―where, luckily, Daisy and Billy were already located―and got to work. Eddie kept an eye on Y/n out of the corner of his eye. Her headache had worsened on the drive there despite her taking more pain pills than was probably necessary. She played just fine, but she cringed ever so often at the punctuated hit of a hi-hat. He thought about taking her off the drums for a bit and putting Teddy in her place, but she'd just get angry at him.

In the middle of Let Me Down Easy, the drums stopped suddenly, drum sticks clattering to the floor. Everyone looked up to see Y/n sprinting out of the room, a hand clamped over her mouth. Eddie froze. Karen was the first to move, running after her to make sure she was all right.

They all stood in silence for a minute or two, unsure of how to proceed. Karen came back, running a hand through her hair. "She just got sick. She's fine now, but I think we should give her a minute."

"What, does she have the flu or something?" Graham asked.

"Maybe she's pregnant," Camila suggested. Everyone turned to look at her at once. She blinked. "What?"

Eddie left the room then, feeling like he was about to be sick himself. The bathroom door was ajar when he got there. Y/n was sitting on the floor when he walked in, knees tucked to her chest, her head propped up by one palm.

"Hi," she croaked.

"Hi. You okay?" he asked, sitting beside her.

"Fucking fabulous," she replied with a slight grin.

He smiled and kissed her forehead, wrapping an arm around her. "D'you think that maybe it's time you see a doctor? I mean, the headache, you're tired all the time, and now this?"

"No, no," she waved her hand to brush that away. "I get like this sometimes. It's like allergies. It's whatever. I'll ask my mom on the phone later. She's never failed me."

Eddie nodded, going silent for a moment. "Are you maybe...do you think you might be pregnant?"

"No, I'm―" Y/n began, then cut herself off. She paused for a moment, thinking. Then she turned back to Eddie, eyes wide. "Um."

Cut to the two of them in the bathroom at midnight, Eddie pacing and Y/n staring at a little pregnancy test on the counter. It had taken them nearly half a dozen drug stores to find a regular pregnancy test, not to mention the fact that they grew more and more panicked with every second that passed.

"What if―"

"Nope, no," Eddie cut her off, "We are not playing the What If game right now. Whatever happens happens, and we'll deal with it."

Y/n nodded, pursing her lips. "But, what if―"

"Y/n, no."

After a few minutes of anxious silence, Y/n exclaimed. "Look, I see a line!"

Eddie quit his pacing to rush to her side, looking down at the test. "What does that mean?"

"Two lines means I'm pregnant."

"There's only one."

"I know that, Eddie."

"Well, what does that mean?"

And then they were scrambling for the box, looking for the instructions they worried they might've accidentally tossed out. Once the box assured them that one line meant Y/n was definitely not pregnant, they both let out a sigh of relief, Y/n slumping over the counter in exhausted victory. "I feel like we should take several rounds of shots right now."

Eddie wrapped his arms around her waist. "Thank God, I was about to call Karen's priest."

She laughed, feeling giddy.

"Would it have been the worst thing In the world, though?" he asked.

Y/n turned her head to look up at him. "Sweetheart, we're about to leave for a world tour. The timing isn't exactly ideal," she paused. "But no, it wouldn't have been the worst thing ever. I mean, I would have a lot to explain to my extremely Catholic grandparents, but no, I wouldn't be entirely devastated."

Eddie couldn't stop a smile that spread out of her sight. "First you want to marry me and now you want to have my children? God, are you obsessed with me or something?"

She gasped in mock offense, tearing herself from her grip and glaring at him. "You precocious son of a bitch."

"Careful, you might accidentally turn me on."

She narrowed her eyes, staring at him for a moment. Then, quick as a flash, she turned and ran to the bedroom. Eddie chased after her, their screams of laughter floating up through the ceiling as he slammed the door behind them.

AURORA WORLD TOUR (1978-1979)

WARREN: Tour life was crazy, man. It always had been, but that one was insane. Daisy and Billy had it out in Rolling Stone, and everyone wanted to see their little shitshow. I'm not saying that their blowup was what rocketed us to the top...but it fuckin' was. Drama, man. The people eat it up.

Daisy Jones & The Six was the shit. Everywhere they went, massive crowds followed. Record sales were at an all-time high. Everyone knew the band. They were on top of the world.

Eddie thought every day about taking a knee and proposing to Y/n. In the middle of a show, even. He'd do it in the dead of night. They never tired of each other, no matter how long they were together. They were attached at the hip until they were forced away, which, now that they were on tour together, wasn't often.

They had made a routine. Wake up, rehearse with the band for a couple hours, and then go walk around whatever city they were in. Then they'd play the show, go to a party, and go back to their hotel room. They clung to each other through all of it. Eddie wasn't quite sure what the terms of common law marriage were, but he was sure that they would meet all of them. But he'd wait until the tour was over, just like she said. And then he'd marry her. That much he knew.

When they got to Chicago around early July, it was set to be their biggest show of the tour.

KAREN: Tensions were high. I don't think the two of them noticed, or they were too in love to care.

They stood backstage, the sounds of the crowd growing louder and louder as more people arrived.

Camila turned to wish her good luck with a smile, but it quickly faded. "Oh, honey, your nose."

Y/n frowned, then felt a drip. She swiped her thumb underneath her nose and it came away slick with blood. "Oh," she muttered, "oops."

"Are you alright?" she asked in a very mom-way.

"Yeah, feeling okay," Y/n nodded. "Goodnight, Julia."

Camila rocked her daughter, "Say bye-bye, Julia."

Julia lifted a hand and made a grabby motion in farewell. Y/n giggled and did the same back, still holding her nose. "Bye, Squishy," she said, poking one of Julia's little dimples. The girl giggled and clung to her mom, disappearing out of sight.

She staunched the blood as best she could once she found tissues, stashing bloody tissues in her bag rather than the trash can so as not to worry anyone. She swiped on some glitter anywhere that would catch the light. Eddie came in as she was tying her hair up. He pressed a kiss to her cheek and she wrapped her arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder.

The moment her eyes closed, she got this feeling like she wanted nothing more than to let them stay closed, to drift away into sleep right there. She was tired. There were thousands of screaming people out there waiting for her, and all she could think about was getting to sleep as soon as possible.

"Maybe this tour is it," she muttered into Eddie's shoulder.

"What?"

She paused, trying to form a thought into words. "After this. I don't know if I can do it again."

They pulled apart and Y/n saw a crease between Eddie's brows. "What makes you say that?"

Before she got a moment to figure out what exactly made her come to that conclusion, she was being pulled forward onto the stage by Warren. The crowd came to a deafening roar as they appeared, and Y/n waved and smiled like she had done a hundred times, taking her place behind the drums.

They all picked up their instruments, and then Billy turned and gave Y/n the nod. The first drum hit of 'Aurora' rang out, and the show began.

EDDIE: The show was great. We all played great, the crowd was great, it was all...[pauses] it was great.

The set was coming to a close. They had played through nearly the entirety of the album, throwing in some older songs of theirs. But the crowd had ceaselessly been chanting for one song in particular, one that had purposely been left off the setlist for the entirety of the tour: Look At Us Now.

Everyone looked around at each other, then at Billy. He glanced back at them as if asking permission. They each gave a nod, and Daisy turned back to the mic. "Who wants to hear Honeycomb?"

The screams of the crowd that followed were enough to answer that question. Billy looked back at all of them again. "You know what to do."

Billy picked up an acoustic guitar from the side of the stage and came back. He tapped his foot a couple times to set the pace, and then he began to play.

The crowd sang every word with them, for them at times. And Y/n selfishly thought she had the best seat in the house. From the back of the stage, she could see it all. The crowd, the band, and everything in between. How could she let this go? This tour couldn't be the end of it all. She decided right then that she wouldn't let it. Not when there were views like this in the world and she was one of the few that got to see it.

And in an instant, it all went haywire.

Daisy and Billy were so caught up in the song for a moment that they both failed to notice as the drums grew more and more muddled until they stopped all together. Drum sticks clattered to the ground, heads snapping in their direction. Thousands of eyes saw as Y/n slumped out of her seat, collapsing on the ground beside the drums.

Instruments were dropped haphazardly as everyone on that stage stopped what they were doing to rush to the drum set. Rod left his spot in the wings to see for himself as Y/n laid stiff on the ground, seizing.

What followed was a rush of colors and light, of ambulances and ceilings, none of which she could really see or understand. But Eddie could. Eddie saw and understood all of it. And that, possibly, was the worst part.

Y/n woke up not long after, feeling as though she had just woken up from restless sleep. She asked quick questions, which were answered in short, quick words by Billy and Camila. Who she really wanted to speak to was Eddie, but he was laser focused on whatever needed to happen next. All he could do was hold her hand and squeeze back.

By the time she was in her hospital bed, she was convinced that she was perfectly fine. The part she was most upset about was ending the concert early―which, she assured them, would not happen again.

"After I get treated for whatever this is, I can come back, right? Rod?"

"Calm down, kid. You just had a seizure. Give yourself some time to be overdramatic before you get back on the road," he said with a slight chuckle.

"Miss L/n, have you ever had a history of epileptic seizures?" the nurse in the room asked. Y/n shook her head, and the nurse gave a nod. "I'll be right back with the doctor."

She left, and Warren suddenly gave a shiver. "Fucking hate hospitals."

Y/n shrugged. "I basically grew up in one."

"Ah, so that's why you're...you."

Several people had to dodge as Y/n hurled a pillow at him. Then, realizing it was the only one she had, she pouted. "Give it back."

"Oh, this pillow? The one you threw at me?" Warren said, being annoying as usual. "No way, sister. This is my property now. Bequeathed to me by your sorry arm muscles."

"I'll beat you up as soon as I get out of this bed."

"Sure you will, honey."

