#does not get it which can get really funny at times

[sivyera]

F1 and MotoGP drivers as love types

f1 - max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, charles leclerc, carlos sainz, lando norriss

motogp - pecco bagnaia, enea bastianini, marc marquez, alex marquez, fabio quartararo, luca marini, marco bezzecchi, jorge martin, pedro acosta, david alonso

a/n: i hope you'll like it since not many people write for motogp nor f1, also don't worry i have more fics in mind just please be patient with me, i'm trying :) also should i add Rossi? i love him but he's retired so...

༺☆༻

⤷ Max Verstappen - you fell first but he fell harder

when you met Max, you almost immediately fell in love. i mean he was talented, funny and very handsome. but he didn't seem to return such strong feelings for you, from the start. the more he spend time with you tho, the more he fell in love with you and before you could blink, he was DROWNING in his love for you!

he always has to have you near him, not only while racing, i mean always. you want to take a shower? he'll wash your hair. you want to go shopping? he'll hold your bags. but when he was racing, he needed to have at least 1 kiss and session of cuddles after. he can actually get pretty clingy when it comes to you, i mean you're his gorgeous girlfriend how can he not!?

sometimes Max thinks that he can be little overwhelming with his love and overall attention he gives you but you quickly tell him how much you enjoy when he treats you like the only girl in the world, which he really does. because you're the only girl in the world for him

he'll literally do anything for you! he knows you love late night rides in his car, so he'll just grab you and drive with you through the streets of his home city from time to time.

⤷ Lewis Hamilton - rich love

Lewis is called "the billion dolar man" so it is kinda obvious how rich this love is. BUT it has two meanings! first- this love is rich because Lewis LOVES to spoil you. he'll literally buy you anything you land your eyes on without any word. he'll often buy you new clothes or jewelry but he'll also buy you new car or a vacation, whatever you want. second- this love is rich because Lewis loves you dearly. he treats you like royalty and he isn't planning on stopping any time soon!

you and Roscoe are his favourite beings in the whole world, you're his family so really be expecting to be treated like a royalty, i have to say it twice. he has you and Roscoe as a wallpaper so whenever he looks at his phone he smiles. and he LOVES it because it's actually a beautiful photo.

but even tho Lewis is rich and he treats you expensive, he also does not disdain comfortable cuddles on his sofa in matching pyjama, popcorn and some good movie. because whenever he can hold you, oh god don't be expecting to move any time soon! Roscoe usually accompanies you so you really won't be going anywhere cuz that dog loves you just as much and he isn't really a small doggy.

⤷ George Russell - best friends to lovers

you and George started of as friend, soon became best friends and it was like this for some time. you two also though that it'll stay like this since you two had completely different dating lives but oh boy were you two wrong!

it soon turned into longer looks that you gave each other. for example George had to focus on the circuit but all he could look at was you or you were suppose to made the team some toasts but burned them because you were staring at George who was taking off his sweaty shirt.

to your surprise, none of you actually confessed. one time you two were joking around as always but suddenly you caught each others eyes, staring at each other and bum- you kissed.

from that time George is very proud of you as his girlfriend, everybody knows at least 10 times because George told them. he also bought that white t-shirt that says "i love my girlfriend" and wore it on every race from that time.

⤷ Charles Leclerc - true love

yours and Charles's love is the type of love that lasts forever, you two will grew old with each other and honestly he CANNOT wait for that to happen! the thought of you two being old together while he lived the life through and through with you by his side.. so cute.

he's a gentleman so he'll buy you flowers or write you letters or give you his t-shirt/helmet because he knew you keep all the stuff he gives you, just like he does with the things you make him. since you usually draw him silly pictures of cute fat cats or a paper full of hearts and your kisses. it all holds the memories he wants to remember...

Leo fell in love with you instantly, that little ball of sunshine fur was deeply in love with you just like his owner, maybe even more! that made Charles so happy because after all he loves his dog and he wants him to go along with you... it went TOO well and now he's jealous because Leo is often stealing your attention.

head kisses! not forehead kisses, he loves to kiss you ON TOP of your head, on your hair.

⤷ Carlos Sainz - any universe

Carlos was ABSOLUTELY smitten by you, it was like his soul could be finally at absolute peace. it was strange yet very calming. he felt like he knew you for years when in reality he knew you few hours. that was the time when he realized he needs you.

well from that time you two got close, way too close, and before you knew it- he was asking you to be his girlfriend, now you were together for over a year! it all went so fast because you two felt like you knew each other! neither of you could describe it really..

you knew that you two had to know each other in different lives, on different planets, in a different time, under different circumstances, it was obvious.

Carlos loves your smile, it's like he remembers it. it's like you were his guardian angel all the time, it was like he knew your smile all his life! that's why whenever you smiled at him, he knew he was okay.

⤷ Lando Norris - teenage love

Lando felt like a teenager when he was with you and i mean it in the best way possible. you know what they say- "when a man acts like a child, he's in love", that was Lando.

with you everything was so vibrant, so happy, so colorful, so perfect! he could climb a mountain just for the fun of it, you gave him strength and power- which was pretty useful when he raced.

he would let you do whatever you want to him- masks? sure. plug his brows? sure. cut his hair? sure. paint his nails? sure. whatever. he just didn't care when he had you nor he was scared that he'd look ugly with his new haircut, it was from YOU, he was gonna be handsome way more than he was before.

he tries to be romantic with you but sometimes he fails so he usually just cuddles with you and when the world is quiet- he whispers his feelings into your eat. he usually does it when you fell asleep so don't tell him you're actually awake.

⤷ Francesco "Pecco" Bagnaia - unconditional love

Pecco really loves you unconditionally and there is no other word that would describe it. he'd love you if you changed your hair, he'd love you if you accidently plugged your brows too much, he'd love you if you were a worm, he'd love you if you'd be angry at him- there's just nothing you can do that would make him not love you and visa versa.

he really really appreciates your support on the track because you keep him happy and hopeful. he doesn't need to win because he already won in his life- he won you and you're something no motogp trophy can trump.

he loves when you play with his hair and yes before you ask- yes you can put pink bows or flowers into his hair, whatever you want pretty girl and he'll watch you with hearts in his eyes.

after a race he gets kinda needy so be prepared for whole night full of cuddles and soft kisses. he'll hold you tight around your waist with his head buried in your cleavage- close to your neck yet close to your chest, while he would mumble about the race with your fingers scratching his scalp.

⤷ Enea Bastianini - love at first sight

this is kinda easy to describe since it happened so fast. basically when you and Enea met- it was like the zing, you know from hotel transylvania what happened to mavis and johnny happened to you two. Enea was sent over the moon!

from that time you two were inseparable. you were with him even when he was racing because he always kept something of yours that he could have while racing- like a hair band. you were his lucky charm...

if you thought he was all around you while you two were in public well you aren't prepared for him when you two are alone! he basically has you on his back or in his arms and walks everywhere like this with you, he's like glued to you! of course if you need to be alone he'll give you space but he'll be waiting close by.

overall he's just like a puppy in love, it's cute, you cannot be mad at this man. he just loves you so much, so much that he believes his heart beats for you.

⤷ Marc Marquez - soulmates

Marc didn't really believe in stuff like soulmates until he met you, oh but when he did- oh boy was he feeling stupid for not believing. with you he felt like real life just entered him, his soul felt alive, he felt like fucking hercules just because you were near!

you'd be his huge rock meaning he'd have a lot of support in you, through the years he'd always come to you. whenever he and his team were talking about the race or new upgrades they wanted to do on his bike in his garage, you'll always be found sitting on his lap with his arm resting on your hips.

your touch basically calm him, your presence put him into peace, your voice sooth him- so whenever you combined these into one, meaning you two cuddle in his bed- he is in heaven.

he'd be really protective of you and even little possessive because if you brought him such ecstasy- you could do that to others and he noticed so he wasn't gonna let you wonder around, he needs his girl close to him.

⤷ Alex Marquez - whatever it takes

Alex was often in the shadows of his more successful older brother so when he met you, he thought you wouldn't really spend much time with him. but when you did and you actually took interest in him and listened to him- he knew he'd do whatever it takes to make you his.

that pretty much happened way sooner than he thought it would happen. he was so proud of himself that he had something his brother didn't and never could have had. you were his greatest victory.

he always kept you close since he felt like he was a king when you were with him, so before and after race he'll need A LOT of your attention. you're like his sun, he like recharges with you.

Alex loves giving you hugs from behind since he's pretty tall. so he can just wrap you in his arms, have you close while smelling your scent and feeling your soft skin against his, he is 'protecting' you like this- yea he loved that.

⤷ Fabio Quartararo - falling in love fast

Fabio is easy going guy- he's funny, he has charisma, he has passion and vision and he really goes after what he wants to accomplish. and you were one of the people who never gave up on him. when he tried too little and ended up on 13th place? you were here for him. when he lost again because he tried too hard? you were also here for him. he fell in love with you so quickly. it was like he was always in love with you.

he'll let you do all types of tiktok trends, he'll often be the one who suggested to do them in the first place. many of his fans are literally living for these cute videos of you two.

he knows how much you love to see him in his gear, especially when his abs are showing so he always makes sure he's near you when he's like this. he loves your attention and he needs it because otherwise he turns into a grumpy old man.

he calls you sweet nicknames, often saying them in french since he knows how much his native language turns you on.

⤷  Luca Marini - meant to be

you and Luca clicked so quickly. i know how weird and "i have love glasses on" mind sound like but you two were fitting together like a puzzle! when you two were with each other, you became the IT couple. many were jealous.

he's actually pretty skilled and by that i mean he can braid your hair. he can do a simple braid but still! and he loves it- he'll have you sat between his legs while he's running his fingers through your hair. it comforts the both of you.

but just as much as he loves touching your hair, he loves when YOU touch his hair. so whenever you take a shower, he's right there with you, if you let him, hoping that he can wash your hair and then you'll wash his hair. i think it's getting little complicated, haha

he also loves kissing your cheek like a gentleman, even tho everyone knows that kissing your lips is his favourite.

⤷ Marco Bezzecchi - teenage love

now don't get me wrong, i know he's an adult man but... come on, whenever he's near you he acts like a little boy. he's all over you, hugging you, smiling at you, kissing your cheek, holding your hand- yeah everything that comes to your mind.

you're his biggest support and biggest reason to try harder and harder every time. every time he wins, he runs right towards you to hug you and kiss your whole face. also in every interview he's like "i won this for my girlfriend."

Rubik actually fell in love with you just as much as his owner so you usually think you have two dogs that are literally giving you the puppy dog love- it's the sweetest thing ever.

Marco will probably soon or later tattoo your name or something special for both of you on his arm. he needs to have you forever on his body, without any shame.

⤷ Jorge Martin - slow burn

Jorge knew from the start that he likes you but he didn't want to start anything with you since his career in motogp was quickly rising. he was winning over and over again, more people needed his attention and he needed to train more so he didn't wanna start anything serious because he knew he'd be neglecting you. he didn't want to mess things up from the start because he really cared about you...

well later on he just couldn't cope anymore with his urges to have you, so he confessed and you two started dating. still he was often scared about you leaving him after you find out how exhausting his job can be. lucky for him you were the biggest support which made him win even more races.

he'll often seek your comfort like cuddle and kisses before and after each race since like i said you're his biggest support. you motivate him before the race and you calm him down after the race.

⤷ Pedro Acosta - first and only love

sharky over here never though he'd met his true love so early in life, i mean he's 19, that's young for finding his true love. many don't find their true love their whole life yet he got really lucky... he really felt grateful each day for you.

i believe you'd find some shark costumes (pink for you and blue for him) and will make him wear it. he'd mumble about it but he'll still wear it, if that makes you happy.

he'll often tease you about little stuff which will often drive you nuts but he knows you love it. but even tho this boy tease you, he also needs some of your attention, some sweet attention- meaning he's actually hug and cuddle sucker.

he'll cuddle with you (basically have you in choke hold, lol) whole night and he won't let go of you so easily so if you need to pee- no you don't.

