#ask ka

[kineticallyanywhere]

i’ve been a fan of your art since the rvb days and i love seeing how your style has improved and evolved :) even tho i dont think we’re in any of the same fandoms anymore i just get so happy when i see ur stuff on the dash! have a great day!

this got me do to a redraw of an old au drawing in a fit of nostalgia Q<Q thank you so much!!

(original under cut)

link to og post here

[ghost-proofbaby]

IT WILL COME BACK (E.M.)

"honey, don't feed me - i will come back."

summary: when eddie came back from the upside down, he was different. and you finally come to realize just how different the man you saved truly is one night, when push comes to shove.

pairings: kas!eddie munson x reader

warnings: mentions of BLOOD (in sexual manner), mentions of BITING (in sexual manner), allusions to possible coercion (consent is still explicitly stated - trust me), mentions of death and trauma, mentions of eddie's canon death, taking a lot of creative liberty with expansive vampire lore across all media, mentions of murderous dreams? (eddie dreamt about killing reader idk), oral (f receiving), smut. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT - 18+ ONLY.

wc: 7.7k+

a/n: i told y'all i'd write a serious biting/blood kink fic one day - today is the day. very lazily edited so beware.

When Eddie came back from the Upside Down, he was different.

There were subtle changes at first. Small, minute details that were easy to ignore. Everyone could turn a blind eye to them — everyone figured they would fade once the boy healed. His healing was first priority, and whatever lingered after could be dealt with.

Get Eddie better. Then question all that lingers.

A simple plan. A genius plan. A torturous plan.

The two of you had been friends, if you could even call it that, prior to it all. Teasing in the hallways, working on school projects here and there when in shared classes, he was your favorite (and only) dealer when you craved something to make sleep come just a little bit easier. He had been familiar — an old ghost you'd grown comfortable with, long before you’d seen those large and wet eyes looking back up at you in the boathouse. 

Long before he’d pieced together the puzzle pieces as to why you’d needed the weed to cancel out the nightmares. Long before he’d processed exactly what those nightmares entailed.

But then, you’d fought for him. You’d fought with him. And most importantly, you’d bled with him.

God, you had bled for him. 

Something admirable had blossomed in that short time. Eddie’s entire life had fallen apart, thread by frayed thread, and that new planted emotion had been the only solid thing to emerge for him to absolutely cling to. You were more than a fellow classmate to pass by in the hallways. You were more than his favorite customer, always weaponizing fluttering lashes and puckered lips for a discount he’d have given you regardless. 

You were a force to be reckoned with, and had ignited a hunger in him like no other.

That’s all he had thought it was when he’d awoken in his living room — not the distorted version but the real one — to you screaming for the others to help you as you’d sealed his wounds. That’s all he had thought it was when you’d come to visit him as wounds turned to scars, and stabbing pains turned to hungering pangs. So he had tried to bury it, listen to Harrington and Wheeler and Buckley when they told him to take time to readjust. He’d locked away that hunger and focused on his healing, just as everyone else had, and told himself it was just residual feelings. 

Residual feelings had been bound to happen after seeing someone bloody their hands, with your own blood, for your survival. 

And in his burial, he’d never considered a similar hunger igniting somewhere deep within you.

You visited far more often than you should have. Returning time and time again to change his bandages, taking on one too many shifts at the hospital during his unconscious spells and baring your teeth for anyone who got too close. The sweet blood on your hands hadn’t washed away in that first shower; you swore, if you looked closer, you could still see the stain of nearly losing him across your knuckles. 

Physical wounds were easier to heal than the internal ones. It was easier to lather on antibiotic lotion than it was to sleep soundly at night. Both of you came to realize that quickly in the weeks that followed Eddie’s return from the dead.

His nights were plagued with bad dreams, with thirst and cravings he couldn’t quite name. He’d wake up, burning up from the inside out with a fever that never existed. Tearing skin. Puncture wounds. Blood spilling across floors and his lips alike. He could never tell if the shivers that traced his spine had been from the cruel visions that had become his nightly visitors or if it was due to his perpetual drop in temperature that had worried Nancy since the very first night home from the hospital, that had concerned the nurses who piled blankets atop him during his week long sleep of recovery. 

Your nights were even less kind. Horrific memories were the demons that haunted you — remembering the way you had watched Eddie cut that sheet rope, remembering finding him bloodied on the ground, remembering the warmth of his blood seeping across your palms and how when your ear had turned just as heated with it as you pressed it to his chest. Only to hear nothing. Emptiness.

His heart had stopped for minutes. Plural.

It had been your steady rhythm, your desperate hands and your gasping breaths breathing into his lungs. You’d sunk your claws into him, caught them right between his ribs and had decided he couldn’t leave you.

Some nights, when you wake up screaming, you can still taste his blood on your lips. You sometimes still swore that when you’d checked for a pulse after that, you hadn’t heard anything. Still worried that Eddie Munson’s heart never really restarted and resumed beating. 

The worst was when you’d stare through the faded grey of  mornings plastering across your room’s walls, and could still remember that initial look in his blown out pupils, once honey brown swallowed in pure black as he’d taken his first breath on his own. 

Hunger.

You’d felt it, too. Shame riddled you on the nights you’d come down from the nightmares and remember it; it was as though the Universe had snapped back into place the moment you’d watched his chest first rise. A need so ardent to remain at his side. A chain clicking into place, binding both yourself and Eddie to one another, unaware of just what price had been paid to keep the boy that had laid under you in this world. Unaware of the hunger you had struck the match too that would become both your downfalls.

And so it had been buried. Something alive, even with your doubts of Eddie’s liveliness, and choking on dirt while six feet under. You and Eddie, two sides of the same coin, had decided to not speak of it. He never told you how he had come to be able to pinpoint your heartbeat in every shared room he entered, throat burning as his gaze always settled on you, and you never told him of the matching aches that had shamefully sparked within your chest and between your hips for him. 

A hunger to be near one another. A hunger to devour. Neither of you really understood the heaviness.

“How are you feeling today, Eddie?” Steve asks as he sits on the edge of the new bed in the new apartment in the new part of town the Munson men now occupy. 

Government money could go a Hell of a long way. Especially after your home had been devastated by the aftermath of alternate dimensions and unheard of evil being defeated.

“Fine,” is the only response Eddie can muster.

In reality, every time anyone came near him now, he burned. His throat tightened till it was surely raw, he swore his teeth sharpened until a mere slip of his tongue against his canines could bring the taste of metallic blood to his mouth. His entire body would tense with every person that walked through his door.

Control. Whatever was happening to him, Eddie needed to exercise control.

“Just fine?” Steve continues on, not catching the drift as he puts down the bag of things he’d bought at Eddie’s request. Basic things — painkillers, packs of cigarettes, a 6-pack. Some habits die harder and can’t be controlled, “You look like shit, Munson.” 

“Gee, thanks, Stevie.” 

Everyone had assumed the dark shadows beneath Eddie’s eyes would fade. They assumed his cheeks would eventually fill back out. They assumed he could wash away the ashen shade his hair now flatly flowed in. It was as if the life had been drained from Eddie since that day, and they had all assumed it would eventually flow back into him. 

It never did. Just as his new hunger lingered, so did the look of Death.

“Sorry, man,” Steve throws his hands up, shrugging a bit before he stands, “Just being honest. It’s the best policy.”

“Is it? Is it really?” 

If honesty was the best policy, Eddie could have filled the room with it. He could admit about the nightmarish wants, needs, he’d been keeping at bay. He could admit the way his irritation had been growing this last week every time another body, another friend, walked through his doorway and it wasn’t you. You, who had begun to plague the night terrors. You, who Eddie was beginning to crave far more than he had before he’d stared the afterlife down the barrel of the gun. 

Steve just looks at Hawkins’ newest zombie boy, sighing, “Look, I don’t know what’s got you pissed off-“

“The whole dying thing, for starters.”

“-or why you’ve insisted on being an asshole to all of us these last few weeks-“

“Again, I died.” 

“-but you’ve got everyone but me scared to visit you. We’re all scared of you biting our heads off, dude,” Steve finally finishes with a scowl. 

Everyone. It’s unspoken that you’re included in the generalization. 

It occurs to Eddie that maybe, just maybe, he should be kinder if he ever wants the ache of yearning to see you again to fade. If that’s what he could call this ache.

By the time Steve has left, Eddie’s still thinking about his warning. About the way he had been unusually cruel since coming back to life, since waking up handcuffed to a hospital bed. It made sense initially. But he wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed anymore — he was home, or as close to home as he could get, and he was technically safe.

The issue was that he’d accepted his safety. Everyone who had wanted Eddie Munson dead was now six feet under themselves. No, the bigger issue at hand was everyone else’s safety.

Your safety.

Once he’d realized you were the staring lead in his violent fantasies, he had stopped calling. Half of your absence last week had been his fault. 

No one really bothered to look deeper into it. Steve didn’t press as to why Eddie’s fridge had remained empty, Nancy didn’t take second glances at the odd books on vampire tales that were now littering all the free real estate of Eddie’s room, and you hadn’t questioned the coldness of his tone whenever he spoke to you. The chill of his words had grown icier than his own palms, desperate to keep you at arm’s length until he figured out what had changed in him that day he came back to life. 

He wanted you near. He wanted to rip your throat out. He wanted your blood to stain his mouth and neck just as his had stained your hands. That was an issue. That wasn’t normal. 

Something had changed in Eddie Munson, and it had terrified him to his twisted core, and no one had cared enough to notice. Not yet.