The door to her room opened and the doctor stepped in. He was tall, older, and graying a bit at the ends. "Hi there," he greeted. "I'm Doctor Lawrence."

Y/n waved, and he suddenly seemed to realize how many people were in the room. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid only family are allowed in here," he said.

Y/n immediately grabbed Eddie by the wrist. "He's my husband!" she said. Everyone quieted. "And they're my brothers," she looked at Billy and Graham, "sister-in-laws," she glanced over at Camila and Karen, "he's my cousin," she nodded to Warren, "and he's my weird uncle," she said, looking at Rod. Then she looked back at the doctor. "They're my family."

The doctor didn't believe a word she'd said. But after a moment of silence, he nodded to the group. "You can stay."

Y/n sighed in relief, lacing her fingers with Eddie's. If anything were to happen that night, she'd rather have him by her side.

Doctor Lawrence asked her a couple menial questions, then rambled a bit about what exactly seizures are (which, of course, she already knew) and suggested a CT scan to better understand what was going on. She agreed.

The next few hours were rather boring. Silences were punctuated with pain, as Y/n grew to realize how stiff her neck was. Her arms and legs were sore, but that, she assumed, was from the seizure.

"It's too bright in here," she commented when she was returned to her room. "Can I turn the lights down a little?"

People milled about. Camila had to go to be with Julia and the twins. Graham and Karen got coffee. Warren and Rod sat around her hospital room, competing to see who had the crazier stories (the winner, of course, was Rod). Eddie sat beside Y/n on the hospital bed the entire time, talking to her as she came in and out of consciousness

One of the times her eyes blinked open, she frowned, looking around in confusion. "Where the hell am I?"

Eddie paused. "You're in the hospital, Y/n."

Her eyes widened. "Why?"

"You...you had a seizure."

"Oh," she said. He felt her flex her fingers in his. "My hands feel weird. I can't feel your hand."

Eddie began to panic. She was treating every new horrible thing as though it were a new science fact she had just learned. "Y/n, what―"

Doctor Lawrence returned then, Karen and Graham trailing behind him. Billy returned not soon after. The only one not pale and freaked out was Y/n, who seemed content braiding small strands of her hair.

"The CT scan came back. She has a severe case of encephalitis."

Everyone looked around, most of them either hearing that word for the first time or not knowing what it is. Y/n did. "How? Meningitis?"

"Hard to say. It probably started out as a virus, something that triggered a strong autoimmune response."

"Can I take an antiviral to treat it?"

"Sorry, can someone explain what the fuck you're saying?" Warren finally asked.

Y/n sighed, letting go of her third braid. "My brain is inflamed, and it's swelling. It's pressing on my brain stem and it caused the seizure."

"That sounds...bad?" Graham said.

"Yeah, but it can be treated," Y/n said with a shrug. "I'll need to take antivirals for a bit, right?"

The doctor paused. "Yes, you would for a less severe case."

Her eyes narrowed. "So, what do I do for my case?"

He went silent. Y/n froze. Everyone looked to the doctor, who seemed unsure of how to continue. "I'm sorry."

Y/n understood what he was saying. She felt her sore muscles stiffen up again, this time from panic. "You're saying there's nothing? Do I just have it let it go away on its own, or...?"

"A case this advanced won't go away on its own."

"Well, if it won't go away on its own and we can't treat it, then...then what?" she asked, her voice becoming more panicked. "What do I do? Tell me what to do, I'll do it."

Lawrence just shook his head again. "I'm so sorry. I'll give you all a minute to figure out how you want to proceed."

He left then, and everyone was silent.

"Y/n," Eddie said, his voice quiet and careful, "what does that mean?"

She was staring at the blanket over her legs, eyes blank. "Can someone please get my mom on the phone please?" she asked quietly.

"Y/n, what does it mean?"

"It can't be treated. It's not going to go away on its own, it'll just get worse," she said in a quiet, calculated voice, like she was reading from a textbook. "It'll put more and more pressure on my brain stem. And the brain stem regulates circulation and breathing, so..."

Karen let out a sob, her hand reaching up to cover her mouth. Y/n couldn't bear to look up at the faces around her, because she knew she'd see a reflection of exactly what she was feeling right then: hopelessness.

It meant that she was already gone.

"Someone get my mom on the phone. Please."

The night that followed was awful. Camila returned, having finally found someone to watch Julia and the twins. Y/n had watched as Billy told her the news. She teared up, tears streaming down her face within minutes. But she shoved them away as she walked into the room to give Y/n a hug. She chatted about how Julia missed her. She did a good job of keeping the conversation off of the obvious. Y/n was glad for it.

Eddie ended up beside Y/n on her bed. She curled into his side, floating in and out of consciousness. She seized twice more, once just past one in the morning, once after the sun had just started to come up.

Her mom arrived on a flight from Pittsburgh at two. The first time Y/n cried was when she saw her walk into the room.

The morning brought some sense of comfort. Karen and Billy went out to get coffee and bagels for everyone. They all sat around and talked about something other than music, which they hadn't done as a group in years, maybe in forever.

Y/n glanced up at Eddie at some point during the conversation and noticed that he had a strange look on his face. "What?" she asked, nudging him.

Eddie looked down at her, a million thoughts in his head at once, all of which combined to form one coherent sentence.

EDDIE: I told her right then and there that I wanted to marry her. I didn't care how much time she had left. I wanted to call her my wife.

KAREN: When I looked at Y/n, I could just tell...he didn't have to say it twice.

GRAHAM: It all happened so fast from there. Karen called the minister that had done Camila and Billy's wedding ― once we told him the circumstances, he was pretty quick to agree to officiate. That guy was metal, man. He'd done two last-minute weddings for a rock band within two years. Show me another priest who could brag about that. Not that priests brag, right? Jesus was humble and shit. But you know what I mean.

CAMILA: Eddie left to get a tux. He said he wanted to do his part, even if Y/n was wearing a hospital gown.

EDDIE: I think I said something really cheesy about how, if she could look that good in a hospital bed, then I could at least do my best to look the part of a groom. She loved it.

KAREN: Graham went with him, for "style advice," is how I think he phrased it. Really I think he just went to make sure he had someone there with him. None of us really wanted to leave Eddie alone.

GRAHAM: I think we got the first one that fit. He wore it as we left the place. Eddie wasn't screwing around. He was giddy the whole time. He would go dead silent for a few minutes and then talk my ear off for another few. All in all, I think we were gone for maybe forty-five minutes. An hour, tops. We didn't know...we didn't realize they couldn't call us if something happened.

KAREN: It happened so fast. She was so excited, she was talking so quickly I could barely understand her. But she was beaming at us the whole time. You couldn't help but be happy for her.

BILLY: Twenty minutes after they left, she asked for something. Ice chips, I think. The nurses gave them to her all the time, she was kind of addicted. She asked if we could get her some, and Karen said something stupid like, "I'd get you a private jet if you asked for it." And she laughed and said "Don't tell me that ― I might ask, just to see you sweat."

DAISY: Billy left the room to get her some ice and then...I'm no doctor, I can't tell you exactly what happened.

CAMILA: She started seizing up again, so Karen and I tried to put her on her side, but she started fighting us. Like, smacking us away whenever we tried to touch her. I don't know if it was her or...[Pause] something other than her. That's the kind of thing that keeps me up, you know? She was so happy to get married. So happy. But when she hit us away...it was almost like she knew exactly what she was doing.

KAREN: The doctors came in and shooed us back out into the waiting room. Camila didn't want to let go. Neither did I. They practically had to pull us off of her. Billy found us out there, still holding the ice chips, and Camila just started bawling. She didn't say anything, but I think he could piece together what it was that'd happened.

DAISY: Karen sat down. Billy stayed up with Camila, holding her while the ice in the cup started melting down to water. We couldn't have been out there more than ten minutes when the doctor came out. The look she gave us...we just knew. We knew.

BILLY: Camila was almost screaming. Karen left; we didn't ask where she was going. All of a sudden, it was like...like the first time I ever took a punch. You know, you've heard about getting in a fight and taking a hit so hard it makes your head spin. And then there's the first time it really happens to you, when you take your first punch. And there's this brief moment in between the hit and the pain. You know it's coming, but there's that delay before it gets you. In a second, you get the air knocked out of you, and then...[Shakes head] and then it hits you. It didn't feel like losing a friend, either. I lost a sister.

KAREN: I was just completely blindsided. I walked out, not really knowing where I was going. I felt like I was going to puke, and I didn't want to do that in front of everyone. I think we all forgot, you know, that Graham and Eddie were out...

CAMILA: I remember looking over Billy's shoulder, seeing the car drive back up and Eddie stepped out in the tux. He was holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands, talking a mile a minute, and I just...[Chokes up] I couldn't tell him.

BILLY: He walked into the room, and he saw her, and...God, he just...he pulled out this little box from his pocket. He took her hand, opened the box, and put the ring on her finger. He kissed her on the forehead, and then he left.

KAREN: Camila was his first love, yeah. But Y/n? She was the love of his life, man. He had something people would die for, kill for. And the minute he realized it, the minute he realized what he had, the universe snatched it away from him. Life is un-fucking-fair, man. Always has been and always will be.

CAMILA: God, he really loved her. He really did.

When Eddie got the call, he was surprised to hear that she wanted to speak to him directly. Even more so, he was surprised to hear that someone wanted to write a book about the band. He had always been a firm believer in leaving the past in the past, but she was persistent. Plus, he couldn't say no. Not to her.

They met in a park near the coast. They chatted about life, what she was doing, what he was doing, and it was the general consensus that all was good and well.

"So, where should I start?" he asked as she hit record on the camera.

Julia stepped back from the camera. "Just...tell me about Y/n."

He paused, caught off-guard. And then, he smiled. "This might be a while."