⤷ David Alonso - pure love

this boy is the sweetest of them all. he's the youngest (and i believe he was written by a woman) so he's the biggest gentleman you'll ever met. BUT he's not only a gentleman he's also a gentle man- meaning that every time he touches you it's like he was touching something so precious that he was afraid to break it.

he's a really sweet boy so there's no way his eyes are on someone else than on you (not like any other man here would cheat but ykyk) he's all over you, loving you with his WHOLE heart and even more. he'd bring you the blue out of sky just because!

he loves cuddling, like a lot, and he loves to hold you in his arms with your head on his chest. for some reason it's comforting for him like this, probably because he feels manly.

David thought racing is his passion and don't get me wrong it is and he's really talented and has a long successful career in front on him but YOU are way important than racing. you're the love of his life and the only thing he wants is you to be happy... his love for you is really the purest.

[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 (▰˘◡˘▰)

[messenger-of-babel]

Voicemails

Summary: When complications arise on his mission, all he has is one phone call back to you. (Death Island! Leon x reader)

Word Count: 2.1K

Notes: It really does end here, huh? 🥹 This is the last post for this month. We have officially finished Angstober 2024. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged, followed, and sent me things to my inbox. It's going to be weird not writing for you all every day, but you'll still see me around. I'm going to take a small break and write in the background, get through requests and stuff. I'm moving house and graduating at the same time so I might not post a whole lot till I'm settled again, but then you can count on me for more than angst!

General warnings for language use, spoilers for Death Island if you haven't seen it (you should it's quite funny), and a mildly OOC Leon but we can all be saps sometimes. Warping the events of the movie to my own benefit.

Enjoy our last post of this month, sweethearts~

RiRi xx

━━━━━━━━━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You wanna make a call?" Chris grunts, looking down at him. Leon looks up at him, vision blurry and pain radiating through his body. His neck stings from where the microdrone bit him, and he can no longer feel anything from his thighs down, just a numb tingle. He has to consciously remind himself to breathe, in through the nose and out through the mouth.

"You got- you got a way?" he rasps back, eyes scrunching in confusion. Chris nods, the bigger man bucking slightly against the cell wall he's leaning against.

"Left- left pocket." he grits out. "Claire got the signal through before we got bit. It's only strong enough for one call, then Dylan's framework will probably patch it."

Leon sighs, head hitting the rusted bars of Alcatraz. This had been another run of the mill mission, find the missing scientist selling government secrets, pack him up and ship him back to the government to be trialled at court. In the true fashion of his 'run of the mill missions', nothing went according to that plan and veered off into a clusterfuck as usual. The BSAA had been involved chasing their own leads, and he had run into Jill in the sewers running from zombies. the plague that seemed to follow him like a shadow ever since he left Raccoon as a young and very traumatised cop.

He was supposed to get in and out, wrap it up so he could come home to you like he promised. As he sat there writhing, he wondered what the look on your face would be if he wasn't able to make it to the cruise that you had both planned. You had lobbied both him and the DSO for a holiday, and after many angry letters and snatching the phone out of his hand to yell at his supervisor, you had succeeded in getting him two months off. Without hesitation you had booked the both of you on a cruise, shushing him every time he had tried to protest.

If he was being honest, just sleeping at home would have been enough. He could barely remember the last time that he had sat down or stopped for a moment. The days that he was at the office or on a mission blurred together so often that he was beginning to forget what colour you had both decided to paint the kitchen, making him falter when coworkers made small talk with him in the staff room. Which side of the bed you preferred to sleep on, what bills needed to be paid first, whether the spare bedroom was being turned into an office or a workshop or not. It was when his forgetfulness led him to forget what month it was and being blindsided to your own anniversary that he finally snapped out of it.

You had been sitting on the porch steps dressed in your finery, watery eyes looking up at him as he pulled into the driveway, your knees pulled to your chest. He had jumped from the car like you were shot, the realisation of what he had done thrumming hard in his chest. "I'm so sorry" he had murmured into your hair, holding you tight. "I am so so sorry."

You had just sniffled in response and eventually gave him a weak hug back, and he clung to that like a lifeline. He swore that he would never fuck up like that again, and he intended to keep that promise.

So, he had relented to the cruise vacation, telling himself that he would be able to relax and unwind on the seas and out of service of work. They could call another agent for once, he wanted to focus on nothing but the smile you wore as you got to carry out the couple things he felt he had denied you your entire relationship. Getting to use the swim up bar, taking photos together, dressing in matching clothes for the cheesy cruise quiz nights. If that was what you wanted, that is what he was going to give you. Besides, it gave him a chance to relish in you again.

You, who had cancelled the wedding of your dreams to get married at the courthouse with him when he got called away suddenly and you weren't sure if you would see him again. You had been married within hours with the rings he had picked and you in the finest you could find on such short notice. He had thought you looked stunning, even if the lighting was the harsh LED of the courthouse and not candles like you had wanted.

You, who had put up with months of him being gone, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Who had to stay up late tracking the news for crumbs of his whereabouts, only able to make guesses to where he might have been assigned. Every death, every bioterrorist attack overseas carrying the possibility that Leon's body was among those being pulled from the carnage.

You, who he was calling right now with the jacked cell phone from Chris's pocket, dial tone droning on.

Leon had been stung last, used as nothing more than an example to show off the latest weapon in the bioterror market. Yet he was losing feeling fast, much faster than Chris or even Claire struggling in the other cell. It was like his atoms were screaming at him, writhing in him at a molecular level. Breathing felt like it was through a damp cloth, lungs having to work twice as hard to suck oxygen into his lungs. His eyelids were struggling to stay awake and fight off the black curtains that floated in the corners. he could see the way that the others looked at him, with pity and with concern. As soon as he had caught the eye of Chris, saw the flicker of fear cross the usually confident man's face, he knew that he was reacting worse than all of them.

So here he was, heart in his throat as he prepared to tell you the words he hadn't been expecting to say when he left that morning. When the line doesn't pick up he curses, waiting for the tone. He wasn’t going to waste his chance.

"Hi! If I haven't picked up, I can't come to the phone right now. If you leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as I can. Please wait for the beep, thank you!"

He smiles to himself at the chipper tone of your voice, sounding heaven sent even through the phone. When he hears the tone he takes a deep breath, as big as he can and puts a fake smile on his face. He hopes that it makes his tone come out just a little sweeter for you, even though he knows that you'll be worried regardless.

"Hey, Sweetheart." he starts, voice raspy. "I'm sorry to be calling you like this. I just wanted to call to hear your voice. I-I missed you. I know you didn’t pick up, so you're probably busy. Now don't call me back immediately, I... won’t be able to pick up for a while. I just...damnit I wanted to just hear you." He grits out, head falling against the bars as he loses strength in his neck. He catches eyes with Chris, the older man's eyes misting over as he looks down at him before he turns his head away, the most privacy he can give him in the situation.

"I just wanted to call to let you know that I love you...and I miss you." he begins again. With his eyes closed the words come easier, the image of you flitting into his mind's eye. You look at him in his spectral vision with a smile, encouraging him to go on. He feels his chest ease, like he's actually talking to you, and the both of you are the only ones in the room. "I know you're going to worry. I know this doesn't sound good-" he grits his teeth against another hot flash of pain. "And... it’s not." he finishes. "I want to tell you…that I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I don't think I'm gonna make it home tonight, baby. I... I might not make it back from this." he tries to chuckle, but the sound is dry, and the effort hurts his chest. "Things got bad here, and it's not looking good. I think- I think it ends here, honey. If I don't make it just...just, please look after yourself."

He takes a shaky breath, and the silence of everyone around him is deafening. The scene is oddly private and uncomfortable for the others in the vicinity, while the usually ever-energetic man known as Leon delivers his verbal will. "I know you won’t want to go, but go on that cruise. You worked hard for it, and you were so excited. I wanted to go swimming with you, fall asleep by the pool and pretend it was the honeymoon I owe you. So, I want you to still go on it. Even if I don't come back...I'll ask the big man above to let me hang around long enough to do it with you, even if you won't be able to see me. I made a promise remember? No more missing big things." he whispers into the phone.

His throat is beginning to hurt, like speaking around a sharp lump every time he formed a word. "And the house is yours, it should go into your name. The car, everything, you'll have it all. I just...I just wish it could have been different, you know?" he says into the receiver, that has begun to waver by his cheek. "But it is what it is, and I guess it finally caught up to me. I'm sorry I was such a shitty husband." he says, a light tremor in his voice. "I wish I had come home to you more, not left the bed cold. I wish I could have made you more dinners and more breakfasts in bed, just to show you how much I loved you. I love you. I love you so much it hurts. I never told it to you enough, or managed to even put into actions just how much you mean to me, but I do. You mean everything, sweetheart." he chokes into the phone, a small smile on his face. "I love you more than anything, so...so don't think anything else, okay? This isn't your fault. It never was. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, you hear me? So you pick yourself up when I'm gone," he gasps out, hand beginning to waver. "You put yourself back in that saddle, and you show the world just how strong you are. Show them the person I fell in love with." he says with a smile, before breaking into a fit of painful coughs.

"Don't stay up, sweetheart. Get to bed early. I miss you, more than you'll ever know." he coughs out into the receiver before his body can't hold him up anymore and he slides down the bars until his cheek is pressing into the concrete, hand falling to his side and phone clattering against the stone. He can hear the tone end, and the automated whoosh sound as the voicemail sends. With bleary eyes he can make out the turned head of Claire, looking down at him with wobbling lips and tear-filled eyes.

"Look after 'em, hey?" he rasps out, pain in his chest stabbing as the black curtains begin to slide across his vision. Claire nods, and he can hear Chris grunt in the background. Leon falls into an unconsciousness shortly after, the smiling image of you the last thing he holds close to him as the blackness swallows him completely. As his body stills, a small smile is frozen on his face, the arrogant half tilted smirk he so loved to give you.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Typing away at your computer, you work till your eyes go square from the computer screen. You wipe a hand over your face as you review the spreadsheet that you're working on, leaning back to take a sip of your coffee. Your music blasts in your headphones, and for a quick break you pull up the checklist you've made for your upcoming holiday.

You're so engrossed in your work that you're unaware as your phone screen glows to life beside you, message popping across your notification bar.

You have (1) new voicemails.

[cccharries]

✻ ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴɴᴏɴs! ✻

- ✎ type : headcannons

- ✎ featuring : Gyomei, Sanemi, Uzui, Shinobu, Mitsuri, Muichiro, Rengoku, Giyuu, Obanai

- ✎ A/N : this is my first post eek! Extremely exciting to write lololol, if I did any mistakes, don't be afraid to correct me! 😀

✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂ ✂

✦ 𝙆𝙤𝙘𝙝𝙤 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙤𝙗𝙪

Being a hashira means you will constantly have duties to carry out, missions to complete and her being the insect hashira means she also have to take care of the butterfly mansion sometimes, causing her to not have enough time for you

But she will try to make time in her schedule to spend it with you!

And as she tries her hardest to put up a fake smile, when she feels like letting it all out, she would just talk and vent about it with you and you being by her side is what makes her feel better, you are able to listen to her rant about her stress, her messy schedule and she appreciates every single second of you listening to her

How will you guys spend time? Going on walks in the lively garden filled with colourful butterflies, having tea with her and late night talks on the roof

Yapper x listener coded<3

She is the type to tease sometimes but she will never dare to step over your boundaries as she holds high respect for you

Nicknames aren't really used from her, she would just call you by your name but in special occasions, it would be "angel" "darling" and "love" 💓

If someone caused trouble by making you upset, she would be visibly angry and try to solve the problem using the safest way, although she wishes to do something more cruel than that.. But she does not want to cause trouble

When she is afar from missions, she would write letters to you and gift you anything that reminded her about you<3

She would gift stuff like a small boquet of tulips, a violet necklace or a purple flower hairpin!