–

It took you two weeks to be fed up with the radio silence. 

Eddie stopped calling even Jonathan (the only one of the group he found he didn’t want to devour whole, as it turns out). When everyone had mentioned it in passing, it had only reminded you of the sleepless nights you’d be enduring. That small voice in the back of your head that had called out to you in the dead of night, the whisper of come to me that echoed all the way across a broken town. 

Come to me. 

Sometimes you swore it was Eddie’s voice calling to you. Sometimes, you nearly left your own new apartment in the dead of night, and let your legs guide you to the undead boy you had single-handedly revived.

Tonight was one of those nights. Your stomach was twisting, your head was pounding, your bones were aching. Every single inch of you hurt as it listened to that soft calling, and at some point, you gave in.

Hunger. You were insatiable with the need and drive to be at Eddie’s side. Warnings from the others be damned.

One thing leads to another. You find your coat, you find your car keys. You find yourself driving the deserted streets of Hawkins in the middle of the night. You find yourself on the Munson doorstep, knuckles shaking and aching with the knowledge that just beyond the wood of the door, he was there. You don’t have to see him to feel him; his thrumming presence, his anchoring existence. 

Come to me. 

The door swings open before you get the chance to knock. This string tying your two souls together is not a one-way channel, it seems. 

“Why are you here?” 

You watch him wince as the harsh words leave him. Immediately, you know that the abrasiveness is on instinct. Just as something claws inside of you to be near him, there is something within him howling to keep you far from him. 

The polarity of two magnets. Some nights, surely, his twists in a way that would draw him to you, just as yours will twirl with the sensibility that whatever has changed within him should give you cause to run as far away from him as possible. 

But tonight, your magnetism only yanks you closer to him. He doesn’t even invite you in, and yet, you find yourself stepping over the threshold of the new apartment. 

“You’ve gone quiet,” you whisper as an answer. It’s not what he wants to hear, grimace deepening, nearly a scowl now, “I just… It’s been weeks. I…” 

I missed you. I needed you. I heard you in my dreams and I’ve never had much self-control when it comes to you. 

Magnets are a useless metaphor for whatever is happening here between you. A better comparison would be the cliche image of a moth to a flame; he’s dangerous, threatening to burn you alive, and you still find your heart fluttering after him hopelessly. You’re going to get scorned, and you’ll still never learn. You’ve fallen victim to a tired narrative that you’d rolled your eyes at in a plethora of books. How many times had you sworn that wouldn’t be you? Just how many eye rolls had you exhausted at the mere idea?

And now, here you were, on his doorstep. Grasping for something you’re not sure either of you can give. 

“I’ve been dealing with a few things,” he mutters as he shuts the door behind you, shielding you both from the chill of the night. The room is still cold, especially in his radius, “Didn’t think it would make much of a difference.” 

“You didn’t think I’d care if you just stopped calling?” you turn slowly, taking in the state of the living room. Wayne was clearly gone for the night, work most probably, and several books littered the coffee table. Eddie had been the one reading them, lounging on the couch. 

The last time you had seen him, he couldn’t even sit up in bed on his own. 

He’s keeping an unusual distance, nearly leaning back out of your vicinity, “Figured you were busy.”

He’s never been this short with you. His words are choked up, his body tense with pain. You assume it’s just his injuries bothering him.

You couldn’t be more wrong, but you’re completely unaware.

“I brought you back from the dead, and you think I’d still be too busy for you,” you laugh humorlessly, fully in disbelief at his pitiful excuse, “Eddie, we could find out Vecna didn’t really die, those damn cracks in the Earth could open right back up, and the first person I’d care about finding is you.”

The animal inside that had been yearning for his presence is satiated for now, but you can still feel it lurking in the darkest depths of your mind, ready to call out a new request at any moment. It’s the distraction that has you spilling pathetic truths. 

The only response he offers you is a dead stare. With eyes wide, pupils nearly swallowed up by darkness. 

“You could have called,” your voice cracks, body shaking with the effort not to take a step closer to him, “You could have just let me know you were still alive.”

“I-” 

He cuts himself off when he’s the one taking a step closer. His entire face twists with pain, and you give up keeping your distance. In an instant, you’re at his side as your hand reaches out for his bicep. 

He flinches away. Something inside of you burns. 

Your hand is hovering in the air between the two of you, and in this lighting, you swear the skin is still stained with the blood that won’t wash away. 

“Please don’t,” he begs, “I’m fine, but… please.”

You don’t know what he’s begging for. Distance, for you to pull your hand away, time – you don’t know what he needs. 

“We should sit down,” you insist, finally pulling your hand as far from him as possible but making no move to put the space back between you two, “Has anyone helped you with your bandages? If your wounds got infected-”

“They didn’t.”

“If you didn’t change the bandages, they definitely could have-”

“They’re not infected,” he grits out, but he’s still walking over to the couch regardless, “They’re healed.” 

Healed.

Mere weeks ago, those wounds were still deep enough to keep you from ever achieving a full night's rest. Deep enough to worry you to the core that you would wake up to them finally having consumed him. Deep enough that you all assumed it would take him months, not weeks, to recover.

“What do you mean they healed, Eddie?” you whisper, almost reaching out for him as he sits down. 

Your hand twitches, but the echoes of his begging and his flinching keep it at bay as you stand before him. 

“I mean, they healed,” he huffs, nostrils flaring as he takes deep breaths. He’s looking anywhere in the room but at you, his gaze subverting you with purpose. As though the mere sight of you, the mere proximity, is painful to him, “Don’t know how, don’t know why – they just did.” 

“So why are you still in pain?” 

A sharper intake of breath. A hush of silence falling over the apartment. Even the buzz of the building’s AC unit has faded from all your senses. It’s just you and him, and a heavy quietude like no other. 

Until he finally breaks the surface tension, breathing out, “You.” 

Your heart drops. That tug inside your chest, the one taut as you look at him right within your reach yet still so far away, almost snaps. 

“Me?”

He nods with a harsh swallow, “I- Look, I can’t explain it, but when I came back, I came back…” 

“Different?” 

He doesn’t have to explain it. You’d felt it.

The moment his eyes had opened, just moments after what should have been blissful victory. The taste of his blood heavy on your tongue, a terrible sweetness that had choked you rather than its initial metallic twang. The whispers of his voice in your mind. 

He wasn’t the only one changed from whatever had occurred that night. 

“Different is a good way of putting it,” he nods, looking up with apologetic eyes, “It’s not you. It’s cliche as fuck, but it really isn’t – it’s me. I died, and you brought me back, but I don’t think either of us knew the cost.” 

The yearning. The nightmares. The unmanageable needs. The hunger. 

“What was the cost?” 

He almost doesn’t hear you. Your voice is a whisper, tone weighed down with the curse of knowing. 

You might not have known the cost when you were pressing your palms into his chest through your wretched sobs, functioning as his heart and lungs for nearly a minute, but you think you might have a clue now. 

All that had been tethering you to him since he’d come back to you, all those webs and strings that had formed their knots around both of your necks. He’d changed, and you had plummeted right into the chasm of the unknown with him.

His blood on your tongue, sweet as honey. 

Blood shouldn’t be sweet. 

He grabs one of the books off the coffee table, motioning for you to join him on the couch. Under the weight of your realization, you’re nearly under a trance. All he has to do is wave a hand, and you follow. 

You’re at his beck and call. Just like you had been when he’d been calling out for you, yearning for you. 

“Don’t make me say it,” he mutters under his breath, tossing the book into your lap the moment you’ve sat down. This time, you’re mindful to keep your distance. 

This time, you’re painfully aware of the compromising situation the two of you have found yourselves in. 

The book is older, leather-bound and worn from years of readers’ careless hands breaking the spine. The corners of every page are weather, close to disintegration. The entire thing could easily pass for a Halloween decoration. 

It’s not. You flip open to the title page, and if Eddie didn’t appear so deathly serious at your side, you would have scoffed. 

“Dracula?” you question carefully, running a finger over the delicate script of the title, “Eddie, I don’t-”

“I’m not insane,” he interrupts you, “I’m not fucking- I swear to you. I’ve gathered up every goddamn book about it that I can. Fictional, nonfictional. Just- there’s obviously a Hell of a lot more fictional material to work with, okay?” 

A vampire. He’s convinced he’s a vampire.

And even worse – you’re convinced right along with him. 

You turn your head to look at him, trying to find the right words, but all you find is Eddie burying his face in his hands, head nearly hung between his knees. 

“I can’t eat normal food anymore,” his voice is muffled, “That was the first sign. Couldn’t stomach it, made me throw up for hours when I tried. And then all those nurses kept talking about how I was healing faster than they expected. Most of my smaller cuts – those healed in under a day,” he finally lifts his face just enough to turn and peer at you through all the stray curls that fall into his vision, “My vision and hearing were the next things I noticed. Remember how I had a nonstop migraine those first few days?” 

He doesn’t need to convince you, but the argument is compelling, “It… wasn’t a migraine.” 

He shakes his head. “Not even close. Just turns out that it’s a killer to get used to fucking superhuman night vision and impeccable hearing. I still can’t handle being out in the sun very long. I don’t… burn up or any of that shit, but… it just…” he trails off, shoulders falling in defeat before he throws himself back against the couch. When he continues, his tone is flat, devoid of all emotion, “I keep having these dreams about you, too. Bad dreams. Terrible dreams.” 