EDDIE: It's not all bad anymore. I got time with her. I'll always wish I had more, but the time I got...it was great. It was the best time I've ever had. But I was able to move on, meet someone new. I think about her every day, and I always will, you know? A person like Y/n...that doesn't leave you. And Jesus Christ am I grateful for that. Julia...I'm really glad you're doing this. Your Aunt Y/n would've loved it.

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[slashers-sister]

(I'm sick so have another story bc I finally have motivation)

(bullshit this took way longer, and I got sick twice)

——————————————————————————

Your brothers when you're ✨sick✨

——————————————————————————

After one hot hell of a Texas day, you come inside.

Coughing.

Wheezing.

Extremely warm.

Dying inside.

You would normally hug Drayton as soon as you get inside.

Nah.

Straight to the bone couch, and slowly decide to accept the fate of death.

Meanwhile.

Drayton isn't happy.

But he can't take that out on you. Not your fault.

Still might yell

Of course now the twins aren't happy too.

"A-awe c-c-come on, why do w-w-we get more c-chores?!" Nubbins exclaimed, you can hear him from the bone couch.

You're confused. Why would he be getting chores?

Oh fuck, are you getting more chores?

Little do you know, your oldest bro already knows you're sick. Mostly because you've been coughing up a storm on the couch.

"Are ya sure? Lil shit can't be too bad right?" You hear Chop-Top. You kind guess they know you're sick now.

Chop-Top popped his head In, "Ya decent?"

Insert some pathetic cough wheeze

"Told ya." You hear Drayton.

After a moment, you hear Drayton telling them they'll have like a few extra chores.

Surprisingly enough, yes, he does care enough to let you guys off if you're sick. When one of the twins, heck, or both the twins got sick, You and Bubba would often take care of their chores.

When bubba got sick, it was a bit of a problem, but you tried to help when he did.

Now.

You're sick.

You've drifted off to being half asleep, the sounds of a chainsaw in the distance always did comfort you, knowing Bubba was protecting the farm.

You felt yourself being L i f t e d

Very confused you looked over at who was carrying you. Oh.

You smiled quite weakly at Nubbins. Who didn't look too happy.

Grumbling about how "you should be glad your my sister, or I wouldn't be touchin' ya, ya sickie"

Brotherly love amiright

Through a bunch of stutters.

He puts you in your room, on your bed.

Surprisingly he doesn't leave. He doesn't know now how to show he's worried. But he is. Less angry. More worried. You just get a head pat or two before he goes back downstairs.

You are dying laying in your bed, hoping this'll end.

How bad is it?

Coughing, sneezing, headache, dizziness, just the whole thing.

Y'know something victims should suffer through, not you. The sky gets darker, soon the sounds of a chainsaw stops.. you can hear your brothers downstairs.

You hear something close to a pig squeal, coming up the stairs. So Bubba probably.

He peeked in of course. Slowly coming in, making sure he didn't startle you. And set something down on the floor by you. You looked over and it was a small plate of food- Drayton probably made it.

-

I would imagine instead of a bed you just have a mattress or two on the floor by a window, your choice of course.

-

You smiled up at your older brother, and of course got a bear hug.

You don't come down to dinner like normal, which is when Chop-Top would probably check on you. Of course all worried, but barely making an effort to show he is. Making jokes n' poking you.

Of course, after dinner Drayton will come up and hand you a plate of food, or put it by your bed.. check your temperature, Get you water, you can tell he's worried. He's grumbling under his breath and not yelling at you. "Fuckin' worryin' the shit outta me kid.. better not be anythin' serious.." nicest thing he's probably said to his little sister

——————————————————————————

Depending on how long you're sick, a few things might happen.

If you're sick for over a week, Drayton will become increasingly worried. Bubba won't have anyone to talk to, or watch (again, he has a bad staring problem), and the twins will have to just torment Bubba or Drayton.

If you're only sick for a day or two, Drayton will be visibly relieved when you're back to the old spunky energetic psycho you normally are.

——————————————————————————

How would they specifically act towards you?

——————————————————————————

Drayton would take care of you of course, you are his responsibility. Can't have his little sister dying on his watch. He would be less loud, but just as snappy. Probably only the "sorry" he'll give you is food. Can't argue with that tho. He's secretly worried you'll not wake up one day. He's in constant stress, he always is when his siblings are sick.

Bubba will do his best to spend time with you. He used to get sick every once in a while, and he knows it gets lonely. He'll even make a victim probably chained or somewhat dead keep you company too. If you want a hug, and fall asleep there, he won't move unless Drayton makes him.

Nubbins won't come within 12 feet of you. He used to get sick every other day when he was young. Tho every once in a while, you'll hear something roll into your room.. a skull with a message written on it with a sharpie. Or something shiny he found in its mouth. He loves you, he won't show it, definitely not by a long shot, but he'll make sure it isn't as lonely.

Also he partly keeps his twin at bay

Chop-Top will not respect you wanna be laying in your bed. Outside is the best medicine. According to him. Oftentimes you'll be sleeping.. and then waking up to him plopping you outside on the grass/dirt. He'll sit right next to you, and tell you stories. He did that when his twin was sick, most of the time you give up and just lay there you don't wanna be dragged out again. And might as well enjoy the Texas heat.

——————————————————————————

End <3

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

penny i have to ask - how does marcus treat an s/o who is completely new to bdsm and being tied up for the first time?!

GREAT QUESTION ANON

I love how I'm the Marcus Pike BDSM writer. I've got my niche, LOL.

Warnings: alcohol mention, D/s vibes, soft dom Marcus putting the soft in soft dom, bondage, blindfolds, oral sex (f receiving), food play, let me know if I missed anything I've already forgotten what the hell I wrote.

You’re just finishing getting ready for your date with your new boyfriend when you hear three soft knocks at your door. 

You smile reflexively. It's only been a few months, but you have a good feeling about this one. 

You open the door and let out a soft exclamation when you see the little container of chocolate-covered strawberries in your boyfriend's hand.

“What’s the occasion?”

Marcus Pike leans forward to kiss your cheekbone in greeting. “Do I need an occasion to dote on you?”

You laugh. “Most people do,” you say, taking the little package and stepping back, inviting Marcus into your apartment. He follows you into the kitchen, where you set the strawberries down on the counter. When you turn, he’s right there–crowding into your space and kissing you properly this time.

“I’m not most people,” he murmurs, before capturing your lips with his own.

“No,” you agree with a laugh. “No, you most certainly are not.”

Marcus pulls back with a playful pout on his face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re the sweetest, most caring guy I’ve ever met,” you say honestly. 

“Is that a bad thing?” Marcus asks. You can tell he’s half-joking, half-not. His past relationships have left their fair share of scars, causing him to occasionally second-guess himself. You’re always right there to pull him back from the edge, though. After all–everyone has scars.

“Of course it isn’t,” you say earnestly, pulling Marcus back toward you for another soft kiss. 

“No?” Marcus is smiling, this time–the word uttered playfully against your lips as though he knows exactly what that dark, teasing tone of voice does to you. 

“Well,” you say, pretending to think about it. “Come to think of it, you could be a little… less sweet, in some departments.”

Marcus laughs. “Like what?” 

“Rougher,” you clarify breathlessly. “H-harder.”

“Oh–oh,” Marcus rasps, his tone deepening as he catches your meaning. “Is that right?”

It is. Marcus is an attentive lover; a thorough lover. He’s never satisfied until you’ve cum at least twice every session. It’s still early days in your relationship, but he seems to know exactly what buttons to push, and in what order, to keep you in a constant state of arousal for him. He’s passionate, tender, loving…

But part of you wants to feel the sting of his teeth, the bruising grip that you know those large hands are capable of. Marcus handles you as if you’re made of glass, but part of you wonders what would happen if he lets you crack, just a little. 

“It’s okay,” you assure him automatically. You think that this man–with his puppy-dog eyes and his goofy jokes and his propensity for old, romantic movies–might not have any rough edges to him. You don’t want him to think that you don’t love him exactly the way he is, softness and all.

“What’s okay?” Marcus asks, looking confused.

“It’s okay if you don’t like that,” you say. “If you aren’t comfortable being rough with me.”

Marcus’s eyes are soft and patient when he looks at you, and you know what you’re saying must be true.

“Is that what you want?” he asks quietly, without any hint of judgment in his tone.

“Y-yes. No? I don’t know,” you answer honestly. “It doesn’t matter. I just want you. In every way.”

Marcus melts further under your admission, but all he does is give you a soft kiss on the forehead. “Let’s get going, pretty girl.” 

Dinner is wonderful, as usual. Marcus never fails to be an incredibly fun date–always there with a funny story, always listening intently to everything you say, and always sitting close enough to touch you but never making you feel crowded. His fingers gently skim across your own as he talks, the casual touch making your brain spark pleasantly. 

Yeah, Marcus might be the sweetest, softest guy in the world.

You can’t say that you mind it. 

One after-dinner drink turns into two, then three. You’re pleasantly tipsy as the two of you finally get up from the intimate booth to leave. Marcus’s hand is on the small of your back, his breath disturbing the shell of your ear as he murmurs, “Let’s go back to mine.”

You giggle and press back against him, feeling the already-stiffening length in Marcus’s pants. You hear him swallow a strained sound behind you.

The both of you are still giggling and breathless when Marcus finally unlocks his door just ten minutes later. You barely make it inside before he’s there–pressing you up against the wall and letting his lips trace a path up and down the side of your neck. The soft touch of his mouth always brings goosebumps to the surface and tingles down your spine. You’re sighing happily at Marcus’s tender affections, when suddenly, he bites down and sucks a deep mark into your skin.

Over your choked gasp, you hear him talk.