✦ 𝙐𝙯𝙪𝙞 𝙏𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙣

Gosh he's the teasiest of them all (not sure if that's even a word but lmfao)

Since he also have three wives (Makio, Hina and Suma), he will love you all equally and give the fair attention, it's hard to show attention to four people at the same time but.. He would make it work

Is literally so romantic and stupidly funny at the same time

He would spoil you ROTTEN with a lot of luxury gifts like a expensive kimono made from the finest fabric, a pair of long earrings with rose quartz that's worth a lot of yen and so much more

After he retired from being a hashira, he was finally to spend all his time with you and the others

Dates are definitely going to romantic dinners, movie nights and playing board games with the other wives (very tempting lol)

His nicknames are so so weird and.. Honestly too much sometimes but the ones that are the most normal are "Honey", "Cutie" and "Sweetheart" omfg I am cringing so bad

I am not really sure if he's a grumpy person but your love trope is DEFINITELY grumpy x sunshine I can see it!

His heart softens and ACHES when he sees you and his wives getting along

It's kinda hard to sleep on the same bed as him since he's huge and the wives also need space to sleep with him so I hc that you guys would sleep on 2 beds paired together

✦ 𝙈𝙞𝙩𝙨𝙪𝙧𝙞 𝙆𝙖𝙣𝙧𝙤𝙟𝙞

Oh my godly lord she's the sweetest person you would ever pull I swear

Her touch are so feather-like and gentle, everytime she hugs you and wrap her arms around you, you would just melt deeply into her touch

I hc that she would do cute little hairstyles on your hair for fun!

In a relationship, she wants to have something that stands out, which is.. Matching! Matching bracelets, matching necklaces and mostly anything that she finds cute!

Her love language is DEFINITELY physical touch & quality time

Nicknames from her are so cute!! Sometimes you feel embarrassed of her calling you in nicknames on public but it's cute at the same time so you could never scold her about it!

Nicknames from her can be "baby" and "Blossom"

I also headcannon that sometimes she would wake you up in 6am just to do yoga and exercising with her (she thinks it's normal and she would apologize NON-STOP if she actually disturbed your sleep)

She would share her Sakura mochis with you! (She will save more for herself though but hey! You should feel lucky that she's even giving you some 🧍‍♀️)

Dates are definitely going out to restaurants and trying new foods, going to picnics near the garden and baking together! 💗

✦ 𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙜𝙤𝙠𝙪 𝙆𝙮𝙤𝙟𝙪𝙧𝙤

He's a LOUD and I mean, LOUDDD laughter so whenever you make jokes, he would laugh SO LOUD that you need to cover your ears (and after that incident you stopped making jokes in front of him)

Everytime he stops by in the train station he would buy a lot of bentos and share it with you once he came home from his missions!

Everytime you feel upset, he would go get your favourite food to cheer you up instantly and listen to you venting/ranting then giving you advices

he's a FINE gentlemen, he would open doors for you, he would pull the chair for you to sit and it just makes your heart flutter

His nicknames for you are so sweet you just flush your cheeks up whenever he calls you "my angel" or "baby"

Cooks for you, he has the cooking skill of a chef and everytime he's not busy and doesn't have to go out early for work, you would wake up finding him in the kitchen cooking something that would make your mouth drool to the floor

Not only does he cook, he also likes to write letters and give you a lot of gifts if you guys have been separated for a while (probably he has to handle some missions given by Ubuyashiki but wtv)

He's a big fan of PDA, he doesn't really mind it at all + loves holding your hand or hugging you in public and does not care if anyone is giving him a weird look because Rengoku is Rengoku 😋

Love language is definitely acts of service + words of affirmation

✦ 𝙂𝙞𝙮𝙪𝙪 𝙏𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙤𝙠𝙖

He's.. A quiet guy but he is also good at being romantic!

He's not the best at showing love using words of affirmation, so instead his love language can be quality time 👉👈

If you feel upset, he would make your favorite tea and you guys would talk about it while having tea and he would draw you a warm relaxing bath

I don't think.. He's the type to use nicknames, he would be pretty awkward with it so he would just call you by your name

Dates are probably just cuddling on the bed for the whole night or late night walks on the forest (although he's a bit paranoid that you could get attacked by a demon but still the atmosphere is calming!)

Since he's much of a introvert, hes not really the biggest fan of PDA but he doesn't mind holding hands

When he started dating you, he didn't really know how to be romantic to you so he just treated you like a very close friend and when Tanjiro gave him a dating advice, he finally understood 😭

When he is far from home due to missions, you would receive a letter and a small wrapped gift from him to show how much he thought about you even when he's completing a important mission 🙁💘

The gifts can probably be a heart-shaped pebble or a blue sky themed hairpin!

✦ 𝙈𝙪𝙞𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙧𝙤 𝙏𝙤𝙠𝙞𝙩𝙤

He's an airhead sometimes and would forget things easily, but to express his fear of forgeting you, he would have a small notebook that has every information about you kept in his pocket

I can't really think what love language he would be sticking to but it will DEFINITELY be quality time & physical touch 💖

He loves feeling your touch and he loves giving head-pats

Oh and one thing is that he LOVES gifting you a lot and I mean, A LOT of handmade origami 📄

He gives you like 5 of them in a week (you have no space to keep all of origami in your house)

Dates can be making origami together and walking in the garden together

I don't think he would use nicknames either so probably just calling by your name is the safest option

He doesn't really understand PDA + not really a fan but doesn't mind holding hands

If your upset, poor baby he doesn't know what to do to make you feel better (probably origami?)

Tanjiro had to give Muichiro a couple of relationship advice just for him to understand 😞

✦ 𝙄𝙜𝙪𝙧𝙤 𝙊𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙖𝙞

He's very sour with his behavior and doesn't really trust women, but somehow your the exception.

His snake loves you so much and enjoys spending time with you and Iguro because he understood how Iguro felt about you 😆

And again, he has a hard time expressing his feelings through words so maybe his love language will be acts of service

Not really a big fan of pda either but he wouldn't mind unless you do too much

Sometimes when he's free he will invite you for lunch!

During the start of the relationship, you mostly had to be the one to make the first move since he didn't really knew what to do

(Spoiler) he adores and admires you when you praise his mouth-scar even though he feels insecure that he isn't good enough for you (treat him right 😞)

When he's walking on a town for a mission, he might get you some gifts like small pastries and a letter to update you about his ongoing mission!

He's very cautious sometimes that when you accidentally trip and is about to fall, he would catch you in a instant because he had some sort of fear of losing you which he will never want to face..

Not a fan of nicknames either, just calling you by your name would be fine..

✦ 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙞 𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙖𝙯𝙪𝙜𝙖𝙬𝙖

Okay don't argue with me about this, at the veryyy start of the relationship, he was really hesitant to trust you at first due to losing too many people he loved

It WOULD really take some time for him to trust you but your patience is what makes him love you even more ☹️💞

Sometimes when he comes home in a angry mood and accidentally yells at you, he would immediately apologize in a harsh way and probably sneak in some cuddles when your asleep in your shared bed as a apology

He will yell at you but hit you? No, never, this man has a fear of hurting you

When you praise his revealing scars, he would have a tint of peachy blush flushing up on his face and he would deny it with a tone of stuttery words

Not rlly a fan of PDA, feels uncomfortable with it at the start but as time goes on, he starts getting used to it

No nicknames too.. He thinks it's embarrassing, so calling you by your name is the best.. (Different in bed tho)

every time he comes home from a tiring mission that stressed him out so much just wants him to quickly take a bath and join you in the buddle and cuddle for the whole night, recharging his energy 💘

✦ 𝙂𝙮𝙤𝙢𝙚𝙞 𝙃𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙟𝙞𝙢𝙖

Omg he's the softest giant ever

His touch are the same as Mitsuri's, feather-like and gentle because he fears that he might accidentally hurt you without knowing

As he is blind, feeling others presence and your presence is different for him, everytime he feels your presence his face will soften and call you out 💓

When he's far away from missions, he will also write letters to you to update you about his mission progress

Doesn't mind PDA actually, he finds it cute

When he feels the comparison of his hand holding your hand, it just makes him blush and think about it the whole time, he thinks it's extremely cute

Rare one! He will actually use nicknames for you in special occasions just like Shinobu and those nicknames would be "dear" "love" or "angel" 👉👈

I headcannon that you guys will definitely have the same matching bead bracelet/necklace (it was your idea)

Date ideas are definitely going to cat cafes or date to a cat-themed cafe omg!

I also headcannon that you two will adopt and raise a cat together 😽

Reblogs are appreciated<3

[hvhvmoc]

🖤🖤🖤

Characters : Art the Clown (Terrifier), afab!reader

Warnings/CW : kinda slowburn, Art almost kills you on purpose, funny stuff, rough smut, wall sex, spanking, hair pulling, overstimulation, choking, pussy slapping, oral (f! Receiving), multiple orgasms, you pass out mid sex, Art is stumped and confused, you're ok tho, talks about blowjobs, bit of fluff at the end, tell me if I missed anything

A/N : I have nowhere to go this Halloween ☹️ just stay home, write and take photos of myself

Its around midnight, you're in your kitchen cooking dinner. Usually you don't cook at midnight but you were busy all day and it just got pushed back. Plus, your boyfriend wasn't home yet. The infamous Mikes County Killer, Art the Clown. He was taking his usual time out there, spilling blood, guts, and pain, while you were home, working or being lazy.

You're surprised your still up with this much energy. You did wake up really late today, since you didn't have work that day. You took that time to organize the house, clean everything up, shower, maybe even trim your hair with a pair of random scissors you prayed didn't belong to Art- knowing what he does with them- and knowing that although he has okay hygiene, he doesn't properly clean his weapons like at all.

You switch between mixing and checking on the red rice, stirring the big pan of cooking chicken, stirring the smaller pan of cooking beef, and finally stirring the pan of cut up bell peppers, broccoli, corn, and onion. The rice finished cooking and so did the vegetables- the chicken and beef still needed some time- when Art busted through your front door, a scowl on his face, his leg and torso cut up a bit from (what you can only guess) a victim fighting back, and blood all over him. He drops his bag of weapons and goes to find you, the scowl not leaving his face.

That expression would've terrified anyone. But really, you were used to it. The more logical side of your brain knew it was only a matter of time before he treats you like any other victim of his; scalping, cutting, drugging, stabbing, torturing. But you decided to just play along with him. Maybe if you act nice and continue to treat him like this, he'll make your death less brutal. Hopefully. But truly you don't know. Nobody but him knows what's going on in his head. He's like a wild animal; sometimes you can get close and they look still- froze- waiting for you to get close and closer, before they pounce on you and attack. Brutally attack.

Art stands by you, not really doing anything but standing with the scowl on his face, staring at you. You smile and wave up at him, giving him a little "Hi baby", before turning your attention back to the food. There was silence, the only thing making noise being the food cooking.

You feel something cold on the back of your neck. You look up at Art and in the corner of your eye, you see his hand outstretched behind your neck. You can't really tell what it is he has but you will admit, it's scarring you. You tried not to show it though. You know Art loves when his victims show fear. If he has thoughts of killing you, fear will only fuel it.

He lowers his hand while you watch. Now you can see what he had pressed against you. A knife- which is probably the least painful object he owns for killing. You again, tried to show now fear. Your eyes didn't widen and your breathing stayed like before. But your heart is beating faster. That's something you can't control. You just showed confusion. Art drops the knife onto the floor- thankfully missing his and yours feet- and turn around, leaving and disappearing into your bedroom.

Once he leaves, you sigh. What the fuck was that? This isn't the first time he's pressed a weapon against you but it still shakes you up everytime. And maybe that's what he wants. You bend down and pick up the knife, throwing it in the sink. You continue cooking, acting like your boyfriend didn't just hold a knife against you.

You taste test everything, ensuring that everything's thoroughly cooked. When the taste is up to your standards, you go to turn off the stove. As your reaching for it, you hear a loud "honk" right in your ear. You jump and turn around, more terrified than when he held a knife to your neck. Art is there, now fully cleaned of blood, and silently laughs. Hard. And buckles over in laughter and pointing at you. He then puts a hand of his heart and mocks your shocked expression and the way you jumped. You bend over the counter, holding your head and laughing too.

Art comes over and grabs a hold of your waist, wrapping both arms around you and lifting you up. He swings you around a bit and kisses your neck. You laugh as he does, now forgetting about the past incident. "Baby-" you laugh. Art perks up and looks at you. "Go sit at the dinner table, I'll bring out your dinner." Art rolls his eyes and gives you once last squeeze before he lets go and slumps over to his spot on the dinner table.