You shut the book, toss it back onto the coffee table, and decide to Hell with keeping your distance. 

You need it. Even if he’ll only allow you to get an inch closer to him, you need it. 

“What do you mean by terrible dreams?” you ask, breath catching at the end of your question as you scoot yourself closer on the couch. Even with such a small movement, Eddie is quick to notice, eyes flicking to you quickly with a sense of urgency flashing behind them. 

“Don’t,” he lowly warns. 

“What’s happening in your dreams, Eddie?” 

Another inch closer. His jaw clenches. 

“Sweetheart, do not-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. Your knee bumps into his thigh, and you watch him go rigid. Hands turning to fists, eyes pinching shut and face twisting with the same pain he’d worn the ghost of when you first arrived at the apartment. 

The moment you touch him, you see it. The flashes of his nightmares, all those terrible actions haunting him every time he closed his eyes. You. Your blood. That hunger. 

Like a blackhole in the center of your stomach, it burns viciously as it sucks the air out of your lungs. It threatens to cave your entire being into itself until there’s nothing left. Not even a crumb of who you once were. 

But it's not yours. It’s Eddie’s. 

That pain on his face is only exhibiting a fraction of what he was feeling. That dizzying craving that he’d miraculously been keeping at bay since you’d simply entered the building, not even yet knocking on his door. You hadn’t even been in the same room as him yet, and he had still known. Had smelt you, had felt you. 

He could almost taste you. 

“You…” you have to shift your knee away from him, break the touch, break the connection, “You haven’t fed since you woke up.”

“I haven’t fed, period.” 

With the connection severed, he somehow finds it in himself to open his eyes once more. You don’t know how – if he’s feeling what you’d just been privy to, you’d be an incoherent mess on the floor. Something feral and unrecognizable. 

Although, maybe he was nearly there. You couldn’t see his pupils. That same look when he’d first woken up – a man swallowed whole by hunger. 

“You’ve been dreaming about ripping my throat out,” you say it as a matter of fact, not a lick of judgment in your tone. 

It wasn’t you scrutinizing him. It was what you had seen, with one simple touch. 

His voice is hoarse as he echoes in confirmation, “I’ve been dreaming about ripping your throat out.” 

You should probably be afraid. All your survival instincts should be kicking in, your feet should be carrying you towards the door, you shouldn’t be leaning in closer. 

“You know what really sealed the whole vampire ordeal though, sweetheart?” he breathes out, your eyes fluttering shut at the lull in his hushed tone. 

Just as you’ve been leaning in, he’s been slowly turning his body to face yours, hands twitching at his sides. He’s no longer retreating from your presence, sucking down breaths in harsh gulps the closer you grow to him. 

He’s losing control. You’re losing control. 

That thread, vibrant red as it draws you near him, is clear as day now. A noose around your neck. A road to your damnation. 

A road to your hunger. 

You hardly hum in response, completely entranced now. Had he ever been capable of this before? Of holding you beneath such an inescapable spell with such ease? 

Probably. 

He doesn’t use his words to answer. Instead, he finally takes the plunge. 

His head ducks down towards your neck just as his hands lose the war, grabbing onto your hips, dragging you dangerously close to him until his lips hovered just over your pulse point. And by some strength that you certainly don’t possess, he stops there. Letting his lips barely brush against your soft skin, breath coming out in pants for you to feel, to relish, to get lost in. And just as soon as those pants, those waves, become a comfortable pattern to succumb to, you feel them.

His fangs. 

Grazing over your sensitive skin. Sharp tips nipping at a surface they could so easily break, pierce with one wrong move. Your pulse is thrumming beneath the surface, heart racing painfully as Eddie’s grip turns bruising. 

Come to me. 

“Please.” 

You’re the one begging now. It goes against every rule you’ve ever seen applied in fiction. If a vampire is baring their fangs against your neck, you should be reaching for a stake. The only noise escaping you should be a scream for help, not the pathetic whimpers beginning to slip out. 

“I can’t,” you feel his gasp more than you can hear it. Your blood is too loud, roaring in your ears as you feel the fangs slip with his words, “I can’t.” 

That hunger you felt, the one that had called out to you through the night and led you right to his doorstep, is unavoidable now. You need him closer, you need him to do this. For the first time since you had saved his life and tasted his blood after the Upside Down, everything seems to click into place. All he needs to do is let them sink into you, take that final leap of faith and reprieve that ache you’ve battled for weeks now. 

You’re so close. So close. 

“Eddie, please,” you’re nearly sobbing, hands gripping onto his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer. 

But you’re no match for his strength. You don’t know if it’s a new addition with his vampire business or if there was always more to him than met the eye, but he easily stays stoic against your attempts, not moving a centimeter. Still hovering, still just barely making contact with your heartbeat. 

“I-” his head drops slightly, tip of his nose beginning to trail down the side of your neck, mouth no longer dangerously close, “You saw my dreams-”

“I trust you.” 

You do. You trust him even more now than you had when you first stumbled upon him in the boathouse. More than when he had pleaded his case, promised he hadn’t been the one to kill Chrissy Cunningham. The trust comes easier than breathing as his nose nuzzles into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“You shouldn’t,” he mutters, fangs now brushing your collar bone, “You really, really shouldn’t.” 

He doesn’t stop you when you move to straddle his hips. Your weight settles onto his lap, and he only fights to keep his face burrowed there in your shoulder, arms now moving around your waist to hold you tightly to him. 

His self-control is impeccable. You’d admire him and all this impressiveness another time, when something inside of you wasn’t lamenting his resistance. 

All at once, it occurs to you how to give him the final push. 

“Did I ever tell you how sweet your blood was on my tongue after I brought you back?” you start, sighing, rolling your shoulders to expose more of your neck, grip on his shoulders tightening, “All that blood, all those tears, and I still can’t forget how welcome that warmth of you was in my mouth. How I needed more. How I pictured it every night, after every nightmare-” 

He breaks. 

One moment, his nose is buried in your skin. And the next, his fangs are. 

You weren’t sure what to expect, but relief would have been low on your list. You gasp out in initial shock, but as you feel his teeth dig in, it’s as though something has snapped. The ache has been satiated, preening as you feel the warmth of your blood contrast the chill of his chin pressing into you. 

If there’s any pain, you don’t feel it through the haze of pleasure. 

Ice shards spread through your bloodstream, but the point in which Eddie’s mouth is connected to you radiates heat. He’s pulling you into him, letting go completely and relinquishing all that control as he nearly purrs against your skin in satisfaction. That connection is back, two minds linking with a heavy click, and you can feel all his pleasure mingling with your own. Satiation, desperation, adoration – the plethora of emotions all swarm your head and block out any better judgment. 

You’d let him drain you dry, if that’s what he needed. If nothing more than to hear those soft moans as his fangs sink even deeper. 

He pulls back too soon, though, suddenly and unexpectedly. Just as quickly as he had given in to both your desires, he’s putting an end to them. He hadn’t taken much blood, but your head is swimming from the loss all the same. Your grip has gone slack on him, hands slipping down to just barely cradle his biceps while his own touch stays unyielding around you. 

You can hear his thoughts. Or rather, maybe more aptly put, you can feel them. 

He wants to devour you. Wholly, ruthlessly. 

He looks up at you with pupils still blown wide, chest heaving and a small scarlet drip trailing from the corner of his mouth. For the first time since he’d come back to you, he looks alive. Hair fluffed in a halo around his head, skin tinted with a healthy glow and unmistakable blush, bags beneath his eyes faded for the time being. 

You were never quite sure if Eddie Munson’s heart had ever restarted, knew for certain that it hadn’t now, but you swear you can feel its pulse finally thrumming for you. 

I need more. 

It’s his voice in your head, echoing in the empty space as you look down with wild eyes to match his. 

But it’s your voice in his head when you respond instantaneously. 

Then take it. 

Something unspoken lies there in the need. He doesn’t move back to your neck, doesn’t bite down and drink his fill of your blood. He only stares for a few seconds, watching the welt of blood that pools from each puncture wound of his making. His eyes follow when it runs down your skin, as though he might lose it should he so much as blink. Down, down, down. Following the trail that his nose had followed minutes before, across your collarbone until it stains the neck of your loose shirt. 

My pleasure. 

His hold proves helpful when he quickly changes positions, roughly throwing you down onto the couch before he’s settled between your thighs, crawling his way up your body. He pays close attention to the maroon trail on your throat, his tongue cleaning up after his mess, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. 

Sweet as honey. 

His tongue only pauses for a moment over the bite wound, pressing into it, making your back arch as you press yourself fully into him. Your head digs painfully into the cushion behind you as you expose your neck, wanting and begging and pleading all without words. 

“I think we should take this off,” he plucks at the hem of your shirt, tugging hard before he begins to carefully lift. His freezing knuckles brush against your burning skin, eliciting a whimper from you, “Before we make an ever bigger mess. Don’t you agree, sweetheart?” 

A sultry tone you’ve never heard from him before. Honeyed words, familiar to how he once spoke, but entirely new in the way they curl around you. There’s a confidence there, a baiting that he’s luring you with. 

“Yes, please.” 

He could ask anything of you in this moment, and you’d be eager to comply. Fueled by your desire for him before the events of spring break, worsened by his new condition. A bright, red, vibrating thread. You couldn’t severe the tie if you wanted to. 

And you most certainly did not want to. 

Your shirt is removed, his hands careful despite the way they shake. His words may be smooth, but each move is jagged, the only sign you had that he’s still exercising control. 