“Been thinking about what you said,” Marcus rasps. “Fuck, I’ve been thinking about it all night.” His hands grasp your hips as he presses forward even further, seeking friction on his cock and causing your back to slide against the hallway. “Baby, you have no idea what I want to do to you.”

“Tell-ah!–tell me,” you whimper, urged on by the surprising roughness in Marcus’s actions.

“Wanna tie you up,” Marcus murmurs against your neck. “Blindfold you. Wanna hear you beg for me.”

You think you’d fall down where you were if Marcus wasn’t effectively pinning you in place against his wall. “Marcus–”

“You think I don’t wanna be rough with you?” Marcus rasps in your ear. “Baby, you don’t know how much I’ve been holding back. How much I want to give you.”

“Okay,” you exhale.

Marcus pulls back. “Okay?” he repeats.

“Show me. Show me all of it.”

Marcus lets out a strange, pleasure-soaked sound that you’ve never heard from him before. He’s usually vocal in bed, seeming to know that his voice is one hell of an asset, but he’s always very self-controlled, very purposeful with it. Now, you finally get it. You understand–Marcus Pike has been holding out on you. 

You think you know why. You’d told him that you hadn’t had the best experience in the past with sex–relatively late to lose your virginity, never quite understanding what was so great about it (and oh, Marcus has been methodically proving you wrong orgasm by thigh-shaking orgasm). He’s probably been afraid of scaring you off, or worse, hurting you in some way. 

Marcus wastes no time in pulling you to his bedroom. His moves are the same: gently laying you down on the bed, covering your body with his and overwhelming your every sense with him. His hands slide up your shirt, his body presses against yours, his lips take and take and take until you feel like you can’t breathe.

Your clothes are shed gradually, Marcus removing every layer reverently and taking his time with each. You've yet to have a 'quickie' with this man–you wonder if he's even capable of it, typically not satisfied until he's tasted every inch of your skin and both of you are completely and utterly sated. 

You smile up at him as he removes his shirt, taking in the gentle musculature of his chest and the slight swell of his belly. He's a gorgeous man–in shape without being overly obnoxious about it, naturally broad-shouldered, with a light smattering of hair that you found exactly one silver strand in the other day. 

“How do you feel about being tied up?” Marcus whispers softly in your ear.

You don’t have to think about it. “Yes,” you answer automatically. “With your handcuffs?”

“Nah,” Marcus says, chuckling. “Those aren’t meant to be comfortable. You’ll end up with red marks all over your wrists.”

“What did you have in mind?” you ask.

Marcus’s eyes are sparkling with mirth as he climbs off of you for a moment, digging in his drawer for a moment before pulling out… is that rope?

Your eyes must be as wide as dinner plates as Marcus returns, placing it in your hands, letting you touch it. 

“It’s so soft,” you say, surprised. 

Marcus chuckles at your exclamation. “It is,” he agrees. “Won’t hurt that pretty skin.” He covers your hands in his, trapping the length rope between you and bringing your inner wrist to his mouth to kiss gently. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I like it,” you breathe. 

“Good.”

You lie back down on the bed and raise your arms above your head, looking up at him expectantly. 

“Hang on,” Marcus says with an affectionate smile. “We’ve gotta have the safeword discussion.”

“I trust you,” you say automatically. 

Marcus shushes you gently. “I’m glad, but we still need to talk about it,” he says. “Listen, I will always stop if you say anything like ‘no’ or ‘stop,’ unless we’ve talked about it beforehand, but I want you to think about how you’re feeling like you would a stoplight, okay? So if you’re green, everything’s great, yellow means to slow down because you’re getting close to your limit or feeling uncomfortable in any way, and red means stop everything immediately. Make sense?”

You think you may have underestimated Marcus Pike.

“Makes sense,” you agree. 

Marcus gently grasps your wrists where they’re still raised above your head. “So, if I ask for your color, you say–”

“Green,” you answer with a gleeful smile. “Definitely green.” 

“Good,” Marcus whispers. “Oh, fuck, I’ve wanted to do this, baby,” he admits as he winds the soft, silken rope around your wrists in a series of delicate loops and knots that manages to be both comfortable and snug. Your arms are perfectly immobilized as he secures them to the headboard.

Even though your heart is pounding in your chest, you feel safer than ever in Marcus’s bed. The man is looking down at you as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen, and there’s a resulting ache in your chest at the look in his eyes. It’s hungry, sure, but you can see those three little words–the ones that neither of you have said yet–swimming just below the surface. 

Marcus’s hands explore you, having open access to you without any hope of intervention. He rubs his thumb over your bottom lip, teases your nipples until they’re both rigid peaks, digs his fingertips into your ribs just to see you try and squirm away from him. No skin is left untouched, and suddenly, you get it. Why Marcus would like this. It hadn’t made sense at first–Marcus Pike, and BDSM? Blindfolds and handcuffs? You wouldn’t think that someone so incredibly gentle would have silk bondage rope in his bottom drawer, but you think you understand as you watch Marcus’s eyes roam over your body with undisguised lust. 

It’s no secret that Marcus Pike is a possessive man. Not in a creepy or demeaning way, but in the way that you know he wants the two of you to belong to each other. You know that’s why he’s such a tactile person, always there with a hand on the small of your back or threading your fingers together as you walk. Restrained on his bed like this, you feel more like you belong to him than you ever have. His. 

“Color?” Marcus asks, as his fingers skate down the skin of your belly, traveling south with a purpose. 

“Still green,” you whisper with a serene smile.

“Good girl.”

Marcus teases your clit with delicate touches until you’re panting on the bed. When you start to squirm, he chastises, “Stop moving, or I’m gonna have to tie your ankles, too.”

You clench around nothing at his words. “Yeah,” you say breathlessly. “Yeah, do that.”

“Shh, one thing at a time, baby.”

“Marcus,” you whine.

“We’ve got time,” he whispers. “Oh, we’ve got time. And I plan–” he brings his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of your juices– “to savor it.”

You whimper again and buck against the bed. 

Marcus chuckles. “You really want more?”

You nod rapidly. “Please.”

Marcus lips are parted, his eyes half lidded as he watches you squirm and plead for him. “You perfect fucking thing,” he mutters. The words are barely audible, and you aren’t sure if he’d actually meant to speak them out loud, or if he’d been talking to himself. Either way, he gives you a soft smile and gets up again, going to his closet this time. 

“I’m not tying your ankles to the bed, not this time,” he announces, pulling out whatever it was he had been looking for. You crane your neck to try and see what it is. “But I think you might like this, hmm?” 

He holds up the object in his hand, and you realize it’s one of his ties. You watch as he kneels back on the bed at your side. “Lift your head,” he directs, and you do, allowing him to slip the fabric around you as a blindfold. 

“Look at you,” Marcus murmurs. “Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” you answer immediately.

“Then hang on a second. Want to go grab something real quick. I’ll be right back, okay?”

You nod, and feel the mattress shift as Marcus leaves. You can hear him in the apartment, shuffling around, opening something in the kitchen, and coming back. You furrow your brow under the makeshift blindfold. What is he up to?

The mattress dips again, and you let out a soft sound of surprise when something cool and sweet drags against your lips. It… it feels like…

“Wait–do you have chocolate strawberries at your place, too?”

Marcus laughs sheepishly above you. “When I bought yours, I thought they looked really good, so I bought two,” he admits. “Now I’m really glad that I did.”

You laugh too. Adorable man. Your amusement fades when the coolness of the fruit touches the tip of your nipple, making you squeak in surprise. The cold is quickly replaced by the heat of Marcus’s mouth as he engulfs your breast, licking the sweet residue off of you with a little moan of satisfaction. 

“Bite.” The strawberry is at your lips again, and you obey, humming at the contrast of the chocolate and the fruit. 

Wet coldness bursts around your other nipple as Marcus moves the strawberry again, quickly followed by his mouth as he swirls his tongue around the stiff peak. 

“Good girl, fuck, so good for me,” Marcus murmurs. “Can’t decide which is sweeter.” 

You know he ate the rest of the strawberry, because his tongue, when he crawls between your legs and laps at your clit, is still unnaturally cool. You whimper and moan as the temperature climbs along with your rising orgasm, until you’re all-but-grinding on his face and Marcus is eating you out with his typical ravenous enthusiasm. 

The thin thread holding your pieces together snaps, and you keen loudly as you cum on Marcus’s tongue. In turn, Marcus groans loudly and pulls you against his face harder, lapping up everything you give him until you’re shaking with overstimulation. 

“Okay, it’s definitely you,” Marcus murmurs. “See?”

The bed dips as Marcus climbs up your body and kisses you deeply, swirling his tongue inside you much in the same manner he had been just moments ago somewhere else. The taste of your own desire bursts on your tongue, and you moan into his mouth. 

Marcus pulls away and presses another strawberry against your lips. “Which is better?” he husks in your ear as you dutifully eat the fruit. 

“The strawberry.” Your mouth wavers as you fight not to laugh–you know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for.

“Wrong,” Marcus growls playfully, taking your lips again. “Next time, I’m going to have to punish you.”

Something like adrenaline and desire swoops through your belly at his words. "L-like what?"

"I'll have to think about it," Marcus teased. "Maybe I won't let you cum until you're crying for me," he suggests. "Or maybe we'll see how much this pretty ass shakes when I spank it."

"Marcus," you whisper. "Holy shit, Marcus, you're filthy."

"I think you like it," he shoots back with a smile in his voice. 

"I never knew."

The blindfold suddenly moves up and away from your eyes, and you blink in the unexpected brightness. 

"Didn't wanna scare you off," Marcus confesses, looking down at you. "Not everyone… well, not everyone likes this." His eyes are far away for a moment, reliving a past unpleasant memory. 

"I like this," you say quietly, giving Marcus a smile. 

His stormy expression melts in an instant, his teeth showing as he rakes his eyes up and down your restrained body. 