You serve two plates; Art has some chicken, beef, rice and vegetables, which yours has the same but less beef. You bring out his plate first, setting it in front of him and kissing him on the lips. And go back to get your plate and when you come back and set your plate down across Art, you notice his vegetables are gone from his plate and... on the floor, a very thin, useless napkin covering them.

"Babe." Now it's your turn to scowl at him. Art was some of the beef in his mouth. He looks up at you, dumbfounded. "Why the shit is your food on the floor?" Art shrugs and looks around at the floor around him and looks puzzled, like he's pretending the food on the floor doesn't exist. "Art." You glare at him and he just looks like he doesn't know what you're talking about, doing hand movements to tell you you're crazy.

You opened your mouth to speak but Art held up a finger, shushing you. He points to the beef and then his arm, his eyes questioning. "What?" He does the same again. You shrug, looking confused. Art rolls his eyes like you're the dumb one and points to the beef and then to you and him. "I dont-" Art rolls his eyes harder, throwing his body back in dramaticness too. He points to the beef again, and shrugs, looking at you like it's so obvious to know what he's trying to ask you.

"What is it??" You ask, trying to guess what he's trying to say. Art nods, happily and relieved that you finally got it. "It's beef. It's cow." You say and start eating, taking a bite of the chicken. Arts grin is quickly wiped off his face and he slumps. "What?" You ask and eat. Art does a handmovement to say "oh nevermind" and he starts eating. "I'm not cooking human, Art. Don't even think about it." You scold and Art mocks you in response. You just roll your eyes and eat, forgetting the vegetables on the floor.

🖤🖤🖤

After dinner, you two clean up the kitchen. Art washes the dishes while you put the dishes in the sink and wiping down the counters and sweeping the floor. You have music on, singing along as Art bops his head dances a little to the music.

After cleaning, you two go to your shared bedroom. As soon as your door closes, you pounce on Art. You wrap your arms around his neck and smash your lips against his. Almost like he was expecting it, Art instantly grabbed onto you and kissed you back, using tongue and gripping onto your pajamas.

Art pushes you against the wall, his hands still gripping your hips. Your hands reach behind his back and zipped down the zipper on his clown suit. Art starts peeling off your clothes until you're completely naked. You pull off arts clown fit until he's naked too, just his facepaint and mini tophat on.

Art flips you over so you're pressed against the wall. You open your legs a bit and Art grabs your asscheeks, opening them apart and angling his dick with your pussy. He spits on his dick and slowly slips into you, his hands moving to your hips. You let out a soft moan and press your cheek against the wall, looking back at him. Your full body is against the wall, your ass poking out a little.

Art starts slamming his hips against you, his pace getting rougher and rougher. Your body jolts and you moan louder. With every thrust, your thighs slap against the wall. Art reaches around your neck. He wraps his bare hand around the front of your neck and he flips you two over. His back lays against the wall, one hand on your hips as he continues to thrust into you. He pulls your head back by your neck, squeezing a little. Your hands reach back and grab onto his legs as his pace becomes almost unhuman.

Art slaps your ass hard as he does, grinning at your yelp in response. He trails is hand down, roughly grabbing your tits, then trailing fully down to your hip. He pushes down on your back to make you bend over and his other hand grabs a fistful off your hair and pulls your head back. Art grabs your thighs with the hands that was once on your back and opens your legs more. He then grabs your hand and places it on your pussy, and you start mastutbating yourself. All the while his pace stays harsh and rough like usual.

After a while you warn Art of your upcoming orgasm, to which he replies by slapping your ass harshly a couple more times until you cum on his dick; your fingers still circling your clit and Arts pace not faltering. Art abruptly stops his movements, planting himself balls deep into you. He lets go of your hair, his hands just resting on your hips. You slowly stand up straight again. Art grabs the hand you used to pleasure yourself with, pressing it against his lips and into his mouth, licking your juices off your fingers. His other hand pulls your hair back. He slowly turns to look at you, a grin on his face, and he dives in to kiss your lips.

He lets go of you and peels you off his dick, walking you to the bed and pushing you on your back, onto the bed. Art opens your legs, kneeling between them. He uses his fingers to massage your clit for a while before he raises his hand up and slaps your pussy. Not too hard but enough to sting. When he hears you moan and watches your legs jolt, he does it again. And again. And again. And again, till your pussy was wetter and red.

Art stops slapping you, then leans down and starts roughly eating your pussy. You moan loudly and wiggle a little as he does. He forces your legs open and keeps them there as he makes out with your pussy. You grab his head and push it closer to you, his large nose pressing against your clit.

You grind against his face until you cum on his face and he keeps eating you out. Your body spasms. He finally pulls away and licks his lips, standing up again. He lines his dick up with your pussy, instantly pludging himself into you and his expression contorts at the feeling. He starts moving his hips again, fast.

You cry out in overstimulation, your nails digging into his arms as his hands grip your hips tightly. A single tear runs down your face. Art sees this a grins, enjoying the pleasure- and pain- he's giving you. He licks the tear, biting your cheek a little before he comes back up. Your legs shake and tremble and your face looks disheveled. But Art loves when your helpless like this with him. Because of him.

Art winks down and at you and blows you a kiss. He then slams into you, hard, and stays there for a second, balls deep inside you. Then he does it again. And again. And again. He grins wider and wider with every moan you scream out.

He then wraps his hand around your neck, tightly, and starts up his fast, rough pace into you. Your hands claw at his arm as he chokes you, but not too hard. Well... not at first at least. After a couple more minutes, and a couple more orgasms pulled from you, he grips your neck tighter. Your face is now redder than it's ever been.

Art slams into you, cumming inside you, his grin not leaving his face, his eyes shifting from your eyes to your pussy. Even after he came, he kept going, moving fast like before. Like he had all the energy in the world. He squeezed a little tighter at your neck for a second, cutting your airways for only a second before he let you breath again as he fucked you.

Your body slowly became more and more limp, your eyes getting loopy and your heart racing. Your moans start getting fainter and quieter, which makes Art falter a bit but he doesn't stop. Seconds later your body goes limp and your eyes close. You passed out. Whether that be from the choking or from the overstimulation, you don't know. You just know you knocked out.

🖤🖤🖤

You woke up minutes later, now laying against a pillow on the bed. You have a blanket over your still-naked body and the ceiling fans on. You see Art sitting next to you on the bed, now in sports shorts and a T-shirt. He's looking down at you as you wake up, and you have a feeling he's been like that for the whole time you've been asleep.

Art has confusion and... fear in eyes. Fear for Art is rare. Rarer than rare. Someone like Art is never scared. Confused yes, he's sometimes confused, but not scared. He's watched you almost cut a finger off while cooking and his eyes looked more hungry and like he was holding back than scared for your life. But now he's scared. There's finally some human emotion in his eyes.

You two don't do anything but stare at eachother for some time. Didn't Art almost kill you when he got home? Why does he look worried now? It's like he's not even blinking.

Arts tilts his head, looking down at you. He slowly inches his hand to your neck, lightly touching the red marks of his hand left behind. You turn on your side, smiling tiredly as you look up at him. Art touches your face and raises his eyebrows, still confused on why you just knocked out mid sex. "Ya kno-" you stop talking when you hear your own voice. It's very very raspy. You clear your throat and go to talk again. That didn't help. Still raspy. But you talked anyway.

"A girl can only take so much, baby." You laugh. Art rolls his eyes and mocks you. He's back to his usual self. "Whaat??" You laugh again and wrap your arms around his waist. Art ruffles your already-messed-up hair, grinning down at you playfully again.

"Maybe if I wake up first tomorrow, I'll wake you up with a blowjob." You rub your elbow on his crotch and he instantly gets hard again. You get off him and lay back on the bed. He looks down at you with a frown. "Tomorrow." You remind him. Art huffs and rolls his eyes, getting into bed with you. You two sleep, clinging onto eachother.

🖤🖤🖤

HAPPY HALLOWEEN

[therowdymagpie]

Arcana M6 and Halloween Headcanons

A/N: Basically small 5min. headcanons about how the main 6 and other characters would celebrate Halloween if it was a thing in Vesuvia.

Julian:

OK so we all know he is spending his day at the clinic because most accidents always happen on seasonal holidays.

That won't deter him from being the most thematically accurate person in the room. The man already has a getup perfect for the day and the Drama for it, but he's just going to play it up even more adding more things.

Tries especially hard to cheer up or make his child patients smile on the day putting a funny accent or being generous with the treats.(Throwing caution not to eat too many)

We all know his pumpkin carving skills are canonically atrocious (sorry but it's true) so you'll have to take over for the decor.

Will most definitely take you out to the Raven to celebrate and have fun.

Asra:

First thing's first: They Live for the mischief and the scares.

He plays extremely into the TRICK part of the trick or treat tradition. For him it might as well be a second April Fools honestly with the pranks he might pull on less than pleasant customers or people who sour the holiday.

They make sure that no matter how busy the day is, they go to the docks and try to find kids who need some cheering up or someone to take them trick or treating. It doesn't matter if the kid doesn't have a costume. They can make one for them!

Faust is rocking an amazing handmade costume Asra knitted for her and she is living for it, going about and spooking people (WITH her knife, Julian beware).

Muriel:

Doesn't really get affected by the spooky vibes and he's pretty indifferent to the dressing up part.

This would be prime time for people to be out and about so, predictably perhaps, you two spend the day quietly in the hut with warm drinks and plenty of furs.

He doesn't really like to take part in the festivities but he does do Pumpkin carving and you realise that regardless of material, his carvings are always extremely elegant and detailed(It's almost sad that the pumpkins will rot and the designs won't last...).

Of course some kids venture out into the woods to get candy or because they want to see if there's a witch living in the hut ;). Regardless, you two give them candy and they are on their way, Inanna making sure they make it back home safely.

Nadia:

Unexpectedly enough she makes it her business to have the Palace doors open for the kids during the holiday (with parental supervision obviously). She feels like they should get to have enough fun and plans all sorts of entertainment for them.

Also makes sure there's a party for the actual adults themselves on the after hours.

Dresses immaculately obviously and has the best and most elegant costumes. For the ones closest to her, just in case.

Please, please, please take the opportunity to bring her to town festivals and taverns to have a first hand experience to celebrate and cut loose like everyone else.

Portia:

HALLOWEEN Baking Time Baby!!! This woman will not let ANY PUMPKIN parts go unused. Whether she'll use the carved ones as fertilizer or the extra pieces and insides to make pie or cookies, she is not throwing anything away.

You two are wearing costumes and going out to celebrate…no she won't take "No" for an answer.

Do you remember the PSL Tale? This woman lives for haunted houses and spooky fun so prepare for a LOT of fairs.

Kids somehow find out that she has the best treats to offer and just pile up in front of her cottage (she somehow never runs out of candy to give them, she has too much power).

Lucio:

-> Count Hcs:

Oh HECK YES, this is his second favourite time of year aside from his birthday.

He just plans an essentially a Bigger And Better version of the Masquerade open to everyone.

Loves the costume aspect and he's going to show up in something revealing, over-the-top and vain with a BUNCH of glitter.

Holds a costume contest which he rigs just to give a himself an award and show off to everyone else(input sound of Nadia pinching her nose in the corner sighing)

-> Upright ending Hcs:

It can be SUCH a fun time with him when you two travel and pass through multiple towns and go through the many ways people celebrate.

Not to mention the festivals and parties and fun times that honestly give him a glimpse of his old life, but better now since he feels an actual connection with the people he meets and well...having you around to celebrate.

You WILL, however, have to look out for his sweet tooth and restrain him from taking too much candy.

and make sure he doesn't sass little kids' costumes

That is all, Happy Boop season everyone!

[wwasted]

on this Halloween i bring u this thought: figure skater gale au 🧎🏼‍♀️

Rich, pair figure skater Gale whose family moved to Wisconsin to further his skating career. Marge is his partner. He’s a bit of an ice princess (stoic, bitchy, very blunt) and dating his equally rich quarterback boyfriend. The boyfriend is a total self obsessed douche but they’re both dedicated to their sports so he never gets mad at Gale when Gale has to cancel or doesn’t text. He also makes his parents happy, because of his equal status and they’ve always been weird about him being gay so he figures why the fuck not. He keeps him around, even if the sex is shit.