“And these?” he whispers, lowering his lips to your sternum as he toys with the band of your pants. His fangs scratch down the center of your stomach as it quivers with each breath, careful to not break skin as they make their presence known. You nearly lose all capability to speak until he says, “Use your words, baby. Tell me I can take them off.” 

Yes. 

His eyes flare, looking up to you, “Use your words. Not your mind. I want to hear how badly you need me – I want everyone to hear you beg.” 

The words strike straight to your core. Lashing out in your lower stomach, burning deliciously. 

It’s more than putting on a show. He needs to know you want this. 

“Take them off,” you gasp out, hands wandering to tangle in his hair, “Take- Take it all off. I’m yours, Eddie.” 

Shaking hands perform a dance you had long since fantasized about. In easier days, when Eddie had been uninvolved in the episode down, heart still beating along as he would bounce his knees in front of you and his fingers would idly fiddle with his pencils and pens. A yearning, a wanting, you’d always held for the boy. 

He used to be an escape from it all. A pretty thing to daydream about when you weren’t worried about monsters. And now – he was one of the monsters. 

Your monster. Tied to you inexplicably, brought back by your hands and your stubborn efforts. 

His lips and fangs are one in the same, trailing along your body as he finds a home at the apex between your thighs. Even in undeath, he’s the most beautiful thing your mind could conjure. 

You’d forgotten how he was privy to your every thought until he reacts.

“You’re too sweet,” he murmurs, smirking salaciously as he mouths innocently at that sensitive skin of your inner thigh, tongue darting out to lick a cool stride before he breathes out against it. It has you writhing beneath his hold, “You’ve wanted this all this time, sweetheart? Wanted to see me, between these pretty thighs, making you scream my name?” His mouth falls open a bit wider, the sharp canines pressing but not sinking against where he had just licked. He holds there, eyes locking with yours, until he pulls back to cockily say, “Could’ve just said something, y’know. Didn’t have to bring me back from the dead to have me devoted to you.” 

Finally, finally, he lets his fangs sink back into you. The soft meat of your thigh is more pliant in his mouth, and he doesn’t linger as long as he had on your neck. One nick, just enough to start the blood flow, before he’s pulling back and licking hungrily at the scarlet liquid. Less for feeding, more for marking.

Marking you as his, just as you have with him. His methods just appeared a bit more physical. 

He’s quick to avert his focus on your cunt, no warning before the tongue still covered in your blood is taking long strides over your entrance and clit. Devotion. That was the only word to describe the way he was unraveling you, alternating between indulging in your sweet cunt and returning back to that bite, going as far to even sink his teeth in a second time to take a proper drink of you. His chin and lips grow slick with it all – with the blood, with your wetness, with his own saliva. A starved man with a feast before him. 

The way he’s rutting his hips into the couch as he slings your legs over his shoulders doesn’t go unnoticed. 

It’s a mess. A wonderful, satisfying, enchanting mess.

Beautiful. So beautiful, all mine. 

His voice has you teetering on an edge of new carnal pleasure. Completely consumed by him, your hands tugging viciously at his curls. His face is round once more, eyes and cheeks no longer sunken in, vitality being breathed into him with each taste of your blood. 

Let me touch you. Please.

You beg over that connection, trying your best to not buck your hips mercilessly against his tongue. You feel his wicked grin. 

“You’re already touching me, sweetheart,” he reaches up, untangling your fingers from his hair for emphasis before he’s pinning them to your sides, “And what did I say about using our words? Hm?” 

“Need more,” your voice is wrecked as you tilt your head back, wrists straining against his hold, “I need more.” 

You’re fully light-headed now, the blood loss finally catching up. Maybe you were about to let him drain you dry. 

And what a beautiful way to die. At the hand, at the fangs, of the one you had fought so urgently to bring back to you. 

One last timid lick to the wound on your thigh, and he’s crawling his way back up to you. The mess doesn't phase you as he kisses you hungrily – the blood remains sweet rather than metallic, the remnants of your juices still on his tongue – and you meet him with an unbridled fervent. Nipping at his lips with your own dull canines as if you were the one looking for a bite of vivacity. 

You don’t know when he lets go of your wrists, or when your hands find their way up beneath his shirt. The specifics don’t matter once he’s naked before you, clothes discarded messily to the ground with your own. The only thing that matters is the weight of him, the reminder that he was still here as his hips roll into yours and the head of him catches on your entrance. 

He had been dead. For minutes. And you had brought him back to you. 

The process had taken longer than the mere CPR administered, had taken weeks of whatever waiting game you two had tortured yourselves with, but you had him now. He was yours. You were his. There wasn’t a deity, a monster, an omniscient being in this world that could take that away from you. Not even Death herself. 

“Last chance, baby,” he whispers against your lips, holding himself up so that not a single inch of his skin pressed to yours. You nearly cried out, missing that connection, missing him. Your hunger, the hunger for him entirely, rattles your bones once more, “Say the word, and I’ll-”

“No,” your hands pause their exploration of skin jagged with scars. Reminders of those few dreadful moments in which the world existed without Eddie Munson in it, that would fade in time but never fully disappear. Always there, just like the stain of his blood on your palms. Always there, just like your desperation to have him at your side. “I meant it when I said I’m yours. I’m not changing my mind. I want this.” 

His skin is back on yours, body laid fully along your own road map, and it all comes flooding back. The pain of seeing his lifeless body, the nights spent in an eerie hospital room, baring your own teeth at any one who came too close to the man you had pulled back from the ledge of Death. The anxiety, the fear, the relief, the yearning – it all accumulates as he’s pressing into you, brimming you so full that there’s no room for memories of nightmares. 

He’s here. He’s yours. You’re his. 

His heart didn’t need to beat for you to accept that truth. 

You can’t decipher which chants of your name fall from his lips for others to hear, and which ones whisper in the depths of your mind for only you to bear witness to. Each curse, each grunt, each moan – there for you and only you anyways. You’re entirely unsure if your lips even separate once as he thrusts, cock brushing somewhere deep in you that has you clenching around him. 

And if his fangs wander, it only adds to the pleasure. 

Blood, sweat, and tears all mingle between your bodies. He’s holding you tighter than water, as though you’re at risk of disappearing from him at any given moment. But that link between your two minds, your two souls, is unwavering. It’s the only thing grounding you to the moment as your half curls around his waist and your heel digs into his lower back. Urging him, pressing him, taking him. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he says it out loud, this time. You feel his lips brushing against your ear as he does, “Gripping me so tightly. This pussy was fucking made for me.” 

Every movement only unlocks something more feral inside the two of you. Your nails rake down his back, leaving angry red lines to trace over once it’s all said and done. There’s enough shallow bite marks across your neck that you’ll be wearing scarves for weeks, months. The others might question it, strangers might stare, but the pride you feel as he marks you is unmatched for any anxiety about it. 

That black hole of hunger is no longer swallowing either of you whole. That debilitating pain, that animal inside, has been tamed. 

When his hips begin to stutter, mouth no longer capable of the strength to properly bite you as his lips only smear the soft spattering of blood pooling at the base of your throat, you’re already there. Squeezing him tightly, sucking him in, voice raw as you let everyone know who’s ravishing you. 

Eddie. 

Hawkins’ newest zombie boy – Hawkins’ newest vampire. 

The climax is just as pleasurable as the lead up. The haze lingers long after his spent has dripped out of you, long after he’s collapsed into your body with exhaustion and contentment. The blood dries, the wounds clot – but that haze doesn’t falter. 

As long as his skin presses to yours, you feel that caress of his mind against yours. 

“Did…” you’re breathless as his face nuzzles into your nude chest, a few mindless hums of gratification still slipping from him as you bring a hand to toy with the curls at the crown of his head, “Did any of your vampire books say anything about… that?”

The connection. The bloodlust. The spell you swear he still has you under, even as it’s all said and done. 

He snorts against your skin, “Not that I, uh, recall.” 

“What? You mean to tell me in all your research, you never dived into any vampire smut?” you tsk jokingly, a calm smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. He lifts his head, and you swear, those honey-brown irises have threads of a deep maroon now, “You’re slacking, Munson.” 

“Why read about it when I can just experience it?” he coos, letting his nose and lips drag across your still hot skin before he rests his chin on your sternum, “Besides, I mean – we’ll need to do this again, won’t we, baby? For research.” 

Your head still spins. Your body aches in a welcome manner. There will be a need for explanations to others, for actually researching his condition, later on. But for now, it’s enough. 

The pounding behind your ribcage, the one you know Eddie feels for the both of you when his ear presses to your chest, is enough. 

Of course, lover. 

That thought stays between the two of you. The world doesn’t need to know what can’t hurt them. 

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

[temeyes]

pov: ur skater boi-core sergeant of a boyfie picks you up after work

[inklessletter]

Your art is SO PRETTY!!!!!

Thank you anon, so are you!!

--

Ok, a little explanation here: someone requested me a Kas Eddie, but I accidentally deleted the ask, so I'm using this thoughtful comment from anon here to give you what you requested! Please consider yourself tagged (or DM me so I can edit this and tag you!) [@izzy2210 they appeared!] And the thing is, I immediately thought of @azrielgreen's You're Divine. This fic broke me, her writing is amazing, so full of feeling, soul shattering, and the story... honestly, one of the best I've read. I really hope I captured the daylight that Little Bit so tirelessly makes in Steve's heart.