"Yeah," Marcus agrees, looking down at your pussy, which is still glistening with slick for him. "Yeah, I'd say you do."

You give Marcus a saucy look. "So do it some more," you command.

Marcus’s sparkling eyes are the last thing you see before he replaces the blindfold and you're plunged into darkness again. 

[shall-we-go-far-away]

alright, I know, I'm late to the party because it's been literal days but here are we are ready to talk about ep. 7+8:

do you all know that football meme, that "they had us in the first half"-meme? that's how I felt after the first 17 minutes of ep. 7... my lord I was so sure jihyun was fine and then they pull this shit on us I was genuinely scared.. so thanks to jaewon for putting me out of my misery by saying he just almost died

I was actually kind of shocked that something genuinely serious happened, because I thought it would be enough for jaewon to back away from jihyun if there was just the tiniest possibility of him getting hurt but I guess we went the drastic way, anyways I'm really glad he's alive

also seeing what the accident did to jaewon was so painful to watch.. he looked so bad and to see how his "friends" just glossed it over and being like: "oh I'm glad you're back to your regular self" like wtf are you saying, do you see him?? he was barely present the entire time, literally just a shadow of himself

we literally only saw his impression change twice - both times involving jihyun - once, when he's about to punch taehyung and the second time when jihyun speaks about his behavior in the surf club

what I also liked was how hard jaewon tries to get jihyun away from him but when they properly meet again in front of the classroom he can't even say no to jihyun asking to talk

well, back to the seniors.. they - emphasis on eunji and taehyung - are still assholes like wow you really don't even have the slightest bit of empathy left in you, have you? I found it pretty crazy how well you could tell in these episodes that neither eunji nor taehyung actually care for jaewon like at all, it feels like they see him as a trophy to carry around and show off and boost their egos with

that being said, I'm so glad taehyung got punched and eunji got absolutely devoured by jihyun, serves them right

taehyung is just so insensitive and childish, he makes me go insane, what was he expecting when he said that about jihyun? that people would clap?? no you idiot, be glad jaewon didn't break a bone or two

and eunji?? is she not embarrassed? her entire behavior is so embarrassing oh my god.. I know she can tell that jaewon doesn't want to be with her because she's not stupid, she just doesn't want to accept it, she can't accept being rejected and left and - what's even worse for her - she can't accept being left by jaewon for another man and I get it, it kinda sucks but you gotta face reality at some point, babes

and considering all that, it's so funny to watch how jihyun gets her blood boiling by simply existing, like she hates him so much and it's so amusing because jihyun couldn't care less, he just doesn't care

so the whole scene of them in the park was so satisfying to watch because with how the characters are positioned - eunji standing and jihyun sitting - and with the camera angle - looking up to eunji and down on jihyun- it's supposed to seem like she is above jihyun and then he just complety verbally destroys her because she already came into the conversation insecure, trying to cover it up by provoking jihyun but just didn't work

I genuinely believed in her redemption arc but at this point I don't think that's happening anymore

alrighty, next up, how sassy did jihyun get after literally almost drowning?? I really liked how he was joking around with his friends talking back to them and all that

and seeing his determination to get jaewon back was great, like he's better than me because I could never, he has a goal and he wants to achieve it

the thing that also stuck with me was him saying "I want to heal his wounds." which we all know he said with good intentions but I think jihyun also has to learn that the only person able to heal jaewon's wounds is jaewon himself, yes he can be there for him and be his support system but jaewon has to want this himself

I also really liked that we saw more of joon pyo in these episodes and he could redeem his "annoying childhood best friend"-image.. he's just a really sweet guy who, yes, is a bit much and a little awkward at times, but he has a good heart and really cares for jihyun

now onto the last bits of ep. 8: that hurt, it really hurt.. I get why jaewon pushed him away, I really do but that was not it, bestie.. I wanted to give jihyun a hug so bad

but honestly even though that was quite painful and I think jihyun might be a little thrown off, I think he's gonna keep pushing.. he was so sure about getting his man back I don't think he's stopping now

what I'm saying is, I hope they get back together and we get a happy ending on wednesday because otherwise.. well idk what I'd do otherwise

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

Sliding doors, dvd bonus, processing, and small things for SOTF?

This is so many, omg. Hopefully I can think of enough satisfying for this!

SLIDING DOORS: pick a character from one fic to drop into another!

I mean, I've kind of already done this twice lol

Cassana Strong kind of technically got ported over from The Red Princess, because I didn't want to remake the Strong family tree more than once (although it being made for TRP at all is an artifact of an old draft of the plot that I don't want to get into) & she sort of accidentally became important to the plot. And Aldreda got plopped into the main SOTF modern AU because I just think its silly if she's there, but she's not in the main text. I don't think she'd really mesh into SOTF though, because the Master Of Ships position on Aegon's small council is gonna be flush with options & he won't have an issue filling it.

So doing this in the way it's probably intended: I think that having Taryne in SOTF would be fun! She'd fit pretty unobtrusively & wouldn't change a whole lot of the plot though. The only thing that'd really get altered would be Alicent having a friend in King's Landing & Gwayne coming in a little sooner than he's most likely doing in SOTF (don't ask when he's showing up in SOTF, I have not even thought about him in that fic yet. I still haven't even figured out how I'm writing Daeron). All their stuff would be happening off page, but also, maybe, Taryne's second son wouldn't die in SOTF because it's likely that the opportunity for his death would be gone. Again, not guaranteed, but there'd be hope for him maybe!

I know that the real real intent of this particular ask is probably to say how an OC from a different fic would heavily alter the plot, but tbh, I do not vibe with how Daenys (the most major OC I could use to alter the plot of SOTF) would alter things. Because Daenys's story is (I'm planning/hoping at least) will have as happy & hopeful an ending as the Roycegaryens', but going in a complete opposite direction, so by extension it would kind of make SOTF way less happy (& probably way less fun to work on😅)

DVD BONUS: pick a fic and I’ll describe or write a deleted scene!

So, in the latest chapter, I have Aemon write Ella a letter telling her that he's had his first kiss. And, through the sheer power of writing things about his dynamic with Medric & then having dumb stuff dawn on me I know the general idea behind this! And it's so fucking silly.

Behold the main inspiration to riff off of [soured from pinterest]

Working off of the established canon that those boys just don't knock when going into each other's rooms; Medrick walks in on Aemon changing & has his "congrats on the pipe" moment. Aemon jokes it off by saying he hopes he doesn't scare whoever Lord Desmond finds for him to marry, & Dumb Horny Teen Boy™️ that Medrick is, he yes ands this joke with the pretty explicit implication of being into Aemon. Back & forth thinly veiled "I'm down if you ares" continue until Aemon has some pants on, & then Medrick gets vulnerable for a second to ask if he can kiss him.

PROCESSING: pick a fic and I’ll tell you what it was like to write it!

It feels like this the entire time

I always have at least 3 documents open at the time, Valyrian gets cobbled together from the English/Valyrian dictionary with guess-worked grammar & individually translated/stitched together words I pick through various google searches for how sentences work, & every time I have to write a meal or feast I black out for half an hour & don't physically reenter my body until I have a ridiculously decadent meal plan I only half touch on in-text. I keep accidentally making some stuff more relevant than intended because I forget canon things attached to what I stuck in based on vibes.

Did you know that Criston Cole & Borros Baratheon did not originally know each other because I randomly picked Borros's dead mom's House from a list of Stormlands noble families after having forgotten that Criston's dad works for Peepaw Dondarrion?!

I will barge into messages with friends at random hours & ask them if something sounds like it makes sense. @emilykaldwen has regularly watched me string chapter outlines together by way of rambling text walls. At any given point, I can string together the specific outfit someone was wearing in a scene & I will touch on one (1) detail of that in text if I am lucky.

Each chapter has the potential to be a slow descent into madness, but I'm honestly having a great time

SMALL THINGS: pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite minor detail from it!

This is very hard, I have so many silly little details that exist as definite canon within SOTF but never get mentioned. Can I have 2? I'm gonna have 2.

Lara Mormont's mom [Yngress] is a wildling who let herself get captured during a failed raid south of The Wall after circumnavigating it by way of the Bay of Ice (see: threw herself at Jeor Mormont's feet & very loudly tried to prompt him to kidnap her before just openly coming onto him & saying she'll be his woman if he brings her home instead of turning her & her kin into the Night's Watch)

Queen Alysanne had an affair with Alaric Stark, & Alyssa is his kid. A few doubled up doses of Latent Northern Genes is why Griffith/Ella's son looks Like That™️

[sizzlingpatrolfox]

This Jimin album brought me so much happiness but the fandom/members/solos/kpop stans really made it a bad experience. Face will be a month old on friday and instead of celebrating another member is going to drop 10 fucking songs so Face will be forgotten😔😔😔

You are complainging about jk only but suga is clearly going to get more support than Jimin. He has a radio show on apple music like what?

I can see him woth 4 remixes. We already know he will have like 3 music videos. What a joke

Not forgotten by me.

It's been a month and I still listen to it at least twice a day because I actually want to.

It was a good experience for me until the sales thing happened. I don't care too much about what antis say, and I would've still not cared if it wasn't for the blatant hypocrisy shown after the Jungkook photos with scooter and BangPd. I complain because I don't think those events: Scooter and Jimin's drop from top5 were a coincidence.

I expected Yoongi's album to drop before his tour, I knew it would be like that since the moment the tour was announced. There was just no way he'd go on tour without a new album, so I was expecting the blow. I also think pjms complaining about the radio show on Apple is... dumb... because Jimin would not do a radio show anyways. That's what Yoongi wanted to do because he likes that stuff or whatever. I'm also sure Jimin will tour too eventually, as he said, he doesn't have enough songs just yet. But he will have more. The only injustice I see is them not letting Jimin film more music videos. And the timing of the album release.