Enter John. He’s a troublemaking burn out who has absolutely no interest in college, which is funny because he’s constantly hanging around their local college. And that’s only because his best friend Curt attends and someone has to save his ass from the rich pricks and nerds. they’re always at parties and hotboxing Curt’s dormroom (is Curt fucking the RA so he looks the other way? Probably) It’s hard not to be bitter when the whole town wrote him off before he even had the chance because of who his old man is, so he takes a special kind of pleasure in fucking with them and showing that he can be even worse.

They are absolute opposites in every way, and yet they can’t stay away from each other. They love arguing despite the fact that they shouldn’t even talk to each other because they’re in such different circles. Gale is constantly playing the “I’m better than you and you should be thankful I even look at you” card which backfires because it just makes John wanna hold him down and fuck him until he’s begging. Eventually the arguing becomes foreplay and the foreplay turns into them actually hatefucking. And he’s still definitely dating the douche quarterback, but honestly that just makes it hotter for both of them. The sneaking around, the fights in public where everyone thinks they hate each other, but secretly they’ll meet up in the some bedroom or bathroom of whatever house party they’re at and John will fuck Gale until he cries with a hand over his mouth because it turns out you never learn volume control when you don’t typically have a reason to moan or be loud.

(When Gale would have sex with his boyfriend, he would just lay there and get lost in his head, he’d go over the routines with Marge he wanted to improve, what assignments he had for class, he viewed it as his down time where he could get some mental housekeeping done. At least then they both got something out of it. Either way, he never got the urge to moan or make a single sound. And he often had the excuse of needing to be quiet so it worked anyway. The first time Bucky fucks Gale, he’s honestly expecting the same situation but thank fuck their first time manages to be somewhere they have time and is fairly private bc Gale is LOUD. At first Bucky thinks that he’s just faking it, and honestly gets kind of pissed, so he starts going deeper, harder, handling him rougher. But that just makes the noises and moans coming out of Gale even louder, more unhinged, his nails embedding themselves in John’s back and ass and he’s definitely going to end up with scars if they keep doing this. And he really fucking hopes they do. Gale sounds like he’s dying for John’s cock when he comes. He hasn’t even heard some of those noises in porn. Bucky never shuts up about it. Gale gets even bitchier when he’s embarrassed. It’s an endless feedback loop that leads to a lot of rough dirty sex.)

They get off on talking shit about each other to other people and seeing if it ends up getting to the other person. And if it does, repeating what was said during sex. “I wonder what everyone will think when they find out that you love being on your knees for me, since ya know, I’m such worthless trash” “begging for me? But I thought you wouldn’t touch me with a 10 foot pole since the frost would make your dick fall off” It becomes a thing. Until it doesn’t. Because at some point the hate fucking turns into deep emotional fucking where it’s pretty obvious they’re in love with each other. Instead of it being hot to sneak around on Gale’s idiot boyfriend, John wants to beat the shit out of him every time he sees him. Wants to tell him that he’ll never have Gale like John does. And when some guy or girl inevitably talks about how hot John is while Gale is within hearing distance, he wants to brag about how John would never touch them when he has Gale. So something has to give. Gale’s rich friends are shocked and appalled when they find out he’s dating Bucky. It’s honestly kind of a mini scandal at the college. Gale Cleven and John Egan? Unheard of.

But even when they’re in love and they’re dating, Gale is so bitchy. All the time. Constantly threatening Bucky that he won’t put out ever again bc Bucky didn’t respond to a text fast enough (the irony is not lost him) constantly smacking his hand away and turning his head when John tries to kiss him. Total brat. And John loves it. Is obsessed with it. The meaner Gale is to him, the harder he gets. And while Gale may be bitchy, all it takes is a few “princess” or “c’mon doll” in that voice and a hand sliding up under his shirt for Gale to cave and allow Bucky to touch him again.

They do have their sweet moments, especially after sex. if John fucks him just right, it’s like his brain reboots itself and he forgets that he’s supposed to be prickly. He’ll lay his head on John’s chest and shove his face into his neck and nuzzle. He’ll place soft kisses anywhere he can reach. He’ll say I love you while his fingers are tangled in John’s hair.

John loves that version of him just as much as the bitchy one. In fact, John would happily spend the rest of his life thawing his ice princess, just to let him refreeze and start all over.

Thots?

[whatsjulietslastname]

Okay so this is me talking about everything that is wrong with Double Exposure because my first post about it was an angry reaction at the pricefield breaking up news and it wasn’t really diving into it. Obviously don’t read this if you haven’t played the game and do not want to get spoiled. Also, this is going to be long.

First of all, what I really want to speak about and what a lot of people are refusing to accept is how painfully out of character Max is throughout the whole game. “Yeah but she’s ten years older—” Don’t care. That doesn’t mean her entire personality has to change. I’ll say it over and over again, 2014 Max Caulfield would have absolutely despised her adult version. The thing that bugs me the most about 2024 Max Caulfield is how careless she is with her powers. She’s not asking herself where they came from, she doesn’t even freak out, or actually care. In the first game, right after she first rewinds, she constantly has to remind herself that she isn’t dreaming, and that this is real. In this game, she just accepts it, and goes on with her day, and uses her powers for the most useless reasons possible. What about the Max from her nightmare who represents the guilt she felt for using her powers wrong and putting all of those people in danger, you say? Absolutely forgotten. Max uses her powers so she can find items easier and so the people who rejected her in her main timeline want her in the other one. (Yes, after Chloe breaks up with her and expresses her worries about the fact that Max — apparently — uses her powers so things go her way — which is already incredibly out of character, because no, 2014 Max wouldn’t have used her powers on Chloe to avoid conflict, especially after what happened.) That is incredibly manipulative and shitty. SHE WOULDN’T FUCKING SAY THAT. And also, why on Earth would she try and use her powers to avoid her friend’s death when she KNOWS where this is leading. Did she not learn anything from the past? Apparently, she didn’t! And proceeded to completely forget about it all.

Something else that is incredibly annoying and gets tiring after like ten minutes is the amount of awkward sex-related jokes that Max (and every character, somehow) keeps making at any given moment. Pretty sure this was supposed to show us that Max is an adult now and that she hangs out with adults and knows what sex is but that is way too much. Nobody talks like that in real life (and if I ever meet someone who does I’m leaving the conversation). Max also makes cringey jokes all the time, because her dialogue (and hers only, which makes it sound even weirder) is the same as the 2014 one, except it was 2014 back then and it was acceptable. Now, if Max Caulfield says ‘let’s trash, shakabrah’, you’re only making it obvious how much fan-service you filled this game with. It would be funny if she said it to Chloe, because then it would have sounded like an inside joke, except she says it to her new lame love interest who has no idea what she’s talking about, and just. Why. Why would she, Deck Nine. The main problem about the fact that those jokes are thrown at us all the time is that Max’s inner dialogue is almost only focused on them. Something traumatic happens to her? Who cares. She’s gotta make a joke about the rock you pick up and then bring to another universe’s lame love interest who’s gonna reject her anyway and say ‘I’ll never apologize for my dad jokes’ because apparently, we’re never seeing the end of the fan-service in this game.

Chloe is out of character too the only few times we hear of her, but that’s only because Deck Nine makes it obvious how much they despise her. She leaves Max through a very underwhelming letter, which is already out of character enough. She then proceeds to never reach out for years (which is something Max has done to her and that has hurt her, so why the fuck would she do the same thing right after?) And apparently, she doesn’t care. She just moves on, and parties, and kind of starts flirting with Max’s high school bully, and makes cringey posts on the Internet that make her sound like an extremely corny player. That isn’t Chloe Price. That’s someone Chloe Price would make fun of, at most. I kept picturing 2014 Chloe reading the things her adult self apparently posts on social media and freeze in terror. Genuinely. Also, the whole ‘Joyce is dead and Chloe is angry at Max for it’. Sigh. Chloe gave Max the choice. She said ‘you’re the only one who can (make this choice)’. And then, when Max choses her, in front of her, and lets the town get blown away, Chloe says ‘I’ll always be with you’. Why the sudden switch up? Never explained. Chloe is just angry at Max for something she originally wasn’t angry at her for.

The writing in this game is super weak, too. There are a few cool scenes (I’m thinking the one where Safi tells Max to pulls the trigger in the middle of the storm, if you manage to make it past how boringly similar to LiS 1 it feels), but it’s mostly just…meh, at most. For instance, Safi asks Max about Chloe, we learn that Chloe and Max broke up, or that Chloe died, and then without giving us any time to process that, the game forces us to friendzone or flirt with some random girl that is apparently into Max. We don’t have any time to decide if we like her or not, you just take a look at her and decide if Max wants her. The dialogues are more often than not awful too. It sounds like something ChatGPT would write. Nearly every single interaction Max can have with basically anyone feels forced, and like people talk too much, or not enough, people say random thing that makes no sense and nobody cares, we suddenly hear Max’s thoughts in a middle of a conversation, there are awkward moments of silence. Painful to witness. Max has NO chemistry with either of her love interests (though the guy is somehow more interesting than the girl to interact with), and manages to have more romantic moments with her best friend who she’s not supposed to be into than with them. Both those love interests are useless and suck anyway, because they will both end up rejecting Max by the end anyway, and apparently won’t even return, which strikes the question of why the romantic plot lines were even involved. (Which also made me hate Amanda a lot. I guess she is somewhat likable at the beginning of the game, but she gradually becomes annoyingly pushy and ends up telling Max she’s too much to deal with at the end of the game anyway). Also, it’s annoying how obvious it is that the romantic plot line is way more explored with Amanda than it is with Vihn. Stop making Max look like she’s basically a lesbian but not completely because she hooks up with guys sometimes. Stop bisexual erasure, basically.

The game gives up on its own plot in the middle of it. It was promoted as a murder mystery but stop being one after a while to become a What The Hell Is Going On With Safi kind of thing. Also, there’s the whole thing with the detective. Why did they even create him only to treat him as a joke and never explain what happened with him. One of the most confusing thing about this game. What the hell was that for.

The nightmare sequence. God, how I hate it. If you want to deal with Max’s trauma, do it WELL. It’s a go big or go home thing, not a ‘let’s put some sort of references but never properly deal with anything’. IT WAS SO FRUSTRATING. There’s references about Chloe everywhere, and never Chloe. I get it, you don’t want her to be in this game. But if you do want to talk about Max’s trauma, you gotta swallow your pride and put her somewhere anyway. Max can’t have a nightmare about the things that traumatized her without Chloe being there. It just makes it even more obvious how much the studio avoided to put her in the game on purpose. The bathroom scene? God, please, what the fuck was that. Why would Max think of herself as some kind of Nathan Prescott parallel?? The only thing they had in common was pointing a gun at someone. That’s it. That was another poor attempt of the game to try and not put Chloe there but still say ‘look!! Max still thinks about her and is traumatized!! But she somehow dreams about it without seeing her face once!!’ like just stop. And the Dark Room part felt very underwhelming too. Kudos to Hannah Telle for the amazing voice acting on this, but the scene lasted ten seconds. Just don’t put it there, please.

The nightmare isn���t needed in every LiS game. So isn’t the Storm. So aren’t the nosebleed. Why does Diamond get nosebleed because of her powers? That was a Max thing. Daniel didn’t get nosebleed, Alex didn’t get nosebleed, Chris didn’t get nosebleed. (Rachel didn’t get nosebleed either). Why is this suddenly something everybody get because of their powers?? And why do every powers suddenly create Storms. It’s not a common Powers Problem, it was a Rewind Powers thing. God, this makes me mad.

And last but not least. The final choice. It felt so??? Underwhelming??? I use this word a lot, but it’s how the whole game feels for me. The LiS choices are hard to pick. There’s no morally wrong or right answer. It depends on who you are, what you stand for. The first game was about learning how to let go or refuse to let your friend get ruined by fate. The second game was about giving your life up for your brother to have chance or refusing to give up on what you believe in and what makes you who you are, no matter what. Before the Storm was about protecting your loved ones from the truth or refusing to lie to them and let them hurt. True Colors was about forgive the unforgivable in the name of compassion or hold a grudge in the name of family.