[barbieaiden]

yeah um clearly late august me was going through something

[hunterfromtheabyss]

kal 1 hr (+20 min) challenge

[dasnercaret]

some misc thoughts on ka bue worldbuilding! specifically relating to expressions

more thoughts under the cut!

my main concept for the Expressions as a whole revolves around names. essentially, an Expression can only exist with a literal expression of their Name somewhere in the world - their name being some sort of singular symbol / kanji / radical that represents their form, function, and essentially being. the first physical form of their name is their anchor (Expressions can change anchors though), and the more permanent the anchor is, the more powerful the Expression is. however, the more offerings - aka, further expressions of their Name an Expression recieves, the more powerful they become on top of their preexisting power from the permanence of their anchor. i imagine there's an entire scholarly split in ka bue revolving around whether One Big Elaborate Naming is more powerful or many smaller repetitive names is. for the most part though they both have about the same effect, which is why you see both shinto-style paper prayers attached to the pillars of the little shrine and a significant amount of more elaborate Offerings piled up around the anchor to the Expression.

- bonus thought here about little kids learning to Craft stone into geometric shapes as being the equivalent of vaugardians learning to craft clay into moving change god figurines! ka bue is pretty clearly Against / neutral to change and movement especially compared to Transgender Heaven Vaugarde, so i thought this was apt - there is also something here about the open-plan nature of the temple (wind can move freely through it, and people can visit and leave as they please) but i don't quite have enough thought here to fulfill it fully in worldbuilding. so i will leave the thought here for someone else to hopefully pick up - similar to shintoism, i imagine there are a lot of expressions dedicated to unique locations and places. for example, there are a lot of local Expressions (this one is one of them) that are specifically tasked with guarding a certain rural village or blessing a certain graveyard. the bigger and more popular expressions (victory, search, protection, luck, etc) are invoked much more often and by extension have far more elaborate temples though, probably located centrally in major cities. - bonus thought that i haven't really explored here about a bunch of the most famous temples being underground caves, due to the gem connections. - these temples would also probably have the expression names carved into them, similar to arabic architecture (see the alhambra's carvings) carving the name of god in stone into their walls. which btw i still think is one of the coolest things humans have done i LOVE spanish and arabian architecture

- some bonus thoughts about gems! i mainly conceptualized them in the doodles as being primarily anchors for expressions (metal and gems are prime expression worship material due to their permanence meaning that you can permanently express the Expression) but i also had a thought while typing up this tumblr post that maybe entire family trees could be represented this way as physical metal-and-gem trees, since odile mentions that people are commonly turned into gems. - bonus thought here regarding odile's "gems alive" swear - if gems are the remains of passed ancestors, not only is she swearing by her / other ancestors (which is very distinctly east asian) but also saying something along the lines of 'the dead are coming back to life because of how insane this is'. which i thought was funny - one final scribble regarding prayer flags! i imagine the paper prayers people write to Expressions as filling a very similar niche as shinto ofuda/shide and buddhist prayer flags, that is small throwaway prayers that gain power when accumulated in large amounts. and more importantly they look cool as hell - i don't know how common prayer trees would be (in my research shintoism commonly worships trees, and china also often venerates especially old trees (there are trees in beijing that are supposedly over 1000 years old, and some that are confirmed over 800 years old) so i think ka bue might do the same? maybe??? trees aren't really permanent though which is kind of more what i was going for in my head regarding their cultural beliefs. you can cut down a tree but you can't easily destroy a gem

[melodiousoblivionao3]

This is going to be long but I’m going to attach a quote from Tierna’s latest podcast appearance (good game with Sarah Spain) where she directly addresses the KA debacle. I think, as one of the only out queer players and a veteran, she answered very well, considering she’s probably not allowed to say everything since they are on a team together.

Tierna for captain. Read below.

SARAH: “There are some favorite players that aren't there, but one of the newer players has been getting different reactions from the fans than the majority of the team, and that's Korbin Albert. This is a real sticky, tough situation. I'm just wondering how you personally are dealing with both the public reaction to Korbin and sort of the internal response about her.”

TIERNA: “Yeah, I mean, I know, I think it's a difficult situation that has obviously affected me personally given what she was speaking on. I think that it is something that you have to learn as a young player, especially with the platform that you're given, is your beliefs or, you know, how you choose to express certain things is very public, and people do look and listen. And, you know, whether or not it's something that you grew up with or it was instilled upon you from a young age, and you might not know better, it is something that can hurt other people.

You know, I think that she has gone through a lot of learning since then, and she has to continue to do that. As we all do as humans, we have to learn from what we do in our lives and how people react to it and understand the hurt that we can cause. You know, I think that it's difficult, because as a team, we have always wanted to be very welcoming to all of our fans, to all players that walk through the locker room.

And so to have that in our space is very difficult. But, you know, I think I have always believed in the ability for people to learn and for people to change and to evolve. And that sometimes requires a very difficult experience, which I think this is that moment for her.

And so, you know, it's something that happens a lot in people's lives where they kind of come between a rock and a hard place, and you're like, OK, what am I going to do? Am I going to pick the left path or the right path? And, you know, it's up to her.

But, you know, I think that she's continuing to do that education, and it's important that she expresses that as she learns. So I think, you know, the ball's kind of in her court for that. But, yeah, I mean, it's been difficult.

It was difficult for me when it first happened. And it's been hard to hear how fans have been taking it because I feel like I want to be able to represent the queer community really well on this team. And so I want to have fans feel really welcome and feel like they can see themselves on this field, in this team.

And so I don't want there to be any sort of feeling that, you know, they are not welcome here. So, you know, I, again, I believe in people being able to evolve and being able to learn. And I'm not someone that's going to meet any sort of hate with hate.

So, you know, she is one of my teammates, and I respect that. And I, you know, respect her as a player. But, you know, it is something that you have to go through with life.

It's like you encounter and work with people that you don't always agree with. But that's, you know, something that you want to try and help people to change. You want to try and help them love.

And, you know, that's what we're trying to do.”

From Good Game with Sarah Spain: Leading with Love with Tierna Davidson, Jul 23, 2024

https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/good-game-with-sarah-spain/id1752100672?i=1000663063610

[ianime0]

May I Ask For One Final Thing? | PV1 | Scarlet El Vandimion

[absolutebl]

Do you have any recent recommendations for JBL TaiwanBL and KBL? Been rewatching only bls from 2021 2022 and I feel like I'm out of the loop for the more recent ones.

Maybe something from this year or late last year?

Great JBL, TaBL, and KBL from 2023 & first half 2024

asker added:

Genre = mostly anything. But pls avoid homophobic trauma (like Jazz for Two).

Fair. Okay here we go!

2023 Recs!

I picked mostly 9s and 10s for you with a few 8s I felt specifically might suit your taste.

I Cannot Reach You AKA Kimi ni wa Todokanai

Japan Netflix

This classic friends-to-lovers BL is everything Japan does best. Angsty. Emo. Aching. Driven by real thirst. Yamato is deeply in love with his childhood bestie, Kakeru, and has been for ages, unable to hide his ungainly damaging high school need. He wants Kakeru in every way possible and it oozes off of the screen. Kakeru is silly and a little simple, but not frenetic or overly camp about it. He is earnest, and genuinely wants to keep Yamato in his life which means giving a romance (and gayness) a fair chance. We watch him realize his affection and what form it can take in a truly authentic way. This show was impossibly kind to both of its lead characters and I felt almost honored that I got to watch something so lovely and rare play out on my screen.

Our Dating Sim

Korea Viki

This is a perfect short form KBL, an office set reunion romance featuring geeks that really suits 8 eps with no fluff and no chaff. Just comforting and yummy. I adored every aspect from the casting to the pristinely simple premise to the quietly smooth execution. Sure it’s low stakes, but that makes it high domesticity and extremely warm and gentle. This is a fuzzy blanket of a story - a cozy BL. It lives in my rewatch pile and you know what’s best about it? Every single episode is in that pile. There’s no skipping with this one, it might be good natured and calmly sweet but it’s tight and the pacing is excellent.

I don't hand out 10/10 often (over 700 BLs watched, stil don't hvae 10 10/10s yet), these both got that from me in 2023. I consider both of them perfect BLs.

My Personal Weatherman AKA Taikan Yoho

Japan Gaga

This style of live action yaoi really only works from Japan. Basically: boys who fell in love in college end up living together but both are so repressed they actually don't realize they're in love. It's higher heat than we usually get from Japan's HEA stuff, and that part is also very well done, but it leaned into the "why don't they just talk for fuck's sake?" trope which is only exacerbated into undiluted frustration by the fact that they're already fucking. It's great, but watching requires more patience than usual, even for Japan.

Our Dining Table AKA Bokura no Shokutaku

Japan Gaga

A lonely salaryman (+ talented cook) gets accidentally adopted by a college kid and his little brother. I was always gonna love this show if they stuck to the original yaoi (which is very dear to my heart). And they did! Paralleling it almost exactly. It’s a quiet & cozy little parable of found family alleviating loneliness. Possibly too slow for some but definitely high up there for me as the best of what Japan can do with softness (like Restart After Come Back Home). It’s only flaw (if I dare say such a thing) is that it is not really “romantic.” Lovely & sweet but the romance beats are being used to build a family relationship, not just couple intimacy, but that's OK with me. This is a very safe show for anyone to watch.