The timing is not fair. I already said this when On the Street was announced and I didn't take it well that Hoseok was announcing his enlistment and single at the same time because we all know what that looked like -as much as I like Hoseok. Someone posted some companies prediction and said that there are 4 BTS solo albums planned for this year. FOUR. In 12 months. That should be around 3 months for each album. They had to squeeze Jimin's and Yoongi's in one month for some reason. A reason that I think will make sense when taekook get second half of the year all to themselves.

That, or hybe just really wanted yoonmin to do promo together since they've been pairing them together for a while even before the hiatus started. Hybe trying to make it look like they're still a family that goes to sleep together every night is really fucking hilarious, if not sad.

Honestly, it makes 100 times more sense for Yoongi to have released his album first, and then leave for tour and have Jimin release now in April. But I'm telling you, and I've said before, they did this on purpose T_T I'm not changing my mind unless Jimin himself says "I chose to release this day."

I don't really mind if the fandom will focus on yoongi... they're fans for a reason. It seems useless to complain about army focusing on BTS members because that's what they're supposed to do. I guess they feel they already did everything they could for Jimin, and everyone seriously did a lot; and now they'll try to get same or similar results for the other members. Jimin really paved the way. And again, it's not the fandom's fault, it's the company's fault.

The one thing I'm mad about is that he should be in the military already. He's been dodging that like... It should be him going, not Hoseok.

[dark-muse-iris]

Pre-dystopian era truly encapsulates pre 2020 now doesn't it? 😂 The things the last 2 almost 3 years have brought forth in humanity is 👀 disappointing at the best of times.

I'm surprised to see just how the app has changed, as I haven't had the chance to hop on desktop just yet. It seems...almost functioning? No more character limit on asks is nice as now I don't have to break this into 6 different messages 😂 New settings and everything else to try and figure out.

I've turned 24 this last July, and the last time I was truly active on here I was 21 so the personal growth and loss that have come with that is interesting for sure. I've lost both my grandmas in the past year and my living grandfather has already remarried (oh boy the family drama that caused), moved twice and live with my boyfriend of 3 years, have gone NC with his narc family and LC with mine as best as possible, started a job that has me earning the most I ever have financially but definitely have cost a part of my soul 💀😂 and I'm trying my best to get to a place in my life where I'm debt free and in a industry I actually love and care for (cannabis and growing it) and get my boyfriend the disability coverage he needs but I'm sure you're well aware that its a poor joke of trying to get that approved. So on some notes, its been good and I've changed into a better person but also if anything bad happens in 2023 I'm very fragile about it 😂😅

I understand the "striving for mediocrety" as a workplace mentality, and just how exhausting it can feel with wanting to bring better things to the office and just getting shot down. The old dodgers of "this is how we've always done it" dont always seem to realize that doing the same thing for 40+ years only works when the system isn't as broken as it is (or if it even worked in the first place). Is being remote going to give you the chances to take care of your sleep issues and anything else health related thats popped up for you? Ik last I checked you were doing the testing to see if it was more than standard narcolepsy.

(I'll probably message again and finish my thoughts but I am night shift and my break just ended so I gotta head back. It's so nice talking to you again ☺️💕)

I’m sorry to hear about your grandmas. I lost two of mine since 2020 and it’s been really hard on the family. If my grandfather had remarried that quickly, I’d be scratching my head as to how they were able to make it happen. My grandfather doesn’t appear to be dating, but that’s likely because 1) he cooks, and 2) he’s got stage 4 cancer, courtesy of U.S. chemical warfare in Vietnam.

As someone who works in a soul-sucking job that pays well, let me just say: it’s worth it. It is absolutely worth it to have a full belly and warm place to sleep during recession years. When I worked in industries I loved and didn’t have enough to eat, I resented my dreams and hated myself for having them. Letting those dreams go gave me the chance to have other dreams and I’ve been able to forgive myself for being so hard in my early 20s. It can take years to get the life you want, so don’t let anyone shit on you for doing what you have to do to eat in the meantime, especially anyone of the older generations who did their part to suppress our standard of living.

The insistence on clinging to broken systems of the past is one big reason I transferred jobs. There’s a lot of that still going around. My managers were panicking and kept asking why I was leaving; I think they finally understood how far I’m willing to go to make sure “office culture” won’t waste my time anymore. For me, being a remote employee streamlines my workflow and reduces my workplace accommodations for narcolepsy by half. It’s also much easier to manage my ADHD at home where I can remove distractions. In the office, no one was working on our job shit; everyone just gathered around to talk about their kids or health problems or ridiculous work drama they didn’t plan on fixing themselves. I had forgotten how much time people wasted just bitching for nothing. When I hear a complaint, I want to fix the problem and get rid of it, but that wasn’t a good fit. My colleagues wanted free therapy from someone their kid’s age because *surprise* their kid isn’t talking to them anymore.

I’m hopeful for cannabis and glad you’re pursuing the field! It’s not fully legal where I live, but I have many chronically ill family and friends who rely on it because they can’t take meds or afford the healthcare they need. I have some family who are growers in different states where it’s allowed and they’re happy with the work they’re doing. I never had the green thumb for that; I’m the only who would take dead grass and make a basket out of it.

[dashawfrostart]

These Two-And-Something Weeks In "Time & Again" #26: PAGE LAYOUTS ARE DONE!!! And Some Ruminations of Lothar And Myself

I think it's plenty fair to start off this blog post with a happy and important announcement right away! So here it goes:

All the vector page layouts for Chapter 6 are now complete!!! 🥳🥳🥳

And it only took me about a week and a half on and off to do the vector templates for ALL 56 pages (yup... Chapter 6 is gonna be a total monster in terms of the page count; don't tell me later that you haven't been warned 😁). That happy happening certainly marks a very powerful and resolute beginning of work on Chapter 6. It scares me and makes me joyful at the same time, because, as already mentioned in the previous post, Chapter 6 has the full potential to become the absolute best chapter in the series. That is... only if I make it this way 😉 Not to mention that Chapter 6 is the largest chapter of all by far. 56 pages, I said - that's without the cover arts, title pages, bonus materials, and all the extras. In the future, it might only get outclassed by the final chapter, Chapter 8 - but we will see about that. YOU ARE HUGE!1!!111!!!!!11!.. (ok, this joke is a little on the nose, just as the rest of my Doom jokes as well as some Solaire of Astora refs. I will try to come up with more creative jokes and refs next time 😅) With such a high page count, I foresee a giant, supermassive amount of work that lies ahead of my little hands that hold the stylus pen. But that was my choice. It's not that I didn't know what I'm up to. So right on, brotato!!! 💪🥔 (sometimes I don't know where my jokes and references come from... My brain just generates the weirdest and the most obscure stuff to entertain everyone around)

After GPop Culture Fair was over (and I still have yet to write a log post about it - soon*ish, I hope*!), and the things slowed down a bit for me, I was finally be able to take a breather, to sort through my thoughts and ideas as well as real life endeavours, and to finally to set the wheel in motion for Chapter 6 of "Time & Again". I am greatly satisfied. GPop made me feel rejuvenated after weeks of being covered in dust and spiderweb unable to move properly. It made me remember that my story is pretty cool and it's worth working on! It made me remember that I still kinda like Lothar, that fixated bastard. I am extremely determined right now.

Now... I wanted to write a more volumetric techy part about creating page templates in Inkscape, for I've never delved into that in my blog posts before - but I realize that not only I'm lazy to do it right now, but it will make the post grow twice in size. As usual. Which I don't want to do right now. So I'll save that for the next post that's gonna be very techy 😁 For quite possibly, by the time the next post will be ready to be published, I will only have little progress in art for the chapter, so there's not gonna be much to show off. So I'll save my story about how wonderful Inkscape is for another day 😁.

Onto the other, thought-provoking news regarding "Time & Again".

"But what and when is the sign of enoughness?"

asks Lothar at some point of time in Chapter 6, being painfully torn apart by his inner demons and countless thoughts on purpose of his - and perhaps everybody else's? - life and struggles.

I ask myself this question, as well - and pretty frequently lately. But my reasoning behind asking this question is completely different. Perhaps, I have written about it earlier somewhere here, in my blog, or maybe not. But I've been trying to logically work my way towards the answer to this question of the utmost importance - yet, alas, the answer in front of me is approximately as vague as the narrative in the Dark Souls series. And it's as shapeless as a chunk of clay that's been warmed up in one's hands but left untouched afterwards for a week or two... Or like Zhdun. It's safe to say that Zhdun is pretty shapeless, too - like a bean bag chair (in fact, I think it's a conspiracy: Zhdun is, indeed, a bean bag chair. I have one at home, and it's grey, too).

If you look at the art style progression through all the chapters of "Time & Again" released from 2021 to 2024, you will see I went down the simplification route. While Chapter 1 was overstuffed with incredible detail (that was, unfortunately, unnecessary), Chapter 5 features a simpler, more "flat" chiseled art. Part of the reason why it got simplified is merely because I work alone, and it's not rewarding to go for full-on meticulous details absolutely everywhere, not to mention it doesn't have any significance for the story itself whatsoever. Another part of the reason is it's most likely not even needed: I truly believe that in art one has to be sufficient, but not excessive. In other words, balance is the key word. And this is exactly when our question written in large letters come into play. What exactly is "enoughness" is what I'm trying to find out for myself. This answer will be applicable only to myself, my art style, and my artistic values. The answer to this question is in no way unified, and it's different for everyone. Once again, I will refer to my all time favourite meowsterpiece, Atlantis: The Lost Empire. I want to make my art in "Time & Again" - and in all of my subsequent projects, as well - to be sufficient but not excessive. With my tendency to draw too many details when I'm especially carried away with the process of creation, this might be a challenge. But it will take practice and determination to rewrite your own thought patterns to tailor your perfect art style. The most important thing here is to keep moving. I feel like Chapter 6 will be important in this respect. My experiment should lead me to a certain - perhaps not final, but still important - conclusion on the eternal question of mine as of how much is enough. I don't even think I can explain it in words - you'll have to see the result. And I want it to be stellar in my eyes. This will take a certain amount of consideration, but it's important for me to resolve. Thank you, Lothar. That was a very good question. Now get in the effing robot and put yourself together already. Hmpf! 😤

I have a lot of plans for the future - and absolutely not enough time to complete everything, LOL. (such is a life of a responsible adult, haha) I'm planning to finally make a stunning comeback on YouTube - that's why I've been recording some of my timelapses. And I also have a giant list of "Time & Again" related topics to talk about. Gotta finally build that Q&A section for this blog that I planned to do long ago. Well, there will be time and place for everything, I guess.