And then there’s this game. ‘Do you wanna join the X-men me and my team of supervillains and take over the world lol’. Why would Max say yes to that. Just why. If you want to play the game in character, it’s obvious that you have to pick ‘refuse’. If you want to play an out of character evil Max just for the sake of it because it’s fun, alright! I don’t blame you. It’s fun. But why on Earth would Max Caulfield agree.

Also, they take you for an idiot with the cat content. Do NOT waste your money on it, you will regret it.

Anyway. This game would’ve been okay if it hadn’t been apart of the LiS franchise, and if it had starred a different main character. I still would’ve thought it was confusing and generally not great, but at least it wouldn’t have felt like such a let down. (Side note: everything I’ve said doesn’t include Moses and Gwen. I want to put them in my pocket and carry them around with me forever. Love them a lot.)

And congratulations if you’ve read this far. I probably would’ve gone ‘I ain’t reading allat’ and scrolled

[rustfoxes]

Disjointed DAtVG feelings/opinions

I've played the game for a bit, I'm not too far in yet, and honestly? I hope it gets better. Spoilers & venting below as you might guess.

Everything seems to be tell, don't show. There's very, VERY little trust in the player. Characters happen upon a ruined village? "The village is ruined! There's no one here!" Yes, we can see that. Character looks upset? Text pops up on screen to tell you that IN FACT!! Character is upset. Couldn't have guessed.

Everything is explained out loud immediately, except the arguably actually important things. If I remember correctly, there's no mention of the 10 year (?) timeskip from DAI, everyone just now knows everything about elven magic and the Fade and the Veil EXCEPT FOR THE PLAYER. None of that is explained! New players are expected to just know, which in some games works, but when you throw characters into a magical forest and say it's Arlathan forest, how tf are they supposed to know what Arlathan is.

Why is Varric a brunette all of a sudden

Characterisation of returning characters is fucking wild. Fun, jokey Harding? Massive chip on her shoulder and real aggressive for some reason. Soft-spoken and measured Solas? Yelling, again, for some damn reason. Where is his iambic pentameter? And he hates blood magic all of a sudden?? Did the writers play the earlier games at all? Solas SPECIFICALLY says in DAI that blood magic has no morality to it and is merely a tool.

The game is linear to the extent that I cannot for the life of me see the point of the game asking you to wrap up unfinished business before moving forward. What unfinished business? You've locked us into a small room with 0 exits and 1 chest. There is no business.

So far there's been zero time for any of the story to breathe. There are no story beats, because the drum machine that is the pacing just keeps hammering on. The gravity of the situation has no time to set in for anyone. THE ACTUAL GODS OF MYTH HAVE BEEN BUST OUT OF GOD-JAIL. THIS IS A HUGE FUCKING PROBLEM. "Yeah, well, people would've died if Solas hadn't been stopped from tearing down the Veil." And this is preferable???? What the actual fuck. DAI Solas wanted to rebuild and to safe-guard his people. TWO of the people he wanted to PROTECT EVERYONE FROM are now out. But oh man, that Solas, he would've hurt folks. You think the wondertwins won't? Jesus fucking Christ.

The gameplay more or less just completely scraps character classes. Playing a mage rn and for some damn reason she has separate ranged attacks. What the actual fuck. What is the point of making people choose a class if a damn mage has to stand next to enemies to attack?

So far doesn't feel like an RPG at all. Starts in media res which is fine, but your character is already established as a cool hero and an important figure. Why? Why weren't we along for that ride?

Character movement is janky af, DAI was much smoother 10 damn years ago. Hopefully they'll somehow manage to fix it.

Either they needed better actors or a much better voice director, because holy shit is the dialogue awkward and halting and just... no.

Writers have clearly had shoes far too large to fill. Dialogue wants to be funny and witty and clever. It is not. Specially not with the phoned in voice acting.

Where have my Welsh/Irish elves gone? Wtf happened there? Also why wasn't there anyone around to tell the actors how to pronounce the elvhen words??

Why the fuck is the rogue our healer.

All quests so far have been walking from A to B, collecting some coins along the path, and then fighting 5 or 10 enemies. No variation at all.

Idk man, I really hope the game will find its legs as it goes on, but so far? Massively underwhelming and honestly quite disappointing. Absolutely does not feel like DA. People critisised DA2 for being rushed and DAI for a whole host of shit, but at least I felt like I was playing a Dragon Age game.

[whumpdoyoumean]

Whumptober #29

A/N: Sorry for the delay on this one, guys! Holiday festivities have been keeping me busy, but hopefully I'll get the last two out on time! :D

-

part 1

xxx alternate prompt: used as bait

River is having a hard time focusing. He's in a wooden chair. The rope binding his wrists to the arms are tied tightly enough that the scratchy fibers bite into his skin. His captors hadn't bothered with his ankles. Probably figured there was no need, since the bones in his lower right leg are most likely in about a million little pieces.

The room is cold.

Any adrenaline he'd had from the attack has long since faded, and his leg is killing him. It might literally be killing him, actually, because at the moment it's all he can think about. He should be trying to figure out a way to escape, but he just can't get his thoughts to line up properly for long enough to come up with anything helpful. Or anything unhelpful. Any hope for survival, it seems, rests on the shoulders of the Slow Horses.

He thinks probably he's not supposed to find comfort in that—the Horses being, well, the Horses—but he does. Or, maybe not comfort, per se, but there is a distinct lack of dread which is close enough.

The strangely calm, detached feeling continues even when a door opens somewhere behind River, and he hears the sound of footsteps. It's the first time any of his captors have entered the room where he's being held. If he were going to feel dread at the situation, now would be the time for it.

Instead, he says, "It's about time. I've been here for ages, could really use a drink. You haven't got scotch, have you?"

"You're funny," the person who'd just entered says, and he sounds...normal. River's not sure what he expected – maybe something more Darth Vader-like? At the very least a little gruff and intimidating. This guy sounds like he could host a mediocre lifestyle podcast. He walks into River's line of sight and waves. He's got a mask and gloves on, and River recognizes the outfit. This is one of the people that had dragged him into the car. He gestures at River's leg.

"That must hurt." The way he says it seems...odd. Loud. "Mind if I take a look?"

River shrugs.

"Be my guest."

The man draws a knife from a sheath at his hip and steps forward, slicing open the leg of River's trousers to the knee. He hisses a little, then straightens, glancing over his shoulder before saying, again overly loudly, "It doesn't look good. Definitely broken. You'll need surgery if you don't want to walk with a limp for the rest of your life. Might even need to get it amputated if it's bad enough."

This man, this weird fucking guy, is behaving oddly enough that it gives River something to focus on other than the agony in his leg. He wants to interact with him more, see if he can figure anything out...

"Yes, well, that's what happens when you hit someone with your car."

It's the wrong thing to say, apparently. Or maybe what happens next would have happened no matter what he said, or didn't say.

The man kicks River's leg – not hard, he barely touches it in fact. But that's more than enough for the already awful pain to become excruciating. River's vision goes black, and when awareness comes back he can hear someone screaming. He's screaming. He clamps his mouth shut on the sound.

"You--" he gasps, struggling to catch his breath. He's trembling, and a cold sweat has broken out over his forehead. "You bastard."

When he looks at the man, though, the man isn't looking at him. He's looking up at the wall. At the camera. That's why he's been speaking so loudly, acting like he's putting on a show. He is putting on a show. Because River's not the target.

He's the fucking bait.

"It's not like I enjoy this," the man is saying. God, he's a shit actor. Probably wouldn't know subtlety if it bit him on the arse. "None of this has been for-"

"Right," River interrupts. He's in too much pain and too angry to listen to this prick monologue. He doesn't know for sure whether it's a live feed or whether the camera is recording a video that the man intends to send later. He really, really hopes it's the former. "Are they seeing this right now?"

River can't see the man's face, but his posture changes, growing rigid. He looks up at the camera again and River almost smiles. Clearly he hadn't intended for River to catch onto that part of his plan. River looks at the camera now, too.

"It's a trap," he says loudly. "You dickheads better not walk right into it, or else you're just as stupid as everyone says you are!"

xxx

"What the fuck is he doing?" Shirley practically shrieks.

The second link had come in shortly after she and Louisa got back to Slough. They hadn't gotten much from the police, and Roddy apparently hadn't had much luck either. Now, though, there's a live-feed for him to trace. A live feed of River acting like a complete fucking idiot.

"Does he honestly think we don't know it's a trap?" Louisa says, both hands gripping at the sides of her head, eyes wide. She wants to reach through the screen and cover River's stupid mouth.

"You should not have fucking done that," the man in the video says. The knife he'd used to cut open River's pant-leg is back in his hand.

Louisa can see what's coming, but that doesn't stop her from letting out a small cry when the man drives the knife into River's gut.

"Oh, fuck!" Roddy says, eyes wide, his fingers freezing over his keyboard as he stares at the screen.

"Roddy, focus!" Shirley snaps.

"Right." Roddy looks back at the monitor that doesn't have the video on it and he starts typing again, hands flying over the keys.

Louisa's heart is pounding, fear and anger mixing as she watches the man pull the knife back out. Their timeline for finding him and staging a rescue has just gotten significantly shorter.

"How long before he bleeds to death, d'you think?" Shirley asks, and there's none of the usual sarcasm in her voice, just a hollowness. Her face is pale. Then she says, voice sharpening, "Where the fuck are you going?"

Coe, already halfway out of the office, keeps moving, not looking back. Shirley glares.

"Hey!"

"Leave 'im," Lamb says, putting an arm up to block the doorway. "Ho, update."

"I've almost got it."

"Good," Louisa says. "We need to get him out of there."

Lamb raises an eyebrow at her. "Are you forgetting the part where it's a trap? We need to be smart about this. I know that isn't exactly everyone's forte, or you wouldn't be here, but I'm going to need you all to try and use your brains."

The anger that roils in Louisa's gut makes its way to her mouth, and it's moving before she can stop it.

"Can you not just take something fucking seriously for once?"

Something flickers across Lamb's expression and his eyes twitch slightly. "I am taking this seriously. That's one of my agents. And if he dies, then the people who did it are going to have hell to pay. But what do you think happens if we just charge in there, guns blazing, the way these aresholes obviously want us to? In all likelihood Cartwright will still die, and the rest of us with him. Where's the good in that?"

Louisa takes a deep breath, chewing the inside of her cheek. "You're right."

"Of course I'm right. Are you going to be able to do this? 'Cus right now you're looking like a fucking liability."

"I've got it," Louisa says. She doesn't know if that's actually true, but she can't be left behind while they go to save River. "I'm good. Sorry."

Before Lamb has the chance to respond, Roddy claps his hands together, then throws both arms up in the air, spinning around in his chair to face them.

"I found him."

xxx

This is bad. Obviously it's bad, being stabbed is bad. But somehow, against all odds, it's given River a sort of second wind. Adrenaline is coursing through him, dulling the pain to something near acceptable levels. He knows it won't last long, knows it's only a matter of time – maybe only minutes – before the blood loss starts slowing his thoughts again.

The man throws some more threats around, a bit more gesturing, and then he leaves. River waits until he hears the door close and lock behind him before looking up at the blinking red light.

"I think you guys can hear me," he says. "And I just – I want to say, it's alright. Whatever happens, it's...I don't blame you. I said to keep away and I meant it. But, uh...Just in case, I'm – I'm gonna stay awake as long as I can."

He lets out a brief, breathy laugh that's completely devoid of humor and shakes his head. It feels odd speaking to an empty room, and frankly kind of stupid. "Fucking ridiculous..." he murmurs. He looks back up. And he keeps talking because, somehow, it makes him feel a little less alone.

(He doesn't want to die alone.)

He doesn't talk about anything in particular, at first. He talks about the dinner he wanted to cook this week, and about the OB's garden. He talks about getting chased by dogs in France, and how even though they were barking like they wanted to tear his limbs off, he still prefers them to the Dogs. That makes him think of Duffy, and he comments on the fact that he still wonders where that missing diamond got off to.