Jun and Jun

Korea Viki

A delightful office romance about an ex-idol who joins cubical life only to find his new boss is his first love. Others boys are sniffing around too. Operative word being "sniffing" as much of this romance involves smell. With a snappy (sometimes even raunchy) script, enjoyable sides, a pretty as peaches cast, and descent chemistry this show made up for in style what it lacked in substance. I like fluff. I loved this. I smiled every moment I was watching. With tons of rewatch potential (especially the last few eps), my only caution is this is for fans of the BL genre only, I don’t think it’ll work for anyone else.

Love Tractor

Korea iQIYI

Most of this country-set BL had me feral for the beautiful broken city boy and his hot young farmer. Hyung romance, puppy/cat pairing, open frankness meets jaded reserve, language play, water hose frolicking, only one bed, just all my favorite tropes. This show was basically a light-weight Restart After Come Back Home and I’m not even slightly mad about that. But (and you knew there was a “but” comg) something about the cringe of the final 2 eps and the impermanence of the ending (both of which highlight the fact that ultimately these 2 are I’ll-suited: too different and too far apart) left me with the feeling that they probably won’t last as a couple. However, in this case, rare for me, I forgive it this finale for my love of the rest.

The New Employee

Korea Viki

So good, SO QUEER, so soft, a near pitch perfect office BL with conflict derived from that setting. Also found family and a lesbian bestie. Sweet & innocent (and out) Seung Hyun scores the office internship of his dreams. On his first day at work he gets into it with his cool reserved (and also v gay) boss. As you do. Frankly? This is what I wanted from this new crop of office set KBLs ALL ALONG. Rainbow rice cakes forever! Directed by queer activist Kim Jho Gwang Soo (Just Friends?) partly set in the same neighbourhood as the To My Star house. Gotta love WATCHA (Semantic Error, Light on Me).

Unintentional Love Story

Korea iQIYI

OMG the plot, forced into a totally understandable betrayal, falling in love despite himself, put into a corner he can't get out of, the AGONY, the eyes EMOTING at us in PAIN A boy who just lost his job due to faked corruption charges accidentally discovers his ex-boss's favorite artist, now a recluse. Evil manager offers him his job back if he can convince the artist to rejoin society. Instead, they fall in love. I found the artist a bit stiff and reserved but Gongchan (maknae of B1A4) is a fucking GIFT - he carried this show (which I do not expect from the idol element). He was lumous with extraordinarily expressive eyes, just drown in the emoting abyss. The external conflict, social tension and pressure is complex and beautifully executed, plus Korea gave us legit side dishes (NOT a love triangle, hally-fucking-luya). I’m not sure on rewatchability, and it didn’t whip me into a verbal frenzy the way some KBLs do, but it still gets a solid 9/10 for those damn eyes alone.

A Breeze of Love

Korea iQIYI

Tsundere insomniac grump reunited with his sunshine jock ex (human sleeping pill) who now hates him. Basketball is also involved. While the simplicity of a reunion plot makes this more cohesive than most KBLs, it is a tad stiff and slow, never managing to lift itself out of "pretty and pretty enjoyable" - I liked it but I don’t think I’m going to remember much about it. 

Bon Appetit

Korea iQIYI

Romance between an office worker the man from his past next door who cooks well. It was very sweet and cute tale of food as love in the All the Liquors family of KBL. I’m not wild about it, I did enjoy it, I was happy to have it show up on my dash, but ultimately it will simply become one of the KBL crowd.

Why R U?

(Korean adaptation of Thai original) iQIYI

Korea decided to remake, of all possible Thai BLs, Why RU? And that is exactly what we got: a short form, clean & pretty, slightly confusing, uneven chemistry, all the same tropes KBL that kind of cliff-noted the original but with none of the heat or complex relationship dynamics. I just … what world is this? Because it is BOTH bizarro land, and EXACTLY what I expected. How do I rate it? In the end I have to go back to simple questions: did I like it, would I rewatch it, and would I recommend it? Yes. Probably. And probably not. What the actual hell?

It did, however win my best kiss of 2023 which is why it's on this list.

Stay By My Side

Taiwan Viki

I wanted to pick SOMETHING from Taiwan but my other two options both had lots of trauma in them. So I'm going with this one.

This show was an interesting take on the "ghost boyfriend" trope. About a boy who is tormented by hearing the dead, except when he is around one other boy - desperation+proximity = love. Unfortunately, the story was erratic and waffled about. While the leads turned in solid performances and the sappy domesticity was off the charts, it never really had the strength of the narrative convictions such a strong concept should have supplied. Highly rewatchable and enjoyable for that sappy domesticity but not a whole lot more. Still I always give extra credit for the diabetes-inducing sugar content and rewatch capacity.

And some suggestions from 2024

I'm only suggesting stuff that has finished it's run and isn't currently airing.

Although I Love You and You AKA Sukiyanen Kedo Do Yaro ka

Japan Gaga

The promise of this show, younger cook courts older divorced office worker, should have been my catnip. I mean if someone pitched this to me in an elevator I would have downloaded it by the second storey. Unfortunately, it did not exactly fulfill that promise, not in the way I'd hoped. Did I still enjoy the ride, yes, but I feel just a little let down.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu

Japan Gaga

Kindly Ryota goes to uni and ends up rooming with his former childhood bestie, Kazuhito. Kazuhito doesn’t have a girlfriend for, as it turns out, cute roommate reasons. Same director as Old Fashion Cupcake, the framing is gorgeous and it is a stylish piece. As a friends to lovers cohabitation narrative this was a classic 2000s sweet yaoi. I enjoy that kind of tradition out of Japan even if it (and the characters) come off as a little slow as a result. Still, it's nice to get a traditional BL out of Japan that is satisfying, not slapstick, AND did not hurt us.

[kineticallyanywhere]

Is the new dndads season good? I kinda fell off on the second one with the kids since it felt kinda railroady and bogged down.

I ended up writing a lot. tldr I am having a Great time. if you're worried about railroads know that the track was not exactly loose on this season's plot but boy did the players manage to shatter it in like 2 episodes (and Will's ability to keep the party together)

s2 definitely had a LOT going on (emotions run way higher I think mostly because the characters are teens and the stakes are the end of the world) but I don't think it's any more railroaded than s1. frankly these guys operate best with a clear set of instructions to follow and/or mcguffins to collect and then proceed to not follow those instructions but win anyway. which is (sort of??? lol) what's going on in s3

I'm liking season 3 a lot! life has made it harder for me to just sit and draw fanart for it, but Francis might be my favorite. (tied with Trudy) Anthony is super fun as a player. There's a kind of player balance that the daddies have (between silly and serious, sincere and irreverent) that makes them work as a group, and Anthony fits into Will's spot without being Will, if that makes sense? Like he's definitely a different flavor of player and Francis is no Henry/Normal/Hildy/etc, but he plays the heavy emotional hits with Beth, the I'll-die-before-I-break-character with Matt, and the This-is-a-game-and-I-intend-to-Win with Freddie. But instead of Will's hopepunk sincerity he brings a flavor of "no, I'm straight up gonna do a thing that's Wrong" that even Freddie didn't hit with Glenn. And then Will as DM, like Anthony, is more than willing to throw in real-life mechanics that somehow work on a podcast, as well as brutal, horrific, curve balls that make me question life.

s3 is also big on mystery! every s3 PC even has a Twist built in, and you find them all out within about... 5 episodes? but since this season is meant to be shorter honestly that's plenty of time for them to be uncovered and then pulled on for all their worth. Beth's twist for Trudy is a hecking profound take on the human condition (naturally), Anthony's plot for Francis is a sandbox one could sink their teeth into for days that is honestly a bold hecking swing (especially if you're a usamerican living in Now), Freddie's twist for Tony is--

...we don't have time to talk about Tony but take every Glenn antic, crank it up to a hundred, and then literally mad libs his backstory. Nothing I say could prepare you for this man.

and then I have Feelings about Matt's character Kelsey, since she's a teacher and I'm a teacher but I don't know if they're the feelings anyone would expect and I don't wanna write any takes of even moderate temperature I'm literally just here to have a good time but I WILL say she fascinates me and I want to watch a documentary about her interviewing her coworkers and students

[tamagoneko]

I need to know what "GYYAT" is.

gyyat indeed

[mohabbaat]

congress is getting seats in up I'm genuinely laughing rn

uttar pradesh is literally going for that #1 spot on the top 10 betrayals list. 😭

[lexirosewrites]

This is random but my favorite version of Kas!Eddie is where he's more animal than human with monster teeth and wings, claws, weird back legs and a tail who mostly crouches and makes chittering chirping growly sounds and can really only say Steve's name like "Thteve" and it's all hissy and they have nasty sex but also really sweet sex and they go outside and Eddie is Steve's good boy and he's a little monster but he won't hurt Steve, no, but if he determines anything to be a threat to Steve he will destroy it without a second thought and

i could go on for hours

this ship has done wonders for my monsterfucking kink i stg😵‍💫 kas eddie is just a sweet baby for his steve but a force of hell for anyone who even looks at steve wrong!!💕

[sailing-through-hawkins]

✧ dedicated to that one anon that made me feel so happy about the siren kas au again!! also thank you mea for beta-reading this for me you are a lifesaver!! going to tag @xenon-demon and @chaoticlovingdreamer because i know you both were interested in this idea hope it's cool to tag you!! ✧

The first time it happens, it's not a big deal.

They were on their way to start a supply run, some small groceries, snacks and sweets, to try and keep the mood up.