For a farewell, I'll write a couple things about some videogames I played recently for an inspirational/recreational kick. While waiting patiently [no, who am I kidding? I am anything BUT patient about this!!!] IMpatiently for Soul Reaver and Tomb Raider 4-6 remasters, this crazy bird nerd played some incredibly entertaining Itch games starring bird characters. Kiwi 64 was a charming game to play that instantly made me think of the good old games by Rare, and also Yooka-Laylee (I really gotta return to the second one someday... that's gonna be my third attempt already 😖 I 100%-ed the first one, and it was a blast through and through - which is impressive for me, because I never do completionist runs, EVER). I really enjoyed Kiwi 64. And I also played Toree 3D, made by the same developer. Being utterly terrible at platformers, I only completed the very base of the game and unlocked only one of the extra characters out of two - but hey, I had a lot of fun! That game plays incredibly well, and the controls are incredibly responsive. The only sad thing is that the game lacks information in the internet, and I have a lingering feeling that it has more lore in it than appears on the surface... But I cannot really decipher anything. Well, to better! - my attempts to understand it will keep me entertained for weeks! 😁👍

That's all for today! See you soon! 😁

P.S. The only thing I don't really get is why Soul Reaver remasters are released on Doom birthday... Oh well.

[the-firebird69]

he wants me to make an announcement to help his wife out and I'm going to and she wants him to fix the verbiage by hand. And you got that done he got that done and we're going to go ahead and announce his percentage. From last night he came down from about 62% to about 60%. It was outside for bed but not much and he was outside yesterday and it accumulated a little and he expended it a little bit this morning he is sitting outside and he is absorbing stuff and yeah it's coming at 8:30 we expect him to be lower but right now he's at about 60%. Which is not bad that's out 40% and that's a lot of stuff to be packed up and shipped out this quick but it is not a month but it's about 2 and 1/2 Weeks that's really fast and people are mentioning that's real fast it is and he needs it it's going to come up now that he needed it the whole time but everybody knows that by the end of today he should be at about 57% which is pretty good for a day and that will eventually around 9:00 p.m. become 56% and it will compound by the morning he'll be 54% and yeah maybe 55%. Still he's approaching a healing threshold which is 50% and when he gets down below that he's going to begin healing in cycles and he won't notice the difference it's always been the slow healing and it almost stops and then slow it's going to be fast and he'll heal it will slow then it will become very fast and he will heal up a lot faster than people think it's going to begin probably tomorrow morning because she'll be about 56% or 57% healing he will start off guessing faster and the radiation is going to focus on things that need to be deteriorated and his body will be healthier and I'll make it more possible and faster and it will diminish those things very quickly and it's a good thing he really needs it now so it's going on right now so we expect possibly by Saturday he will reach the 50% threshold and he will have spurts of healing and by Monday he'll be almost at 40% and those will increase end of October he will be at zero on the outside stuff and organs and he will be working on the interior and that'll be down to probably 80% and he will constantly work on it in the blood goes through there by the way but it's the bone and the marrow will be clear which will start him growing and then ripping the old stuff with the medicine which is weaker and it'll break and he'll get it renovated in the system it will start him growing at the end of October outwards and then beginning of November probably the first or second week he will go up half an inch and not notice it and mentioned that it's he's going to mention that he's going up a little over and over is a joker and he's funny hilarious it's going to be a bit much but that's what he does I'm kind of used to it I was very old and it's fun and she says it too I'm going to have fun well this thing to him repeat this stuff and his jokes have to go around he's saying that now they really do you can't have it stick somewhere only so today is going to be a day that starts off a huge huge program against Trump and his existence basically laid out by the Mac proper and he will start to fight them when he hears what they're saying today already they've had all sorts of strange things to say and they say things to our son a lot of them think twice about it but are ugly angry people so Trump is going to get extremely angry and he's very sick and he is going to be mutilated by these guys very soon the radiation is coming in it's up to 2.0. and we are going to have a hell of a day today FEMA is coming but we think he has to talk to someone they make an appointment with these people are coming from the outreach side but he's got to wait

There's a lot of stuff coming in his life in hers that will make this mundane stuff look terribly stupid and we do have news about the trike though. It is said it can happen before or after but the wage on remillard is now he'll probably try and do it before and he's already started he's going after cheese man and he's actually playing rod uncle Rod and he doesn't like what's happening uncle Rod is married to Rose Marie who's in Arizona we think the place is better than here so she probably wouldn't move here and he supposedly dies. Rose Marie is not Uma Thurman that's who's serving our son a lot and helping here is welcome this is a nightmare and she's getting help too from him and others too she really needed it she was overwhelmed and people are taking aside and helping her it's good to see you because it almost was just a nightmare. there's more going on not only is he losing his positions but he lost cities last night and more than we mentioned so we're going to say what he's down to and he's losing personnel here in Florida they're getting fired they going to the rings and The Everglades yes after.

And he's down to: 6 vl, 12L, 40M, 100sm that's very bad and the smallest surprising instead of around 3,000 and the teeny ones are gone pretty much and he's going to be out but this is very significant these are the cities and it means his people are diminishing and they are going to the weapon right now I'm just going to be a war and it's going to be very bloody and not too late it's not that many Giants up yet and he doesn't have that ability.

Trump stashes and caches: are down to 35% operational levels and that's the ones that are still with security about 45% have no security and are going to be rated very soon completely. None of the large or very large have lost all the security there are just a lot of things there but they're going down and today in the Eastern hemisphere is what we're talking about we think they're going to drop the 25% but they're going to give up a few large about four large out of 70 and they're going to give up one very large out of 20. It's a significant number it's a significant day and should not be underrated

Other things are happening in Charlotte county and they are feeling good sized they're beginning to remove debris all over the place and it is nasty and there's tons of it. They have about 60 trucks out for disaster debris and it takes one truck to do about four houses and it's going to take a long time there's thousands of houses no but hundreds they started work and decided to just plow into it because they're getting nowhere and they're doing it now and it is getting very big.

More shortly

Olympus

[eternalstargazer]

I reeeeally don't think I have to ask what's everyone's favorite SatoGou moment of 2021 after we got this:

But...

We did get other cute and/or funny SatoGou moments throughout the year (I'm going by Japanese air dates, btw)! I'm sure no one is gonna object to me doing a little bit of a recap, right? 😉

Ash caught Goh in his arms in the final episode of the year, but remember back at the start of the year when Chloe teased Goh for trying to catch Ash with a Pokéball?

Goh seemed to get a tad bit defensive there over an innocent little joke, didn't he? 🤭

This next moment is right up there with episode 92's hug in the sense that it kinda broke all our brains for a bit when it happened because yeah, did anyone really think we'd get a scene (and really, nearly a whole half episode) where Ash and Goh hold hands?? Yeah, yeah... circumstances and all that, but this episode didn't have to be approved for production. OLM was okay with this.

You'd think Goh would be more worried about there being a Gulpin stuck to his head and how the professor was going to go about getting it off, but nope. Here all that's on his mind/talks about is his embarrassment over holding hands with Ash. 🤔

Embarrassed to hold hands with Ash, but seemingly has no problem yanking some of the boy's clothes off out in the middle of the city.

Goh... hate to tell you this buddy, but you're worse than Team Rocket...

... when it comes to disguises. 😛 Or were you just looking for an excuse to wear your boyfriend's clothes? 😏

I don't think Ash minds though. He seems rather preoccupied with how Goh looks wearing his hat/vest. Psst! Ash, you're staring! 😊

Ah well... these two are used to staring at each other... how they haven't bumped into anything while walking and staring is beyond me.

Remember the time they spent a big chunk of the day just hanging out and walking around Vermilion? I think they may have spent more time looking at each other than for Pokémon to catch. 👀👀

They stare at each other so much it's no wonder they can't help but sometimes blush.

Why, Goh? 'Cause Ash knew you'd fanboy all over him and Ash is getting humble in his... er, old age. He has been around since 1997, after all! A younger Ash would've bragged to everyone in earshot (and remember Ash can be loud so that's a 'lotta people 🤣) after becoming the Champion of Alola but the Ash of today? Doesn't bring it up and only casually mentions it for a brief moment when the topic comes up.

On the subject of mentioning things, want to tell all of us (including Ash, Pikachu, and Grookey 😂) what's really going on in your head here, Goh?

... No? Okay. 😆

That's all right. We all already know, anyway (does that include Ash? Idk... but I bet Pikachu has had it figured out for some time now). 🤭 Heck, even wild Luvdisc can feel the love between these two! Why else would they be drawn to them (I can understand a school of Luvdisc just happened to be passing by once, but twice?? Luvdisc and couples, people! That's not me saying that either... just check the Pokédex entries!). 💕

What a year, aye? To think too this is just a small collection of the moments Ash and Goh have shared this past year. More good times await in the coming new year, I just know it! 🎆😃

[i-need-air]

Hybrid!AU Wolf!Bakugou Katsuki HCs Part 2.