He talks until he feels the cold start to settle in, and tingling in his hands and feet. He's getting light-headed too. Bad signs. He knows that. Fuck.

"Uh...Not sure how much longer I'll be able to stay awake," he says. He blinks heavily. "Maybe-maybe don't call my mum this time? Until you're, like, positive...And if someone could go visit my granddad a few times a week, that would be..." He blinks back tears, swallowing the lump that rises in his throat. "Maybe Catherine? She was good with him."

Being outlived by the OB. That's not something he'd ever imagined, especially not with how his granddad's health has been recently.

"He'll be confused. So make sure – make sure he knows he didn't kill me." There's darkness crowding the edges of his vision, and his ears are starting to ring. When he speaks again, his own voice sounds foreign to him.

"And make sure you find who did this."

It's the last thing he says before he slips into unconsciousness.

xxx to be continued...

[lovemesomeagnst]

What’s team red like in your au? I’m really curious about their dynamic :3

I actually have doodles and stuff planned for this tehe 🤭

So basically,

Dan is their engineer since he can help build stuff like how Ivy is the team’s mechanic

Carla is a getaway driver!!

Alex, which is Shermie’s son in this au, is their residential hacker. (Shermie does not know this.)

They’re still called Team Red because well the El Diablo is red and Stan wears red HAHA also their home base in Gravity Falls is like a secluded area. Basically like the Mystery Shack but with a few changes?

(I would have added soos, Wendy or Mabel and dipper but the timelines don’t match up unfortunately!!)

Alex bugged his way into Stan’s alliance when Stan was seeking quick refuge with Shermie’s family. It was super funny because Stan was busy plotting out his plans to thwart VILE and also not get caught by them in the middle of the night when Alex just questioned him about it.

Basically Alex: Heya uncle that looks hard, need any help?

And the next thing Stan knew he had a nephew on his side with impressive hacking skills to help him with his tasks. In return he teaches Alex some of his minor skills (how to steal and not get caught HELPP)

With Shermie and the rest of the fam not knowing I like to imagine family dinner with Shermie inviting Ford and it’s just Ford ranting about catching the super thief while Alex is off to the side like 👀.

Carla McCorkle and Stan ran into each other shortly after Stan left Shermie’s place and they had a talk and reconciled. After that they discussed further and Carla stubbornly inputted herself into Stan’s plans cause she was curious what he was planning to do. Also since she was concerned over what she’s observed from him when they were having a chat. As someone who had known Stan from his teen years, she’s someone who can understand him well and they became super close friends afterwards! She also smacks sense into him when needed!

‘Boyish’ Dan had been busy looking for a job and he came across Stan and Carla while they were stopping by Gravity Falls. He’s still young in this, maybe a teen? So Stan wasn’t so sure about having him on their team but since Alex was already in it he figured it wouldn’t be that bad. Dan impressed them all with his strength and skills to build stuff and after a whole discussion and a week of staying at Gravity Falls, the team decided to set up base there. Dan helped build their small shack (before it expands over time) and Stan was fine in letting him in the group. As normal Corduroy traits, Dan becomes a loyal and awesome asset to the team.

Part one | Part two

[juniperdugong]

Couple Costumes Maknae Line ver.

What you guys would wear as a couple on Halloween and how they react!! || 95s || 96s || 97s || Maknae line || A/N: I tried to make these examples as inclusive as possible, if you don't like that THEN GET OUT! Also, the characters or costumes I mention DO NOT correlate to the boys' personalities and this is all just for some silly Halloween fun! I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THE ART, all credit goes to their respective artists!

Seungkwan Sun & Moon/Doraemon

He's another one who thinks it's silly at first but puts up with it because it's you! Really, for such an extrovert who loves being a comedian, he tends to get embarrassed a bunch. But as it goes, he is willing to do anything for love—of course with his own "professional input."

He runs the show in terms of what y'all are picking. He needs it to be a good mix of funny but cute ALWAYS. I see a small argument as you guys go back and forth on what to wear and how it should look. But ultimately, if you really pushed for it... he would go with what you want because he's above fighting over costumes (sometimes)

He could settle for a simple sun and moon costume, he is after all the brightest sunshine boy to exist. But it's fairer to say that y'all would end up going with a childhood favorite comedic character and who better than Doraemon! He would adore this idea up and down and out! Of course, he's gonna be Doraemon and you're going to be Mii-chan or Noramyako... let's be real he wouldn't let you get the chance to steal the Doraemon spotlight from under him.

Vernon Sarah & Wirt/Adventure Time

Go with the flow all the way~ Which is to say he'd love to dress up with you and go with whatever ideas you have for him in terms of costume. He doesn't play into it as enthusiastically as others would but definitely is supportive through and through, constantly pushing you to challenge your ideas of what the costume should be. Very much the type to be like "What were you originally thinking?" if he notices you trying to tone it down - because despite what people may think he is very expressive, especially through fashion (as we know)

If he did give any sort of input or inspiration forward I definitely think he would be going for some sort of cartoon or comics, he's mentioned Hellboy before so I feel like that's a good route, I can also see X-men being a thing. But I'm a cartoon nerd at heart and OG carats know he used to rave about Adventure Time so I can definitely see him bring Simon & Betty to the table, maybe Marshal & Gary, perhaps a Fin & Flame Princess, or Jake & Lady. I'm a sucker for the idea of y'all as Wirt and Sarah from Over the Garden Wall though, like would die to see him in the vicinity of that show.

Dino Morticia & Gomez/Scream

He is 100% the type to vehemently refuse, but as soon as you give him even an ounce of that sulky attitude, he changes his tune and is in for whatever you want. Such a lover boy, honestly. It's getting on my nerves how fast I see him change his mind for you tbh. If you actually get mad I feel like he would go off the rails and in a frenzy get a bunch of costumes as revenge/malicious compliance? In short, he gets mad at you for being mad but does what you want anyway... Yeah.

He's so Gomez Addams coded, I'm sick! Also you guys as the power couple of the Addams family? Yes, puhhhlease!! It's insane how much y'all would rock that shit. Down and out winning the costume contest, for sure! But I also see him turning down the idea if he doesn't know the movie... In that case, I feel like even if he hasn't seen Scream he would be down to do Ghostface. Not only would you guys look hot but he doesn't have to wear different makeup and I feel like that's a win for him in his book.

A/N: A day late but it's better than nothing! The jjk fiends will have to wait till tmrw for the official end to the Halloween event with a Gojo fic lmao

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed ! (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[thegamingcatmom]

Hi! >:3 This one is for the Dimi sisters, for each of them what do you think they enjoy doing around the castle? Like I imagine they are pretty bored esp in Winter where they can't go outside due to the cold, I imagine Dani and Bela could enjoy reading by the fireplace but there has to be something else to do, right? I don't think Cassandra is a bookworm like her sisters, in fact I doubt that one can be STILL for more than 5 seconds XD I have a few HC of my own like I think Bela likes to read but not romantic stuff like Dani I think she'd be mroe into learning new stuff constantly from the books she reads and I think she is into art so she likes painting in the atelier, or just sketching in a notebook while sitting by the window (I once read a fanfic where Bela learned to cook? And I found it so cute and stuff that she cooked for tehf amily etc that i accepted that HC too). Cassandra would be in the armory sharpening her weapons bc theya re never sharp enough or practicing ehr moves against a dummy, perhaps even getting Dani to play some pranks on the staff (who no one finds funny except for the both of them and getting on Bela's nerves which is a plus I guess :p) Dani... Aside from reading her romantic novels and pranking the staff with Cass I thin she'd be into poetry... she'd try her best ok? (I'm kinda lost with Dani's hobbies tbh XD) What are your own HC for their hobbies? :p Have a good day <3

HI HELLO 🫶

I love your thoughts and I absolutely agree that Cassandra is incapable of focusing on anything for too long. Her record is approx. 10 secs, which is exactly how long it takes her to string someone up, slice their jugular and watch them bleed, lmao.

However, I´d like to think that Momma Alci makes sure to keep her unruly offspring entertained, mainly because it keeps them from bugging her. Momma values her me time. 🛁😌

Besides, there´s always the maids to terrorize. That never gets old. 🤭

Reading

Mostly books that expand her knowledge, like you said. She takes after Momma in that respect. 🤭

Another thing she really likes are mystery thrillers. They have her on the edge of her seat in a way no hunt has managed yet.

She´s not that big into horror though, believe it or not. Probably because she more than gets her fill of that on a daily basis in that castle, lol.

Romance? Please. She has neither the time, nor the patience for such mundane things.

Painting, drawing

She enjoys the calm that comes with it (which is rare in that castle), but she also does it to impress Momma. 🤭

Her favorite things to paint are still lifes. Especially fruit. Especially when it´s rotten. She finds that there´s a certain beauty in the grotesque.

Her favorite things to draw are humans. Or, more specifically, their insides. Organs and bones. Or just certain body parts with the muscles exposed.

Being down in the cellar almost every day truly brought out her artistic side. It´s very...inspiring.

Playing the piano

Again, she does it mostly to impress Momma, seeing how the Lady is quite the talented pianist herself.

Her favorite things to play are dark, tragic pieces that capture the haunting spirit of her existence. Such as Beethoven – Moonlight Sonata 1st Movement.

Music holds immense significance in House Dimitrescu, so it was only natural for Bela to prioritize mastering it as soon as she was capable of forming coherent thoughts.

Stringing them up

Slicing their jugulars

Watching them bleed

...I don´t know what else to tell you, lol.

The middle daughter isn´t particularly picky about how she spends her evenings. She simply does what she does best and, more importantly, what she loves doing. That´s all the fulfillment she needs.

It´s as simple as that with her. I aspire to be like that.

HOWEVER-

I do like the idea of her sharpening and taking care of her weapons because she certainly holds them dear to her dead heart. They´re her babies. :3

HOWEVER-

I don´t really see it as a hobby because it still means "work" for her. She doesn´t cope well with that sort of thing, lol. She´d much prefer spending her precious time on actually using her sickle rather than maintaining it.

HOWEVER-

...She might just let a maid do the work for her. While she watches, ofc. Taunting her. Mocking her. Whispering sweet promises of gruesome death into her ear.

"You missed a spot...right here."

*slices that jugular with her newly sharpened sickle*

🤷🏻‍♀️

Reading

I think that one is pretty obvious. Anything romance is her jam. ;3

More Reading

Because why read your favorite book just once (multiplied by 1354641486418431) when you can dive into the manic endless realms of your own imagination OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND OVER AND-

-UNTIL THE END OF TIME!!

Flirting/Roleplaying with the maids

The kitchen, the looming corridors, the cellars, the bedchambers - name any place within the castle, and it can almost always be guaranteed that Dani has left her mark - evidenced by blushing and stuttering maids.

Why hot when evil though?? 😭

Furthermore, as a direct result of her extensive reading, many maids have had the one-time opportunity to participate in one of her famously infamous plays, which focus on recreating her favorite scenes from her beloved books.

...Needless to say, that opportunity truly was a one-time affair.

.

.

.

Thanks a lot for your ask! 💋

[newluvrs]

Halloween movies w/ Riize ₊ ⊹₍ᐢᐢ₎   currently listening to: OBLIVION - GRIMES bb note: Happy halloween everyone! I cried my fawking eyes out last night bc this month was ass, but here's to a much better November. n e wayz, here r some movies that I think suit the boys based off their personalities

Shotaro ... Kairo (2001) dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa This film is Japanese Techno-horror. A slower film but one that suits him a lot, it is also a film with one of my personal scariest scenes I have ever seen! He's the type of person to like trying to get people to jump, and because of the tension in this movie it serves as the perfect backdrop for one of his schemes lol. Personally I also just want to hear his interpretation of the ending! He seems like he would like the ominous vibe and open interpretation of the events. He would def want to chat about it after and he might even still be thinking about it days later.

Eunseok ... Incantation (2022) dir. Kevin Ko This film is Taiwanese folk horror/found footage. Arguably the scariest movie on this list, I truly believe eunseok is the only one that can handle it lol. He's said in the past that he likes horror, and I noticed that he wants there to be a plot beyond it just being cheap scares and this movie has one! I saw this movie once and can never watch it again but I love to recommend it to people, it's scary and somber at the same time and I think he would enjoy it. He doesn't seem like the type to talk during movies so he can fully take in what's happening so this feels like a really good movie to enjoy with him. He's also pretty brave which you definitely need when watching this film....