He had already done his rounds, checked in on El (still exhausted) and Dustin (still sleeping with his head on his mom's lap; she's still wiping her tears away when Steve sees her) and the Byers (still huddled together, warm, loving). He felt a twinge in his chest at the absence of Lucas and Erica but he knows they're with their parents because they did a check-in literally ten minutes ago. They're safe.

Steve knows they're safe. He just wishes they felt safe.

A whole month of fear and caution but this time, instead of a couple of kids sharing glances across town, nodding and walking on, it's everyone in Hawkins, gawking up at the dark clouds without any idea of what's been happening under their noses for years.

He wishes they never had to find out.

"Hey," Robin says, grasping his hand as she steps out onto the doorstep next to him. "We got this, right?"

"Yeah," Steve grips her hand back, stroking his thumb over the ink doodles across her knuckles. Sometimes he thinks the only reason they'll make it is that he's got her by his side. "We got this."

She smiles a thin, watery smile, lifts up her mask and makes her way to the car. He inhales, covers his nose with the black bandana Dustin gave him and follows behind her, gripping at the cold, empty space in his palm.

The forest was always one of the worst parts of living in this house, but the darkness has turned it ashy and cold, like something out of a zombie movie. He wonders, as he stares through the trees, if Barb got to see the forest before she was pulled through.

That's when he hears the music.

An echo of a guitar strumming. It's faint, the sound warbling as the guitar gets tuned and re-tuned every few strums.

It's so quiet, he thinks, so why does it sound so close?

"Steve?" Robin calls out, her eyes as wide and beautiful and terrified as ever under her goggles. She stands next to his car, one hand tapping the hood nervously. "You ready?"

Steve blinks and shakes his head, the echo of the guitar fading away as he twirls his keys around his finger. "Ready."

Probably just someone playing around on the radio or something, he reasons as he starts the engine.

No big deal.

Two days later and everyone is in the living room.

Everyone meaning literally everyone, even fucking Mrs Wheeler, all to discuss shelter for the families who lost their houses in the earthquake.

Steve's house is already full of most of the Party (Dustin insisted they use the name for the entire Upside-Down-Expert-Team), otherwise he'd offer it as a place for people to stay in until they can get something more permanent.

That's all this place is good for anyways. Just a rest stop.

"I appreciate that, Mom." Nancy taps her finger on the dining table, eyes squinting and lips squeezed into a very fake smile. Steve winces and starts to make his way to the sun room, gripping the blankets in his arms tightly as she continues. "But some of these people need -"

It's pretty easy to tune the discussion out, focusing on laying out the blankets and making as much of the space as comfortable as possible. The big windows let so much sunlight in, it's perfect for anyone who wants to soak up in the warmth. The only problem is the view.

He pointedly doesn't look at the pool, hands on his hips as he surveys the room, and that's when he starts to hear the guitar again. The strumming starts up quietly and washes over him, re-tuning itself every time he starts to rearrange the blankets again. A few minutes of tuning and it starts to play a song this time.

Steve tilts his head, staring out at the pool. Someone must have switched on the lights when it started getting dark.

When did it get so dark? He should go back and check on everyone, make sure they're comfortable. Is there enough space? Maybe he should redo the blankets?

The song soaks the back of his neck.

The blankets are perfect. He and Robin just can share.

It's so familiar, he thinks, as the water ripples with the wind. Something he's heard, but not listened to.

There shouldn't be any water in the pool. Why is there -

The song is slow, coiling behind his ear and gently drifting down his shoulders, making him shiver. He thinks he should know the music, humming along to it as the guitar starts to get louder. It feels nice, a comforting chill down his back that eases the tension of his wounds.

His wounds. Robin. Robin, his bat bites still hurt, why does it hurt so much, what's -

Oh, he thinks as the music plays even louder in his ear, in his mind, that's not the radio.

"Steve!"

Robin is crying, hands crushing his jaw, her face blocking the view of the empty pool. The music is gone.

"Steve, please!"

"Rob?" he croaks, swallowing the dryness of his tongue. His head feels flooded with a fuzziness, blood rushing through his veins like it was moving too slowly before. He blinks when he realizes they're outside now, standing between the pool and the house. It's still daylight. "What -?"

She pulls him into a hug, and he struggles, but manages to wrap his own arms around her, if kinda slowly. "You just - you weren't saying anything and started walking to the pool and I couldn't stop you -"

"Steve," Nancy says somewhere to his left. He barely manages to lift his head to look at her, blue eyes sharp and a Walkman held tightly in her hand. "What did you see?"

The fuzziness is fading away but his brain is still moving through a fog to connect words together. "I heard music."

Robin's face is in front of his again, eyes wide and beautiful and terrified. Oh, Robbie. "Vecna uses music now?"

"Not Vecna." Steve wrinkles his nose. "It...wasn't Vecna."

"How do you know that?" Nancy squints at him and he rests his forehead against Robin's, his bones melting into stone, too heavy to hold up. He hears the creak of the Walkman, Nancy gripping it tighter. "Steve, how do you know it's not Vecna?"

"Music w's nice." His eyes are closing. "Felt nice."

After that, the plan was never leave Steve alone.

It made bathroom breaks awkward but Argyle was so chill about it that Steve didn't even mind after the first two trips.

El couldn't find anything Upside-Downy on him, and there was the entire town with Upside-Downy shit happening everywhere, so there wasn't really much more to the plan than him having a bodyguard.

They made a chart for their shifts. God, he loves these shitheads.

"Here, man," Argyle says quietly, handing over three slices of pizza with a wink. Steve thanks him with a real, if exhausted, smile. Sleep hasn't been easy for the past week. "Fresh outta the oven."

"You're a godsend, dude," Steve groans, blowing air on the pizza slice. Mike grumbles under his breath about "hair-bias", whatever the fuck that means. Erica just rolls her eyes and shoves at his head.

The Sinclairs are visiting today, the parents persuaded by Lucas and Erica's whining (and a little bit of Steve's charm) so they can spend more time at "home base" with the others.

They're sat in the living room, eating lunch as rays of sunlight shine on the food like some kind of holy blessing, with the rest of the Party.

The rest of the survivors would be more accurate.

He tries not thinking about it, tries to appreciate the warm cheese and loud laughter. There's too much to not think about. How Max isn't here, how she deserves more, how he wants to see her okay and alive and happy.

Eddie isn't here either, and he doesn't think about how much he deserved better too.

"Steve thought it was cool! Right, Steve?"

He wishes Eddie could have made it, that Dustin didn't have to lose him like that.

Hell, they could have been friends. Maybe buried the hatchet so they could make fun of Dustin together, catch each other's eye whenever the tone makes an appearance and just laugh whenever he wasn't looking.

"I said, right, Steve?"

Maybe they could have hung out. Steve would come over to his trailer - or maybe Eddie would come over for a swim - and he'd make fun of Eddie's taste in bands - or maybe he'd listen to him play his guitar, never looking away from those ringed fingers as they created wonderful, wonderful music.

"Dude?"

Oh shit, the music is back. That's probably not good, is it?

But it's so sweet. So calming and cool, like a balm against his torn skin, washing over the dark feelings that built up in his ribcage.

"Steve!"

The song ripples through his veins and he sighs at the feeling. The pool doesn't have water anymore, he thinks. He emptied it so long ago. The music is sad, and his heart clenches at the sound.

The lake has water, he thinks. And the song turns light, sweet, calling him, curling around him, pulling him towards -

"Sorry about this, dude."

"Fuck!" Steve gasps when he hits the ground, groaning as his back ache returns at full force. "What the fuck, man?"

To his credit, Argyle looks genuinely sorry and helps him back onto his feet, holding Steve up with a tight arm around his waist and a tighter grip on his wrist. His shoulder aches at being thrown over Argyle's neck but walking is a lot easier when someone else is carrying half the weight.

He feels so heavy now.

"What - happened?" Steve croaks as they hobble back to the house. When did he leave it?

"You just got up and you weren't -" Dustin swallows, his voice croaky like he'd been yelling. "It's like you weren't even there."

"God, you can't keep doing this, Steve," Robin smacks his shoulder with a tight smile, tears still unshed in her eyes. His chest aches at them. "How many times are you gonna walk out on me?"

"Sorry Robbie," he says and accepts her very tight ow, ow, ow hug with a sad laugh. "I don't know what's going on."

"Was it the music again?" Will asks quietly.

Steve looks at him, leaning his head against Robin's. When did he get so tall? When did they all grow up already? "Yeah," Steve replies, just as quiet. He swallows when Robin lets out a sob into his shoulder. "It was the same song."

By the time his brain is fully functional ("Debatable," Mike sneers, crying out when El smacks him up the head), everyone's already discussing the new plan.

"We'll need to make notes, figure out the pattern, see if there're any triggers for Steve." Nancy said and he tries not to let it get to him, the fact that he needs babysitting now, that he can't do anything without being watched. "If the music makes people feel...good, it could still be a whole new tactic. Maybe Vecna wants our guard down, maybe he's countering our favourite songs, maybe it's a distraction. We have to be ready."

Steve still wants to grumble that it could never be Vecna, that's insulting, but he's too tired to argue about anything anymore.

They've even rearranged who sleeps where so that the Sinclairs can sleep over. They take one of the guest rooms while Mrs Henderson and Dustin join Steve in his own room. He almost loses his mind cackling when the both of them eye his wallpaper with the same mix of disgust and fascination. When Mrs Henderson sees the curtains, she almost gags and it's the loudest he's laughed in a long time.