Summary: Part 2 is here! While in part 1 it was mostly adoption and how he'd behave with you as a roommate, part two is him ✨ realizing things ✨ followed by how he'd be in a romantic relationship.

Word Count: 2k words [ oops, I did it again ]

Notes: So I said it'll be out in a few days but three [3] people asked me for part 2 and I'm a sucker soooooooo!! I could've just written a long ass fic but whatever, I thought I'd make it shorter in headcanons... hah lol right. Enjoy!

Part 1 here!

× he's a wild wolf so he's very active; like you need to understand he needs to go outside if not he'd get impatient, more aggressive, snappy, so once you took him on an easy hiking trail near your house and he loved it so once or twice a month you both go together to different places [ he demands it ]

× it's hard to keep up with him bc he's literally genetically engineered to be better than any very fit human being but he slows down for you

× morning runs at 5 a.m. bc he's insane

× is also a grandpa

× watched all documentaries on any streaming platform you could provide to him, also loves reading

× as months pass and you start to have your routine in order, word comes to you that an acquaintance is looking for a security guard at his mechanical shop two streets away from your house

× you casually mentioned it to Bakugou because he was starting to act anxious whenever you'd leave the house, so you assumed he was extra bored

× seriously, the house was spotlessly cleaned, he cooked amazingly and was occupied with your old laptop and going around the city to explore, but you guessed he wanted more independence?

× little did you know you were right but so wrong lol

× so Bakugou stared at you intensely and asked "Where?"

× it was as easy as telling him the location, him nodding and you thought he'd consider it; you didn't put any pressure on him because he already did so much to help around anyway

× well guess what bitch, next day he comes up to you saying you gotta co-sign his contract [cuz fuck society] meaning he got the job

× he was perfect for it because tall, intimidating, muscular wolf guy? who'd even mess with him? do they have a death wish?

× well, even before this he started to be... soft

× but once you really did show him you support whatever he wants to do, you give him his freedom and liberty of choice, he just reaaally changes, man

× he gets touchy, like his hands stay one second longer on your skin, he uses any excuse to have them on you, even his eyes follow you everywhere

× like c'mon, it's obvious but you didn't wanna put too much thought into it because we're respectful here

× not like you had a big fat crush on him and slowly started to realize it too

× sike bitch he knows

× you think his super-hearing didn't catch the way your heartbeat spikes up every single time he touches you? *please*

× i think he knows before you know

× meanwhile he is working to discover his feelings too

× so your relationship slowly turns into a couple's like relationship but without anything official and of course no kissing or such [ sadly ]

× would get jealous easily

× basically because nothing is talked between you two and deep down is insecure

× why the hell do you smell like other people? was it just a hug or something else? hell, why would you even hug people when he's right there??? just ask and don't touch some extras????

× another thing he does is getting very close to you while you talk to somebody else; scoffs and glares at them too

× ok so!! gifts! he really appreciates any gift you give him but scolds you if you do because you genuinely don't need to do that

× of course he just scolds you and calls you an idiot so I do hope you already learned his language

× it basically means that you shouldn't have done it, he's really grateful but seriously you shouldn't have

× like that one time you saved up money to get him a good computer and he forgot how to speak for like an hour

× the softest thank you ever afterwards

× still sounded rough but he was shocked as fuck

× one thing that remained in your brain were his friends, as sometimes he'd mention them

× so you took it upon yourself to find them, of course with his permission

× gets genuinely overwhelmed and plays it off saying he wouldn't mind knowing where those idiots ended but you didn't miss the way his voice trembled

× for you to find them you needed names and any information he could provide so that's when he, after a long silence and a mesmerized look on his face, started really talking about his life

× which was fucked; won't get much into detail but he was indeed in a fighting ring, people came and bet on whoever was stronger, he even had to fight his friends, everything was filled with abuse and their conditions were subhuman...

× just overall awful

× you couldn't help but hug him tight, feeling him shake in your arms

× with a hesitant voice he asked if you really did think there was a chance to find them

× just couldn't believe how amazing he felt in your arms

× or how your determination that night made his heart clench and took a big weight off his shoulders

× anywho;;;; after his first paycheck he takes you out on cute dates

× never calls them that, just demands you dress up [helps you out cuz boy got style] and takes you to a nice coffee shop or something

× AND on your fifth not date cuz you're not official but there's this weird tension between you date he finally kinda s n a p s

× you honestly didn't expect the waiter to flirt with you, he came out as very pushy and even if you were a lil uncomfortable you smiled and brushed it off

× when the waiter suggested giving you his number the sandy blond hybrid growled

× which i shit you not made the whole coffee shop freeze

× and you froze too

× but neither of you could say anything because the oblivious fuck kept talking

× basically joking about how you should keep your pet in a leash, to which you got up, threw some money on the table, grabbed Bakugou by the hand and leave before he'd rip someone's head off

× it only took you to touch Bakugou's arm to calm him down as he followed behind you wordlessly

× so you stood outside, angry, deep red eyes on your figure

× and silence

× his hand still in yours

× it was warm and amazing and you felt angry but your heart was beating loudly; angry at the waiter that you wanted to go full Karen on and get fired but excited because that growl shook you to the core, as if you could tell it was territorial and it was because of that pig flirting with you and did Bakugou Katsuki just lace his fingers with you?!

× "Oi." he interrupted your thoughts

× he turned your frame towards him and pulled you [kinda harshly] into him

× you'd make a comment about it but brain empty, just Bakugou Katsuki blushing

× "You're mine, you get it?"

× skdjflglykshs

× it sounded like he asked but it was a demand so oops you're his now ok bye

× like I said, boy isn't dumb so he lowkey knew you felt something too

× legit from there on he's just soft as fuck

× has a hard time opening up but visibly tries for you

× still continues to be a pain in the ass, Bakugou Style, but with a loving teasing attitude behind it

× his eyes give him away all the time

× they shine whenever you're in his field of view so congrats because, and this is the best part:

× WOLVES MATE FOREVER 💕💓💞💗💝💟

× oh yeah, he's yours, no takebacks

× he isn't one to half-ass the relationship; you're his now and he'll do anything for you

× big time touch starved it hurts

× because he is shy

× so whenever you introduce him to hand holding and cuddles, he can't get enough

× not big on PDA [ and not recommended since human-hybrid relationships are kiiiinda frowned upon but it's getting better ]

× although at home it's another deal

× seriously cuddle him; he's big into the protector vibe so he's a big spoon almost exclusively unless it's to sleep on top of you

× speaking of! accept that even if your relationship isn't that intimate, he'd still hint about sleeping together in the same bed

× so you better catch on when he does because he'll just click his tongue and call you needy

× while dragging you to bed

× sleeps holding you, his nose in your hair or in the crook of your neck

× unless it's summer then stay on your side 💅

× you know those kisses that just scream "I can't get enough of you"? that's his whole kissing vibe in a sentence

× hell, even the gentlest kiss gives that vibe away and it'll 100% leave you breathless

× doesn't have experience but is a very fast learner

× pays very close attention to your body language

× really into biting your skin enough to leave marks

× wear his hoodies

× no, I'm fucking serious, wear them now

× his chest puffs and he turns into a blushing mess when you do it the first times because his scent is on you

× scenting is a big thing for him so of course he's gonna love it

× 10x more territorial because now he has a mate to protect

× jealous but trusts you

× still very jealous though

× let's all pretend he is definitely not scenting you before you go out because it's in his nature and it is embarrassing

× the first time he tells you he loves you it's when he's feeling vulnerable

× the search for his friends is still on-going, he feels less than adequate as a providing mate, is pissed at the world for treating him like an inferior animal when they created him, everything is piled on his shoulders and whenever than happens he closes off

× you notice immediately

× will not tell you at first

× it's only when you go to bed and he turns his back to you when you really know it's bad

× even if you fought before, he'd angrily snuggle you at night-time

× now it's so different

× hug him, whisper sweet nothings in his ear, pull a blanket all over you both and big spoon him, he'd start shaking and talking in no time

× will hide his tears from you but you'd know

× "You're the best fucking thing that happened to me, [Y/N]... I—... Shit... I love you so much."

× neither of you slept that night

× excuse you? drink some water and pray to jesus;;; you talked about feelings, ok? communication is key in a relationship, puh-lease

× [ i have this whole nsfw hcs post already cookin in my brain so maybe I'll make it happen cuz y'all know he has a mating season and all that comes with it 👀 ]

× back to being children of jesus here

× thanks the moon, the heavens and all the gods for putting you in his life; boy didn't believe in destiny but deep down he thinks you were meant to be

× you still better wash the dishes or you'll get your ass kicked.

Extra:

× you did find some of his friends, little by little, and even if he acted nonchalant, like k das cool, it was obvious he was extremely happy

× so they did get adopted too

× you got in contact with them on social media and they were all very excited about meeting

× so it was a chaotic meeting with a dog hybrid called Kirishima and a mouse like vibrat yellow guy called Kaminari

× they all were looking for Bakugou too since they were very worried about where he ended

× Kirishima shed manly tears when seeing Bakugou

× as they instantly welcomed you in their small group, they informed you both that the majority of the squad was adopted and they're in contact, while they're still actively looking for the others

× cue to the softest expression you've seen on Bakugou in public followed by "That's good"

× silence

× shock and silence

× Kaminari turning to you and whispering "You did this" with a hand on his heart, lips trembling as he wiped an imaginary tear

× insert instantly snappy Bakugou

× when everyone laughed and continued to make plans to meet up with the others, he just looked at you conversing with them, soft expression again on his features and his chest warming

× "Oh! Look, he's doing it again! Quick, take a pictur—"

× "SHINE!"