Sungchan ... The Conjuring (2013) dir. James Wan This film is American supernatural horror. I don't really know why but sungchan screams the conjuring to me.. like I feel like even though he's a scaredy cat he would genuinely enjoy it? He seems like he does fine with horror films (ex. the Christmas we riize ep.) and he seems to get really invested in them. I think he had even mentioned in that episode that one of the films they watched had a setting that reminded him of the conjuring. I can picture him wanting to watch all of the movies in the conjuring universe and begging to watch them with you after finishing the first one.

Wonbin ... Gonjiam: Haunted Asylum (2018) dir. Jung Bum-Shik This film is South Korean supernatural horror/found footage. While doing my research I noticed that wonbin is the type to completely deny that he is scared during a movie even though he is very clearly hiding his face lol. Because of that I personally would really want to have him watch this film, because it's kind of amusing to watch him pretend to not be scared. I think it would be funny to spook him during one of the jumpscares during this film.. only if ur feeling a little evil >:]

Seunghan ... House (1977) dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi This film is Japanese psychedelic comedy horror. Not your typical horror movie at all, this film is full of bright colors and silliness! An easy watch for my non-horror movie lovers, and even though Seunghan isn't really easily scared (ex. horrorland we riize ep.) I feel like he would enjoy something light-hearted over serious horror. He seems like the type to want to talk through it, and even though I am strictly against talking during movies, this one is a good one to do so during just bc of how absurd it is! Would definitely give you both a good giggle and bring some joy while still keeping up w/ the halloween theme.

Sohee ... Ringu (1998) dir. Hideo Nakata This film is Japanese supernatural psychological horror. Sohee is another who isn't particularly bothered by horror and seems pretty invested in the plot! He's the type of person to look for more in a horror film and to want to be scared, and because of that I am going with this very classic film. He seems like he likes some of the classic horror codes and there's nothing more classic than this film (i.e. pale girl, long black hair, supernatural circumstances). Also seems like the type to want to talk about it after.. though I will say after you watch the film he might want to sleep with a light on.

Anton ... Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit (2005) dir. Nick Park, Steve Box This film is Comedy/Parody horror. Let's be so serious after that we riize episode, I am NOT giving Anton a horror film unless you want him to cling to you for dear life & scream in ur ear. Because of this he gets what I think is still a classic halloween film, but a sillier one! Very nostalgic too, I feel like he would appreciate this more than an actual scary movie. He might even want to have it on in the background while doing some classic halloween activities like baking silly treats or carving pumpkins.... just for the love of god do not make this man watch an actual horror film.

[tmrwsuns]

xikers as fairytale children.

minjae —  mulan and li shang

ᯓ minjae is a leader through and through. he is a fighter and more importantly a defender who looks to stand up for himself and others. i see him as that one kid whose justification to everything is “my mom said…” and honestly that's so valid of him because his mom knows her stuff. minjae always tries to understand and appreciate everyone, even if he has a hard time looking beyond someone’s actions into their reasoning sometimes. he is in touch with his feelings because of how he was raised, watching both of his parents be courageous and loyal soldiers but always keeping in mind that being vulnerable is okay. i also think he's a defender of the idea that his dad was indeed in love with his mom even before he found out she was a woman. 

junmin — beauty and the beast

ᯓ junmin is a gentle soul that is oftentimes hidden behind his “manly” exterior. he’s got his father’s strength and his mother’s wisdom. he is one of the most humble royals out there, having always being taught that it didn’t matter where you came from but who you became as a person. he knows how to be grateful for and to the people around him, but most importantly, he knows how to express that out loud; a skill which some princes might lack (cough cough seeun cough cough). i think my opinion is biased by the fact that he looks incredible in yellow and that i know damn well this man would absolutely rock a song with talking kitchen utilities. 

sumin — hades and persephone

ᯓ sumin is very clearly a rebel kid, and i will not have it any other way. he is the personification of chaos and loudness, flashy shenanigans and daring comebacks. being the son of one of the big three and persephone he has something to annoy the royal kids with; he is not only the prince of the underworld, but also a literal god. he could technically classify as a royal, but he doesn’t want to since he likes the feeling of being free from the restraints of the royal lifestyle. he is daring and witty, but never completely unkind. along with his scary aura he also got his mother’s kindness, which is often overlooked because of his defensive exterior. he has a hard time letting people in, but when he does they have a guaranteed friend and protector for life.

jinsik — sleeping beauty

jinsik can be so calm when he's in the right company, he is gentle and kind hearted. i can see him singing with little birds and having wild animals follow him around. but don't get confused, he is chaotic. out of all the princesses, aurora is the one who would have a golden retriever son like jinsik. he is energetic and loud, always bringing happiness wherever he goes. people were naturally drawn to him his entire life because of his kind demeanor and fun aura, being who always sets the mood to be comfortable for anyone (except seeun, he thrives to make him uncomfortable). he shares his mother’s love for nature and his father’s braveness, allowing him to be one of the most loyal and protective people out there.

hyunwoo — big bad wolf

ᯓ hyunwoo is the kid of a villain kid who could not give a bigger fuck about status. he enjoys tricking people and acting intimidating when he first meets them like he isn’t the most silly person alive. he can look all scary until his cute little canines shine when he smiles, giving away the fact that he is really a very unserious person. his out of pocket comments lighten the mood always, causing laughs even in the most serious of scenarios. he is one hell of an absolute diva, and is so puppy-like sometimes that being some sort of werewolf suits him perfectly. however, he doesn’t find it funny anymore when people call him a furry or make some sort of twilight reference.

(is this completely based on a single clip of him? yes, but that's okay.)

junghoon — queen of hearts

ᯓ junghoon is of course a very serious looking person. his expressionless resting face initially hides the fact that he is incredibly chaotic. he matches his mother’s eccentric energy by being the complete opposite at first, using his cold demeanor as a mechanism defence towards the initial judgements that are made when they hear his mother’s name. junghoon is rather compassionate compared to the likes of the person who raised him but is also not scared to be absolutely ruthless when needed. he is a royal but is feared as a villain, which he couldn't care less about. he is a firm believer that the right people will love him for who he is, not who he tries to be.

seeun — prince charming and cinderella

ᯓ seeun is a conceited little prince and i will take no criticism of that. he is extremely blessed with princely looks, he is beautiful and he knows that more than anyone. he grew up knowing his place compared to others, meaning that he irradiates confidence in himself. everywhere he goes he has people that love him, girls fawning about him and guys wanting to be him, and he would be a liar if he said he didn't love that. although he is a royal pain in the ass, he also got some of his mothers kindness, which compared with his natural charm is a fatal combination to make him one of the most lovable assholes to have ever lived. he cares for the people around him almost as much as he cares for his appearance, even if he shows that in strange ways.

yujun — alice in wonderland

ᯓ yujun is lost in his own little world most of the time. he is soft hearted and extremely kind like his mother, but he was raised in wonderland and that shows a little too much. he loves everything that has to do with fun, creativity and a bit of craziness, but he maintains his grace most of the time. his boyish charm reflects his mother’s story perfectly well, his curiosity is almost untamable. he gets in immense amounts of tricky (see what i did there) situations because of his need to discover new things even when those don’t concern him. he has the craziest dreams and will not hesitate to tell every living being about them. that goes along with the fact that he cannot stay quiet for the life of him. silence makes him uncomfortable, so he always looks to fill the space with chatter about anything and everything. he drives people around him insane, but thats part of what makes him so lovable.

hunter — prince eric and the little mermaid

ᯓ hunter learnt from a very young age what it is to feel alienated somewhere. his mother’s world always seemed so far away to him, a distant reality where he belonged but couldn't exist. he shares ariel’s curiosity and love for the unknown combined with eric’s adventurer spirit and inconformity with a life of lush outfits and fancy dinners. hunter loves to analyze the behavior of the people around him; that way he could match their energy of stay the hell away. he is wary of the people he trusts due to his parent’s story, but he isn’t closed off or quick to judge. hunter loves to form relationships with people, even if that means having to come out of his shell a little more than he had anticipated. 

yechan — rumpelstiltskin

ᯓ yechan is the first born child of a queen that failed to guess rumpelstiltskin's name after he made a deal with her. opposed to what many would do —resent their father for the life they were forced to live— yechan adores who he is. he is a trickster at heart. he loves making deals he knows he will win at the end, that way ending up with a collection of meaningless little trophies for every time he successfully tricked someone. he is mischievous, loud and confusing, sometimes even appearing cunning. in reality, he knows his limits very well. although he has a passion for tricks and deceit, he has a kind heart and would do anything and everything to protect the people that he loves.

★ pairing ;; ot10 x reader

★ authors note ;; i had this in my head and it wouldn't leave so i gave in and wrote it, oops. i did a deep dive into the ever after high fandom for this and im afraid i went a little too deep....

i also felt AWFUL about using a pic without junghoon but i couldnt find a better one :(

★ taglist ;; @tiramisumin @astrasng

★ back to the (temporary) masterlist.

★ please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!!

[aurumalatus]

how do i get good at writing like you 🥺👉👈

being "good at writing" is def a process, and since "good writing" is subjective it can kind of be all over the place. i don't really consider myself a good writer, and i was never an english major or anything when i was in college, so i'm probably not the *best* person to be giving writing advice, but i've been writing fanfic for a long time so this is my genuine advice in that regard! (below the cut)

serina's totally legit (maybe not) writing advice

start with an idea this one seems obvious. like, serina, no fucking duh. but starting with an idea that YOU like and are passionate about can make all the difference. for me, this is the difference between words naturally flowing on the page, and me writing shit like "he laughed laughily while laughing". if you can really get into an idea, it makes the process a LOT easier.

flesh it out if you're not an outline person, that's okay. i'm not really either, unless it's for multi-chapter fics. i just kind of skip around writing scenes that i think of as it goes, but warning this can get VERY disorganized very quickly, which is why i ALSO have a habit of restarting like 8 diff drafts of one piece LOL. everyone works differently so find your vibe. if your idea is something like "kinich and reader kissing", figure out WHY kinich and reader are kissing. where are they kissing? is it awkward? what's the vibe?

set the tone for me, every piece has a bit of a different style. pixelprincess has a lighter style, which means more basic descriptions that essentially serve to lead into the funny dialogue and other things. "brighella, the hellraiser" is one that i wanted to have a more evocative tone and a frigid vibe, which means it has more flowery-esque prose and metaphors, rather than straightforward description. turnfire is somewhere in between. for me, setting the tone can be helped by a lot of things, like making moodboards or playlists. for me personally, the music i'm listening to while writing matters SO MUCH.

don't be afraid to start over/change as i said before, i have a habit of starting over my drafts a LOT. i think the last chapter of turnfire had something like 6 drafts. but i always think "if this is dragging for me to write, it's probably dragging for them to read too". and sure, maybe that's not always true, but why would i keep writing something that even i don't like? i'm really not afraid to start over or put things in a different direction than i originally intended if i feel it's more interesting. if you're someone who likes to stick to your outlines though, do that! like i said, i don't really outline, so that's up to your individual preference.

write things down as they come i find ideas everywhere. you guys might have noticed that i like to write a lot of aus, and it's because i truly get ideas in every single media i consume. games i play, music i listen to, etc. if i think of an interesting wording or metaphor, i'll write it down. seeing these things really helps when i'm writing, and it often helps me branch out my writing.

don't be afraid to put it down. you might have also noticed that i have TONS of wips going on at any one time. THIS DOES NOT WORK FOR EVERYONE. some people find this very overwhelming which is understandable! for me, it gives me other things to work on when i'm feeling stuck in one piece. by switching between them, i can keep my ideas fresh and stay in better form without burning out for longer. again, this is a personal preference! if you want more specific advice regarding ACTUAL writing, like sentence flow, descriptions, etc, let me know! again, i'm REALLY not the best LOL but i also want to encourage everyone to get started on writing however they can if they feel the urge! the fandom can always use more writers :)