"You're gonna be okay," Dustin tells him right before they fall asleep. Steve looks up at him from the floor where he lays, couch pillows doing more for his back than training against monsters ever did. "You'll be fine."

"'Course I will, dude," Steve smiles at him as Mrs Henderson leaves the room to talk to Hopper one last time. Tews is curled up on the bed, purrs loud, almost melodic, and lulling Steve's thoughts into a calm. "If the giant flesh monster couldn't get us, no way some wrinkly old naked guy will."

Dustin laughs outrageously at that and Steve wants to coo, wants to cry, wants to grip Dustin tightly in his arms and hide him away from the world, hide them all away in this empty house and make it full, make it safe for them, for Max, for Robin.

He doesn't.

He eventually falls asleep to the sound of Dustin muttering under his breath. And when Steve sleeps, he dreams.

It's so cold around him, so dark and empty. The sky thunders red and the cries of so many monsters echo around him. But there, through the cold and the shadows and the monsters, there's the song, calling to him.

I'm here, he thinks as he trudges his way through the inky mass of thick liquid, not water, not blood, but enough of both to make his steps heavy. I'm coming.

The song curls up on his skin, on his bat bites, soft and sweet and cold, like that time Robin spilled ice cream all over the -

"Steve!"

Robin. Where's - where's Robin?

Shh, it's okay. She's fine. Everyone's fine. Keep going.

Oh, he thinks. Of course. Everyone's okay, he knows they are, right?

Steve pauses his next step.

Right?

The song is even lonelier now and he shakes off the questions clouding his mind. It croons to him, so happy as he makes it through the ink to the shore. It sounds so sweet, that's it, keep going, come on.

He's crawling at this point, body heavy with the weight, until the song lifts him up onto his knees and he looks up to see -

"Snap out of it!"

Steve gasps at the sting on his cheek, blinking when light hits his eyes fiercely, shapes and sounds moving around him from a distance. There's a buzzing coiling behind his ears.

"Steve?"

Dustin's terrified face finally comes into focus behind his mother, who is standing right in front of Steve with her arm stretched across the space between them. Steve blinks, "Hold on, did you just slap me?"

"I'm so sorry, Steve," Mrs Henderson says and just like Argyle, she seems to really mean it. Does she? Her outstretched hand rests on his forehead as the other grips his upper arm. His back aches. His torso burns. Where did the song go? "We were so scared, you weren't saying anything -"

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Would never, of course not, just needed to keep going.

They both deny it vehemently. "Of course not! You were just - staring. Out the window. At -"

"At the pool," Steve hisses, biting his lip.

"Yeah," Dustin breathes out, his eyes watering as he reaches out to grab Steve's wrist. "But you're - you're back now. We just - just need to slap you out of it. What's another concussion, right?"

Steve laughs because Dustin's voice is so choked up that if he doesn't laugh, he'll cry. He ruffles the curls of his hair with a smile. A sinking feeling claws at him from the inside of his stomach. Can't he listen to the song one more time?

"Steve?"

"Yeah, I'm here, I'm -" Steve swallows as the blood in his veins prickles. Won't you hear me one more time? "I - I don't want to listen. I won't."

"Can you still hear it?!"

Please? It would make us so happy, Steve.

"I - no, no, I -"

"Steve?! Guys! Code red, code red, please!"

Please, Steve. Please?

"Okay," he says, eyes drooping as the melody curls up around his waist, brushing against the inside of his skin, pooling around his chest, thrumming in time with his heart beat. It feels so sweet, so good, thank you, come here, come here. "Okay."

"El, do something, please!"

The song turns harsh, gnawing on his bones, piercing through his skull, pushing him to the ground as someone is interrupting, no interruptions, leave us alone, alone, alone. The pain builds up crawling and clawing up  to his chest to his shoulders to his head, his head, it hurts, it hurts so much, please stop, just stop. "Fuck, fuck -"

"Steve?" Dustin whimpers and he aches, he aches, he aches.

He screams.

When he wakes up, it's to dawn creeping through the windows and rope around his body.

Red sunlight, just like in Mike's Superman comic books, covered by dark clouds.

A red sun to the blue moon. Right side up to the upside down. You to me.

"Whe -" Steve croaks, his eyes creaking open. Fuck, they're so crusty, that's gross. "Where?"

"Steve!"

Robin's face in front of his, beautiful and terrified. He squints up at her, glancing over to find Dustin and Lucas staring at him with wide eyes, Hopper behind them. They watch him and they nod. Others are coming in, Mrs Byers and Jonathan and Nancy -

Steve hisses as something claws through him for the fourth time that night, pain, pain, go away, go away -

"Shit, shit, shit, everyone get in position, -"

"Will, get over here, he's gonna -"

Come here, come on, please? Won't you come back?

"Where are you?" Steve murmurs as the pain turns into the music, gliding over him, like a wave coming to shore, pulling him back to the water, back to us.

"He's talking to the siren! Somebody get -"

Come here, come back, come to me. 

"Can't find you," he says, slurring his words as the song combs through his hair, like fingers scratching against his scalp. "Where're you?"

"That's it, Steve, keep talking, we got you -"

Want you here, with us, want us together, don't you?

"Yeah, yes, together," he sighs, the melody trilling in his chest, happy, sweet, soft, perfect, it'll be perfect, together, all together, just before someone reaches for his hand

He hisses and the song pulls away roughly, leaving him floating in the void, he cries out for it to come back, but he betrayed them, shouldn't have done that, Stevie, you tried to trick us -

"Shit!" Steve drops back to the bed with lead in his bones. El is still holding his hand. He was so close, the connection just barely at his fingertips.

Dustin swears as the others start to argue. The frustration is building up in the room, everyone too tense to think about answers, you sly dog, that was clever, but we don't like traitors -

"Wait, no," Steve gasps as something claws in his wounds, amused, you tried to trick me? Fine, no more playing around. "Fuck, wait -"

And the song crashes into the shore, pulls him down under where everything is sweet and cold, right back where you belong.

It's so warm out here, between the trees.

The skin on his back was blistering, biting at his flesh, before the song had gently cooled it down. He shivers at the chill, smiling when the song pulls him forward, looping around him with a sweet hum. It feels so nice, to hear the song without any distractions.

Without any interruptions.

Keep going.

Steve sighs when the song runs through his hair, laughing when it musses it all up. His hand twitches, he wants to fix it up until it's perfect again.

Keep going.

There are noises behind him, the sound of running and metal-on-flesh. It's all so slow, even slower than him. He doesn't know what's behind him, just the dark and gentle song pulling at his veins.

Keep going.

He makes it to the water, to the lake. There is no moonlight, but the song guides his steps, keeps him light. How sweet, he thinks, how sweet of you.

He makes it until his waist is plunged in the frigid water and then the song stops. He looks around but can't see anything in the shadows. There are sounds of humans yelling, of monstrous shrieks behind him, but where is the song?

"Hey."

He looks up and sees crimson eyes, half-lidded, and a smile staring down at him. Massive black wings blow gusts of wind at him. He shivers, and gives a smile in return.

His song.

The wings slow down until big, red eyes are level with his own, curls of black falling with gravity to brush against his cheek. The song hums in his chest, satisfied, delighted and sweet.

"Miss me, big boy?"

[beneathsilverstars]

hello for the ask game 9: any theories on stuff unexplained by the game?

I always love theories and thoughts and worldbuilding hcs etc so anything in that vein works :3

I think my favorite little worldbuilding headcanon is that Ka Bue is super chill about aromanticism and asexuality! Not in the same way as irl activism, but it's something that is understood and respected in their ideology, like transgenderism in Vaugarde. So if we combine the powers of everyone in the crew we'll get an entire queer-friendly worldview going lmao!

Maybe... Something about an overarching philosophy of understanding the self? In Vaugard they see the self as something you refine through making, creating and destroying and rebuilding, but in Ka Bue you're supposed to be uncovering and polishing what's already there. And part of that is understanding your position in relation to others, so they have a lot of little descriptive words for flavors of relationships and dynamics, and being the sort of person who seeks those dynamics. Like "oh i'm usually the comedic straight man of the friend group and i seek out jokesters who play well off of that". And that means that nonsexual romance, nonromantic sex partners, QPRs, etc, are all understood dynamics, and various kinds of friend and family and colleague relationships are seen as distinctly important, and being alone is seen as a valid dynamic!

Now that I've typed this out I love it more and more... I was originally just thinking about the metaphor of cutting and polishing a gemstone, but having a lot of little Dynamics that various people may find more or less relevant to themselves is a similar approach to having thousands of Expressions! And it meshes with the transphobia as well - you can describe yourself as having dysphoria but you're not supposed to go and try to change that.

And there's that Odile + Isabeau conversation where she gets really specific about their relationship: "We're not friends, we're associates. Colleagues. Allies at best." And she's obviously joking, but this hc puts some extra weight behind her making that particular sort of joke! Plus she's the one who's like, "I wouldn't call you all friends, that would be weird, we're more like family," and she gets mad about being called the mom. I love the idea that she has Very specific dynamic classifications in mind for her relationship with each member of the crew, and gets pissy that Vaugardian doesn't have the same nuance/connotations!

And this philosophy being the total opposite of the Change belief is so interesting for Odile in particular! It would definitely flavor people's perception of her in Ka Bue - oh, she's one of those fickle Vaugardians who change masks every day and will never truly understand themselves. No wonder she wanted to get actual Vaugardian perspective on their belief. Oh, how lovely it will be for her to synthesize the two extremes, and both discover and create who she is!!